The Mission: May 23, 1968 – Quang Ngai
- Christina DeSantis
- Dec 29, 2025
- 3 min read
Updated: Jan 1
"A Quiet Flight Turned Deadly"
On May 23, 1968, what began as a routine ferry flight from Da Nang back to base quickly escalated into a desperate race to save a pinned-down Special Forces unit. Operating under the callsign Jake 44, Art Elser describes the split-second coordination between a low-flying spotter plane and Marine strike jets that turned the tide of a bloody ambush near Quang Ngai. This is a raw look at the heavy burden of command and the cost of victory.
The Mission: May 23, 1968 – Quang Ngai
By Art Elser, United States Air Force Academy Class of 1959
I was ferrying the "Bad Spad"—my O-1E Bird Dog, tail number 62602—back from a periodic inspection at Da Nang. I called it "mine" because I was the only pilot who flew it in support of five different Special Forces camps. As I passed Chu Lai, I checked in with "Jake Radio" to let them know I was inbound. They instructed me to refuel, rearm, and immediately relieve a Forward Air Controller (FAC) in an O-2 who was currently covering a firefight east of the city.
After a quick pit stop, I took off and contacted the outgoing FAC. He gave me a sketchy briefing, so I reached out to the Special Forces team directly on the FM radio. The ground commander told me they had been ambushed while crossing a large, open field and were pinned down by grazing fire coming from the tree line to their east. They couldn't reach their wounded; anyone who moved was immediately targeted.
I called Jake Radio and requested that the Direct Air Support Center (DASC) scramble fighters. A pair of Marine A-4 Skyhawks launched from Chu Lai, about 25 miles to the north. They arrived quickly and reported their ordnance: Lead had six canisters of napalm, and Two was carrying six 250-pound high-drag bombs—a perfect loadout for this target.
Once I had the fighters in sight on their downwind leg, I rolled in to mark the target with smoke, taking ground fire in the process. I directed Lead to hit my smoke with a ripple of napalm. I then ordered Two to drop his high-drags in a ripple roughly 50 meters east of the napalm to catch the enemy forces retreating from the flames.
The poem that follows tells the rest of the story. It was perhaps my most successful mission, but simultaneously my most traumatic, given the heavy loss of life and the lasting ripple effect on so many families.
The Sudden End of the Firefight
By Art Elser, United States Air Force Academy Class of 1959
The jet races low over the fields toward the tree line
where a small cloud of white smoke rises
from a marking rocket. As the jet nears the smoke,
six shiny cans of napalm tumble from it,
two by two by two,
exploding into a rolling ball of fire
that engulfs the trees.
When the burning slows, troops move forward
to rout the enemy who has wounded
and killed their comrades.
They find only death from the fire.
Forty-five enemy killed.
There is ecstasy over the victory.
In the decades since, in nightmares,
daymares, memories, that jet races
again and again and again
to the trees and releases its napalm,
two by two by two.
But now there is no ecstasy,
only sadness and grief and guilt.
About the Author: Art Elser, ‘59
Art Elser is a member of the United States Air Force Academy’s "First Class" of 1959. A highly decorated combat veteran, Art served as a Forward Air Controller (FAC) in Vietnam, where he flew the O-1E Bird Dog—affectionately known as the "Bad Spad"—in support of Special Forces teams. For his gallantry in action, he was awarded the Silver Star and the Distinguished Flying Cross.
Art’s career was defined by a unique blend of tactical leadership and academic excellence; he spent over a decade as an English professor at the Academy, shaping the minds of future officers. Today, he draws on his PhD in English and his experiences over the jungles of Southeast Asia to give voice to the lingering echoes of combat through his poetry.
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