I figured I knew why. The investigation would have revealed overwhelming evidence that the two pilots had been fired on first. That came out in the courtroom. We had good, solid data, including audio tapes of the mission that weren't destroyed. The prosecutor tried to argue that it was irrelevant to the charges against Broughton whether his guys were attacked first. A cover-up was a cover-up. Bull. It made all the difference in the world. Based on the evidence, we dismissed all charges against the two pilots. And it took the five of us on the panel only a few minutes to decide on a fair punishment for Jack. I said to the others, "If I were in Broughton's place, I would have laid it right out on the table. I would've gone up the chain of command and said, 'Here's what my pilots did and I back them one hundred percent.' Nobody would've punished a pilot for defending himself, and Jack would've been off the hook. But Broughton didn't do that. He took it on himself to protect guys who probably didn't need protecting, and in my opinion, we can't dismiss all the charges against him." The other judges agreed.
We found Colonel Jack Broughton guilty of destroying government property-the gun camera film- and ordered him to pay thirty-five dollars in damages, the cost of the film he destroyed. He also received an official letter of admonishment. It wasn't one of those stiff letters, but it was enough to follow him around in his personnel folder. In that sense, it was a kiss of death because the only way for a senior officer to survive a scandal of that magnitude was to have all charges against him dismissed.
Jack knew he was finished, his career destroyed. He loved flying and loved the Air Force, but he would never again have a command, and to a guy like that a desk job is a jail sentence. Jack was bitter, and I didn't blame him. He was relieved of his duties in Thailand and sent home. He resigned from the Air Force not long after. And I never heard a peep of criticism that I had been too lenient. In fact, General Ryan later mentioned the case to me and was complimentary. He said, "You got Broughton out of that mess as gracefully as possible. I was glad to see him retire rather than receive a dishonorable discharge. He didn't deserve that." He sure didn't.
Not long after that trial ended, I was recommended by Air Force headquarters in Washington to become a wing commander of tactical fighters in Vietnam. The wing was located at Phan Rang, where I had a squadron of B-57s, and it would be a natural for me. I would get to fly up north and meet some of those MiG 21s. Glennis began packing to go back to the States with the kids and stay at Jackie's in Indio until I got back in twelve months. I got word that orders were being published on the assignment, and we shipped all of our household goods back into storage. At Clark, I had been under the command of the Thirteenth Air Force, headed by General Wilson. My new assignment would place me under Gen. William Momyer, who headed the Seventh Air Force. I had never met him, but I heard he was a brilliant tactician. And just as I was about to leave for Phan Rang, the word came back that Momyer didn't want me. He told the Pentagon, "I choose my wing commanders, not you people. Send Yeager somewhere else."
General Ryan, who had approved my transfer went to bat for me with Momyer, who worked for General Ryan, but had the right to pick his own wing commanders. One of Ryan's deputies told me he heard the two generals arguing about me over the squawk box and that the conversation got pretty damned nasty.
It was degrading being the center of a squabble between two high-powered generals, one of them trying to shove me down the other's throat. I hadn't asked to go to Phan Rang; the colonels' assignment branch at the Pentagon had ordered it. If it had been my idea, I wouldn't have been so upset, because a guy who tries to pull strings to get something can't bitch if those strings wind up tight around his neck. General Ryan acted on his own taking up the cudgels for me because he knew, as I did, that I was the perfect guy to lead combat squadrons flying in the north. At that point, feeling really hurt at how I was being treated, I seriously thought about packing it in and calling it a career. I was a full colonel with twenty-six years under my belt and could have retired at two-thirds of my pay.
I had seen senior officers sticking around long after their careers had ceased to be enjoyable to protect their career investment and retirement dollars. I didn't worry about money. I figured I could make a living on the outside flying as test pilot for an airplane manufacturer. I used my own simple formula: either the Air Force was still fun for me, or it wasn't much fun anymore. If it wasn't fun, why hang around? Lt. Gen. Bennie Davis had replaced General Wilson at Thirteenth Air Force at Clark, and I really liked and respected him. I went to him for advice. I said, "General Davis, honest to God, I'm ready to throw in the towel. I'm exactly the guy they should want for that job. My people would be aggressive because that's how I do business. Instead, I get poked in the eye with a stick. I think it stinks, and right now I feel like I've about had it."
General Davis said, "Chuck, I know exactly how you feel. I thought about quitting once or twice myself. Being the highest-ranking black man in the Air Force hasn't been the easiest climb. But, hell, man, you've got to expect to get sandbagged every once in a while. I agree, you would have been perfect for the job, but Momyer will never take you now. No way. Why? Because Ryan wants him to. The fight isn't about you, but which of their wills is strongest. These battles go on all the time. Among generals, it's like a workout in a gym. So, stay cool and patient. I'm certain the Air Force won't let you go to waste. They'll make it up to you."
I took General Davis' advice and dropped the idea about early retirement. I figured I still had a few more bumps and bruises left to give to the cause. Meanwhile, the Pentagon assigned me to take over a TAC wing of F-4 Phantoms at Seymour Johnson in North Carolina. We were the first deployed to South Korea during the Pueblo crisis, when the North Koreans captured a Navy boat, and were over there for six months. By then, my oldest son, Donald, was fighting out in the boonies of Vietnam. I could fly from Korea and visit him. I would have to sneak in because Momyer was still in command, but it would take more than that guy to keep me from seeing my son.
I probably overprotected all of my children. I wouldn't let them see spooky movies or watch violence on TV. I didn't let them get drivers' licenses until they were eighteen or a senior in high school. They turned out to be fairly nice kids; oh, they were roughnecks and whatnot, but they wouldn't pull the wings off a fly. What I'm trying to say is that I raised them to be kind and gentle. Don graduated from high school before we left for the Philippines. Chuck very much wanted him to be appointed to the Air Force Academy, but when Don went for his physical, he couldn't pass the red lens test, meaning, his two eyes didn't focus simultaneously. My grandmother was crosseyed, and I blamed my heredity. Here was Chuck with the most perfect eyes in the world, and I had worked so hard to get that kid to agree to go-I just was devastated. Don didn't care, but both of his parents sure did. Jackie offered to pay for an operation to have Don's condition remedied, but we got conflicting opinions about whether or not it really would work. Jim Anderson, Bud's son, was also disappointed because he and Don were friends and Jimmy made it into the Academy. But Don went instead to Redlands University and then to the University of West Virginia. He was drafted after completing his sophomore year and became a paratrooper.