Armed Forces: The Fighting American

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I bore down on him a little harder, and the driver jumped out one way and the truck went off the road and down a hillside the other way."

So far as is known, Dodson is the world's only photo-recon pilot to put an enemy truck out of action.

The Head-Hunted

MAJOR JOSEPH BRADLEY, 35, of Nashville, Tenn., married, father of two daughters and a son, an Army veteran of 17 years, heads a five-man American team at the district capital of Tuyphuoc in northern Binh Dinh province. The town, a single street of shabby shops, thatch-roofed houses and a Catholic church, is an island among Communist-controlled sugar cane and rice fields. All roads leading out are controlled by the Viet Cong. A pudgy man who peers mildly from behind grey-rimmed glasses, Bradley is supposed to advise the district chief on military and civilian matters. Says he: "The less pacified my area becomes, the more military my advice becomes." To defend Tuyphuoc, Bradley has one American captain, four noncoms, and a handful of Vietnamese Civil Guardsmen and ill-trained Popular Forces. The communists obviously think he has done a good job. Bradley has been ambushed six times, and the Viet Cong have a 40,000 piaster (nearly $500) price on his head—dead or alive.

The Fac

MAJOR WILLIAM W. MCALLISTER, 36, is an Air Force careerman who, in his eleven months in Viet Nam, has become a legend as "Mac the Fac" (for "forward air controller"), flying a toylike L19 spotter plane and seeking out Viet Cong troops and installations. McAllister used to be a hot jet fighter pilot, won a D.F.C. in Korea. Now he flies slower, but has more fun.

Wearing grey coveralls, with a .38 pistol slung low on his left hip and a knife strapped to his leg, Mac the Fac arrives at his base strip around 7:30 a.m., gets briefed, then buzzes off in search of the enemy. He flies low, and traveling with him is an unsettling experience. Says an ex-passenger, "When you're riding with him, it sounds like a popcorn machine—there's so much stuff coming up at you."

Mac the Fac stays alive because he is a superb pilot. Making his observation runs, he slides, fishtails, zooms and banks—anything to avoid enemy fire. "I usually fly looking back over my shoulder," he says. "That's because when I make a pass, the V.C. usually freeze, jump into holes or dive into water. By looking back I can see them popping up again." When he sees them, he summons fighter-bombers. As they approach, Mac guides them by radio: "I see six guys down there under those big trees to my left, wearing those crazy hats. I'll mark 'em for you." Firing smoke rockets, he does just that; then he scurries out of the way.