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“Chalk Three, roger.”
“Chalk Five, roger.”
This sucks. An eighteen-sortie insertion into a two-ship LZ with enemy contact highly probable. Charlie isn’t stupid. He won’t engage the first two aircraft but will wait for the next two or the last two. If he can knock a bird down in that LZ, the chances of other aircraft getting in are slim to none, and with only a few grunts on the ground, the enemy may be able to overrun them. This is not good. Someone isn’t thinking.
At H minus six, the first of the arty started hitting the LZ. At H minus two, the arty shifted to a ridge on the side of the LZ and the gunships rolled in. At H minus one, the door gunners opened fire and I got a clear view of the LZ. It was worse than I’d realized, having only seen it from the air at two thousand feet. Stumps everywhere, broken trees on the perimeter and no maneuver room with two aircraft in there. As we came to the high hover, the grunts started jumping. I’d always hated to have them jump with rucksacks on their backs. Good way to dislocate a knee or sprain an ankle. As my last grunt disappeared below the aircraft, Chalk Two called.
“Yellow One, are you clear?”
“Roger, Yellow One coming out.”
“Chalk Three on short final.” Damn, that was about thirty seconds, but okay, the faster the better. I turned the controls over to my copilot, and he began to take us back to get the next load when we heard a call over the radio.
“Bird down! Chalk Three is down in the LZ.” It was Chalk Four on the radio.
“Chalk Four, what happened?” I asked with some apprehension.
“Looks like he came in too fast and fell through the hover. Some stumps have gone through the bottom and a skid is flattened. He’s shutting down and un-assing the aircraft. I’ll get him.” Moments later, he said, “Chalk Four has him and is coming out.”
“Chalk Five on short final.”
“Chalk Six taking a one-minute separation.”
Great, we now had a one-ship LZ with a downed bird in the forward portion. That bird being there meant not only minimum ground combat power, but also the grunts were going to have to stay there until a recovering crew could get in with a CH-47 and extract that aircraft or blow it in place. This was not good.
“Flight, this is Yellow One. On this next turn, everyone take a one-minute separation coming out of the PZ.” The PZ was on the firebase, so only friendlies were there. I got my load on board, and we headed back with my copilot on the controls. I informed the battalion commander and he wasn’t happy, but he understood. As we made our approach, I could see the downed aircraft had a bent skid but the rotor blades looked fine. Aside from the skid, I could see no damage. I had to clear this LZ. As we came to a low hover, I told my copilot to take the aircraft out once I got the downed bird airborne if I could, and I jumped out and ran to the other aircraft. Oops—it was on a stump, but nothing was leaking and all looked good. Shit, I could fly this out. I quickly started the aircraft. Reaching full power, I pulled up on the collective and the aircraft shook a bit as it came off a stump that I hadn’t seen, impaling the bottom of the aircraft.
“Coming out,” I reported. Oh crap! I had just gone from six hundred pounds of fuel to two hundred pounds! A fuel cell must be punctured. Two hundred was enough to get me to the firebase, and my copilot was following me. The aircraft was flying okay, and I stayed low. At the firebase, a pile of sandbags had been positioned to receive the aircraft and keep it off the ground. I noticed that it was Captain Copenhaver and a new pilot that had only been in the unit for a month or so. Captain Copenhaver’s nickname was Lightning because he moved so slow with a long, slow stride. He sort of reminded us of Abraham Lincoln with his gangly features. Everyone liked him and his stories of riding across Europe on his BMW motorcycle while on leave.
As I climbed into my aircraft, my copilot looked at me and said, “You’re either going to get a medal for that, or an ass chewing.”
“My money is on the ass chewing,” I said. I would have won. It was a very minor, fatherly reprimand from the major in my room that night after he calmly asked me what had happened and why I’d done it. He admitted he might have done the same thing in my shoes but told me not to do it again.
“Yes, sir.”
There’s something about some people that doesn’t project confidence. Having been in the unit eighteen months now, I had seen all sorts of pilots. The overconfident, the quietly efficient, the risk-avoidant, the cowardly, to put it bluntly. And then there was a personality that you could just observe and something told you, This guy is not going to make it. Copenhaver’s copilot that day was such a person. I really felt he wasn’t going to make it. He was a new warrant, and I got a feeling about him the instant I met him. He proved to be very competent pilot and a good guy, but there was just something about him. Unfortunately, I was not proven wrong.
A week later, the company was conducting an extraction with Chalk Three having this young pilot flying as right seater for Lightning again. The PZ was large enough for all six aircraft in a staggered right formation with some dead trees located on the PZ, but well spaced for the flight to get around. To exit the PZ, however, we would have to use maximum power to climb over the trees on the departure end. Those that did not have enough power initially would have to fly between two trees, rolling the aircraft slightly while maintaining directional heading so the rotor blades could clear those trees as we gained altitude. The grunts were in the staggered formation and awaiting our arrival. They were being extracted and returning to Song Be for some downtime, hot food and hot showers—well, hot for being in Song Be. No enemy contact was expected on the extraction. Bill Hess had convinced the new maintenance officer, Captain Head, to fly as his copilot on this day as Captain Head usually bitched about us tearing up his aircraft, his aircraft, but seldom got to fly combat missions. This was going to be his opportunity to witness things firsthand. Bill was flying Chalk Five.
“Yellow One, Chalk Six, We’re Up,” Chalk Six reported, indicating that all aircraft were loaded and Yellow One could depart.
“Roger, Yellow One is on the go.” And he began his takeoff, with each subsequent aircraft picking up as well. Chalk Three for some reason was slow in picking up, and when he did, it appeared he might be caught in the rotor wash of Yellow One, forcing him to use more power to get airborne.
On takeoff, Chalk Three attempted to fly through the opening in the trees as Chalk One and Two had done. We suddenly heard a scream over the radio.
“Chalk Three hit a tree!”
I was in the Chalk Two position and had just cleared the trees and really was paying no attention to Chalk Three, who attempted to fly between two trees and caught a rotor blade on one. To everyone’s horror, the aircraft slowly rolled to the right, where the damaged rotor blade made contact with the ground. When it did, the rotor blades began to disintegrate, with pieces flying everywhere. Soldiers in the back began falling out of the aircraft, and they were the fortunate ones as the aircraft was now descending towards the ground. As the right side impacted, the transmission was ripped from its mounts and tore through the cargo compartment. As the aircraft came to a stop, the engine was still running, now at ever-increasing rpm as there was no rotor to turn or transmission connected. Fuel began to spill across the engine. At this time, the aircraft were not equipped with self-sealing fuel cells that would prevent a major fire. The aircraft began to burn and burn rapidly.
As Bill had been waiting for Chalk Three and Four to take off, h
e was only light on his skids when the accident happened. His crew chief, door gunner and Captain Head immediately jumped out and ran to pull people out of the aircraft. Soldiers on the ground also moved forward to assist. Lightning was attempting to climb out but was dazed and having difficulty. Moving quickly to assist Lightning, Captain Head was having difficulty as well, as the fire was now in the cockpit and spreading rapidly. The copilot was consumed in the flames, as was the crew chief. The gunner could not be seen as he was under the aircraft, having occupied the right side of the aircraft that day. Finally Lightning was extracted from the wreckage and fire.
Upon hearing the call that Chalk Three was down, Yellow One had aborted his takeoff, returning to the PZ, and was now sitting on the ground, facing the carnage. Aircraft were scattered around the PZ, not wanting to be too close to an aircraft on fire for fear of an explosion and ammo cooking off, which it was doing. Individuals were also lying prone or standing behind aircraft to avoid being hit by the superheated ammo. Smoke grenades as well as a hand grenade left in the aircraft exploded. Black, green and red smoke intermingled and rose above the burning metal.
“Chalk Five, Yellow One.”
“Yellow One, Chalk Five, over,” Bill answered as he watched Captain Head and some grunts carry Lightning back to Chalk Four.
