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“You’re up, Mr. Leak,” Howard said as the last of the cargo and pax were loaded.
“Roger, coming up.” And the crew cleared us.
I looked back and saw four dirty, smiling faces. These grunts seemed happy to be on board. They were filthy and loaded down with all their equipment. Their uniforms weren’t much more than tattered rags. They looked like old men, but I would bet they were no older than me from the looks of their immature mustaches. The aircraft was rotating in its hover and slid forward with max power being applied. We cleared the tops of the trees by two feet and picked up speed quickly, flying at treetop level, eyeball to eyeball with monkeys in the treetops before suddenly entering into a power climb to two thousand feet at ninety knots.
Mr. Leak resumed instructor mode once again. “You’ve got to have airspeed or altitude, and preferably both. If you got both, you can survive an engine failure. If you don’t have altitude, then you best have speed, and vice versa. You want to go from treetop to two thousand feet as quickly as possible as that’s the prime range for small-arms fire, especially the .51-cal. If he tracks you at five hundred feet or less, you have big problems. He can touch you at twenty-five hundred feet, but not with a lot of accuracy. So the lesson is, stay fast at treetop and get to two thousand quickly with speed. When we get back tonight, check the -105 for the dead man zone. Okay, you got it. Now back to the firebase and the dust. Talk me through your approach.”
As we flew back with our passengers, I described to Mr. Leak what I planned on doing for my landing in the dust. He listened and then responded, “You got the words, now show me.” Damn, this guy is Mr. Personality.
I set up my approach and talked him through it as I was executing. We landed, not as softly as he had done, but we were safely on the ground and with no damage to the aircraft or anyone’s nerves. Mr. Leak just sat there staring ahead. The pax, as we called passengers, jumped off and waved goodbye as the ground crew pulled the cans off the bird.
“You’re up,” said Howard, and Mr. Leak just pointed straight ahead, indicating “Let’s go.”
Again I talked him through what I was doing as I was doing it. At least, I thought I was talking to him as he just sat and stared straight ahead. I wondered if his intercom had gone out. Oh, maybe he was pissed at that landing I made. He continued to stare ahead. Okay, I guess he wants me to take it in. I called Bravo Six India and let him know I was inbound, but no need for smoke as I had his position. This time, however, I changed my approach so I was making a ninety-degree left turn into the final approach, coming in fast and low.
As I flared to decelerate, Howard came on the intercom. “Watch the tail!”
I took a bit of the deceleration out, which raised the tail so I wouldn’t hit the trees, and then completed the landing. Mr. Leak said nothing. Shit, he is pissed.
“Howard, how close was Mr. Cory to the trees?” asked Mr. Leak.
“He wasn’t, sir. I was just screwing with him.” A small grin broke Mr. Leak’s stoic face.
“Thanks, Howard,” I said.
The aircraft was loaded and Mr. Leak said, “Let’s go.”
A pedal turn and out we came and headed back. My second approach, I said nothing but came in and made a much-improved landing. Sabre Six India came up on the net and told us to shut down, which we did. Howard and the door gunner began cleaning guns, Mr. Leak moved to the cabin area and pulled out a popular paperback to read: M*A*S*H*. He handed me the -10 and told me to look up the dead man zone.
Around noon, we had been sitting for three hours when
Howard said he needed to go to maintenance to get some hydraulic fluid, or was it a hamburger instead of a C-ration? I forget. Mr. Leak walked up to the TOC and came back five minutes later with the captain. Seemed he needed to go to maintenance too. Oh, and here came a first sergeant as well. And the mail clerk needed to pick up mail in Bien Hoa too. I think I’m beginning to see a pattern here.
Everyone was strapped in, and Mr. Leak again pointed straight ahead without a word. I took us out and headed the fifteen klicks to the sprawling base at Bien Hoa. When we got to altitude, Mr. Leak said he had the aircraft. I tuned the VHF radio to Bien Hoa tower in anticipation of calling for landing clearance.
“Don’t bother the tower. We’re landing at the helipad on the north side, and there’s no need to call them. They’re busy with fast movers and cargo planes.”
There was the helipad. In a field that separated the main runway from the combination of wooden buildings and tents that constituted the Army area was a corrugated metal pad approximately the size of a football field with a large First Cav patch painted in the center. As we shut down, Mr. Leak told our passengers that they had one hour before we headed back. Technically, the captain owned the aircraft as he represented the unit we were working for, but Mr. Leak was giving the unquestioned orders, and all agreed, in compliance.
Once the aircraft was secured, the four of us followed our noses to what was a mess hall serving hot chow. No roast beef, but hot dogs, hamburgers, spaghetti with real meat sauce, ice cream. Shit, what world is this? I got a hot dog and a hamburger along with French fries. And the coffee was real. It was obvious that the rear echelon lived a lot better than those closest to the front action. We lived good as aviators, certainly better than the grunts, but these rear-echelon mothers, REMFs as we called them, were living the life. There was—always had been and always would be—some animosity between those on the front lines and those in the rear. Those in the rear areas enjoyed levels of comfort only imagined by those on the front. Clean sheets, hot chow, good boots, and movies were just some of the perks, besides never getting shot at and all the while bitching how tough they had it because of the paper cuts they received. History shows that General Eisenhower wanted Paris to be an R&R center for frontline troops. Just after it was liberated, one hundred and fifty thousand REMFs took up residence, and he could do nothing to dislodge them. Some things never change.
When we had our fill, we wandered back to the aircraft to find that our passengers were there and ready to go. The ketchup on the captain’s shirt told me he had gotten his maintenance taken care of—not sure where, though.
The rest of the day was more of the same. As units settled in to set up their night defensive positions, we hauled supplies out to them. Mr. Leak remained in instructor mode, pointing out things that he felt were important for a new guy to learn.
“First time into unit’s location, take thirty water cans. That gives you a manageable load until you can evaluate the LZ to see if you can take more or need to take less weight. It also gives the grunts time to fill their canteens and get the empty water cans back on the bird so they’re not stuck with empty water cans in case they have to move.”
When we were released by Saber Six to go home, we headed straight back to the Chicken Pen, stopping only to refuel the aircraft when we got to Lai Khe.
As we slid into the revetment, Mr. Leak said, “Let’s be sure and give her a good post-flight inspection. Howard, do we need to run water or walnuts tonight?”
“No, sir, we’re good.” To keep the engines performing at peak performance in really dusty conditions, the engine air intake filters were pulled out and cleaned off. In addition, water would be flushed through the air intake periodically to clean it out. To keep the turbine blades in the engine compressor clean, ground-up walnut shells would be tossed in to clean the blades while the engine was running.
The door gunner took both guns and started cleaning them as well as the ammo. Mr. Leak and I did a walk around the aircraft, conducting a post-flight inspection to make sure it was ready for the next day’s mission. This was Mr. Leak’s assigned aircraft and crew, and he wanted it all straight. Aircraft commanders had assigned aircraft and crews. The rest of us were rotated through aircraft commanders and aircraft. When done, he and I grabbed our gear and started walking back.
“Hey, Dan, you done good for a new guy today. You still have some schoolhouse hesitation in your flying, but that’ll wear off quickly enough when you develop a feel for the aircraft and flying her in these conditions. These aircraft can take a lot more than what you were doing with them in flight school. Don’t be afraid to stretch the boundaries with these birds, but remember, airspeed and altitude. You want both but need at least one of them. Oh, and you’re buying the beer for today’s lessons.” I was starting to see another pattern here. Lessons cost beers.
Reaching my tent, I dropped my gear and noticed a new face talking to Lou. Grabbing a beer, I walked over and introduced myself to a very clean-shaven face. He was a new guy, which in my eyes made me an “old guy.”
