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“What about the CO?” I inquired.
“Have you ever seen him in the cockpit, or on the flight line, or out of his tent? When you do, please let us know. It’ll be a first,” said Mr. Toliver. The others seconded that comment.
“How come?” I asked.
“The CO’s on his third tour over here. His first was as an advisor in the early sixties, and his second was in sixty-five as an aviator. Pretty tough assignment, and he took a couple of hits in the aircraft and on his body. He’s paid his dues. He only has another couple of months in command and then he’ll probably move up to battalion or brigade staff. He’s all right, just doesn’t care to fly anymore,” responded Mr. Toliver.
“Well, what makes a good flight leader?” I asked as I opened another beer for myself and the others.
Mr. Reynolds fielded that question. He had been in the unit for about seven months and was considering extending, but not for our unit. No one seemed to do that. Extending your tour was a rare occasion in Vietnam, even in those units that appeared to have high morale and good leadership.
“A good flight leader must first be a good pilot and know his aircraft. Know what its limitations are and how far he can stretch them. He must be a good aircraft commander, taking care of his aircraft and his crew. Just because we’re officers doesn’t mean we can’t help the crew take care of the aircraft. Did you notice when Captain Bullock landed, the first thing he did was leave the aircraft to his crew and beat feet to the club for a beer instead of stay behind and help them sweep it out and post-flight it? No, he left that to Hess, his copilot for today, and the crew. Self-centered bastard. Just because he’s an RLO, he thinks he’s too good to get his hands dirty. Do you think he helped fill sandbags to build the bunker? Not him or any of the RLOs for that matter. Jamison stood there that day and ‘supervised’ while everyone else did the digging and stacking.”
“Okay, Reynolds, that’s enough venting,” interjected Mr. Toliver. “Besides being a good pilot and aircraft commander, a flight leader must plan, coordinate and anticipate the mission. Once he gets his brief from the ground commander, he needs to do a recon flight over or by the LZ or PZ. He needs to judge how many aircraft will fit and what formation will work so we’re not doing the last-minute dick dance like we did today. Bullock never did a recon, and that’s why we were dick dancing in the kill zone. Once he’s done his recon, he needs to coordinate with the ground commander on what the formation will be so they can plan accordingly. He needs to coordinate with the attack helicopters if it’s going to be an insertion. He needs to coordinate with the aircraft commanders and let us know what’s what. And he needs to anticipate what all can go wrong and have a plan for that as well, be it an aircraft breaking down before the mission or ground fire on the LZ/PZ. Today was an example of what not to do on an extraction. One time, Bullock was flight lead on an insertion. He had twelve aircraft in that one, and instead of using the entire length of the LZ to get everyone on the ground, he landed short, getting only eight birds on the ground. The last four had to break off, do a go-around and wait for him to get out so they could come in. The ground commander was pissed. Our battalion commander was in the C&C above, and he was pissed. The CO caught shit for that one, and Bullock will never lead a flight bigger than six ships again.”
“With all the time you guys have, why aren’t you flight leaders?” I asked.
“Because we’re not RLOs,” sneered Lou. “Aviation brigade policy from the almighty brigade commander is that only RLOs will be flight leaders. Warrants are pilots and not leaders according to him. He should know. It’s his first tour flying in Vietnam.”
“Where did he come from?” I quizzed.
“He was a transportation guy stationed in Europe and Korea for most of his time. Went to flight school for the ‘short course’ and came over. The CG made him the aviation brigade commander because we’re transportation and he’s a pilot,”
Mr. Toliver interjected.
“What’s the short course?” I asked after a long pull on my beer.
“General officers and full colonels get to go through an abbreviated flight school, which is a condensed primary course and a Huey transition course. Basically it teaches them to hover, fly straight and level and land in a Huey. They get no instrument training at all. And they get wings just like ours and think they know it all,” Mr. Toliver said. With that, Lou turned off the light and rolled into his rack, mumbling something about the motherhood of full colonels.
Chapter 12
Sniffer
After the usual breakfast at the usual time of 0430 hours, I got my gear and went by Ops to see who I was flying with and what ship. I had been flying about a month now in the unit and was becoming proficient at formation flying—well, getting used to it at least. Today it was with Mr. Bob Lucus and his aircraft Whispering Wind. Bob had just been promoted to chief warrant officer second class. He’d been in-country for about eleven months and was due to rotate home next month. A quiet man, he wasn’t in the nightly poker games, drank little and stayed to himself most of the time. I really hadn’t had a chance to talk to him much. When I arrived at the aircraft, Sergeant Scovel, the crew chief, and Specialist Mackintyre were already getting things squared away. I put my stuff in my seat and began the preflight, climbing up on the roof to inspect the rotor head and specifically the Jesus nut. As I was finishing the preflight, Mr. Lucus walked up.
“Good morning, everyone. How’s it look, Dan?” he asked, tossing his gear on his seat.
I returned his salutation. “Morning, Bob. She looks really good. Got to admit, that engine compartment is the cleanest I’ve seen yet.”
Sergeant Scovel smiled and nodded to say thank you.
Bob climbed up on the roof and checked the rotor head after preflighting the lower half of the aircraft, and I certainly didn’t take offense. He was just double-checking, and that was fine with me. Coming down, he said, “Let’s get going.”
We all climbed in and I went through the start-up procedures as Bob tuned the radios to the correct frequencies. Sergeant Scovel and Specialist Mackintyre went about their duties of closing doors, getting fire extinguishers and strapping in. Both Scovel and Mackintyre wore monkey harnesses, which allowed the maximum freedom of movement without letting them fall out of the aircraft. Once we were at full power, Bob told me to take us out. Coming to a hover, I was cleared by the crew and I hovered backwards out of the revetment, pedal turning to the runway. Bob told me we were cleared to depart, and so I came to a fast hover forward and, upon reaching the runway, pulled in collective power and nosed it over to achieve maximum airspeed quickly and began the climb to twenty-five hundred feet.
“Your heading is Quan Loi. We’ll just follow Highway 13 right up to there,” Bob directed me. “Have you been up to Quan Loi?”
“No. Just the area down by Bien Hoa,” I replied.
“Quan Loi is a village that houses workers in the Michelin rubber plantation. The Third Brigade is headquartered up there and works that area. The base is in the rubber trees just like us, so it’s pretty nice. At the end of the runway, which is laid out northeast to southwest, there’s a two-story stucco home with a tile roof, and in the back is the most inviting swimming pool. Especially nice is the blonde Caucasian woman that sunbathes next to the pool with no top on. Kind of reminds some of us of home. You married, Dan?”
“No, not married, and no one waiting back there for me either,” I replied.
“Well, flying up here is a bit different than down at Bien Hoa. First, unlike Bien Hoa, there are few open meadows to land in. Second, the trees in this area are either rubber trees or three-hundred-foot hardwood trees with triple canopy. Makes for fun times trying to resupply or insert. Once we get to Quan Loi, we’re working for the brigade, so there’s no telling what they’re going to want us to do. Just wait and see after the brief. Where you from?”
“Nowhere in particular and everywhere. Dad’s career Navy, currently stationed in Morocco. Grew up around every submarine base on the East Coast. Lived in Naples, Italy, for a couple of years and graduated from high school in Yokohama, Japan. I went to college in La Grande, Oregon, for a couple of years and decided that college wasn’t for me. My first job out of high school was working on a logging crew setting chokers in Oregon. Not going back to that. Had spent a summer working on an oil tanker from Okinawa to Saudi Arabia and thought about going back to sea, but Dad talked me out of that. Convinced me to join the Army and try out for warrant officer flight, and here I am,” I explained.
“Had you done any flying before flight school?” he asked.
