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“Yeah, I got a private pilot’s license working one summer as a line boy in Coos Bay, Oregon. Instead of cash, I got paid in flying lessons. One of my instructors even went into the warrant officer program. Last I heard, he was flying Caribous. Are you married?” I inquired.
“Yep. Just saw my wife in Hawaii two months ago. She’s already moved our stuff to Fort Rucker, which is my next assignment. We’re going to be having our first when I get there. Well, six months after I get there,” he added.
“Well, congratulations, Mr. Lucus,” chimed in Sergeant Scovel. As I continued to fly the aircraft, Bob worked the radios, getting arty clearance as we proceeded up Highway 13 at twenty-five hundred feet. Another cloudless day, but hazy due to forest fires. Below, large swaths of jungle were leveled and large bulldozers were busy cutting the swaths.
“What are they doing?” I asked, nodding in the direction of the bulldozers.
“Those are called Rome plows. Big damn bulldozers with a special blade on the front. They’re clearing the jungle to expose Charlie’s holes and bunkers down there. This area is loaded with tunnels and that’s the quickest way to find them. The First Infantry Division operates in this area. You can see their mark over there. I guess since they’re going home soon, they wanted to leave something for this place to remember them by,” Bob pointed out. Carved into the jungle was a replica of the Big Red One shoulder patch approximately a thousand meters long and appropriately wide. Actually a well-laid-out piece of work.
“When are they leaving, and is anyone coming into Lai Khe to replace them?” My curiosity was piqued. Lai Khe was a large area with a four-thousand-foot runway down the middle, a small village, and several units that weren’t part of the First Infantry Division. Besides our unit, as well as our sister company, which had all the Cobra gunships, there was a medevac unit and MASH unit; an artillery battery; an aviation company, the Robin Hoods; and an engineer brigade headquarters. That wasn’t a lot of people to maintain security of the entire perimeter when the First ID departed.
“Not sure when they’re leaving. In a couple of months, I believe. I don’t think anyone is replacing them. They’re the first of the drawdowns, I think. No, come to think of it, the Ninth in the delta has already gone home. I guess the president was serious when he said that the Vietnamese would be taking the fight now and we were cutting back. The Vietnamese Army should be cleaning up.” Bob continued to watch the jungle-clearing activity on the ground. In the distance, Highway 13 entered another rubber tree plantation. Bob called for landing clearance as there was also a runway about the size of ours at Lai Khe. “I got it,” he said.
“You have the aircraft,” I responded as he took the controls and began our slow descent, turning to final over a beautiful two-story tile-roofed home with a very inviting swimming pool in the backyard, but no sunbather. “Why does this guy stay here in the middle of this war?” I asked.
“He’s a Frenchman, and the manager of this plantation. He knows where the enemy is located but won’t tell us. So as long as he keeps his mouth shut, they don’t mess with him. We can’t shoot artillery into the rubber tree plantations, so we don’t often send troops into the plantations, and the enemy lives in relative peace. I guess you’d call that a symbiotic relationship.”
“Wow, you using them big words again, Mr. Lucus. What d
oes symbiotic mean?” Mackintyre asked.
“I’ll lend you my dictionary and you can look it up when we get back,” Bob answered.
After we refueled, we parked the aircraft and a jeep with driver was waiting for us. While the crew looked after the aircraft, Bob and I jumped in and headed to the TOC for our mission brief. The TOC was two hooches. The brigade S-3 air was a captain and met us as we came in.
“Mr. Lucus, good to see you. How was your R&R in Hawaii?” asked the captain.
“It was good, sir. Sir, this is Mr. Cory, a new guy,” Bob
explained.
“Morning, sir,” I said, extending my hand, which he took.
“Welcome. Now let’s get started. Two missions for you today. First is a sniffer mission. The sniffer team is at your aircraft now loading the equipment. El Lobo just called me with a flight of two and will be here to refuel shortly. We would like you to fly this area along the river from this bridge north to where Highway 13 intersects the river. Report anything you find right away as it’ll be a day before the intel guys decipher anything the sniffer picks up. Based on what you tell me, we have a psyops mission for you for this afternoon. The old man also wants to get up sometime today, so you’ll be flying him around. Any questions?” the captain asked.
“Where are the friendlies located?” Bob asked.
“We have companies here, here, and here right now,” he said as he pointed out locations on the map, and I started plotting those locations on my map. Call signs and frequencies I wrote on a separate piece of paper.
“What’s the enemy situation? Must be something in this area if you’re having us fly a sniffer,” Bob pointed out.
“Actually, that picture is a bit vague in this area. Around An Loc it’s a different story, but here we’ve had ground sensors indicate a lot of activity and that’s why we want to use the sniffer to confirm locations along the Song Be River. We haven’t pushed any recon elements into that area, so it’s pretty virgin territory. There’s been some activity southeast of An Loc, where we found that large cache site and that NVA hospital and base camp. We’re going into this area, the area you’re flying, for the first time.”
“Okay, we’ll head back and get in the air as soon as the sniffer guys are ready. Can we get a ride back?” Bob inquired.
“Sure. Harris is waiting for you in the jeep outside. When you get back, I’ll have him give you a ride to the chow hall for lunch,” the captain offered.
Arriving back at the aircraft, I saw a black box about the size of a footlocker sitting in the cabin with two four-inch tubes coming out of the sides and snaking down to the skids, where they were tied facing forward and down like large wind scoops. Sergeant Scovel spoke up.
“The sniffer guys went to get their gear and will be back shortly. The Cobra jocks went over to the PX and will be back in a minute.”
“Okay. Here’s what we got.” I motioned over Scovel and Mackintyre while Bob spread my map on the cabin floor and commenced his briefing. “We’re flying along the river on this one. We’ll make about four passes, two on each side, one pass close to this side of the river going up and one further over coming back and then up again, but further out and back down close to the river. Anytime you hear ‘Max Mark,’ you open fire.” Scovel and Mackintyre looked at each other with smiles and fist bumps. “Any questions?”
“No, sir.” And both started brushing the clean guns again as well as the ammo that each had, about three thousand rounds.
“What’s a sniffer mission, and what’s this box?” I asked.
“This machine picks up ammonia, which bodies give off in this heat in the form of perspiration. When the machine gives a reading of max, the operator will call out ‘Max Mark,’ which means he has a large group giving off a lot of perspiration and we should engage. First problem is, not only do humans give off ammonia, but so do monkeys, so we’ll be probably shooting a lot of monkeys. Second problem is, in order for this to work, we’ll be flying at treetop level and sixty knots. The two Cobras from El Lobo will be one thousand feet and following us and will engage if we call for fire or are taking fire,” Bob informed me.
