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“You’re shitting me, right? We’re really going to fly at treetop and only sixty knots?” My eyes must have been as large as saucers.
“I shit you not,” Bob said with a grin. “Truthfully, as short as I am, I’m not thrilled about flying this one, but we play the hand we’re dealt. Let’s get ready. I see the Lobo pilots are strapping in, and here come the sniffer grunts.”
Two sniffer operators climbed aboard and one briefly talked to Bob about the mission. Bob showed them how he was going to fly the mission and they seemed happy about it. One was carrying an M79 grenade launcher with a sandbag full of grenades and the other his M16 with ten magazines. I had to get something besides my .38 pistol, I thought. The only thing it was good for was blowing my own brains out.
As we ran up the engine, Bob took the controls. “I’ll make the first pass, and you have it for the second.”
“Okay,” I answered as the crew cleared us.
“Call Lobos and see if they’re ready. Then get clearance for all three of us,” Bob instructed me once we were at a hover.
After we had clearance and Lobos were up, Bob took us down the runway heading northeast. This route took us out of the rubber tree plantation and out over the jungle. This was my first up-close look at this vegetation, and it was amazing. A very dense forest was below us, with hardwood trees reaching up three hundred feet. So dense was the foliage that I couldn’t see the ground. Occasionally we saw an opening in the jungle where a bomb crater had exposed the ground. An engine failure over this would not end well, I concluded, especially once we dropped down to treetop level and only sixty knots. That was just above the dead man zone.
After twenty minutes, Bob started a slow descent and decelerated our speed to sixty knots. Lobo called and confirmed they were in position, one thousand feet and behind us on both sides. We approached the river at a ninety-degree angle and Bob slowly turned us over the bank of the river. “Scovel, watch that far bank for activity. If we’re going to take it, it’ll come from there.”
“Roger that, sir,” Sergeant Scovel confirmed.
“Lobo Six-Eight, this is Chicken-man One-Six, over,” Bob called out.
“Chicken-man, go ahead,” Lobo came back.
“Yeah, Lobo, keep an eye on the far bank. If we’re going to take fire, I think it’ll come from over there as it’s the only clear sight they have of me,” Bob explained.
“Roger, Chicken-man. We’re thinking alike. Got you covered,” Lobo confirmed.
As we were over the bank, Bob said, “If we have an engine out at this speed and altitude, the river’s our best bet for a landing spot. Going down in these trees will make it impossible for any of us to get out, so if necessary, land in the river. Everyone got that?” We all confirmed we understood. The river was just outside my door, the right side of the aircraft. I was thankful for the armor-plated seat I was sitting in and the chicken plate covering my chest. Sergeant Scovel had a chicken plate as well but no armored seat except the back of my chicken plate. Sucks to be you, I thought.
“Max Mark.” And all hell broke loose. Mackintyre’s gun was hosing the area under the aircraft on his side, and the sniffer grunt with the M79 tossed a round into the trees, which really did no good as the canopy was three hundred feet high and the round exploded as soon as it hit a tree limb, but I guess it made him feel good. Sergeant Scovel never engaged, since there was no one on the river and he didn’t see anything on the other bank, which was about one hundred yards away. We didn’t take any fire from the ground. Lobo continued to orbit above us, providing cover if need be. After the first pass, Bob told me to take it, and we headed back down the path with the river off to the left about four hundred yards away. Sergeant Scovel engaged anytime we hit a Max Mark indicator this time.
“Follow the contour of the jungle and stay about fifty feet above the tops. Watch for any branches that may be sticking up above the rest. Tree strike we do not want,” Bob instructed me.
As planned, he flew the next leg and I the last leg. As we completed the leg, Bob said to head to Quan Loi and get some airspeed and altitude, which I immediately did.
As I made my turn to the west and reached ninety knots, Sergeant Scovel screamed, “Taking fire!”
He opened up. Mackintyre immediately did the same, and as quickly as it started, it was over.
“Chicken-man, Lobo Six-Eight. Over.”
“Lobo, I think we just took fire,” Bob reported.
“Roger, I saw it. Are we cleared to roll hot?” Lobo questioned.
“Affirmative, as there are no friendlies around here. I’ll report this to higher,” Bob indicated.
“Roger, Lobo’s hot.” And rockets began impacting in the area where we’d taken fire, which was a small clearing. We continued on to Quan Loi with a brief look back as Lobo unloaded all their rockets and some miniguns. Sergeant Scovel said he thought it was small arms, AK-47 most likely, from a couple of guys. They must not have seen the Cobras following us. It happened so fast I was unaware that we were even shot at.
“Is that your first time, Mr. Cory?” Mackintyre asked me.
“Getting shot at? Yeah,” I answered.
“Yahoo, Mr. Cory buys the beer tonight!” Sergeant Scovel chimed in. “Yes!”
“What?” I shout.
“First-timers buy the beer for the crew,” Mackintyre explained. “Thanks, Mr. Cory.” Bob just sat there smiling at me. I was definitely seeing a pattern here about lessons and beer. Returning to Quan Loi, we refueled the aircraft and bade farewell to Lobo, who had been released from our mission, parking the aircraft. Our ride showed up and we headed back to the TOC and the S-3 air.
“I understand you did better than expected out there, giving me a real no-shit position. Where were they and how many?” the captain asked.
