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“Stop. Slide right,” came the command. I eased the controls to inch the aircraft to the right.
“Stop. Clear down right.”
“Clear down left.”
“Clear down front.”
This continued until I felt the skids touch the ground. Immediately the ammo was kicked out, but the staff sergeant wasn’t moving. The major was talking to him, but he just sat there with a pissed-off look.
“Mr. Roberts, I think we have a no-go with this staff sergeant. He’s refusing to get off the aircraft,” the crew chief said.
Sur
e enough, the major pulled out a card and started reading him his rights. Somebody was going to be facing a court-martial. The major took his weapon and made him put on a seat belt as the empty water cans and mail sacks were tossed on board. Once everything was on, the ground guide gave a thumbs-up.
As in our descent, I had to stop and move the aircraft to clear some tree limbs before I could continue. As we cleared the last of the trees, I pulled in full power and nosed the aircraft over to build speed and stay at contour level. I liked this contour flying, recalling someone telling me to watch out for the occasional limb that would be higher than all the others and attempt to smack the aircraft. Mike finally reached over and took the controls. I pried my fingers from their death grip on the controls.
“You need to relax,” he told me. “For your first hover hole, you did good, but that was an easy one. You’re going to get some that, when you get to the bottom, you won’t be able to see much of the sky above you through the overlapping canopy. You have to trust your crew to keep you cleared.”
“Mr. Cory, was that your first hover hole?” asked the gunner. I knew what was coming.
“Yeah, and I’m buying the beer tonight.”
“All right, you’re learning fast, Mr. C,” chimed in the crew chief. Maybe I needed to take more than fifty dollars a month in pay and put less in the bank, I thought.
When we reached the log pad, a first sergeant was standing there and took the staff sergeant and weapon from the major. Together they escorted the staff sergeant to the TOC as we were loaded for our next run. Mike was taking us in and I was working the radios. This wasn’t bad, as it was a small clearing about twice the size of the aircraft with about two feet of water covering it. We kicked off the ammo and they tossed in what needed to go back and we departed.
We had been flying for about an hour and a half, so Mike asked that we go back to Quan Loi to refuel. They wanted us to stop at the log pad before we went as they had pax to get back. Mike gave me the controls, and as I made the approach, I saw the two homeward-bound soldiers standing there, along with one major, one first sergeant and one staff sergeant with no weapon. As they loaded, the major talked to Mike. He wanted to go to the brigade pad before we went into refuel and have us pick them up when we were done.
When we landed at the brigade pad, there were two MPs with a pickup truck waiting and a jeep. The homeward-bound grunts were loaded into the jeep. The major and NCOs climbed into the truck with the MPs. We moved to refuel and were told to shut down when we got back to the pad. It was getting along towards lunch, so no tears from us.
We arrived back at the aircraft from lunch, and the major and first sergeant were just walking up. Loading the aircraft, we returned to the firebase and shut down, waiting for the afternoon missions. With nothing to do, the crew chief and door gunner decided to amuse themselves. Ant mounds were very plentiful, as well as ant holes, with an army of ants going and coming into each. The crew chief began pulling the heads off bullets and pouring the powder down the holes. After the hole was sufficiently full of powder, a cigarette was placed next to the hole. At first, nothing happened. Then the powder caught and began burning. In the confined space of the hole, it spewed forth like the tail end of a rocket, kicking burnt ants out. The bigger the hole, the more crispy ants came forth. It became a game of how many ants you could cook. Boredom has a way of making the mind creative. Finally word came that the units were ready for resupply, and supplies that had been sitting next to the pad were loaded. The first load was thirty full water cans. I started the aircraft while Mike worked the radios. He took the controls once we were at full power and I took over the comms.
Mike brought us to a three-foot hover and checked his power. Once he was satisfied, we accelerated forward and headed for the first location. As the units had moved during the day, each PZ was new and the location was passed to us over the radio as we were airborne. Coming up on Charlie Company’s location, we called for smoke and it came drifting up through the canopy. No wind was indicated, and Mike took us in, coming to a hover over the bomb crater clearing. Again, the crew cleared him down, careful not to tap any tree limbs.
Coming out was a reverse of going in. Flying back, he gave me the controls for the next return trip. We would be going back into the same hole. Once loaded and returning, I went over what I was going to do as I was going to make a different approach to a final, but as we were heavy, I had to use what wind we had. As I came to a hover over the hole, the crew went into overdrive and talked me down. At times like this, you just thought about moving a control because you were moving the aircraft inches in many cases or pivoting the aircraft several degrees to move the tail boom away from a potential tree strike. By the time I came out and cleared the trees, my fatigues were soaked with perspiration. This would keep up for another three hours, with a break to Quan Loi for fuel. When we were finally released, it was getting dark as we headed back to the Chicken Coop. I was mentally drained and physically worn out.
“Mike, can I have one of your cigarettes?” I asked, reaching for the pack before he could answer.
“I thought you didn’t smoke,” he said.
“I don’t,” I responded as I inhaled and started to relax.
Arriving back at the company area, Mike and I headed to the mess hall for some chow. Taking a table with Lou and another warrant, we were discussing the day’s activities when Captain Bullock came in with another RLO, a first lieutenant. Approaching the table next to us, where two other RLOs were already seated, Captain Bullock began with introductions.
“This is Lieutenant Weed,” he said, indicating the new pilot.
LT Weed was tall and lanky, with long blond hair reminding me of a California surfer, which he claimed he was during his introduction. We didn’t pay much attention until someone asked him for his first name. “Richard,” was his response.
Lou couldn’t let that one go. Looking at the four of us, he said, probably loud enough to be heard by the group, “Lieutenant Dick Weed.”
We couldn’t keep it in—all three of us were in hysterics. Lou maintained a straight face, standing up and turning to Lieutenant Dick Weed to introduce himself.
“Welcome, sir, I’m Lou Price. DEROSing back to the States next month,” he said and left the mess hall.
Lieutenant Dick Weed was in Vietnam on his first tour, and he would prove to be a cocky guy. If he wasn’t in charge of something, he tried to make himself in charge and on more than one occasion was put in his place by a flight leader or an aircraft commander. He arrived in the unit before I made aircraft commander, so I was fortunate enough never to fly with him.
That night, with a beer in hand, I went to find someplace to be alone and think. I went to the most secluded spot we had, the top of the bunker. Except I found I wasn’t alone for very long. As I was sitting there contemplating life, Bill Hess dragged himself up but stopped as soon as he realized that this seat was already taken.
