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We had been working the morning resupplying companies, and all was going well. Dad was doing a good job of clearing the aircraft down in hover holes. Then we picked up the first load of troops for an insertion. I looked back and saw some discussion going on between the soldiers but didn’t think anything of it. Suddenly someone was pulling on my shirt.
“Hey. Hey, what’s your rank, sir?” a young soldier asked as he attempted to see my insignia on my collar.
“I’m a warrant,” I explained. “Why?”
“Well, sir, you have a major for a door gunner. How bad did he screw up?” he asked with all seriousness.
I passed that on to my crew, and we had a good laugh, to include Dad. As this was his first combat assault, I had briefed him on what to do and when to do it. Although this was Dad’s first helicopter combat assault, he wasn’t a stranger to combat. In World War II, he had served aboard the USS Lexington in the Battle of the Coral Sea, manning a 20 mm antiaircraft gun until the order to abandon ship was given. He then served aboard submarines for the duration of the war in the Pacific.
We were in the Chalk Five position of a six-ship lift and would be making three turns to the landing zone, with six grunts on each trip. It was a narrow landing zone, so we went into trail formation. At H minus six, the artillery began hitting the LZ; at H minus two, the Cobras rolled in with rockets and miniguns.
At H minus one, I said, “Door gunner, open fire!” Immediately a green tracer reached up and we had a hot LZ, with Chalk Two taking a hit and smoke coming from his engine.
“Mayday, Chalk Two is going down.”
“Chalk Three is taking fire.”
“Yellow One is going long and taking fire.”
We were committed now, with Chalk Two landing on the edge of the LZ, and it was a hot LZ. My crew chief was ripping the tree line with machine-gun fire, but crap, I wasn’t hearing anything from my dad’s gun.
“Dad, open fire. Dad!” Nothing. Thinking he was hit, I looked back over my right shoulder, expecting to see him slumped over his gun. But no, he had his monkey harness on, which I’d insisted upon, and was standing on the skids, hanging out with only the strap holding him, taking pictures of the flight going in and the soldiers in the back of my aircraft shooting their rifles.
“Taking damn pictures,” I bellowed. “Dad! Get your ass back on that gun.”
He got back behind the gun and started shooting the tree line. We took no hits, and the mission was completed. However, when we arrived at the refuel point, Dad and I had a one-sided conversation about the duties and responsibilities of the door gunner in a combat assault. He knew he’d screwed up, and to his credit, he took his ass chewing in a professional manner. He knew he deserved it for leaving us unprotected and for scaring the crap out of me.8
The next day, I h
ad arranged for him to fly in an OV-10 Bronco. The Bronco was an Air Force aircraft used for adjusting air strikes. It was a twin-engine split-tail aircraft with tandem seating for the pilot and one other. Dad had spent the evening with the pilot that would fly the mission and was ready the next morning. He spent the day putting in air strikes and totally enjoyed himself, it seemed as he related the day’s activities that night in the club over beer. In typical fighter pilot fashion, it was all hand motions demonstrating how the Bronco dove, rolled upside down and fired his rockets to mark the target.
“I noticed one thing different about those Air Force pilots from you guys. Air Force pilots seem to be outgoing and always in positive moods, versus you guys, who seem withdrawn and pensive,” he explained.
“Dad, an Air Force pilot is that way because he’s flying a machine that wants to fly and if left alone will generally fly quite well on its own. In addition, compared to a helicopter, an airplane has very few moving parts that can cause a serious malfunction. On the other hand, helicopter pilots fly a machine that does not want to fly and only does so by the interactions of the pilot to balance four forces all opposed to each other. Plus, a helicopter has lots of moving parts, any one of which breaking can and does cause a major disaster. Helicopter pilots are moody because we know something is going to break if it hasn’t already done so.” That gave the old man something to think about.
Chapter 23
Cherry Broken
Flying for the past ten months in-country, I had been fortunate. I had only one broken chin bubble and one tail rotor strike to blemish my record. I had been shot at but never hit. I was a cherry. Most other pilots had already had at least one hole in their aircraft. Dave’s was the only aircraft we had lost to enemy action, and that still hurt. I had my own aircraft and crew chief and we clicked pretty good. Specialist Linam was older and more mature than most of the others. My door gunner was a different story.
Actually, Specialist Francis was a good door gunner, but he had rotated back to the States the day before. What I was getting was totally new to me and new to the unit, as he had just transferred in from the infantry. This was to be his first mission. I woke up that morning with a weird feeling. A sense of dread hung over me. I had never had the feeling and couldn’t shake it. Something wasn’t right. I did an extra-good preflight. We had an early-morning takeoff, and Private Johnson, my new door gunner, was late. Specialist Linam went to find him, and I could hear Linam cussing across the Chicken Pen. Private Johnson was the recipient of the verbal attacks. Seemed Private Johnson had rolled over and had gone back to sleep after he had been told to get to the flight line.
When Private Johnson got to the aircraft, I asked him if he was going to bring the guns. “I thought they would be on the aircraft already,” he said.
“What made you think that? You know they’re kept in the arms room at night,” I asked.
“I thought you would have gotten them,” he said.
I went ballistic and approached him with my face in his. “I don’t mind doing someone else’s job coordinated ahead of time, but don’t just expect me to do yours, Private. Now get those damn guns, and don’t forget the ammo.” Now besides not feeling right, I was pissed. Could this morning get any better? Careful what you wish for. The only thing that saved Johnson was a jeep coming by. I stopped it and had it take him to get the guns and the six thousand rounds of ammo that we carried. When he got back, he started mounting the weapons along with Specialist Linam.
Then Specialist Linam went ballistic, “Holy shit, this stuff is filthy! Did you clean them last night?”
“No, I thought that other guy would have done that,” Private Johnson mumbled.
“Johnson,” I exploded after seeing the condition of the guns and ammo, “the first stop we make today, you will strip these guns and get them cleaned. If we take fire today before you get them cleaned, I hope to God you’re the one that takes the hit. Now let’s go.” We cranked the aircraft and got off a few minutes late, which I made up and joined the rest of the flight.
En route, Yellow One gave a briefing. “Flight, this is Flight Lead. We’re picking up a company at the airfield in Song Be and inserting them along the river.” He gave the coordinates of the landing zone, which I was plotting on my map while my copilot flew. Russel had been in the unit for about three months and all indications were that he was going to be a fine aircraft commander. He was patient and unflappable and had a great sense of humor. “We’ll have three turns landing in staggered right formation. Landing will be from south to north.”
