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There were none, and we cranked the aircraft and headed to the first stop. LZ Liz was set up on a small hill overlooking open areas and a view of the Song Be River, as well as the LZ where Johnson had been shot. Across the river was flat open ground for the most part for a quarter of a mile, then the hills started again. The sky was clear. Roy made contact with the TOC and I landed the aircraft. My concentration was momently broken when the 105 mm howitzer battery opened fire. Five guns going off at once tends to get one’s attention. They were shooting towards the east, the direction we were going to go when we left. The TOC asked us to shut down the aircraft as someone wasn’t ready to go. “Hurry up and wait” is a standing order for helicopter pilots and crews.
Sitting there, I also noticed that across the river on the edge of the LZ where Johnson had been shot, there was a small fire putting off white smoke. Must be a unit over there, I thought. Coming off the Razorbacks out of Tay Ninh one day, I had seen a small campfire putting up white smoke on the edge of a clearing. As I thought I knew the location of each unit in that area, I came in low and had the door gunners open fire. As soon as they did, green smoke grenades came flying out of the tree line. Shit! A US unit was there. I’d screwed up. Gaining altitude, we started to get out of there but decided to go back and see if we’d hurt anyone. Returning to the clearing and dropping in altitude, I made a slow pass. Out of the tree line came a soldier who gave us a thumbs-up. Everyone was okay. Lesson learned: don’t shoot at campfires.
Finally a US captain with a MACV shoulder patch came out of the TOC and gave the start it up signal. MACV stood for Military Advisor Corps, Vietnam. He was wearing a soft cap, starched fatigues and spit-shined boots. Trailing behind him was a Vietnamese captain about half the US captain’s size, wearing Ray-Ban sunglasses and starched fatigues as well. I was thinking these guys were Saigon warriors, and that was not a term of endearment or respect.
“Hey, guys, check out the perfume princess.” I indicated with a flick of my head as I started the aircraft. Linam looked over his shoulder at them.
“Which one you talking about?” asked Underwood.
“Both, come to think of it,” I responded.
Roy took the controls once everyone was strapped in. The artillery was still shooting in the direction we were going, so a decision had to be made. Would we take a flight that put us on the gun target line, or change our course and stay off the gun target line?
“We’re going to go contour out of here, down to the river, and cross at treetop level. That’ll keep us below the gun target line. Once across the river, we’ll turn slightly south and get off the gun target line and climb out,” he said. I said nothing. He was in charge and it sounded reasonable to me. You didn’t want to be flying an artillery gun target line.
He pulled in power and we came up. Once we were airborne and heading for the river, the small fire was right along our flight path. We were eighty knots and right down on the deck. As we passed over the fire, I looked through the chin bubble and stopped breathing. Five guys in khaki uniforms were standing up in slow motion. Time had just stopped in my mind. They were raising five AK-47s. I thought they were going to shoot at me and only me as I was the only thing they saw. They didn’t see the aircraft, but me passing over them. That was when the center console and all our radios exploded into pieces, just as Roy jerked the aircraft to the right. The sound of gunfire was deafening.
“I’m hit!” yelled Underwood. Roy was banking the aircraft towards Song Be.
“How bad?” asked Roy.
“Through my leg. The captain’s looking at it.” Suddenly my shoulder straps were being pulled and Linam was standing over me.
“Are you hit, Mr. C?” he screamed while patting my chest and shoulders. He had a first aid kit in his hand.
“What makes you think I’m hit?” Now I started checking myself out, thinking I might be in shock. Roy was attempting to make a radio call, but the radios were shot to pieces. The master caution light was on and the master caution warning was sounding, indicating some electrical problems. Engine and transmission oil pressure and temperatures were good, so no fear of the aircraft falling out of the sky.
“Sir, the way you were bouncing around in your seat, I thought for sure you were hit by several rounds,” Linam said, backing up a bit.
“Shit, I was trying to swat those rounds away from me.” I really felt stupid. I was attempting out of reflex to bat the incoming rounds away as if they were attacking bees. That had been close.
“Linam, are we trailing smoke?” asked Roy. He was about as cool as I had ever seen anyone under fire.
Hanging out of the aircraft, Linam said, “Sir, we have about four holes in the engine cowling that I can see, but there’s no smoke. How long before we get to Song Be?”
“We’re five out.”
“In that case, we should be okay. Do we still have oil pressure? How’s the temperature?”
“Pressure and temp are good.”
“Roy, just keep your airspeed up in case the engine suddenly dies. If you can get some altitude, so much the better,” I said. Roy knew what the hell he was doing, but I had to do something. As we approached the airfield at Song Be, an ambulance was waiting on the runway for us. Not really an ambulance, but a jeep with a stretcher in the back and two medics. Someone at brigade must have been notified from the battalion that we had taken fire and broken for Song Be rather than continue the mission.
“Guys, I’m coming in hot to make sure we can make the runway. Hang on.” And with that, Roy dropped the nose and set himself up for a low-level autorotation. However, the aircraft didn’t fail us but continued to fly just fine.
Once the aircraft was on the ground, I turned my attention to Underwood. I hadn’t had much time with him, but he was a good kid from the Mississippi bayou. His wound would be a million-dollar wound with the round passing clean through the meat of his leg. No major arteries were hit, and no broken bones. Some skin grafting would be necessary, and that was his ticket home. As they loaded him into an ambulance to go over to the aid station, he waved me over.
“Hey, Mr. Cory.”
“Yeah, you’re going to be fine,” I said as I grabbed his hand.
“I know. You be careful, sir, and trust in your feelings. You got something going with the spirit world. Someone is watching over you.” With that, the ambulance rolled away.
Roy came over to me, and we walked to the TOC.
“You got a cigarette?”
“Yeah, I thought you didn’t smoke.” He pulled out a pack and offered one to me with a lighter.
