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As the crew policed up our garbage and closed up the C-ration box, I explained to them our cargo for this trip. This wasn’t the first time, but we never got used to hauling the dead out. From Song Be, someone else would fly these grunts to Camp Gorvad for their final trip home.
As we approached the PZ, Rick called for the smoke and made our landing with a ground guide. When we touched down, there were two groups of four standing soldiers, one group on each side of the aircraft. With each group was a wrapped poncho lying on the ground. The ponchos were tied, but it was obvious that these were boys making their final trip home. I wondered what their families were doing right now. Soon they would have a visit from an officer, who was normally accompanied by a chaplain. Casualty notification officer was not an assignment that anyone volunteered for. The days of just a telegram from the Pentagon had ended in early 1967.
The crew concentrated on watching the ground and rear of the aircraft as we flew back. They didn’t like seeing the dead on the aircraft.
I mumbled a prayer that I had written. “May they soar with the angels on wings of eagles; may they watch over those they loved and those who loved them; may they rest in peace until we all gather for the final formation.”
Returning to LZ Snuffy, we resumed our backhaul and resupply, and when finally released, we had racked up another twelve-hour day with a hour-and-forty-five-minute flight to get home. Rick had done good today and had risen to the occasion, I was glad to tell the CO that night.
Chapter 42
And the Beat Goes On
The next day we were back, but this time to LZ Jamie with a six-two package. We were going to be doing combat assaults all day, it appeared, and the brigade was controlling it all. The Third Brigade was a good outfit to work for, and I had done so many times in the past sixteen months. As we were waiting to refuel our aircraft at the refuel/rearm point that had been established, two helicopters landed, but I couldn’t tell what make or model they were. They weren’t Army aircraft but Navy, and painted blue. Everyone’s curiosity was piqued. What the hell was the Navy doing so far from the ocean, which was at least a hundred and fifty miles away? Had they really gotten that lost?
After they shut down, the pilots came over and asked who was in charge.
“In charge of what?” I asked.
“This whole operation,” the lieutenant junior grade answered, attempting to muster some authority. His rank was the same as first lieutenant in the Army.
“That’d be the TOC. I’ll take you up there. I’m Lieutenant Cory. What are you guys doing here?” I asked as we started walking.
“We were told to fly up here and help find cache sites. Normally we’re dropping sonar buoys and listening for subs, but we have the capability to drop magnetometers and pick up metal.”
“How ’bout that? How does that work, and what kind of aircraft is that?” I asked.
“Our aircraft are Sikorsky SH-3As, Sea Kings. We fly off the ship and they direct us to where they think a sub may be. We come to a hover and drop the magnetometers on a cable into the water and watch for a reading on the oscilloscope. If we get a hit, we drop a torpedo.”
“Let me get this straight—you’re going to fly to a point and hover while you drop that thing into the jungle. Is that right?”
“Yeah.” And we continued to walk. I was thinking, Buddy, you have no idea about this, do you? When he was hovering over the water, no one was hiding and shooting an AK-47 up his ass. It didn’t take him long to learn, however. Very first time out, Charlie let him know that there would be no hovering with a magnetometer hanging down into the jungle. They were going to have to develop a new tactic for this to work. And they did. The next day they were back, and while they continued to operate for a couple of more days, the magnetometer was strapped to the wheel struts of the aircraft and they flew at sixty knots over the jungle. Don’t know how effective they were, but at least the Navy was with us in spirit.
A few days later, things didn’t go as well. Coming out of a hot LZ, a door gunner, PFC Kittleson, took a round in the armpit, which wasn’t covered by the chicken plate, and died before he could receive medical attention. A couple of days later, a formal memorial service was held in the afternoon. It was the only time I ever recalled the unit hosting such a service. PFC Kittleson was a very popular kid, and his loss was felt throughout the company. But the missions continued.
“Lieutenant Cory, you have Night Hawk tonight,” the ops clerk informed me as I returned to Lai Khe with a damaged aircraft around noon. “We just got the mission, and you’re the only AC back here with experience flying that mission. You best get some sleep this afternoon. I’ll wake you around eighteen hundred.”
“Okay, but my aircraft is done for today, so it’s going to have to be another with crew.”
“I’ll get with maintenance and see what they have. I’ll try to get it instrument equipped in case you hit bad weather,” he added as I walked out.
At 1800 hours, I was deep in a pleasant dream when it was interrupted by the ops clerk. “Lieutenant Cory, you have a nineteen hundred departure. Specialist Grossman is getting the aircraft ready now.”
“Okay, I’m awake,” I stated as I rolled out of bed and started getting dressed. When I arrived at the aircraft, Specialist Grossman had it ready with the M2 .50-cal mounted and the searchlight and starlight scope in the cargo door. Specialist Jones was on the searchlight tonight with Specialist Leonard on the .50-cal. Grandpa was occupying the copilot seat, which I found reassuring.
“Evening, gents, are we ready?” I asked as I climbed up to inspect the rotor head.
“Everything looks good,” Grandpa came back. “Did you bring any cigarettes?” I ignored him. Grossman gave me a thumbs-up, as did Leonard.
“Okay, we’re going to Song Be to refuel and then out to LZ Jamie to work with Third Brigade. We’ll meet up with Lobo and a flare ship up there. The flare ship is coming from Bravo Company. Not sure who’s flying Lobo tonight,” I explained to the crew. In the Snake Pit, I could see someone preflighting an aircraft and assumed it was our cover bird for the night. The Cobra was a much faster aircraft, so he could launch later and still get to Jamie before me.
The flight to LZ Jamie was uneventful, much to my pleasure. At LZ Jamie, we shut down just as Lobo and the flare ship arrived. When they were ready, the pilots all headed into the TOC for the mission brief.
“Evening, Lieutenant Cory,” greeted the operations officer S-3.
“Evening, sir. Let me introduce the other pilots tonight.” And I proceeded to introduce everyone. Seldom did Cobra pilots meet with operations officers as the Cobra was generally in a support role to the lift aircraft and generally arrived after the mission brief was given to flight leaders.
“Here’s what we have for you tonight.” He pointed at the map of the area. “We have indications of vehicle movement on this road and want you to check it out. Start where this bridge crosses the river and go northeast.”
