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Sitting back at my aircraft, I was bothered by the events of the morning. Had I screwed up? I should have insisted that the artillery shift to that ridge at H minus two. I knew nothing about missiles and had never seen one. Why the hell didn’t we have any intel on these things? What was their range? How low did we have to fly to avoid them? How could we throw them off? Too many questions and no answers. In the distance, I could hear a Huey approaching. I hoped the TOC had told him to avoid the ridge, although several Blue Max aircraft were out there pounding the ridge with rockets. The arriving Huey came in to land next to my aircraft and I saw Major Sundstrum at the controls. He climbed out and with all his gear approached me.
“Dan, have your copilot get in my aircraft. I’m flying with you for this last mission.” Shit, someone had lost confidence in my ability to be flight leader. My spirits plunged to the bottom of my gut, and at this point I didn’t think it possible to go any lower. I informed my copilot that he was going back in the CO’s aircraft, and he removed his gear. The major didn’t appear to be happy, and I suspected that someone had gotten on to him about me screwing this operation up. It was time to launch for this last mission.
“Sir, you want the left seat?” I asked.
“No, you’re AC. I’ll right seat on this one.” He began placing his gear in the right seat, giving the “crank them up” signal. The other crews began preparing their aircraft. When all was ready, I made the call.
“Flight, this is Yellow One on the go.”
Off to the right, we could see that Blue Max wasn’t letting up on pounding that ridge. More aircraft had joined the assault, and it appeared as if a hive of hornets had been unleashed. I wouldn’t be surprised if an air strike had been called in on the place.
“Yellow One, Chalk Six, flight’s up.”
“Roger,” I responded, my thoughts about the ridge interrupted.
“I got it if you please,” the major said. A bit unusual for the right seater to ask to take the controls, but I let him have it. I guessed I should get it out as to why he was here and the ass chewing I knew was coming, so I switched our intercom to private.
“So, sir, how pissed is Battalion at me for this mess?”
“What are you talking about?” He looked at me with some degree of surprise. “What did you do?”
“Sir, I lost a bird this morning. A Blue Max got blown out of the sky on the lift this morning,” I answered.
“I know nothing about it. What happened? Is that why Blue Max is working that ridge over?”
“Yes, sir. As he went into his dive, something— a rocket, a missile—came off that ridge and nailed him. Took the tail boom right off, I’m told.”
“Did you see it?”
“No, sir, he was behind and above me.”
“Well, that’s not why I’m here. Battalion wanted me here for this last lift out of Cambodia. I told them you could handle it, but everyone is watching and it has to come off on time. Be thankful I’m here, because if it goes to hell, it’ll be my ass, not yours, that they’re going to be chewing on.”
“Shit, sir, I thought Battalion sent you out here to relieve my ass because of the downed Cobra.”
“Nope. Let’s just pull off this last lift without any problems,” he said before he switched off the private intercom. And we did pull it off.
Chapter 45
Darker Days
“Flight, this is Yellow One. We have an eighteen-sortie mission in a two-ship LZ. We’ll go in two, two and two with one-minute separation. With six aircraft, we’ll do three turns. The LZ has some stumps in it, so be careful, and it’s on a slope, so the grunts may have to jump a few feet. Our approach will put the upslope under the nose. You may not be able to touch down. Now for the bad news: we can’t linger as it’s expected to be a hot area. Gunners, be on your toes. Chalk Six, give me an up when all birds are loaded.” To my crew, I said, “You guys have any questions?”
My copilot was a captain that was an AC also, and I had all the confidence in the world in his ability.
“Yellow One, Chalk Six, all birds are up.”
“Roger, Chalk Six.” Switching radios, I
called the battalion commander for the mission.
“Sandbagger Six, Chicken-man One-Niner. All aircraft up and loaded. I have H minus ten and am departing. Over.”
“Roger, Chicken-man One-Niner, H minus ten and departing,” he came back to me as we were climbing out to head for our initial checkpoint, which should be H minus six and the start of the arty prep fires.
“Yellow One, all aircraft are up, staggered right,” said Chalk Three.
“Roger. Chalk Three and Five, take up one-minute separations.”
