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“Roger, Snake Six-One.”
“Song Be Arty, Chicken-man One-Two, end of mission, over.”
“Roger, Chicken-man, understand rounds complete. End of mission.”
“Roger, Song Be Arty. Nice shooting. Will get you a BDA as soon as the ground elements get in there.” The infantry unit would have to provide the Bomb Damage Assessment for Ritchie to report it.
This whole time, Zuccardi had been circling the aircraft to the south of the engagement, staying away from the incoming artillery and allowing Ritchie to adjust the rounds.
“Chicken-man One-Two, Snake Six-One.”
“Go ahead, Snake.”
“Roger, Chicken-man One-Two, recommend you make your approach south to north and stay away from the north. We’re moving into the area now, securing the landing zone.”
Ritchie turned to Zuccardi. “Did you get that?”
“Roger, I’ll come in south to north. Not much wind and we’ve burned off some fuel, so we should have plenty of power,” Zuccardi indicated, watching his instruments and his descent.
Ritchie smiled to himself. Zuccardi’s learning fast and showing he’s a thinking copilot. When they touched down in the landing zone, the Vietnamese grunts could be seen surrounding the landing zone and dragging a couple of prisoners out of the tree line, although they appeared less than coherent, which was typical if one had been on the receiving end of an artillery strike.
Offloading the supplies, Zuccardi came to a hover and climbed out to resume his flight back to the battalion firebase.
“Mr. Ritchie, we have to get back to Song Be and get this mess cleaned up. It stinks back here,” moaned Mondie.
Meanwhile, Lovelace had the Vietnamese soldier pouring what water was left in the empty water cans on the floor and scrubbing it down. Unfortunately, Mondie was getting the spray from the Vietnamese’s cleaning effort. Lovelace just continued to grin as Mondie launched into a tirade. The rest of the day was uneventful as Ritchie and crew continued to perform resupply missions for the Vietnamese troops. The prisoners were never flown back to the firebase, and Ritchie didn’t ask. The Vietnamese airborne unit wasn’t known for taking prisoners. The afternoon’s planned combat assault was canceled.
A few days later, Ritchie was back at the Third Brigade Tactical Operations Center or TOC, flying missions for the Vietnamese again. Coming up from behind him, Ritchie felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to see who it was.
“How you doing, Mr. Ritchie?” asked the US captain who was the advisor to the Vietnamese battalion Ritchie had flown for a couple of days ago.
“Doing good, sir. How ’bout you?”
“Good.”
“Sir, did you ever report a BDA on that unit that we put artillery on the other day?”
“Sure did. Nice work, by the way. It appears that what you destroyed with your artillery strike was a North Vietnamese resupply convoy using water buffaloes to carry heavy loads, moving south. That convoy stumbled into our rifle company just as you were bringing in the second sortie of resupply. The Vietnamese battalion commander has requested an Air Medal with ‘V’ for you and your crew. Should come through in a couple of weeks. Well done.”
“Thank you, sir, and my thanks to the battalion commander.” Ritchie didn’t ask about the three prisoners.
Chapter 6
Settle In
Specialist Jones was lying in his bed reading the latest Zane Grey cowboy novel. Well, at least latest to the unit.
“Hey, Jonesy, First Sergeant wants to see you,” called out Lockwood, the company clerk. Actually Lockwood was a 67N20, crew chief, but the first sergeant needed a company clerk who could type and the unit was overstocked with crew chiefs. One was even working in the mess hall as a cook. Lockwood got to fly some days but didn’t have an assigned aircraft. Normally each crew chief would be assigned one aircraft. He was responsible for the first level of maintenance for the aircraft at all times as well as the cleanliness of the aircraft. When the aircraft required a higher level of maintenance than what the crew chief was trained for, then he might accompany the aircraft or he might get a day off. Whenever the aircraft flew, the crew chief and the gunner served as the eyes in the rear of the aircraft and kept the pilot apprised of any hazards underneath or to the rear of the aircraft.
“Well, I don’t want to see him unless he has a seven-day R&R pass for me, and that ain’t gonna happen,” Jonesy responded. He had been pestering the First Sergeant to take his R&R for the past month.
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Alfonso Jones, better known as Jonesy, was a crew chief. Those that knew his first name dared not use it as Jones would become very upset. Jonesy had a down day from flying, but not from any “hey you” details the company first sergeant might come up with. Jonesy had been in-country about six months. He was single and hailed from Mississippi—Lower Mississippi, Cajun country.
Getting up off his bunk and out from under his mosquito net, Jonesy headed out the door, following Lockwood back to the orderly room. Upon entering, he noticed a new face standing beside the first sergeant.
“Jonesy, this is Private Jim Dorsey, your new door gunner. He’s new in-country. Get him settled in and squared away.” Turning to Dorsey, he added, “Any questions, ask him or your platoon sergeant.”
