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“It appears I have three flyable aircraft but no comms with Yellow Three. Over.”
“Roger, Yellow One. I have eighteen pax for you to take back to Dog Breath Six’s location. They’re on the pad waiting for you.” Mike heard the comments from his crew and could imagine what was being said in the other aircraft.
“Roger Crescent Six, understand another turn of three to Dog Breath Six’s location.”
Crescent did not respond. Mike continued heading for Bu Gia Map. Three had joined up at this point, and using hand signals, Mike had figured out that Three had lost his radios. Turning to Reid, Mike told him to take the aircraft.
“I have the aircraft,” Reid said. Mike grabbed a cigarette from off the center console and took a long drag. It seemed to calm his nerves. He looked behind him. Sitting on the floor were five grunts. All had bandages to some degree. One had an expended morphine syringe stuck through the collar of his shirt and a red M on his forehead. Mike passed his lit cigarette back to the closest man and proceeded to light up four more and pass them back. The looks on the grunts’ faces let him know they appreciated the gesture.
As the aircraft approached the firebase at Bu Gia Map, medical personnel were standing by, guiding the aircraft down. As the wounded were offloaded, six grunts climbed onto each aircraft. Mike had the flight roll back to flight idle and climbed out of his aircraft, telling Reid he would be right back. Walking back to Yellow Three, Mike came to realize why he hadn’t heard from him. The entire nose of the aircraft was stitched with holes. Mike stood there for a minute looking at the nose and couldn’t believe both pilots were alive. He climbed up on the aircraft commander’s skid. Sinkey looked like he wanted to vomit, so Mike stepped back and gave him plenty of room. When Sinkey finished, his crew chief handed him a bottle of water to rinse his mouth.
“Are you okay, Sinkey?” Mike asked.
“Yeah, must have been something I ate for breakfast,” he replied. Mike knew it wasn’t something he ate but the rush of adrenaline that was kicking in. It had happened to Mike once.
“What the hell happened?” Mike pointed at Sinkey’s instrument panel, which was shot to pieces along with the radios in the center console.
“Going into the LZ on approach, we flew right over some dude with a PKM machine gun and he opened up on us. I was committed, so I really couldn’t do anything. I think a grunt got him once he stood up to shoot at us. Aside from no radios, things seem to be okay. I think we took one through a blade from that whistling sound, but aside from that, not leaking anything and the engine sounds fine. I guess we’re going back in,” he said, looking at the grunts climbing aboard his aircraft.
“Yeah, we’ll take this load into the LZ that I went in on and then back to Song Be to refuel. You good for that?”
“Yeah, we’ll just follow you.”
“No, I want you to move to the two position. That way Ron can keep an eye on you. We’ll go in staggered right once we leave here—okay?” Mike said.
Sinkey gave him a thumbs-up and Mike headed back to his aircraft, stopping long enough to tell Fender of the change in position. Arriving back at his aircraft, he climbed in and directed Reid to take them out.
“Okay, you have the aircraft. Same LZ as before and hopefully same touchdown point. You got it,” Mike said.
“I got it,” responded Reid, and off they went, climbing to altitude. Looking over his right shoulder, Mike saw Sinkey coming into the two slot in the flight.
“One, this is Three, flight is up.” It was Fender’s voice, Fender having taken over the three position.
“Roger,” Mike responded. He switched frequencies. “Crescent Six, Yellow One is off Bu Gia Map, inbound to your location.”
“Roger, Yellow One, contact Dog Breath Six.” Switching to the FM frequency, Mike made the call. “Dog Breath Six, Yellow One.”
“Yellow One, Dog Breath Six, south end is secured. North end is still hot. Smoke will mark touchdown, over.” Small-arms fire could still be heard, but only sporadically and no machine-gun fire.
“Dog Breath Six, understood. Two minutes out.” He switched to company push. “Flight, south end of LZ is secured, north end is not. Smoke to mark our touchdown point. I’m coming out with an immediate left turn to avoid the north end. How copy?” Mike had forgotten that Three—now Two—had no radios.
“Three, roger. Remember, Sinkey’s radios are shot. He’ll just follow you.”
“Roger, Three. Stay close.” Reid began his approach, getting low and fast over the trees. With all the smoke fro
m the fight, it was easy to see where the landing zone was. As Reid passed over the south end, he began a rapid deceleration, knowing that Two and Three were right beside and behind him.
“Taking fire!” Smith yelled opened up with his M60, shooting behind the aircraft. Kelly followed suit with his gun.
“Three is taking fire,” Fender reported as his gunners were hosing the area behind him as well. Two had remained quiet as his radios were not working, but his gunner was firing as well.
“Dog Breath Six, Yellow One, we are taking fire on approach. You have bad guys to your south. Yellow One is short final.” And the flight landed and began a quick offload, with the grunts exiting the aircraft before it even touched the ground. The grunts had been trained that the aircraft was to stay no longer than three seconds in the LZ, and under fire, the grunts didn’t want to be on a landing aircraft more than two seconds.
Before Dog Breath Six could respond to Mike’s last call, the flight was airborne and departing the LZ.
“Chicken-man Yellow One, Crescent Six, over.”
I hope he’s calling to tell me we’re released. Mike keyed his mike switch. “Crescent Six, Chicken-man Yellow One, over.”
