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“Yeah, I was in a midair,” Mondie said, taking a pull on his beer and leaning back.
“So was I,” Patterson added, “Twice.”
“What, you guys have been in midairs! What happened? How did you live through it? Was anyone hurt?” Dorsey asked rapid-fire.
Looking up at the ceiling and rocking back in his chair, Mondie started to explain.
“I was crewing for Captain Butta back in August sixty-nine. A new pilot, Mr. Wood, was copilot that day. Don’t remember exactly how many aircraft were in the flight, but the PZ was a one-ship PZ, so we were in a left-hand orbit, trail formation, waiting for each aircraft to go in and come out before the next aircraft went in. We had a couple of Lobo Cobras covering us. We watched the aircraft before us spiral down and enter the PZ and watched him start to come out. That’s when Captain Butta told Mr. Wood to start his descent and a left turn. I was on the left side, and as I looked down and back, there’s this rotor blade pointing right at me and I’m eyeball-to-eyeball with the front seater in a Cobra. He had flown under us for some reason and was attempting to bank away from us as we began our descent. Our skids clipped his tail rotor. As soon as I saw him, I screamed and we banked sharp to the right, but it was too late. The Cobra started shaking and going down until he crashed in some low brush. Our skid was hanging off, so we got out of there and headed home. Another Huey, I don’t recall who, went to the Cobra, and the crew
chief rappelled down and got the pilots out. One had a broken leg, and I don’t know about the other. They both lived, I do know that.”
“How did you land with a skid hangin’ off? You couldn’t land,” Dorsey asked with a shocked look.
“Jim Barry from the Avionics Shop came out and met us in the revetment. Captain Butta hovered the aircraft over him while he disconnected the skids and then attached a new skid. He didn’t know we were almost out of fuel as we were hovering over him. If the engine had quit, it would have been all over for him,” Mondie explained.
“What about you?” Dorsey asked, looking at Patterson.
“I was flying in a two-ship insertion. We were lead, and as we started to depart the PZ, a couple of guys opened fire on us. The Peter Pilot in the other aircraft panicked and flew into us.19 No one was hurt, but the aircraft were messed up. A CH-47 had to come in and haul 277 out of there. We had to replace the main rotors and tail boom. That’s how we got our name, Chicken-man Rotary Connection,” Patterson went on to explain.
“Did you land in the same LZ?” Dorsey asked, leaning forward in his chair.
“We sure as hell weren’t going anywhere with the tail boom practically cut off. We got out and the grunts went after the gooks. We took the guns off the aircraft and set up a perimeter, waiting for the grunts to come back and secure the two birds. We got ahold of another Chicken-man aircraft and he called for our extraction,” Patterson said.
“What about the second time?” Dorsey asked.
“That was right here. I was flying with Mr. Lyle in a two-ship formation and we were on the runway for takeoff. Mr. Fender was the number two aircraft, and when we started to take off, his copilot was a bit too fast and ran over us. The rotor blades mixed and it made a hall of a noise. We set down right on the runway and had the birds towed back to Maintenance. The next day they were both up with new blades. I can tell you the CO was pissed.”
“Oh crap, I wouldn’t get back in another aircraft after that. I don’t like flying anyway. That would just do it for me.”
“You don’t like flying? What the hell you doing here? You volunteered to be a gunner, didn’t you?” Patterson asked.
“No, I was an 11 Bravo and got assigned to do this when I arrived in Nam. I didn’t volunteer for this assignment. I wanted to be a grunt,” Dorsey complained.
“Yeah, well, take this over that 11 Bravo crap. Here you get three hots and a cot. Out there you don’t get diddly-squat. Be happy.” With that, Mondie stood and headed to his bed. Stopping short, he turned. “Oh, and then there was the time that Mr. Fender had a midair with a Cobra in the parking area,” he added.
“I don’t want to hear about it. Enough,” Dorsey lamented.
“Nah, this was almost comical. Fender was hovering out to take the runway and a Cobra was coming in. They passed each other, thinking they had enough room to hover past. Nope. The rotor blades touched. The endcap tie-downs clipped each other. I guess you could say they were two rotor blades apart, but I don’t think that’s quite what that means. They both shut down a few feet apart and the blades were inspected. Didn’t even hurt the endcaps. Cranked them back up and flew them off. No damage, no foul.”
“Okay, I’ve heard enough. I’m going to bed. I’ll probably have nightmares tonight,” Dorsey moaned.
Patterson stood and started walking towards the door with a beer in hand. “I’m going to see if any chow is left over at the mess hall,” he said, leaving Mondie and Dorsey alone.
As Mondie got into bed, he said, “Hey, Dorsey, your ain’t going to have nightmares tonight. No, not tonight. You ain’t been here long enough to have them. You will, but not tonight and not about a story you heard. You’ll have them about your story. See you in the morning.” And Mondie rolled over.
Chapter 17
Stand-Down
Since the Cambodian Incursion had ended on June 30, 1970, activity in the III Corps region had become rather quiet immediately afterwards and for a couple of months. The incursion had destroyed much of the NVA supply caches, logistic bases and resupply lines that originated in the southern part of Cambodia at the port of Sihanoukville and came north to connect to the Ho Chi Minh Trail, which came south out of North Vietnam through Laos. Although the Sihanouk Trail was reduced by seventy percent, the Ho Chi Minh Trail was running at capacity. Struck heavily by B-52 bombers, the road was constantly under repair by an army of North Vietnamese dedicated to the cause.
Activity had been fairly quiet at Lai Khe, especially as there appeared to be fewer and fewer US personnel on the base. More ARVNs were noticed as they had taken over security for the perimeter, and the PX was down to the size of a 7-Eleven store back home. Rumor was that it was closing as well in the near future. Hooch maids were grumbling about lost jobs and guarding the company area vigorously, running off anyone that came around looking for work. About the only US units left were Lobo, Chicken-man and the Robin Hoods along with an MP unit that still patrolled Highway 13. They had almost collocated with Chicken-man. The only clubs left were the Chicken-man officers’ club and the Chicken-man EM club, and both were visited by everyone, since they were flying an aircraft each week to Saigon to pick up beer and liquor as well as soda. Another aircraft went once a week to the PX at Bien Hoa, taking whoever wanted to go to stock up on pogey bait.20
Some personnel issues were beginning to raise leadership challenges, which generally occurs when soldiers have little to do. Although US units in Vietnam were being sent home, personnel were still being shipped to Vietnam. Upon arrival, many were finding that there were no positions in the MOS that they had trained for. As a result, many soldiers were working in specialties that they weren’t trained for or didn’t care to perform, leading to morale problems. In addition, more and more draftees were arriving, and they questioned why they had been drafted in the first place if the war was winding down.21 Race relations back home were becoming tense, and that was carrying over to Vietnam, especially in rear-area units where individuals didn’t have to rely on their fellow man for survival.
Not helping the morale situation was the fact that the senior leadership was becoming more oriented towards military standards in dress, appearance and regulations. Military haircuts were more expected than in the past. Boots needed to be shined a bit better. Shirts were to be worn whenever outside or on the flight line. Hats should be worn whenever outside. Printed checklists for start-up and shutdown would be read and not done from memory. None of these points contributed to morale, safety or an efficient and effective fighting force. Then again, the fighting had dropped off considerably in the III Corps area.
Both clubs were doing a booming business since they were the only shows in town. The EM club advertised a foosball game and was holding tournaments. The officers’ club had its own entertainment, as someone had found a projector and about every fourth night a movie was shown. Night of the Living Dead gave everyone nightmares.22 When not being shown at the officers’ club, the movies would be over at the EM club. The other entertainment at the officers’ club was watching the drunk rooster. That bird wouldn’t drink beer but loved scotch, and for the price of one dollar, you could purchase a shot for the rooster. Drunk roosters cannot walk straight but put out their wings to steady themselves, allowing the tips to touch the ground. Everyone was really desperate for some entertainment.
