Two days later Matt and Ellie noticed that their neighbor was working on the Loach again. “Mom, can we go next door?” Matt asked as they cleared their lunch plates and helped put away the dishes in the kitchen.
“OK,” she told them, “but do not stay too long. You have a Trail Life meeting tonight.”
“Yes ma’am!” Both kids bounded out the front door.
“Don’t wake the baby!” Mom half-heartedly cried as they slammed the front door and tore across the grass.
Both kids called as they ran, “Mr. Ed! Can we help?”
He put down the brush that he had been working with, “Sure, guys! We’ve got a bit of work to do today, I finally figured out how to mount the broken horizontal stabilizer!”
The rear-mounted stabilizer had been broken off in the Army yard, damaging the mounting bracket.
“We’ve got to clean these edges up a bit; then, we’re going to use some epoxy to replace the mount before driving a long bolt through the tail boom. The Beekeepers would never have done it this way, but then again, their aircraft needed to be able to fly. This one just needs to look pretty.” Matt nodded in agreement, remembering that the Beekeepers were the mechanics and repair crew for the 116th Assault Helicopter Company.
“Mr. Ed, you told use you’d tell us what ‘hooah’ meant?” Ellie reminded him.
“Hooah? Well, that’s an old Army term. It means a bunch of different things. It kind of depends on the context – when and how you say it. It can mean, yes, I understand, do you understand, or I agree with you – almost anything except no or negative. It can even be a greeting. Sometimes if folks are doing PT, or physical training, they will say ‘hooah’ instead of good morning when they pass each other. It is a way to express many different ideas in a quick easy way. Hooah?”
Matt and Ellie looked at each other for a moment, and then shouted back, “hooah!”
“Now, when we left off I was taking a trip to the flight line. Captain Jackson led me there, pointing out several buildings along the way – the radio shack, where we would draw portable radios; the armory, where we would get weapons and body armor; and finally, the flight line. Each aircraft was in a revetment, which is like a miniature fort, the sides were sandbags or old fuel drums. The engineers would cut the tops off the fuel drums, fill them with sand, and stack them. If you were lucky, they would put sandbags on top. Without the sandbags on top, the sand would blow all over the place, even if they sprayed oil on it. Jackson brought me to the fourth aircraft in the line and introduced me to Staff Sergeant James Peters, his crew chief.
“Peters had been on the flight to Bien Hoa and still sported the same worn out white t-shirt, without the body armor this time. The body armor and an M-16 rifle occupied one corner of the revetment while he worked on a Delta model Huey.
“‘Hi, Cap, is this your new Peter Pilot?’
“Jackson nodded, ‘Sergeant Peters, this is Lieutenant Harrison. Please go over the logs with him and bring him up to speed on the ship.’ Then, turning to me he said, ‘Harrison, listen to what this man says. He’s been there and done that. He’s the best crew chief in the company.’
“I spent the next several hours reviewing the maintenance log and flight log. I also inspected every nut, bolt, compartment, and instrument on that aircraft.
“‘Buzz on the flight line is there’s a big operation brewing – maybe the whole battalion. Have you had your check ride yet, sir?’
“‘No, not yet,’ I told him, ‘I’ve only been in country for about 72 hours.
“He shook his head a little, as he said, ‘Wow, 72 hours? I’ve had more leave from this place than that. It’s my second tour. I don’t plan to come back after this. I have a nice job lined up selling Buicks in Des Moines. This aircraft is in good shape. Only has a few patched up holes, and the major systems have never been damaged. A few of our birds are so patched up its amazing they fly.’
“Jackson came back, just before chow time, ‘Come on Harrison, lets grab a bite; then we can go to the pilots briefing tonight and get you on the flight schedule.’
“Off we went back down the path toward the main compound. Army food left a lot to be desired. Refrigeration was rare as far out as we were, so most of the food was reheated canned, powdered, or packaged stuff. Occasionally we got some bread or fresh fruit, but mostly just heated canned goods. Of course, when we forward deployed, or were on standby during missions or under mortar attack we got C-Rations. C-rations had everything you needed and nothing you wanted in a cardboard box. The best part about them was this little gadget.”
He fished his keys out of his pocket and showed off a small flat metal device. “This is a P51 or ‘John Wayne’ like the actor, it’s a can opener. C-rations had small cans, like soup cans. You used this and cut them open.”
“Anyway, chow – then the pilots’ meeting. At my first pilots’ meeting there were three main groups spread through the Officer’s Club. One group I recognized from earlier as the gunship pilots. They were the loudest. Two other groups I assumed were the lift platoons’ pilots. My sleeping roommates sat at one of these tables.
“Major Park stood up and moved to the front of the room, motioning everyone to settle down as he spoke, ‘Good evening men, the first order of business tonight. . .’ With this, he looked around the room, finally settling his eyes directly on me.
“‘Lieutenant Harrison, front and center!’ I was a bit nervous. I had heard rumors of hazing and indoctrination. Do you remember the fountain at Fort Wolters? I had no idea what to expect here. When I got to the front of the room, he motioned for me to turn and face the company. Then he signaled Sun, who started to turn up an AM radio. As he increased the volume, Major Park said, ‘Harrison, you have to sing a song. If you get the words right we will know you should not be a pilot. If you get the words wrong, we will know you are dumb and should not be a pilot. Either way, most of these guys think you shouldn’t be a pilot, so it’s your job to prove them wrong.’
“Now, most of the music I had listened to growing up was what is now called classic country, folks like Hank Williams. Most of what AFRN played was modern, at least at the time; rock, like the Rolling Stones. I did not know it too well and was sure to fail. Sun’s radio was now as loud as it would go.
“‘Sing!’ one of the gunship pilots called out.
“‘Sing-sing-sing!’ the rest of the company started chanting. The disc jockey finished his weather report, which was very redundant, hot, and humid, with storms. An electric guitar fired up then a drum added into the mix, electronic pop, with some folk themes. I had heard this one before but could not remember the lines so I started singing the chorus, sung by women in a spiritual style. Norm Geenbaum’s Spirit in the Sky. That song stuck with me through my whole tour. I fought my way through the first few verses before the crowd started jeering and booing violently. Eventually someone threw a canned drink at me, which I was able to dodge.”
“Hey! Isn’t that what’s painted on the nose of your helicopter in the picture, next to the Hornet logo?” Ellie asked, interrupting the story.
“That’s right. Well into my tour, we got a few new Hotel models, that photo is one of those that I got to name. From that first night on, the company teased me about being the ‘Spirit in the Sky’. That is what I choose to put on the nose of that aircraft.
“After the song finished the room erupted in applause. Whether they were glad it was over or enjoyed the entertainment, I’m not sure. Major Park stood back up saying, ‘Alright, I’m not sure quite what to think of that.’ Then he turned to the room, ‘This is 2nd Lieutenant Ed Harrison. He’s fresh from Ruckers and will be flying with Tim Jackson in 2nd Platoon for a bit. In other news. . .’ He went on with the briefing for about ten minutes before asking Captain Michael Miller, the Company Executive Officer, or second in command to step up. He talked about aircraft maintenance, parts, supplies, and things like that for a bit.
“Finally, Captain Dennis Moriarty, commander of the third platoon, or the gunships, stood up and delivered an intelligence briefing – talking about the different enemy units, weapons, and evolving tactics the company and battalion had been seeing around Cu Chi. This briefing lasted almost two hours. Men were getting restless, shifting in their seats, and Sun was antsy to start selling product again.
“Near the end, Major Park stood up again saying, ‘We’ve had a pretty slow week, I expect things to start picking up real soon.’ This statement came out as one of the most ominous things I had ever heard.
“Once the meeting was over, about half the men left. They headed back to their hooches to try to get some sleep. Two of those that stayed, I recognized from the hooch earlier. I walked over to their table and introduced myself. Awake, they were great company – 1st Lt Sam ‘Wolz’ Wolzowski, of Cleveland, Ohio and 2nd Lt. Charles ‘Chuck’ Sabatini, from a little town outside Philadelphia called Lansdale. Wolz, as everyone called him, was one of the senior pilots in second platoon; he had been in country almost ten months. Chuck had been there for about four months and had just graded into an Aircraft Commander roll. Having these two as hooch mates was great; they brought a ton of experience and perspective to my flying. They helped me learn how to manage my time, plan missions, and most importantly, combat stress. Later some of the new men would be bunked together, which really slowed down their development. We hung out talking until the club shut down around one in the morning.
“The next three days were a whirlwind. I bounced from shop to shop, signing for flight gear, hearing in depth intelligence lectures at the Battalion Headquarters with other new pilots, taking lessons on enemy identification, and suffering through a brutal daylong lecture on the rules of engagement or ROE. A small part of me was beginning to believe that I would never see a helicopter again, let alone fly one! Finally, Jackson caught me after chow one morning.
“‘Grab your gear. You need to preflight Light My Fire with Peters,’ Jackson instructed. I hustled to my hooch and grabbed my flak jacket and gun belt. I headed down to the radio shack and pulled an emergency portable radio. These small short-range units could call for a rescue if we were shot down. I also drew a Colt 1911 pistol, and then went to the revetments to find Peters. I had to duck into four or five shelters before I found the right one. Sure enough, the staff sergeant and his door gunner were hard at work. The engine compartment was open, and he was checking fluids, hose fittings, and couplings. I climbed up the access to the main rotor to inspect the Jesus nut, swash plate, gimbals, and control tubes. Then I worked my way down and around the outside of the aircraft. Each access door had to be checked and double-checked. Finally, I worked my way into the cockpit, powering the main systems with the battery. We checked radios and electronics, and then we prepped the starter.
“Once we finished the printed checklist Peters announced, ‘Now we wait. The ACs, or Aircraft Commanders, need to finish their briefing and preflight plan. Sometimes it is quick. Sometimes it takes a couple of hours. It all depends on what we were going to do.’
“We found some shade under the revetment wall. The men both stripped to their trousers and relaxed. One of them used a helmet for a pillow. About thirty minutes later Captain Jackson popped around the corner, ‘Let’s go.’ He told us. Peters and the door gunner, a muscle bound African American Specialist named Watts, jumped to their feet and started making the final preparations for flight. They put on their gear. Both wore t-shirts, flacks, and pistol belts, Watts had a huge bowie knife strapped to the back of his flack. A few canteens were stowed in the back. Finally, both men released the safety pin on their pylon mounted M-60 machine guns and made sure they moved freely around their pintle mount. Neither was loaded. They would take care of that just before we taxied to the flight line. Jackson made a cursory check of major systems, and hit the main power.
“He went through the prestart checklist by memory and announced, ‘Ready to start.’
“Taking his cue, I reached for the starter button and started turning over the Lycoming 1,100 horsepower engine. It started to whine, quickly coming to full idle as the rotor blade engaged and started spinning. Whoomp-whoomp-whoomp. We watched the gauges as the motor warmed up – monitoring the engine temperature, oil pressure, hydraulic pressure, transmission temperature, voltmeter, and every other gauge. Once the systems were all up to speed and temperature, Jackson called flight operations and received permission to taxi to the main runway. Taxing a three-ton aircraft creates a lot of wind. Sand started blowing everywhere. We could barely see in front of us as we eased off the ground. Teasing the cyclic forward, he directed thrust aft, quickly clearing the area in front of the aircraft and giving us a line of sight to the runway.
“Once at the runway, Jackson made a final radio call and received permission for takeoff. I noticed we were taking off alone, assuming that meant we were not going on a combat lift. Jackson told me to sit on my hands, as he added power and collective, nosing over and getting enough speed up to make a clean take off. We circled up and away from Cu Chi, moving west over the jungle.
“‘That’s route three. It crosses the river up there before getting into Indian country. There are a bunch of FOBs and Firebases up there; most of them are up on hilltops where they are easy to see. The Muleskinners haul a lot of gear out here, right there,’ Jackson pointed out the starboard side of the Huey, ‘One of their -47s went down. The arty piece on their sling got to oscillating, and it threw their center of gravity off. The crew could not drop the sling. The poor men did not have a chance. The -47 rolled, stalled, and dropped like a brick out of the sky. Our medevac bird took fire on the way in, so they called out the Stingers. They suppressed the whole area and landed a platoon of infantry. Grunts lost like a dozen guys – we’d landed them right on top of a VC company – all because of a freak accident.’”
“I guess I should slow down for a moment. You two look a little confused. What’s on your mind?” Mr. Ed asked, knowing he had thrown around some new terminology and slang.
“Well,” Matt asked first, “what is sling loaded arty?”
Mr. Ed ducked under the Loach, “See this?” he asked pointing to a bracket between the landing gear. “On the Hueys, and the bigger transport aircraft, they could take a big rope and hook it up to a piece like this. They’d rig a disconnect pin as a fail-safe that the crew chief could pull and drop the load. Sometimes there was a net at the end of the rope, Sometimes they would hook up to cannons or jeeps or crates. It just depended what they needed in the field. One time, one of our men sling loaded a big commercial refrigerator into Cu Chi so we could have cold drinks. Anyway, everything has a center of gravity. As long as forces are balanced, things stay right side up. When you sling a heavy load, the center of gravity moves, which can make the set up wobble. In this case, they planned to sling artillery, arty for short. This was a big cannon, and it started to swing back and forth like the pendulum in a clock. Apparently the disconnect device failed and the swinging got worse. It got so bad that it pulled the aircraft, a CH-47 Chinook or -47 onto its side. That changed the rotor blades angle of attack and caused them to lose lift, without lift a helicopter falls. If you’re falling level you can try to auto rotate, but if your nose is down there’s nothing for the blades to grab onto.”
Matt was nodding in understanding, but Ellie still looked confused. Mr. Ed pulled out a string and tied a screwdriver to it. He swung it back and forth for a minute then handed it to Ellie, “Feel how it pulls your hand each time the screwdriver swings? Well, if you were carrying something like a cannon, weighing 3,000 pounds, that swinging would really pull hard, hard enough to flip a helicopter on its side.”
Her face brightened, “Oh I see, like a yo-yo!”
“The artillery batteries, which are like companies, had to move around a lot. If they spent too much time in one place the enemy would find them and do what’s called counter-battery fire, trying to destroy the guns. The big Chinooks were the best helicopters for moving the guns and ammunition; we moved their crews quite a bit – each time they moved, sometimes between Forward Operating Bases (FOBs) or into a new area. Most had six or seven guns, a dozen or so trucks, plus pallets of ammunition and about 110 men. Sometimes they could truck from place to place, but there were rarely roads to the hilltops they wanted to use.
“Spread all around the jungle in Vietnam were Forward Operating Bases. These bases were semi-permanent. Most were on hilltops, but some were near villages. They usually had cleared fields around them with barbed wire obstacles. Most had their own mortar sections and, usually, at least a reinforced company of grunts. These FOBs were like magnets for the bad guys. There would be trenches around the outside with bunkers and lookout towers, and lots of machine guns and minefields. Many times, we would pick up troops from a FOB and bring them out on a patrol. More than once, we evacuated an FOB that was under attack. Our gunships, the Stingers, would attack around the edge of the FOB, blasting away into the trees. The slicks could then fly in and pick up whatever troops needed to go.
“Most FOBs were in range of at least two Fire Bases. These were like big FOBs where the artillery was stationed. A few of these were big – big enough that the VC could not drop their mortars onto the artillery positions. One of these big Fire Bases we worked out of a lot, LZ West. We picked up lots of troops there and brought them all over the Western part of III Corps’ Area. The Army had built a network of large bases, supporting smaller bases, which supported even smaller bases all over the place. These bases sent teams into the field to hunt down the North Vietnamese Army and the Viet Cong – sometimes on foot, sometimes on vehicles, but usually by helicopter. Anyway, that’s a little background information about what things looked like around LZ West and Cu Chi. Ready to hear more about that first flight?”
The kids nodded.
“Well, the Chinook site was pretty impressive. When it crashed, it started a fire that burned up most of the Chinook. The Army had not salvaged the hulk so the massive skeleton of the Chinook was still there, lying on its side. The infantry sweep had recovered the bodies and made sure that the destroyed anything important.
“We pressed on making some wide sweeps around burnt orange hilltops. Occasionally Jackson would point out landmarks – Fire Base Echo, FOB Smith – each one looking just like the last. I had no idea how anyone could tell the difference between these things. I knew right then that I would have to hit the topographic maps a lot harder if I was ever going to learn how to find my way around.
“After thirty minutes of flying, Jackson said to me, ‘See that big cleared area at our two o’clock?’ (Two o’clock is just off the nose out my starboard, or right, side windscreen.) ‘That’s Fire Base Bravo. We’ve got to pick up a scout team there. Always call before making your approach, they could be lobbing arty in any direction, and you do not want to share sky with them. All right, I want you to make the approach. Our LZ, or landing zone, is on the south side of the compound, just west of the truck farm. Ship is yours.’
“Jackson made the radio call and got the all clear, as I grabbed the controls and began to fly in country. We approached in a wide arch, coming from east to west, the last few hundred feet using a spiral approach. This did a couple of things for us. First, the door gunners could see everything around as we spiraled in. Second, we would not be very low over the surrounding forest, which was enemy territory, where I spotted a dozen or so cargo trucks in a small cleared area just to their west. I flared the Huey to land.
“As we settled down five US and two Vietnamese troops came from behind a bunker and approached the Huey with their heads down. They climbed onboard and sat on the canvas seats in the back of the aircraft. Peters called, “UP” over the intercom system and Jackson motioned for us to take off. I pulled collective and added power, pedal turning around to the south and nosing off the hilltop gaining speed and altitude. The aircraft responded differently with an extra thousand pounds of men on board.
“Jackson said, ‘To get back to Cu Chi, just back track the route we flew coming here.’
“I pointed the aircraft roughly east, and started gently weaving around hilltops as we worked back toward Cu Chi. I thought my track was about right when Jackson pointed well off on the horizon back to the northeast.
“‘See that over there?’ He asked. I could see a cluster of buildings, some pretty tall, off in that direction. ‘That’s Saigon. You’ve gone way too far.’ He took control, eased us into a left hand banking turn and took up a northwesterly course, about twenty minutes later we approached Cu Chi.”
“Mr. Ed? Why did you pick up Vietnamese? I thought they were the enemy.” Matt asked, sensing a break in the story.
“You know, that’s a good question. I’ll get to it in a minute. I have to get these ends cleaned up, and we need to mix the epoxy. First, we dry fit these pieces and make sure the stabilizer ends will fit together the right way. We also need to drill the holes for the new support bar.”
As they worked on matching up parts, Mr. Ed answered Matt’s question, “Remember, there were all different kinds of Vietnamese. There were the communist North Vietnamese; their Army was the NVA. The South Vietnamese that fought for the Communists were the Viet Cong. Then there was the Army of the Republic of Vietnam, or ARVN, which fought for the government of South Vietnam, and those were our friends. Mixed into all of this, were civilians. Most of them just wanted to live, farm their rice, and raise their families. There was also an independent group of people in the highlands called the Montagnards, or mountain people. Most of these highlanders fell on our side, since French and American Missionaries had been successful in converting them to Christianity from their indigenous pagan religions. I found out later that the group we picked up at LZ West was a Long Range Reconnaissance Patrol or LLRP and their Montagnard guides. They had been out in the western fringes of Vietnam, nearly to Cambodia, working to find supply lines and track down enemy units.
“Alright, everything looks like it lines up. Can you hold this while I drill the hole?” Matt climbed a short ladder and braced his shoulder underneath the horizontal stabilizer, holding it at an angle as Mr. Ed guided the ends into position.
“Up, up a little, down, over. . . .There! It’s in; now try to hold it still.” Matt nodded. Mr. Ed took up a long drill bit and began to drill through the aluminum skin of the Loach’s tail rotor assembly. Once the drill bit was through, a long steel bolt threaded into the hole.
“Good, that should hold it while we mix the epoxy and make this permanent.”
Ellie moved to the worktable that had been set up near the tail rotor. “Can I help mix?” she asked.
“Sorry Ellie, this is a job I’ve got to do. Some of these chemicals can be hard on your skin, if you get any on you. I’ve got to wear those heavy gloves for protection.”
Both kids watched as he mixed the black resin and white hardener into a gray looking paste. He used a Popsicle stick to dab the epoxy glue into the gaps between the horizontal stabilizer and the tail rotor boom, careful to make sure there was not so much that it would ooze out when the bolt tightened. The epoxy cured quickly. As he worked, the fingers of the heavy gloves started to stick together, making a popping sound as he adjusted the Popsicle stick and worked the epoxy.
“Alright, Matt, grab that ratchet and let’s tighten the bolt. I’ll hold the nut on this side.” Click-click-click-click, turn, click-click-click-click, turn. It only took a few turns on the wrench to secure the bolt and press the two pieces firmly together. Mr. Ed reached up and wiggled the newly mounted stabilizer before pronouncing, “Good! That does it! I’ll shoot a bit of paint onto the ends once the epoxy dries. Then, it will be ready to go!”
“Matt, Ellie?” came the call from next door. “It’s time to come home and get cleaned up. Tell Mr. Ed goodbye.” The kids looked disappointed but gathered their things and waved good-bye, as they headed back home.
“Hope to see you soon!” They told their neighbor.
“Oh, guys hold on for just a second.” Mr. Ed went over to his SUV and got out a small black bag. “I’m leaving tomorrow morning for the air show, and I won’t be back until next Tuesday. I asked your folks, and they said I could ask you to take care of getting my mail and newspapers everyday while I’m gone.” He handed them the black bag.
“Yes sir! We’d be happy to help!”
He smiled, “Good, I know I’ve got nothing to worry about then. Bye, now!”