Christmas came and went. The kids had time off from school, so they spent time shopping, baking cookies, visiting family, and going to the Christmas play at church. When the family’s festive lights and decorations were packed away, the kids noticed that the lights stayed on the Loach longer than most of the houses in the neighborhood. One afternoon the kids had some free time and walked next door to find Mr. Ed. Their friend was working on a butcher-block table in his wood shop.
“Hi! Mr. Ed, can we visit for a few minutes?” Matt approached him first.
“No sir, you can’t just visit. You are welcome to stay and help, but you can’t just sit on your backsides.” He knew Matt liked to be hands on, and Matt knew that Mr. Ed was teasing him in his own way.
“Yes sir, I’d love to help! What do you need me to do?” Matt responded.
“Bring that clamp over here, I’ve cut some biscuits, and we need to glue and clamp these boards together.” He pointed to several thick pieces of maple and a few small pieces of wood that looked almost like a crackers.
“You’re going to put biscuits in your wood? Won’t they rot?” Ellie giggled.
Reaching down he picked up one of the small pieces and handed it to Ellie. “This is called a biscuit. Do you see the groove in the side of the board? We dab some glue in there and a little on here. We stick it all together, and the biscuit helps hold the boards together. I don’t know exactly why they are called biscuits.”
Matt chimed in, “Maybe somebody wasn’t a very good cook.” He tapped the wooden biscuit against a board before pretending to take a bite. Everyone laughed before falling into their jobs assembling the maple cutting board.
“Mr. Ed? Why do you still have lights on the Loach? It’s after the new year already.” Ellie asked.
“Well, you see,” putting down a bottle of wood glue, “a long time ago Pope Gregory XIII changed calendars. Europe had been using the Julian calendar, named after Julius Cesar the. . .”
“Roman Emperor!” Matt finished Mr. Ed’s sentence.
“That’s right. The Romans used a lunar calendar, based on the cycles of the moon. Thing is, over time the lunar months start to creep around, which got confusing. Spring usually starts in March here, but with a Julian calendar, it might start in March when you are your age. By the time, you get to be my age March might be in the fall. Pope Gregory’s calendar, the Gregorian calendar, fixed that problem – and a few others. But, it left a bit of confusion about when Christmas should be. Some folks decided they did not want to use the Gregorian calendar; their Christmas day fell on January 5th. Folks using the new Gregorian calendar celebrated the holiday on December 25th. Over time, January 5th became known as ‘Old Christmas’ because the folks that used that day were using an old calendar. Most people have forgotten that now a days, but Old Christmas is still around. Since I like to see Christmas lights, I’m going to leave them up until after Old Christmas.”
“Wow, thanks for the history lesson. Our parents went to an Old Christmas party last year with the Historical Club in town. It’s pretty neat to know where it came from.” Matt said, planning how to ask his parents to keep their lights up till January 5th next year.
“Mr. Ed? Last time we talked you said something about a promotion. Can you tell us more about that?” Ellie asked, not wanting her big brother to get all the attention.
“A promotion? Let me think. . .Oh yes! Aircraft Commander. That is when you move from the left seat as the co-pilot or ‘Peter Pilot’ into the right seat. It is more than just musical chairs. You are actually in charge of the aircraft. You tell everyone else onboard what to do and when to do it.
“Just after the USO tour ended, Wolz rotated home. My company had gotten in a bunch of new Warrant Officers who were working their way through their first month or two in country. At this point, I had almost six months in country, was comfortable flying the different mission, knew my way around, and had developed a good relationship with the company. Major Parks offered me an element lead position and an Aircraft Commander title at the same time. In part, the numbers just fell that way. We had enough pilots, when you counted the Warrant Officers, but not enough leaders. As a commissioned officer, I was subject to more administrative responsibilities than the Warrants. Their biggest job was to fly. I basically stepped into Wolz’s role right after he left, so I became Hornet 24.
“Boy, I was nervous. Wolz and I had flown through a lot together. He was a great man, tremendous pilot, and rock steady on missions. Not only did I have to do the job, I felt that I had to fill his boots now that he was gone. The whole situation in Vietnam was kind of like that – there were always new troops coming in and old guys going home. The team was always changing. New leadership was set up regularly – sometimes promoted from within, more often brought in. This meant that training never ended. Great teams were broken up as tours ended. The flip side is we needed lots of new people to replace combat losses, so maybe it worked out OK. After the war, the military changed the way it worked deployments. Units trained together, deployed together, and came home together. In Vietnam, the headquarters stayed in country and the Army just brought new people in and took old people out. It is hard to build camaraderie and teamwork when the parts are always changing. Anyway, let me get off my soapbox; you want to know about becoming an A/C.”
He moved around the shop again, picking up a handful of tools and clamps they would need to assemble the butcher block before directing Matt and Elizabeth on the assembly process.
“Once you’d been in country for awhile, usually at least four or five months, you started going through A/C training and check off. New pilots spent the first part of their deployment learning the ropes – how their company was run, the layout of their Area of Operations, where the local units were, hospitals, prepared landing zones, firebases, the geography, radio frequencies and procedures. There are dozens of little things you have to know. Some units had a formal test. Some used peer evaluation. Some used attrition and time in service. The 116th used a mix of all of these. Major Parks did not want to consider you for an A/C job until you had been there at least four months. After that, the company Training Officer would observe you – you would ride with him for a week or so on just about every mission the company flew. If he felt good about your performance, you would move on to flying right seat for a while. Things look and feel differently in that position. The controls and instruments are on the right side so you need to get used to the different placement and setup.
“Aircraft Commander Candidates also had to fly one mission with each of the other A/Cs in their platoon. Any one of them could recycle you, or make you start from scratch. During this part of your orientation you would start attending A/C meetings and pick up additional ground responsibilities.
“It usually took about six weeks to meet these objectives. Wolz and Chuck had worked me hard during my first two months in country, so I felt good about most of these things. Really, the biggest difference, apart from the added responsibility, was how different everything looked from the right seat instead of the left.
“I was flying with Captain Jackson. He was the Company Training Officer at the time, and the first time I flew right seat he warned me, ‘Big Ed, things are different on that side. You have to relearn all your marks for formation flight. Approaches are different. You have to leave extra room if the grunts are coming on from the left. All your reference points will be different when landing and taxiing into revetments.’
“By this time, I thought I was a decent pilot and that Jackson was just pulling my leg. We went through preflight and start up procedures. I reached over and down with my right hand to turn on the fuel pump power switch.
“‘You didn’t believe me did you? Fuels over here. . .’ he chided me, pointing to the center console. For nearly six months, I had reached down from the left seat with my right hand to flip the fuel pump switch. Subconsciously, in the right seat, I used the same arm to try to flip the switch, but it was not there. I shook my head and reached over, having to look for the switch and flipped it with my left hand.
“I paid a bit more attention after that. Jackson was right – everything was backwards. I had grown accustomed to watching certain spots in certain formations, lining up a rotor head with a center pylon, or a landing skid with a doorframe. None of those points worked any more. I found myself drifting around in formations like a brand new Peter Pilot. It took a couple of solid days of flying to get used to the different landmarks and change of perspective.
“The final check was at an A/C meeting. Major Parks brought another pilot and me up in front of the group. He announced, ‘Wolzowski, Jackson, and Schlegel are rotating out within the next month. Harrison and Lambrecht have finished their A/C training. You have had a chance to fly with them. Does anyone have any objections to them taking up A/C roles?’
“Just like my first night in Cu Chi, a chorus of boos erupted from the thirty odd pilots in the room. Fortunately, this was a dry meeting – no drinks allowed – so we did not have to dodge bottles this time.
“‘Good, I thought you’d feel that way!’ The major announced before turning to congratulate us. ‘Gentlemen, take your seats. Operations will work you into the scheduling as Aircraft Commanders starting immediately. Big Ed, you’ll be Hornet 24. Lamb Chop, good hunting with the Stingers.’“
Ellie started giggling, “You called him Lamb Chop. What kind of nickname was that?”
“Well, in the 60’s there was a kid’s television show with a puppet lamb named Lamb Chop. The other pilot was a Warrant Officer named Lambrecht. He had been flying with the gunships as a Peter Pilot for a while. I guess someone thought it was a funny play on his last name. Nicknames were like that. They would find something to pick at you with and hang that name on you. Nobody got cool names like Maverick or Viper. It was more about some sort of weird tribalism. The group found some kind of weakness, or some physical trait to pick at. We had a man named ‘Tiny Tim’ he was taller than I was and built like a tank. You remember Crazy-C, Lamb Chop, Big Ed, we even had a fellow from Louisiana called Duck – his family was into hunting, and that was all he ever talked about.
“It was bittersweet. Wolz and I had become good friends and battle buddies; we’d flown together a lot. I was there when he was shot. I was on his wing for a few other hairy missions, and he had been sort of like a big brother. Now he was leaving, and I had to step into his boots. I would not have long to dwell on this though, right away we started getting busy. During the same A/C meeting, Major Parks announced that a battalionwide effort would be starting in the Iron Triangle. This was an area just north of Cu Chi. It was a hotbed for Viet Cong activity. We had flown missions into and around the Iron Triangle, but III Corps had decided to make a big push to try and pacify that area for good.
“The Iron Triangle was about 150 square miles or so, like a good-sized town. It was wooded, but not woods like you have seen around here, triple canopy jungle. There was a big rubber plantation in the middle of the triangle. The triangle was pointed south, with a river on either side – the Saigon river on the western edge and the Tin River on the east. The northern border was more imaginary, just a line through some jungle. We had big artillery base camps in positions on either side, so the whole area had fire support.
“Our plan roughly followed that of Operation Cedar Falls, which had tried the same thing in January of ‘67. The Helicopter Assault Companies would lift several battalions of grunts on to the north end of the triangle. Mechanized forces, on tanks and armored personnel carriers, would converge on the southern legs of the triangle. The 25th would move up from Cu Chi to the south, and an armored Cavalry unit would move in from Bien Hoa on the east. The armor formed a wall, using the rivers as their borders, to keep anyone from crossing. The infantry troops we were lifting on the north side would patrol south, pushing any VC they could find toward the tanks. It really was a clever operation, using the terrain to our advantage. Trouble was the Vietnamese had been using this area in their war against the French for twenty years, so we did not really know what all they had and how deeply dug in they were.
“We started early in the morning. I flew with a Warrant Officer who had been flying with us for about four months. Operations like to put ‘new’ Aircraft Commanders with ‘old’ Peter Pilots that puts as much experience as possible in the cockpit. WO1 King was a solid pilot, West Coast raised, a UCLA graduate. He was a relaxed, calm fellow; you might even say he was laid-back. He grew a big bushy moustache. He would wait as long as possible in between haircuts, cheating his sideburns as low as they could go. His natural looks and tendency to push the grooming standards earned him the nickname ‘Hollywood.’
“I was up early that morning and ate a light breakfast, which had become my habit. Too much food sat heavy, but you did not want to skip breakfast. You never knew when lunch might come around. I had taken to carrying some John Wayne crackers or hard candies in my fatigue pants. They helped on more than one occasion when we had to skip meals. I met Staff Sergeant Peters, Warrant Officer King, and a new machine gunner, named Hagan, in the flight line as they did the preflight inspection and finished weapons checks. I went through my own preflight, not wanting to fall into the trap of being above the work that needed to happen. Our aircraft that day was Honey Bear. Once we were finished preflight, Operations directed us to form up on the main runway and wait. We went through the start-up procedure and waited for instructions to taxi out. Along with a sister company, we put almost 40 aircraft in two long lines. My ship was near the end of the 2nd Platoon’s line. The plan called for troops from the 25th to meet us on the flight line to cold load, or load while the engines were off.
“A staff officer walked down the line, numbering each helicopter with a thick chalk pencil, so the grunts would know which helicopter to get onto. We were relaxing around the aircraft, exchanging a few bad jokes when King whistled. ‘Would you look at that. . .?’ We all turned to follow his line of sight. Coming onto the flight line was a huge group of grunts – over 500 of them. Their formation broke into two long columns. The officers started counting as they walked past, breaking them into sticks, and assigning them to a helicopter by chalk number. Fourteen men, plus their gear, loaded into each slick. Most of the gunships had left about thirty minutes earlier and were already out softening up the landing zones. The dozen or so that were left behind started their engines and warmed up while we finished loading. Just before we finished loading they launched to take up escort positions.
“Once everyone was loaded, we got orders to start engines. I tell you, forty helicopters starting at the same time makes a screaming, beating racket that I will never forget. It must have really been a sight for the men staying on the ground. The plan had each assault platoon delivering troops to a different LZ along the northern edge of the Triangle. Cu Chi was landing four LZs, and a company out of Bien Hoa was landing another two. Together we’d set over 700 troops down in about five minutes time. As our platoons took off and moved northward, we angled off in slightly different directions, spreading out a little and moving toward our respective LZs. Our heading was almost due north.
“Hagan called out over the intercom system, ‘Skipper, there’s a flight of -47s at our 3 o’clock.’ The plan had the 242nd coming over from Bien Hoa to pick up the second wave of troops. Their CH-47 Chinooks could carry fifty troops at a time compared to our fourteen, and they could carry heavier equipment and supplies. It took a lot of food and ammo to supply a regiment of men in the field, so they were really needed.
“Intel did not expect a heavy defense of the Landing Zones, but we were making a combat assault into enemy territory so you never knew. As we approached the LZ, the two Stingers that were escorting my platoon broke off and made a pair of strafing runs. The ten ships in our formation came in and dropped off the first wave. There was a little bit of light sniper fire but no heavy resistance. The first lift was in and out with no problems. Our second lift that day called for platoon-sized elements, to land in multiple smaller LZs, between the initial company sized lifts. My platoon had five element-sized teams, Hornet 21, 22, and so forth through Hornet 25. Each element, one of which I was in charge of, would pick up a load of twenty-eight troops and drop them off at a different LZ. We returned to Cu Chi to make the pick-up of the second wave.
“Second Platoon left Cu Chi in a flight of ten ships. Our LZs were roughly in a line, so the plan was to fly along that line and have elements break off as needed to land their chalks. Most of the gunships were rearming and re-fueling, so we had the same two ships escorting us again. We did not expect much resistance to the landings, assuming that any VC on the ground would be collapsing onto the initial landing zones. There were only reports of a few light firefights as we lined up on the new landing zones. Hornet 21 was the first to break off, spiraling in with two ships and landing in a small clearing barely big enough for both slicks to get into. -22 and -23 followed suit just moments later. I could make out our designated LZ and radioed my wingman that we would be breaking right and starting our approach.
“Again, the clearing was not very big. As we flared to land, I started seeing the sparkle of AK fire from the eastern edge of the field, straight ahead of us. I called for suppression, but the Stingers had already been committed to another LZ, so it was just my two slicks and twenty-eight grunts.
“‘We need to be down here! Do NOT abort!’ The Infantry Lieutenant called over the intercom.
“The majority of the firing was directly off the nose of my aircraft; neither gunner could effectively shoot back. The infantry would jump right out across their line of fire and be slaughtered. I had very few options. The best option was to pedal turn ninety degrees and expose one of the door guns. I made a split decision and turned left, exposing the starboard-side door gun. My shoulder was to the enemy fire. Peters, being the experienced man he was, wasted no time. He went cyclic with the M-60, spraying the wood line and giving cover to the infantry as they bounded out and dove into the grass. They set up their own base of fire and started maneuvering against the trees.
“As the last grunt jumped out and Peters yelled ‘Up!’ the Plexiglas next to me seemed to explode. Little bits of plastic sprayed everywhere. I could hear and feel the impact of the .30 caliber AK rounds in the door, window, and framing beside me. I pulled cyclic and nosed over trying to accelerate and clear the nearby tree line, but the aircraft was not coming up fast enough. By pedal turning at the last minute, I had put the ship perpendicular to the long axis of the LZ. I was taking off into the woods on the side of the LZ instead of over the end where the enemy was. My wingman, shielded from the AK fire for most of the insertion, received a dozen or so hits as we lifted off.
“We clipped through the tops of several trees, splinters flying everywhere and fought our way into the air. We orbited back around at about 500 feet using up what was left of our M-60 ammunition trying to suppress the wood line, so the troops on the ground could solidify their position. I radioed a contact report to the Operations Center and put Dustoff, or medevacs, on standby. This took maybe sixty seconds. Switching to the aircraft intercom system, I called for status checks. King was fine and checking the instruments for aircraft status. Hagan reported Winchester, but otherwise he was good to go. Peters did not answer. His post was about fifteen feet behind my seat, and I could not see him. King tried to look back between the seats, but could not see anything past the rear passenger row. By this point Hagan, I guess, felt like something was wrong. He had removed his safety harness and climbed over the seats, crossing the passenger compartment.
“Hagan had unplugged Peter’s microphone and plugged in his helmet, ‘Skipper, he’s hit bad. I can’t get back there to help him. We need to get on the ground!’
“I answered with a terse, ‘roger’ and radioed operations that I had wounded aboard and requested vectoring to the 7th Field Hospital’s landing zone on Cu Chi. We landed at the Dustoff field and were met by an Army ambulance and stretcher team. Hagan had jumped out, seemingly before we landed and was into Peters’ compartment before the medics could cross the tarmac. He disconnected the safety harness and grabbed under his crew chief’s shoulders, half-pulling/dragging, and half-throwing Peters to the ground. We had done a quick shut down. King was finishing the process of securing the rotor blades and cooling the engine, so I jumped out.
“Peters was one of the first men I had met in country and was due to go home pretty soon. He was lying on the ground. Army medics were cutting away his flak jacket and jungle fatigues. He had taken a burst of AK fire to the chest, miraculously he was not dead, but he was very pale, sweating bullets, and unconscious. The medics did a quick assessment and placed some bandages on his chest wounds before lifting him onto a stretcher and rushing into the hospital unit.
“I did not know what to do. I had seen folks wounded and killed in action. My life threatened a couple of times, once just a few minutes ago. Now, a man under my command lay gravely wounded in a hospital because of a decision I made. I stared at the bloodstains on the tarmac where Peters had laid for a minute, maybe two, maybe five, I do not remember. Hagan started carrying on and making a fuss. I turned to see what was going on.
“The side of the Huey, my side of the Huey, had many AK holes. My door looked like Swiss cheese – the glass was gone, and my chicken plate had taken six or seven hits. One round had come in my side glass and exited out King’s window, crossing inches in front of both of our noses. The post behind my seat and in front of the passenger compartment had a dozen or more hits. Heaven knows how many passed through the passenger compartment, and then there were a few dozen more hits around Peters’ gun position. The entire left side of the ship riddled with bullet holes. I felt sick on my stomach, as if a bowling ball was just sitting there. I did not know what to do. I had been trained how to lead men in combat, and in hindsight, I know I did the right thing. Without any suppression, King and I probably would both be dead and most of the troops getting off the slick would have taken hits, so we had to turn. Peters did his job, just like the professional he was.
“One of the medics came up to us, ‘You guys have to get out of here. We’ve got more wounded coming in, and you’re in the way!’ None of this rationalization helped me feel any better or less guilty about what had happened.
“We loaded back up, radioed Hornet Operations, who directed us back to the revetments to rearm and refuel. We started the Huey and flew back over the base, landing in the same shelter I had launched from that morning. It was barely ten o’clock, yet it seemed like a lifetime ago when we had loaded just before dawn. My platoon commander, Captain Stowers, met us after we shut down and cleared the aircraft.
“‘Let’s take a walk, Ed,’ he said as he approached. ‘You want a cup of coffee or anything?’ We crossed the footbridge and moved through the company area toward the chow hall. He was not saying much. My guts were still twisted and turned because of my near miss and Peters’ wounding. When we reached the chow hall he motioned for me to sit at one of the tables in the corner and went through the line, coming back with a couple of sandwiches and two cups of black coffee.
“‘Ed, we got word as you landed. Peters never made it to surgery. The docs couldn’t do anything to save him, too many wounds.’ I do not exactly remember what I said or did next. I might have cried, might have thrown up, might have just stared off into space – it is all a blur in my memory. It might have been hours but was probably only a minute or two later when Captain Stowers spoke about my wingman, Rasmussen.
“‘Rasmussen told me about the drop off. Said you did exactly what you had to do, and what any of us would have done.’ Captain Stowers’ words were meant to be of comfort to me.
“I let the words sink in for a few moments, feeling some of the burden ease off my shoulders. Peters had a job to do; I had a job to do. This conversation could have just as easily been happening with King talking about my death. Out there, we were all just one bullet away from dying. Finally, I mumbled, ‘Thank you sir, Peters did his duty. I’d like to nominate him for a medal if we can.’“
Ellie motioned to Mr. Ed, who paused his story telling. “Yes ma’am? What’s on your mind?”
“Sergeant Peters was killed right? How does a dead man get a medal?” Ellie asked. Mr. Ed put down the biscuit that he has been putting glue on and looked at the little girl.
“Well, maybe it’s a little too much for you. Maybe I should not have told that part of the story. But I guess I need to explain a little about that, huh?”
She nodded her head.
“Well, it’s called a posthumous award. It is an award given in honor, after the soldier has died. Sometimes men died in combat because they made a mistake, or were in the wrong place. Sometimes men died because they were doing their job even in the face of danger. Peters knew we were turning toward an enemy position; he knew he was exposed. Yet he operated his gun and protected the passengers, the crew, and me. He did not try to hide or ignore the threat. He did his job and did it well. That is bravery. The posthumous medal is a way to recognize what someone did. It is also a way to tell the family that their loved one died a hero’s death. His family received the Army Commendation Medal for Valor, the Purple Heart, and an additional Air Medal. It is not much, but it is a small way to say thank you.
“Stowers grounded me for twenty-four hours, allowing me to get my head together and absorb what had just happened. Mostly, the rest of the Hornets were busy shuttling supplies and additional troops around. A few of the older hands were flying Dustoff missions. There were many casualties coming out of the Iron Triangle. My first order of business was to go down to the revetments to gather the rest of my flight kit and clear out the Honey Bear. King and Hagan were still there. They had just finished securing the aircraft and were making a report to the Beekeepers about the battle damage.
“One of their specialists was up at the rotor head inspecting the linkages and shouted down, ‘Hey, sarge! The swash plate anti-drive link must have taken a round, they are about to fall apart. We’re going to have to pull the whole head!’
“The Master Sergeant who took the report nodded and added it to his list before speaking to King, ‘You guys did a number on this one. We’ll have it back up in a day or so.’
“The assessment crew moved on to another Hornet that had taken some fire. They would be busy today – into the night too. I took the crew to the side and told them about Peters. Hagan was still new to the outfit, but he had really taken to the Staff Sergeant and had barely left his side since coming in country. He broke down crying and collapsed to his knees, praying. Praying for his fallen brother in arms, praying for himself, praying for an end to this war, praying to ease his fears – maybe even thanking God I had turned left instead of right.
“Once everyone had regained composure, we got our gear together and left the revetment. The base was buzzing with activity. Medevacs were flying into the hospital area, fresh troops were loading and moving out, and minor injuries were coming in for evaluations. The whole 242nd was on the field, their CH-47s dwarfing our Hueys. By late in the day they were mostly bringing out supplies, fresh food, water, and, most importantly, ammo. Those big rascals put out a lot of wind when they take off. Winter is the dry season, so there was a new cloud of dust every time a flight came in. If you were downwind, sometimes it was so thick you could barely see your hand in front of your face. More than once the dust clouds hid my tears.
“I did not sleep well at all that night. Aircraft were in and out all night. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Peters. A big part of me wanted to walk away, just start walking toward the ocean. I was sure I could find a fishing trawler there, maybe catch a ride toward Japan. It would be easy to find a commercial flight home from there. A week, maybe two, and I could be catching rockfish in the river at home. That was just a fantasy. I was here, a little over half way through my tour. There were troops in the field, and it was my job to support them. That realization did not make sleep any easier, but it did help me get up and report to the Operations hut that I was ready to resume my duties.
“They wasted no time. The next day I was up again. There had been several injured pilots during the insertions the previous day. Despite my exhaustion, there were missions to fly and not enough pilots to go around. King was temporary upgraded to A/C status and was now flying Rasmussen’s wing. I had a brand new Peter Pilot, named Kross, a fresh Warrant Officer. He had been in country about three weeks, if I remember right. The Beekeepers had worked all night, and Honey Bear was ready to go again. They had replaced the cockpit glass, thrown some aluminum sheeting onto the bullet holes and replaced most of the rotor head assembly in a little over eighteen hours. Time and again, I saw those guys work miracles.
“We were flying Dustoff today. Near the middle of the Iron Triangle was a huge rubber plantation. French planters had cleared the jungle and planted rubber trees around the turn of the century. These trees lay in nice neat lines, with a wide road every few hundred feet. This allowed them to move their equipment in to harvest the latex sap from the trees. They would cut one side of the tree and put a catch can under the cut. The cans would be drained into a big barrel, usually on a truck or ox drawn cart. Raw product was then processed, usually on site, to remove any water. Some facilities actually treated it and made uncured rubber sheets.
“The infantry had been pushing south in the Iron Triangle since yesterday morning. I later found out most of the wounded were from booby traps and small ambushes. There hadn’t really been much in the way of firefights after the initial landings. It seemed like every time the VC showed up they would fight for a few minutes and disappear into the jungle.
“This was not the first rodeo in the Triangle. I had flown several small missions into the area, and there had been three or four other big operations over the last four years to try to clear it. We just could not stop the Viet Cong from controlling the local population and using the area to stage raids against Saigon and us. After the war we found out just how extensive the tunnel system was in the area where we were fighting. They had miles and miles of the things. It is no wonder we could never pin them down. There was always a hole for them to run into. Their method of fighting was causing many casualties on the American side.
“We lifted about a company-sized medical unit that specialized in front line treatment and triage into this rubber plantation. They set up shop in a big wooden warehouse. Wounded would be brought in by Jeep or truck, get patched up and triaged, or sorted, for flights out to the Medical Unit, Self Contained, Transportable, or MUST units. These people did a bang-up job at organizing medevacs. Our Dustoff ships would come in, get loaded with stretchers, and get instructions as to which hospital they were to go. This forward triage helped keep one hospital from being overwhelmed while another sat idle. Hornet 24 flew walking wounded out of this aid station. Most of these men were bypassing the small more front line MUST units. We headed for the larger hospitals, like the 24th Evacuation Hospital or 74th Field Hospital in Long Bihn.
“These flights were, in a way, a nice change of pace. The rubber plantation was a reasonably secure LZ and our biggest obstacles between the Iron Triangle and Long Bihn were the artillery and close air support fire lanes. We had to dodge and weave around those a little. This made the flights a little longer, but we could fly high enough, maybe 1500 feet, to avoid VC small arms fire. All in all, these were relatively peaceful flights.
We made four of these shuttle runs that day, stopping each time in Long Bihn to refuel, find some fresh water, and catch a quick meal at least once.
“On day three, we were on standby, since the initial sweep was complete. Most of the infantry were consolidating their positions and taking an easier day. We had the aircraft ready, armed, and fueled – the preflight check done before dawn. We were on a ten-minute launch alert. 1st Platoon ran a couple of Dustoff missions, but other than that, we waited by our aircraft. Many of the pilots and crews alternated between tanning and hiding in the shade under the aircraft or beside a revetment wall. A few of the enterprising men had rigged ponchos as sun shelters and were lounging under them.
“Day four brought a change of pace. Most of the infantry troops had moved from their insertion point on the northern side of the triangle down toward the southern point. There had been forces left to guard the northern flank and at other suspected trouble spots within the Triangle. The VC got tired of hiding and started aggressive actions toward these smaller groups. One of their favorite tactics was to set an ambush. As a patrol was moving along a path, the VC would use the tunnel system to spread the word in the patrol’s direction of travel. VC would then sneak out of the tunnels and hide along the path, waiting for the patrol to walk into the trap.
“The most effective ambushes used natural funnel points, which limited the patrols ability to move. The VC would use two groups – one on the side, or flank, of the path – and one as a blocking group, usually around a bend or just over a small hill. This created something called an ‘L’ shaped ambush. The mobile unit would be fired at from two sides and would end up in a pretty bad pickle. Some VC units were good at positioning their light machine guns, and when mixed with rocket-propelled grenades, these ambushes could be really bad news for American troops. Of course, our troops tried to set the same traps when they were hunting the VC.
“Intelligence reported a large NVA force moving south into the top of the Iron Triangle. The blocking units on the north side had mostly built positions facing south, and now the attack was coming from the north. The Stingers were always in the air, working with forward air controllers to pound the advancing enemy forces while the blocking units repositioned themselves. VC were moving out of the tunnel system and engaging Americans wherever they had the opportunity. Around two o’clock in the afternoon the scramble, or take off, order came in. The aid station in the rubber plantation was under heavy attack. They did not have a lot of infantry support and were in danger of being overrun. The Hornets had the mission of extracting the aid station.
“Major Parks recalled all the Stingers and joined us as the command and control aircraft. Hornet 6 arrived over the rubber plantation first, followed just a minute or two later by the lead elements of the Stingers. The rest of the Hornets were not far behind.
“We listened as Parks calmly called out orders to the Stingers. ‘-31 start your run to the west of the red smoke. . . .-32 make a gun run to the east, 300 meters out. . . .-35 stand by to suppress the LZ.’ He directed the ground commander to have yellow smoke thrown to mark the LZ. Charlie must have been listening to our tactical communications, or paying close attention. As we crested a shallow hill and started our approach the entire plantation was covered in a yellow haze.
“‘All Hornets, this is -6, abort, I say again, abort. Orbit the field and stand by.’ I was not monitoring it, but later my wingman told me about Major Parks’ radio call.
“Parks had to think quickly to outsmart Charlie, ‘Medic 21, do you know a song by Jimmy Hendrix about haze?’
“‘I know the song,’ the soldier hollered, ‘but what’s that go to do with anything. We need extraction!’
“‘Throw that color smoke and mark your location,’ Parks spoke in his own code.
“A moment later, we saw a single purple smoke grenade going off along the main road through the rubber plantation. Two seconds later, a dozen more started billowing, from all around. Parks came on the radio again, ‘-16 did you see the first purple smoke?’
“The First platoon commander acknowledged, ‘Affirmative.’
“Major Parks responded, ‘Good, that’s your pick up location. Start your approach. We’ll make two lifts, one platoon at a time.’
“At this point, the purple haze was covering the area all around the road. First Platoon eased down into the haze, blowing it away from the road and sending up a cloud of reddish brown dust in its place. Dozens of medics and walking wounded scrambled out of the ditches next to the road, piling themselves and gear onto the first wave of Hueys.
“The Stingers were pounding the area around the road with everything they had. -6 came on again and directed Second Platoon to start their approach and suppress anything that moved more than 50 meters off the road. The purple smoke was gone. In its place hung a mixture of dust and smoke from rocket explosions and the electric effect of tracers from all the machine gun fire. We dropped onto the road, loaded quickly and got up and out as fast as we could. There was lots of AK fire, some light machine gun fire, and the occasional RPG; but most of it was either poorly aimed or not aimed at my ship. As we rotated out, a second wave of Hueys approached. Hornet 6 handed control off to the next team, and they finished the extraction.
“Over the next two days, we flew more combat troops in, reestablished the aid station – with the support of a company of infantry, and continued to fly medevacs as needed. We either killed or chased all the VC out of the Iron Triangle. Within a week, the fighting was over. Many of the troops rode out on trucks. The armored units were patrolling the roads between their positions and their support bases heavily, since their supply needs were so extensive. Long convoys of deuce and a half trucks pulled troops back to Bien Hoa and Cu Chi. The -47s took out a lot, and we made our fair share of lifts. All together, we spent about ten days on that operation. It cost a bunch of American lives; then we just left. Two months later the Iron Triangle was back as a trouble spot. We did not have enough men, or a clear plan, and the area went back to being a communist hot spot. Years after I left, the NVA actually launched their final attack on Saigon from the same area. It’s really a shame; I think we could have won had we followed through.”
“What do you mean we could have won? We won the war. We’re not speaking Vietnamese and America is still a free country.” Matt asked, being a bit confused about the outcome.
“Well, son, there’s a difference between not winning and losing. In 1973, US Combat troops withdrew from Vietnam. We handed a complex military machine over to the ARVN and moved out. We quit the war. Two years later the north had taken over the whole country, and, to this day, Vietnam is a communist country. They didn’t beat us in battle. We just stopped fighting.”
He looked down at the maple butcher-block table, rubbing his hands over the rough joints, before announcing, “This is coming along nicely. I will need to run the planer over it and sand it, but it will be just right. Thank you both for your help today! The glue needs to dry before I can do any more, and I think it’s about time for supper.”
Both kids look disappointed, knowing it was time to go. Matt, trying to stall and hoping to delay his chores at home, said, “Mr. Ed, thank you for your story today. I wish it had a different ending.”
The older man reached down and clasped his young friend’s shoulder. “Me too, son. Me too. Now, it is time for you all to be running along. Oh, Ellie? Can you ask your Dad to come over tomorrow for a few minutes? My old back needs some help loading this butcher block. Anytime tomorrow afternoon would be great.”
“Yes sir! Good night, Mr. Ed!” Ellie bobbed her head before bouncing out of the room with a purpose.