Chapter 11
Lessons in Formation Flying

“ H ey, Mr. Cory, wake up.” This waking up at 0430 hours would be a lot easier if the ops kid could bring me a cup of coffee as well. Ain’t going to happen .

“Okay, I’m awake and getting up. What time is it?”

“Zero four thirty,” he replied as he moved to the next bed, and the next, and the next. Shit, everyone’s getting up this morning . Once everyone was awake, he announced AC brief in the mess hall at 0530 hours and crew list was posted in Ops. It had been a week since the major firefight. Two new aircraft had come in and most of the shot-up aircraft had been repaired—most. Okay, I’d go by and check the board on my way to coffee and breakfast. As I was getting my boots on, I saw Lou sitting on his bed, smoking a cigarette and holding what looked like a cup of coffee. Looks could be deceiving.

“Hey, Lou, do you have a coffeepot stashed over here?” I asked as I walked over, sniffing the air for that aroma.

“No.”

“Oh. I saw the coffee cup and thought—”

“Well, you thought wrong,” he replied as he filled the cup with his morning beer. Lou had been around for about ten months when I’d arrived and was due to rotate back to the States in another month. His first mission in-country was into the A Shau Valley in 1968, and he was shot down on that mission, ending up hanging upside down in the aircraft. Welcome to Vietnam. I hadn’t flown with him as yet, but he had a reputation for being an excellent pilot, according to the last new guy.

“Sorry. I’m going to get some breakfast. Can I bring anything back?”

“No. I have a mission brief. I’ll get something then,” he mumbled as he drained his coffee cup.

On the way to the mess hall, I passed by operations and looked to see who I was flying with. One Chief Warrant Officer Second Class Lou Price. I proceeded into the mess hall and grabbed a tray. Metal trays, just like in most federal prisons. And for breakfast today, we had powdered eggs, undercooked bacon, and potatoes. They also had something they were calling bread, but it had the feel of sawdust baked with water, and a taste to match. Of note, however, was that just about every pilot was in the mess hall this morning. Rather unusual for all of us to be up and about. Mr. Leak and Mr. Toliver were sitting together and motioned for me to join them. Oh, this has to be a setup on the new guy . I approached and asked if they needed anything.

“No, sit down and join us. Who you flying with today?” Mr. Toliver asked.

“I’m on the board with Lou,” I replied, stirring condensed milk into my coffee.

“Good, you’ll learn from him. He’s good. Just remember what we discussed the other day,” Mr. Leak added.

“Also, don’t screw up. Lou is a short-timer double-digit midget and should be flying milk runs instead of this,” said Mr. Toliver.

“Ah, what is ‘this’?” I asked cautiously between mouthfuls of powdered eggs.

“It looks like we’re moving two battalions today, so everyone will be flying formation all day. It’s going to be a long day. One battalion will go back to Bien Hoa, and the battalion there will be inserted to replace them. Captain Goodnight will cover everything in the mission brief to the aircraft commanders. You best get with Lou and get a good preflight conducted before he comes out. Do you know which aircraft is his?”

“No,” I answered. I didn’t know I had to memorize the name of each aircraft commander’s aircraft.

“Lou’s bird is the Iron Butterfly.” At this time, we had no standardized markings on the noses of our aircraft. The pilot’s doors had a green triangle with a lightning bolt through the triangle, but that was all. Across the nose of each, the aircraft commanders and crew chiefs generally put their individual pet name on the nose—Iron Butterfly, Green Lantern, Devil’s Advocate and Hard Luck, to name a few. We had a really good nose artist, Sergeant Scovel, who was kept busy. Some units had a bit more discipline and had a standard emblem on the noses of their aircraft, such as the unit that shared Lai Khe with us from the First Aviation Brigade. They were the Robin Hoods, and so their nose emblem was Robin Hood’s hat with a feather and an arrow through it. They parked their aircraft in Sherwood Forest, as they called it.

After breakfast, I walked back to my tent to retrieve my gear, and Lou was just leaving with his stuff to attend the briefing.

“Lou, I’m with you today and thought I’d head out to preflight the bird. Want me to take your stuff out?”

Lou looked at me for a minute and slowly said, “Yeah, and thanks. Can you take my helmet?”

“Sure, your aircraft is the Iron Butterfly, right?” I asked, just to make sure I hadn’t been set up for a practical joke.

“Yeah, that’s her. The crew chief is Bennett and he’s probably already there. You might give Brown a hand with ammo if he hasn’t already got it on the bird,” he called over his shoulder as he walked off to the mess hall. I went and picked up my helmet, map, pistol and turned to leave. As I did, I noticed two empty beer cans scattered around Lou’s bed. Oh boy.

When I arrived at the aircraft, Bennett and Brown were just finishing up with their chores. I introduced myself to them and commenced the preflight, completing it as Lou arrived. I noticed all the other pilots coming out of the Chicken Coop and getting settled in their aircraft.

Lou started to brief us. “Okay, guys, this is what we got. First of the Eighth is in Bien Hoa, and we’re moving them out to replace Second of the Seventh, which we’re bringing back to Bien Hoa. First of the Eighth will conduct an insertion to establish a new firebase here,” he said, pointing at the map spread out on the cabin floor. “We’ll be a twelve-ship formation, making three turns to get the whole battalion in. After they’re inserted, we’ll refuel at Bien Hoa and then break into a six-ship formation and start extracting elements of Second of the Seventh, taking them back to Bien Hoa. We’re Chalk Six today. Any questions?”

Bennett straightened up. “We expecting any enemy, Mr. Price?”

“Nothing more than the usual. If these guys are the same bunch as last week, no telling. If they’re VC and not the hard-core NVA, they can’t hit their ass with both hands let alone hit us in flight. If we are going to get hit, it’ll be on the approach going in or coming out. Okay, let’s saddle up.”

As we settled into our seats, the crew came forward and closed and secured our doors. Bennett grabbed the fire extinguisher and took his position next to the engine. I went through the start procedures and pressed and held the starter button. Slowly the turbine started turning, and at sixty-eight percent N1 I rolled the throttle open. Lou was tuning radios. Other aircraft were calling Flight Leader that they were up.

“Chalk Six is up,” Lou announced with a corresponding response from Lead. Finally all twelve aircraft were up and ready to depart. Flight Lead, Yellow One, announced leaving the revetment, followed by Chalk Two and so forth until Chalk Twelve announced he was in position.

Flight Lead announced, “Yellow One on the go,” and twelve aircraft started down the runway, following the leader.

“Flight, come up staggered right,” ordered Yellow One.

We flew different formations depending on several factors. Staggered right was Chalk Two flying behind and to the right of Chalk One, with Chalk Three behind Chalk One and to the left and back from Chalk Two, and so on for all twelve ships. To land such a formation, you needed a long landing zone, and we could fly staggered left or right. Another formation was wedge, which looked like a flock of geese in flight. Trail was one aircraft following the other. An echelon right or echelon left formation was all aircraft slightly behind and off to the side of the aircraft in front, with Flight Leader the very first aircraft. Switching between formations once in the air was done only if necessary.

“Yellow One, Chalk Two, over.”

“Chalk Two, go ahead.”

“Yellow One, we are clear of arty all the way to Bien Hoa, over.”

As Lou was bringing us up into our position as Chalk Six, he asked, “How much formation time do you have?”

“Just what we got in flight school and a couple of hours the other day,” I replied without looking in his direction.

“Don’t tell me this is your first combat assault.”

“Okay, I won’t, but it is.”

“Oh, it’s going to be a long day, I see.” He took a deep breath. “Okay, formation flying here isn’t like flight school,” he said as he moved closer to the right side of Chalk Five. “In Mother Rucker, they wanted two-rotor-blade width between aircraft. Here we fly at one to one-half rotor from the other.”

He was going for the half-rotor-blade distance, and my pucker factor was starting to suck the seat up my ass. I looked back at Chalk Seven. Oh shit, he’s going for the half-rotor distance as well . Lou was calmly smoking his cigarette and continuing with his lecture while he held the cyclic in his thumb, index and middle fingers.

“The one thing you don’t want to do is overlap rotor blades.” Oh, trust me, that ain’t happening. “Okay, you got it,” he said.

I responded, “I got it,” and wished I hadn’t. Immediately we started sliding back to a two-rotor-blade distance.

Chalk Seven called us. “Hey, Chalk Six, did the new guy just take it?” Great, now the entire formation knew I had it.

“Yeah, and he’s shitting in his pants.” Now that wasn’t true, but it wasn’t far from the truth.

“Okay, let’s close it back up and get with the formation.” I pulled in some more power and eased the aircraft forward. “Good, now just hold it here,” Lou said, and I immediately started drifting back. “No, get back up there.”

Lou hadn’t raised his voice or hit me yet but coached me back into position each time. However, every aircraft behind us was giving Lou a raft of shit about the speeding up and slowing down, which was causing an accordion effect on those behind us. After about thirty minutes, I had a death grip on the cyclic and white knuckles on the collective, with sweat just pouring off me.

“Okay, I got it,” Lou said as we approached the PZ in Bien Hoa to pick up the grunts. Stretched out before us were twelve groups of grunts, with seven grunts in each group, in the same formation as our flight. In addition, one grunt was out front in each group with his weapon above his head in both hands. Lou picked out group number six and eased the aircraft to a stop with us at a hover and the nose of the aircraft touching the nose of the soldier ground-guiding us to our spot. Lou touched his nose with the hovering aircraft and the grunt hardly felt it. Talk about a confidence builder for the grunts to see that kind of aircraft control. Good thing for that soldier it wasn’t me. As the soldiers climbed aboard, Yellow One came up and told us to “roll them back.” This meant we weren’t taking off right away as he was talking to the ground commander.

“Do you like formation flying?” Lou asked.

“To be honest, I’m uncomfortable in formation flights.”

“It shows. Look, no new guy does well in formation flying over here right out of school. They teach the basics, which you have. Now it’s a matter of taking what you know and applying it to combat. Why do we fly close together? Two reasons. First, if you’re two or more rotor blades away, the other aircraft can make some major attitude adjustments before you notice them, and then you’re playing catchup, which is no fun. Second, the closer we are to each other, the more concentrated our firepower is with all guns firing. At night in formation flying, close is much safer than two rotor blades apart. People flying formations at night will either be crawling up your ass or so far away you’ll wonder if they’re in the same formation. I’ll take the guy flying up my ass any day as he’s the safer aircraft.”

As we talked, we saw the ground commander walk over to his jeep and grab his gear. “Flight one minute,” Yellow One announced.

Lou rolled the throttle back to full power. “Okay. I’ll take this one and you get the next one.” Brown and Bennett cleared us to come up. The grunts were sitting on the floor and there were no smiles. They knew what was in store for them. No hot shower tonight, or hot food. Flight Lead lifted into the air and we followed, but Lou picked up at the same time as Chalk Four and ever so slightly before Chalk Five.

“You notice that I didn’t wait for Five to move his ass.”

“Yeah, why?” I asked.

“The last thing you want is to get caught in the downward rotor wash of an aircraft in front or alongside you. That’ll cause you to use a lot more power to take off, and you’ll be struggling on a warm day to get back in the formation, with everyone behind you cussing you out. And that can happen on takeoff or once you’re in formation and we’re getting buffeted by updrafts and downdrafts.”

All twelve aircraft were in the air when, off in the distance, the earth erupted in small dirty explosions.

“We’re six minutes out now as the artillery will shoot from H minus six to H minus two. At H minus two, the gunships will roll in when they see a white smoke round hit the LZ, and at H minus one, we will commence firing. Got it?”

“Understood.” I was about to enter into my first combat assault. My pucker factor was now really sucking my shorts up my ass. I didn’t feel scared but anxious in anticipation of what was coming. This was nothing like flight school, but I felt confident in what I was about to do. We continued to move towards the impacting artillery, and at H minus two, a white phosphorous round hit the LZ.

“Tubes clear,” Lou said, “which means the artillery isn’t shooting any more. There go the Cobras.” Four AH-1G Cobra gunships from Second of the Twentieth Aerial Rocket Artillery Battalion, call sign “Blue Max” and carrying the “Blue Max” emblem on the side of their aircraft, moved out ahead of us in a dive and started firing 2.75-inch rockets from their tubes. Each aircraft carried forty-eight rockets and was laying them into the tree line. On one pass, those aircraft would expend all their rockets.

“H minus one. Gunners open up.” And Bennett and Brown went to town firing their guns into the tree line. More Cobra gunships from our own Delta Company, call sign “El Lobo,” who normally escorted us, were adding to the destruction. Lou was steady on the controls, watching the aircraft in front, as well as Chalk Five off to the left front, and the small trees and bushes in the LZ, careful not to hit one with the tail rotor. I was sitting there trying to absorb it all.

“Yellow One coming out.” Oh hell, we were on the ground maybe three seconds and this aircraft was empty. As the aircraft lifted up in order, Lou asked, “Any questions?”

“No. It gets a bit intense for those two minutes, doesn’t it?” I responded.

“You’ll get used to it pretty quick. Okay, you want to take it?” It wasn’t so much a question as a statement. Lou was in need of a cigarette.

“I have the aircraft,” I said as I settled into concentrating on Chalk Five and maintaining position off him.

As the day was getting warmer, some turbulence was felt, with updrafts and downdrafts that started a seesaw motion in the entire flight as each respective aircraft hit an updraft or a downdraft. Yellow One might be rising one hundred feet in an updraft and yet Chalk Four might be dropping one hundred feet in a downdraft. This ripple effect through the entire flight was making it increasingly difficult for me to maintain that one-rotor-blade staggered formation off Chalk Five. Then the inevitable happened. Chalk Five was in an updraft, I was in a downdraft and slipped into the downward rotor wash of Chalk Five, or so I thought. In order to maintain formation, I was pulling a lot more power to get back in formation, so much so that I was on the edge of forty percent N1, which was a red line. Exceeding it could over-torque the aircraft. I was struggling and Lou just sat there.

“I got it,” he finally said. I was crushed. Sliding the aircraft to the right, he took us out of the rotor wash and brought us back up into the formation, although the flight was still experiencing the updrafts and downdrafts. Next he slid the aircraft back to one-rotor-blade distance but took up a position slightly above Chalk Five so I was looking to my left and down slightly at the roof of Chalk Five.

“When in formation, make the other guy work for it. You should position yourself to be slightly above him so that you’re looking literally into his cockpit. Then you won’t get caught in his rotor wash and have to use too much power. A proper formation should have each succeeding aircraft slight above the aircraft in front of it. At night, we fly trail, and you’re going to want to line up the tail rotor hub of the aircraft in front of you with the exhaust housing of that aircraft. That’ll keep you above him and out of his rotor wash. Okay, we’re back in position, now take it.”

“I have the aircraft,” I said, thinking this was going to be a long day. We were turning to final and the grunts were positioned to receive us as they had done on the first lift. I wasn’t about to attempt to get nose to nose with the ground guide but selected an appropriate touchdown point a few feet back from him. I think he was disappointed that I didn’t nose him.

The crew cleared us, sounding off as I was about a foot up and settling down. Clearing the ground by the crew was important. Landing on a log would bend the skid of the aircraft, and landing on a stump could penetrate a fuel cell. Hitting a small sapling with the tail rotor would do damage ranging from a damaged blade to losing the entire tail rotor system, which would cause a serious and possibly explosive accident. In addition to watching below the aircraft, they were also watching the main rotor for possible tree strikes, which again could just damage the rotor blade or rip off the entire rotor head. The crew chief and door gunner were two more important sets of eyes. As the grunts piled on, Lou went over the takeoff with me again. Once everyone was on, the crew gave me a verbal thumbs-up, and as Lou had told me, I started pulling in power just to get us light on the skids as Chalk Five was still loading. I watched Chalk Three lift off, followed by Chalk Four, and saw Chalk Five getting light on his skids as I pulled in power and broke ground just enough not to get caught in the rotor wash that was already coming off Chalk Four in front of me. As Chalk Five moved forward, so did I, and I remained slightly above him.

Lou said, “Slide to the right a bit to stay out of Four’s rotor wash. That’s it, good. Okay, now get back into position again slightly above Five. See how being slightly above Five keeps you above Four’s rotor wash? Chalk Four’s rotor wash is the one you have to worry about, not Chalk Five. Rotor wash goes down and behind the aircraft, not much of a factor off to the side.”

Damn, I was concentrating on Chalk Five’s rotor wash and should have been looking at Chalk Four’s as he was the aircraft in front of me. Talk about feeling stupid. Lou could see I was a bit upset at myself.

“Don’t beat yourself up. They don’t teach that in flight school because they have you two rotor blades apart, and at that distance rotor wash is seldom a factor. Here we can’t afford the luxury of two rotor blades apart.”

Yellow One was turning onto his final approach. Unlike the initial insertion, there was no artillery fire or attack helicopters rolling hot as the LZ was secured by the infantry that we’d inserted on the first lift. What was different was, while we were picking up the second lift, CH-47s had brought in a small bulldozer in two pieces, and it was now pushing dirt to create a berm for the firebase perimeter. In addition, a backhoe was digging a hole for the two CONEX containers that would constitute the TOC when the firebase was finished. What had been a peaceful meadow in the middle of the jungle was now a beehive of construction activity.

Picking my touchdown point while maintaining formation, I was cleared by the crew. Even before I touched the ground, the grunts, who at this point were standing on the skids, started jumping off. This time I was on the ground maybe two seconds and Yellow One was already lifting off with everyone else in hot pursuit. As we were coming up, Lou took the controls.

“Lou, may I have one of your cigarettes?” I asked.

“I thought you didn’t smoke,” he said while handing me his lighter. I already had the pack in my hand.

“I don’t.” I inhaled, wishing it was a cold beer instead. Lou took us in for the next and last turn on this mission, and as before, the troops were waiting. All were grunts, but some were mortar men with their equipment, and it appeared that all these grunts had some heavier equipment than just a pack and rifle. Ammo and C-rations were being tossed on the aircraft too. Again the crew cleared us for takeoff, and Lou took us out. As we came back to the LZ, construction of the firebase was still underway, but in our absence, a battery of five 105 mm howitzers had been added to the firebase and was receiving ammo from a sling under a CH-47. Although it was only 1000 hours, this firebase would be operational by sundown.

“Flight, this is Yellow One. Heading to Bien Hoa for refuel. Aircraft commanders, meet me when done for mission briefs on extraction.”

“Yellow One, you are arty clear to Bien Hoa,” Chalk Two responded.

“Roger, Two.”

“Yellow One, Chalk Three, over.”

“Yellow One, Bien Hoa Tower says you are cleared to land if we stay on the north side.”

“Roger, Three.”

Lou gave the aircraft back to me and we had an uneventful flight back to the refuel point at Bien Hoa. Well, uneventful for Lou and the crew. I was still trying to get this formation flying thing. Lou was still in instructor mode.

“In a staggered formation, a good way to hold your position off the other aircraft is to line up his navigation light with the towel rack on top. That’ll position you so you’re actually looking across the pilot’s shoulder at the oil pressure gauges in his cockpit.” The towel rack was a UHF antenna on top of the aircraft that looked like a towel rack in a bathroom. On top of the aircraft and slightly behind the towel rack on each side of the aircraft were navigation lights. Oil pressure gauges were located in the center of the instrument panel, so looking over a pilot’s shoulder from a position slightly behind and above would show those instruments.

I was attempting to process all this. Maintain one-rotor-blade distance; stay slightly above the aircraft in front of me; avoid rotor wash; line up towel rack with pilot’s shoulder—no, no, with navigation lights; don’t over-torque engine. Oh, yeah, and breathe!

After all the birds were refueled, we hovered to a parking area and shut down while the aircraft commanders went for their briefing for the next mission. Bennett and Brown right away went to cleaning the guns and checking the fluid levels on the aircraft. I sat in my seat and breathed.

I sensed someone was beside me. “Mr. Cory, you look dehydrated,” said Bennett as he handed me a frosty cold soda.

“Thanks, Bennett. Where’d you get this?” I asked.

“We keep half a dozen in the marmite can under Brown’s seat. Got water too. Mr. Price buys it and we pack it. Just don’t make it too obvious, especially if some RLO comes around. We don’t share.”

“I fully understand.” I closed my eyes and relaxed for a minute.

After about twenty minutes, I saw Lou walking back and he did not look happy, talking to himself and shaking his head. “Hey, Bennett, here comes Mr. Price,” I said.

Bennett jumped up and retrieved a cold soda for Lou. After a long pull, Lou briefed us on the next mission.

“Okay, we’re going to start extracting units to come back here. We are Chalk Six of a six-ship flight and will be making three turns on this first mission. It’s a rifle company located here”—he pointed to the map—“and we’re bringing them back to here. Flight leader will be Captain Bullock.” The name Bullock did not flow from Lou’s lips easily. Bennett groaned; Brown cussed. I had met Captain Bullock, as he was a platoon leader in another platoon. Seemed like a nice guy.

“What’s so bad about Captain Bullock being flight leader?” I asked.

“Watch and learn,” Lou responded.

Something told me this wasn’t going to be fun. We started getting ready, donning our chicken plates and flight helmets once seated. Doors were closed and secured and engine was cranked. Lou took the controls. By now all six aircraft were turning blades. Other aircraft from the original eighteen were also cranking but going to other locations in flights of six to extract rifle companies as well. Our original flight leader was taking one of those groups. Lou was not happy.

“Flight, this is Lead. We will come up echelon right on departure. Chalk Three, get us departure clearance. Chalk Two, arty clearance.”

“He doesn’t need to tell Two and Three to get clearances. It’s SOP for them to do that, and they’ve probably already done it,” Lou grumbled. I kept quiet.

Yellow One received clearance from Chalk Three, and Chalk Two told him we were cleared of arty fire. The rest of the aircraft were to our left as we joined the end of the formation on the far-right side and staggered back, creating half of a V with Flight Lead at the front. We climbed to about one thousand feet.

“Bennett, Brown, stay alert. He’s going to fly it at a thousand feet so every damn kid with a gun can get some practice,” Lou said.

Bennett and Brown already had their guns up and were scanning the ground for possible fire. The vegetation we were passing over was mostly low brush and bamboo about ten to fifteen feet high with the occasional taller hardwood tree. As we passed over the Song Dong Nai River, Yellow One began a descent to the PZ, which was a small meadow off in the distance. At about a quarter mile from the PZ, Yellow One began a deceleration, slowing the flight from ninety knots and holding at an altitude of three hundred feet as we continued to the PZ.

“Perfect damn targets, you asshole!” came over the radio. Someone was not happy.

“Flight, this is One. Come up staggered left.” As it was obvious that a right echelon formation wouldn’t fit in the PZ and the troops were lined up for a staggered left formation, several disparaging remarks were made on the radio as six slow-moving, very low aircraft switched formation right over the approach into the PZ.

“This is why you don’t want Captain Bullock to be flight leader. We’re sitting ducks right now. If some gook opened fire on us, this would turn into a real goat rope,” Lou grumbled as we passed over the last trees and lowered into the PZ to a ground guide waiting for us. As soon as the skids touched, the six grunts were on board and ready to go. And we sat and we sat.

“What the hell are we doing?” Lou growled. “Yellow One, this is Six. All aircraft are loaded,” Lou said on the UHF frequency.

“Roger. Wait one,” came back from Flight Lead.

“Wait one! We’ve been waiting for two already,” Lou screamed at no one. “This is another reason why you don’t want him as lead. You get into a PZ fast and out fast. Sitting here does only one thing, and that’s drawing mortar fire as Charlie has time to locate you and set his guns.”

Flight Lead must have heard him and started moving forward and up, and we all followed. Once we reached Bien Hoa, the troops got out and Lou turned the controls over to me. Flight Lead didn’t change the formation, but we still came into the PZ slow and low. Our ground time was less but still too long for Lou’s liking. Lou took us into the PZ on the third turn and nothing changed. Coming out, all door gunners opened fire on the tree line, as Charlie was known to wait for the last flight out before opening fire on the last aircraft, which in this case was us. We took no fire on this day, however, and returned to Bien Hoa, only to shut down and wait for another mission. After sitting for three hours, we were released to return to the Chicken Coop, but some of the other aircraft were sent on log missions.

“Take us home, Dan,” Lou said.

That night, sitting in our tent along with Mr. Toliver, an old guy, and Mr. Jones, I asked who the designated flight leaders were.

Mr. Spivey answered that one. “Captain Goodnight, Captain Pierre and Captain Bullock.”

“What about the CO?” I inquired.

“Have you ever seen him in the cockpit, or on the flight line, or out of his tent? When you do, please let us know. It’ll be a first,” said Mr. Toliver. The others seconded that comment.

“How come?” I asked.

“The CO’s on his third tour over here. His first was as an advisor in the early sixties, and his second was in sixty-five as an aviator. Pretty tough assignment, and he took a couple of hits in the aircraft and on his body. He’s paid his dues. He only has another couple of months in command and then he’ll probably move up to battalion or brigade staff. He’s all right, just doesn’t care to fly anymore,” responded Mr. Toliver.

“Well, what makes a good flight leader?” I asked as I opened another beer for myself and the others.

Mr. Reynolds fielded that question. He had been in the unit for about seven months and was considering extending, but not for our unit. No one seemed to do that. Extending your tour was a rare occasion in Vietnam, even in those units that appeared to have high morale and good leadership.

“A good flight leader must first be a good pilot and know his aircraft. Know what its limitations are and how far he can stretch them. He must be a good aircraft commander, taking care of his aircraft and his crew. Just because we’re officers doesn’t mean we can’t help the crew take care of the aircraft. Did you notice when Captain Bullock landed, the first thing he did was leave the aircraft to his crew and beat feet to the club for a beer instead of stay behind and help them sweep it out and post-flight it? No, he left that to Hess, his copilot for today, and the crew. Self-centered bastard. Just because he’s an RLO, he thinks he’s too good to get his hands dirty. Do you think he helped fill sandbags to build the bunker? Not him or any of the RLOs for that matter. Jamison stood there that day and ‘supervised’ while everyone else did the digging and stacking.”

“Okay, Reynolds, that’s enough venting,” interjected Mr. Toliver. “Besides being a good pilot and aircraft commander, a flight leader must plan, coordinate and anticipate the mission. Once he gets his brief from the ground commander, he needs to do a recon flight over or by the LZ or PZ. He needs to judge how many aircraft will fit and what formation will work so we’re not doing the last-minute dick dance like we did today. Bullock never did a recon, and that’s why we were dick dancing in the kill zone. Once he’s done his recon, he needs to coordinate with the ground commander on what the formation will be so they can plan accordingly. He needs to coordinate with the attack helicopters if it’s going to be an insertion. He needs to coordinate with the aircraft commanders and let us know what’s what. And he needs to anticipate what all can go wrong and have a plan for that as well, be it an aircraft breaking down before the mission or ground fire on the LZ/PZ. Today was an example of what not to do on an extraction. One time, Bullock was flight lead on an insertion. He had twelve aircraft in that one, and instead of using the entire length of the LZ to get everyone on the ground, he landed short, getting only eight birds on the ground. The last four had to break off, do a go-around and wait for him to get out so they could come in. The ground commander was pissed. Our battalion commander was in the C&C above, and he was pissed. The CO caught shit for that one, and Bullock will never lead a flight bigger than six ships again.”

“With all the time you guys have, why aren’t you flight leaders?” I asked.

“Because we’re not RLOs,” sneered Lou. “Aviation brigade policy from the almighty brigade commander is that only RLOs will be flight leaders. Warrants are pilots and not leaders according to him. He should know. It’s his first tour flying in Vietnam.”

“Where did he come from?” I quizzed.

“He was a transportation guy stationed in Europe and Korea for most of his time. Went to flight school for the ‘short course’ and came over. The CG made him the aviation brigade commander because we’re transportation and he’s a pilot,” Mr. Toliver interjected.

“What’s the short course?” I asked after a long pull on my beer.

“General officers and full colonels get to go through an abbreviated flight school, which is a condensed primary course and a Huey transition course. Basically it teaches them to hover, fly straight and level and land in a Huey. They get no instrument training at all. And they get wings just like ours and think they know it all,” Mr. Toliver said. With that, Lou turned off the light and rolled into his rack, mumbling something about the motherhood of full colonels.