part0017

“Good morning, everyone. How’s it look, Dan?” he asked, tossing his gear on his seat.

I returned his salutation. “Morning, Bob. She looks really good. Got to admit, that engine compartment is the cleanest I’ve seen yet.”

Sergeant Scovel smiled and nodded to say thank you.

Bob climbed up on the roof and checked the rotor head after preflighting the lower half of the aircraft, and I certainly didn’t take offense. He was just double-checking, and that was fine with me. Coming down, he said, “Let’s get going.”

We all climbed in and I went through the start-up procedures as Bob tuned the radios to the correct frequencies. Sergeant Scovel and Specialist Mackintyre went about their duties of closing doors, getting fire extinguishers and strapping in. Both Scovel and Mackintyre wore monkey harnesses, which allowed the maximum freedom of movement without letting them fall out of the aircraft. Once we were at full power, Bob told me to take us out. Coming to a hover, I was cleared by the crew and I hovered backwards out of the revetment, pedal turning to the runway. Bob told me we were cleared to depart, and so I came to a fast hover forward and, upon reaching the runway, pulled in collective power and nosed it over to achieve maximum airspeed quickly and began the climb to twenty-five hundred feet.

“Your heading is Quan Loi. We’ll just follow Highway 13 right up to there,” Bob directed me. “Have you been up to Quan Loi?”

“No. Just the area down by Bien Hoa,” I replied.

“Quan Loi is a village that houses workers in the Michelin rubber plantation. The Third Brigade is headquartered up there and works that area. The base is in the rubber trees just like us, so it’s pretty nice. At the end of the runway, which is laid out northeast to southwest, there’s a two-story stucco home with a tile roof, and in the back is the most inviting swimming pool. Especially nice is the blonde Caucasian woman that sunbathes next to the pool with no top on. Kind of reminds some of us of home. You married, Dan?”

“No, not married, and no one waiting back there for me either,” I replied.

“Well, flying up here is a bit different than down at Bien Hoa. First, unlike Bien Hoa, there are few open meadows to land in. Second, the trees in this area are either rubber trees or three-hundred-foot hardwood trees with triple canopy. Makes for fun times trying to resupply or insert. Once we get to Quan Loi, we’re working for the brigade, so there’s no telling what they’re going to want us to do. Just wait and see after the brief. Where you from?”

“Nowhere in particular and everywhere. Dad’s career Navy, currently stationed in Morocco. Grew up around every submarine base on the East Coast. Lived in Naples, Italy, for a couple of years and graduated from high school in Yokohama, Japan. I went to college in La Grande, Oregon, for a couple of years and decided that college wasn’t for me. My first job out of high school was working on a logging crew setting chokers in Oregon. Not going back to that. Had spent a summer working on an oil tanker from Okinawa to Saudi Arabia and thought about going back to sea, but Dad talked me out of that. Convinced me to join the Army and try out for warrant officer flight, and here I am,” I explained.

“Had you done any flying before flight school?” he asked.

“Yeah, I got a private pilot’s license working one summer as a line boy in Coos Bay, Oregon. Instead of cash, I got paid in flying lessons. One of my instructors even went into the warrant officer program. Last I heard, he was flying Caribous. Are you married?” I inquired.

“Yep. Just saw my wife in Hawaii two months ago. She’s already moved our stuff to Fort Rucker, which is my next assignment. We’re going to be having our first when I get there. Well, six months after I get there,” he added.

“Well, congratulations, Mr. Lucus,” chimed in Sergeant Scovel. As I continued to fly the aircraft, Bob worked the radios, getting arty clearance as we proceeded up Highway 13 at twenty-five hundred feet. Another cloudless day, but hazy due to forest fires. Below, large swaths of jungle were leveled and large bulldozers were busy cutting the swaths.

“What are they doing?” I asked, nodding in the direction of the bulldozers.

“Those are called Rome plows. Big damn bulldozers with a special blade on the front. They’re clearing the jungle to expose Charlie’s holes and bunkers down there. This area is loaded with tunnels and that’s the quickest way to find them. The First Infantry Division operates in this area. You can see their mark over there. I guess since they’re going home soon, they wanted to leave something for this place to remember them by,” Bob pointed out. Carved into the jungle was a replica of the Big Red One shoulder patch approximately a thousand meters long and appropriately wide. Actually a well-laid-out piece of work.

“When are they leaving, and is anyone coming into Lai Khe to replace them?” My curiosity was piqued. Lai Khe was a large area with a four-thousand-foot runway down the middle, a small village, and several units that weren’t part of the First Infantry Division. Besides our unit, as well as our sister company, which had all the Cobra gunships, there was a medevac unit and MASH unit; an artillery battery; an aviation company, the Robin Hoods; and an engineer brigade headquarters. That wasn’t a lot of people to maintain security of the entire perimeter when the First ID departed.

“Not sure when they’re leaving. In a couple of months, I believe. I don’t think anyone is replacing them. They’re the first of the drawdowns, I think. No, come to think of it, the Ninth in the delta has already gone home. I guess the president was serious when he said that the Vietnamese would be taking the fight now and we were cutting back. The Vietnamese Army should be cleaning up.” Bob continued to watch the jungle-clearing activity on the ground. In the distance, Highway 13 entered another rubber tree plantation. Bob called for landing clearance as there was also a runway about the size of ours at Lai Khe. “I got it,” he said.

“You have the aircraft,” I responded as he took the controls and began our slow descent, turning to final over a beautiful two-story tile-roofed home with a very inviting swimming pool in the backyard, but no sunbather. “Why does this guy stay here in the middle of this war?” I asked.

“He’s a Frenchman, and the manager of this plantation. He knows where the enemy is located but won’t tell us. So as long as he keeps his mouth shut, they don’t mess with him. We can’t shoot artillery into the rubber tree plantations, so we don’t often send troops into the plantations, and the enemy lives in relative peace. I guess you’d call that a symbiotic relationship.”

“Wow, you using them big words again, Mr. Lucus. What does symbiotic mean?” Mackintyre asked.

“I’ll lend you my dictionary and you can look it up when we get back,” Bob answered.

After we refueled, we parked the aircraft and a jeep with driver was waiting for us. While the crew looked after the aircraft, Bob and I jumped in and headed to the TOC for our mission brief. The TOC was two hooches. The brigade S-3 air was a captain and met us as we came in.

“Mr. Lucus, good to see you. How was your R&R in Hawaii?” asked the captain.

“It was good, sir. Sir, this is Mr. Cory, a new guy,” Bob

explained.

“Morning, sir,” I said, extending my hand, which he took.

“Welcome. Now let’s get started. Two missions for you today. First is a sniffer mission. The sniffer team is at your aircraft now loading the equipment. El Lobo just called me with a flight of two and will be here to refuel shortly. We would like you to fly this area along the river from this bridge north to where Highway 13 intersects the river. Report anything you find right away as it’ll be a day before the intel guys decipher anything the sniffer picks up. Based on what you tell me, we have a psyops mission for you for this afternoon. The old man also wants to get up sometime today, so you’ll be flying him around. Any questions?” the captain asked.

“Where are the friendlies located?” Bob asked.

“We have companies here, here, and here right now,” he said as he pointed out locations on the map, and I started plotting those locations on my map. Call signs and frequencies I wrote on a separate piece of paper.

“What’s the enemy situation? Must be something in this area if you’re having us fly a sniffer,” Bob pointed out.

“Actually, that picture is a bit vague in this area. Around An Loc it’s a different story, but here we’ve had ground sensors indicate a lot of activity and that’s why we want to use the sniffer to confirm locations along the Song Be River. We haven’t pushed any recon elements into that area, so it’s pretty virgin territory. There’s been some activity southeast of An Loc, where we found that large cache site and that NVA hospital and base camp. We’re going into this area, the area you’re flying, for the first time.”

“Okay, we’ll head back and get in the air as soon as the sniffer guys are ready. Can we get a ride back?” Bob inquired.

“Sure. Harris is waiting for you in the jeep outside. When you get back, I’ll have him give you a ride to the chow hall for lunch,” the captain offered.

Arriving back at the aircraft, I saw a black box about the size of a footlocker sitting in the cabin with two four-inch tubes coming out of the sides and snaking down to the skids, where they were tied facing forward and down like large wind scoops. Sergeant Scovel spoke up.

“The sniffer guys went to get their gear and will be back shortly. The Cobra jocks went over to the PX and will be back in a minute.”

“Okay. Here’s what we got.” I motioned over Scovel and Mackintyre while Bob spread my map on the cabin floor and commenced his briefing. “We’re flying along the river on this one. We’ll make about four passes, two on each side, one pass close to this side of the river going up and one further over coming back and then up again, but further out and back down close to the river. Anytime you hear ‘Max Mark,’ you open fire.” Scovel and Mackintyre looked at each other with smiles and fist bumps. “Any questions?”

“No, sir.” And both started brushing the clean guns again as well as the ammo that each had, about three thousand rounds.

“What’s a sniffer mission, and what’s this box?” I asked.

“This machine picks up ammonia, which bodies give off in this heat in the form of perspiration. When the machine gives a reading of max, the operator will call out ‘Max Mark,’ which means he has a large group giving off a lot of perspiration and we should engage. First problem is, not only do humans give off ammonia, but so do monkeys, so we’ll be probably shooting a lot of monkeys. Second problem is, in order for this to work, we’ll be flying at treetop level and sixty knots. The two Cobras from El Lobo will be one thousand feet and following us and will engage if we call for fire or are taking fire,” Bob informed me.

“You’re shitting me, right? We’re really going to fly at treetop and only sixty knots?” My eyes must have been as large as saucers.

“I shit you not,” Bob said with a grin. “Truthfully, as short as I am, I’m not thrilled about flying this one, but we play the hand we’re dealt. Let’s get ready. I see the Lobo pilots are strapping in, and here come the sniffer grunts.”

Two sniffer operators climbed aboard and one briefly talked to Bob about the mission. Bob showed them how he was going to fly the mission and they seemed happy about it. One was carrying an M79 grenade launcher with a sandbag full of grenades and the other his M16 with ten magazines. I had to get something besides my .38 pistol, I thought. The only thing it was good for was blowing my own brains out.

As we ran up the engine, Bob took the controls. “I’ll make the first pass, and you have it for the second.”

“Okay,” I answered as the crew cleared us.

“Call Lobos and see if they’re ready. Then get clearance for all three of us,” Bob instructed me once we were at a hover.

After we had clearance and Lobos were up, Bob took us down the runway heading northeast. This route took us out of the rubber tree plantation and out over the jungle. This was my first up-close look at this vegetation, and it was amazing. A very dense forest was below us, with hardwood trees reaching up three hundred feet. So dense was the foliage that I couldn’t see the ground. Occasionally we saw an opening in the jungle where a bomb crater had exposed the ground. An engine failure over this would not end well, I concluded, especially once we dropped down to treetop level and only sixty knots. That was just above the dead man zone.

After twenty minutes, Bob started a slow descent and decelerated our speed to sixty knots. Lobo called and confirmed they were in position, one thousand feet and behind us on both sides. We approached the river at a ninety-degree angle and Bob slowly turned us over the bank of the river. “Scovel, watch that far bank for activity. If we’re going to take it, it’ll come from there.”

“Roger that, sir,” Sergeant Scovel confirmed.

“Lobo Six-Eight, this is Chicken-man One-Six, over,” Bob called out.

“Chicken-man, go ahead,” Lobo came back.

“Yeah, Lobo, keep an eye on the far bank. If we’re going to take fire, I think it’ll come from over there as it’s the only clear sight they have of me,” Bob explained.

“Roger, Chicken-man. We’re thinking alike. Got you covered,” Lobo confirmed.

As we were over the bank, Bob said, “If we have an engine out at this speed and altitude, the river’s our best bet for a landing spot. Going down in these trees will make it impossible for any of us to get out, so if necessary, land in the river. Everyone got that?” We all confirmed we understood. The river was just outside my door, the right side of the aircraft. I was thankful for the armor-plated seat I was sitting in and the chicken plate covering my chest. Sergeant Scovel had a chicken plate as well but no armored seat except the back of my chicken plate. Sucks to be you , I thought.

“Max Mark.” And all hell broke loose. Mackintyre’s gun was hosing the area under the aircraft on his side, and the sniffer grunt with the M79 tossed a round into the trees, which really did no good as the canopy was three hundred feet high and the round exploded as soon as it hit a tree limb, but I guess it made him feel good. Sergeant Scovel never engaged, since there was no one on the river and he didn’t see anything on the other bank, which was about one hundred yards away. We didn’t take any fire from the ground. Lobo continued to orbit above us, providing cover if need be. After the first pass, Bob told me to take it, and we headed back down the path with the river off to the left about four hundred yards away. Sergeant Scovel engaged anytime we hit a Max Mark indicator this time.

“Follow the contour of the jungle and stay about fifty feet above the tops. Watch for any branches that may be sticking up above the rest. Tree strike we do not want,” Bob instructed me.

As planned, he flew the next leg and I the last leg. As we completed the leg, Bob said to head to Quan Loi and get some airspeed and altitude, which I immediately did.

As I made my turn to the west and reached ninety knots, Sergeant Scovel screamed, “Taking fire!”

He opened up. Mackintyre immediately did the same, and as quickly as it started, it was over.

“Chicken-man, Lobo Six-Eight. Over.”

“Lobo, I think we just took fire,” Bob reported.

“Roger, I saw it. Are we cleared to roll hot?” Lobo questioned.

“Affirmative, as there are no friendlies around here. I’ll report this to higher,” Bob indicated.

“Roger, Lobo’s hot.” And rockets began impacting in the area where we’d taken fire, which was a small clearing. We continued on to Quan Loi with a brief look back as Lobo unloaded all their rockets and some miniguns. Sergeant Scovel said he thought it was small arms, AK-47 most likely, from a couple of guys. They must not have seen the Cobras following us. It happened so fast I was unaware that we were even shot at.

“Is that your first time, Mr. Cory?” Mackintyre asked me.

“Getting shot at? Yeah,” I answered.

“Yahoo, Mr. Cory buys the beer tonight!” Sergeant Scovel chimed in. “Yes! ”

“What?” I shout.

“First-timers buy the beer for the crew,” Mackintyre explained. “Thanks, Mr. Cory.” Bob just sat there smiling at me. I was definitely seeing a pattern here about lessons and beer. Returning to Quan Loi, we refueled the aircraft and bade farewell to Lobo, who had been released from our mission, parking the aircraft. Our ride showed up and we headed back to the TOC and the S-3 air.

“I understand you did better than expected out there, giving me a real no-shit position. Where were they and how many?” the captain asked.

Bob pointed out on the map where we had taken the fire, stating that we thought it was a couple of guys as it was light fire and only from AK-47s. Bob also told him that the Cobras had rolled in hot on the location.

“I’ll get a request in to get a scout team from First of the Ninth to go up and check it out,” the captain mumbled thoughtfully as he reached for a radio. The First of the Ninth was the air cavalry squadron for the First Cav Division. Their aircraft consisted of mostly OH-6 scout helicopters and Cobra gunships. They also had one platoon of UH-1H aircraft and grunts, referred to as the Blues Platoon, in each of their cavalry troops. Each troop had a platoon of OH-6s, a platoon of Cobras and the Blues Platoon. On a scout mission, two OH-6s would fly at treetop level in circles, covering each other, with a Cobra watching over them. Frequently, one OH-6 would come to a hover to blow the vegetation back so they could see the ground. OH-6 crews were shot down on a frequent basis. Seldom did an OH-6 survive to receive its first three-hundred-hour inspection, although since the VC were less active after TET of ’68, their survival rate had improved for a short period of time.

After the captain completed his mission request for a scout team, he said our next mission would be at 1330 hours and we should get some chow at the brigade headquarters mess hall. He would see us back at 1245 hours and would send the jeep to get our crew. This captain was okay in my book.

When we returned to the TOC at 1245 hours, the captain told us there had been a change in mission. “The old man has canceled the psyops mission. He, along with the S-2, the S-3 and the brigade engineer captain, want to have a look at where you took fire this morning. Between the readings from the sniffer and you taking fire, which is a confirmation that someone is out there, the old man’s looking at moving a firebase into that area to interdict the river. Takeoff will be thirteen thirty.”

Bob said that was fine and we would be at the aircraft waiting for them. When we got to the aircraft, Sergeant Scovel was hanging under the tail boom in a hammock and Mackintyre was lying in the cabin, trying to go to sleep.

Time waits for no man, but pilots do wait for colonels. Thirty minutes late to us, but not to the colonel, he arrived with his staff in tow. This guy looked like a warrior. Tall, well built with a square jaw, he introduced himself to me and Bob. New to the division and having just taken command, he was out to make a name for himself but had a reputation already of taking care of his people and doing the right thing by them.

Colonel Irons spread out his map and briefed Bob on what he wanted to do as I climbed into my seat. Basically, he wanted to find a clearing that was close to where we had taken fire, and along the river so he might move a battalion in quickly and put a firebase in place to interdict the river and cover the area from Quan Loi to the river, as this was an area that some rockets had been coming out of and hitting the base. The 130 mm Katyusha rocket was a Soviet rocket used in World War II and Korea which the enemy had acquired and used mostly to harass us, as they were not very accurate.

As everyone settled in, I started the aircraft. Bob got our clearance and a thumbs-up from the colonel and told me to take us out.

“Head for the river at three thousand and ninety knots. I want to stay well above any possible .51-cal fire,” Bob said. “An old trick of Charlie’s is to fire at an aircraft with AK-47s, and when a flight returns or the scout aircraft shows up, they open up with three .51-cals in a triangle to trap you. If you’re low and that happens, you’re going to have a miserable day.”

The colonel asked what altitude we were going to hold and Bob explained the situation to him. No argument from the colonel. He told Bob he could see everything he needed from three thousand feet. Yeah, I like this guy.

Once over the area, we started circling, making the circle ever so slightly wider with each turn. The staff in the back were huddled together, comparing what they were seeing on the ground with what was on their maps. After about thirty minutes and further to the northeast, a clearing was noted. The colonel asked, “Mr. Lucus, how many aircraft do you think we could put in that clearing at a time?” Wow—a colonel asking us warrant officers for our opinion? Well, asking Bob, but…I really liked this guy now.

After a minute or so, Bob came back. “Sir, I think we could get twelve aircraft in there. That tree in the middle is going to cause a problem, but a flight in staggered formation could fit on both sides. The problem for you is going to be the separation for the ground forces once we unload as they’ll be on opposite sides of the LZ. Approach would have to be along the northeast-southwest axis. Also, that’s the largest clearing around, so Charlie may have it targeted as well. Not a lot of options in this area for an LZ.”

“My sentiments exactly, but it’s going to have to do. Okay, take us home.” And with that, the colonel went into a huddle with his staff and we turned back to Quan Loi. The S-3 air was waiting at the pad with the colonel’s jeep. Once the colonel was loaded up and out of there, the captain jumped on the skid to talk to Bob.

“That’s it for today. You’re released to go home. Thanks for your help today. Be safe,” he said, shaking Bob’s hand.

Bob turned to me and directed me to move us to refuel and then head home to buy beer for the crew. As we were flying back, Bob asked, “What are your plans after this?”

“What, after Vietnam?”

“Yeah, you going to stay in or what?”

“I intend to go back to college and get a job flying helicopters and maybe attend law school. Not really sure what I want to do at this point. Just flying here right now is as far ahead as I’m thinking. What about you?” I asked.

“I don’t know. My wife and I talked about it a bit when I was on R&R and we’re just going to play it by ear for now. With a kid on the way, that sort of changes my options.”

“That’s one thing I don’t have to worry about right now, and no plans either for the immediate or foreseeable future. No one back home waiting for me, so I’m a bit free to do as I want.”

“Hey, Mr. Cory, I have two sisters back home,” Sergeant Scovel chimed in.

Mackintyre, imitating a New Jersey shore accent, said, “Mr. Cory, I have seen his sisters. Forget about it.” With that, Bob and I had to listen to a running exchange all the way back to Lai Khe about the appealing qualities or lack thereof of Sergeant Scovel’s sisters.