Chapter 23
Cherry Broken

F lying for the past ten months in-country, I had been fortunate. I had only one broken chin bubble and one tail rotor strike to blemish my record. I had been shot at but never hit. I was a cherry. Most other pilots had already had at least one hole in their aircraft. Dave’s was the only aircraft we had lost to enemy action, and that still hurt. I had my own aircraft and crew chief and we clicked pretty good. Specialist Linam was older and more mature than most of the others. My door gunner was a different story.

Actually, Specialist Francis was a good door gunner, but he had rotated back to the States the day before. What I was getting was totally new to me and new to the unit, as he had just transferred in from the infantry. This was to be his first mission. I woke up that morning with a weird feeling. A sense of dread hung over me. I had never had the feeling and couldn’t shake it. Something wasn’t right. I did an extra-good preflight. We had an early-morning takeoff, and Private Johnson, my new door gunner, was late. Specialist Linam went to find him, and I could hear Linam cussing across the Chicken Pen. Private Johnson was the recipient of the verbal attacks. Seemed Private Johnson had rolled over and had gone back to sleep after he had been told to get to the flight line.

When Private Johnson got to the aircraft, I asked him if he was going to bring the guns. “I thought they would be on the aircraft already,” he said.

“What made you think that? You know they’re kept in the arms room at night,” I asked.

“I thought you would have gotten them,” he said.

I went ballistic and approached him with my face in his. “I don’t mind doing someone else’s job coordinated ahead of time, but don’t just expect me to do yours, Private. Now get those damn guns, and don’t forget the ammo.” Now besides not feeling right, I was pissed. Could this morning get any better? Careful what you wish for. The only thing that saved Johnson was a jeep coming by. I stopped it and had it take him to get the guns and the six thousand rounds of ammo that we carried. When he got back, he started mounting the weapons along with Specialist Linam.

Then Specialist Linam went ballistic, “Holy shit, this stuff is filthy! Did you clean them last night?”

“No, I thought that other guy would have done that,” Private Johnson mumbled.

“Johnson,” I exploded after seeing the condition of the guns and ammo, “the first stop we make today, you will strip these guns and get them cleaned. If we take fire today before you get them cleaned, I hope to God you’re the one that takes the hit. Now let’s go.” We cranked the aircraft and got off a few minutes late, which I made up and joined the rest of the flight.

En route, Yellow One gave a briefing. “Flight, this is Flight Lead. We’re picking up a company at the airfield in Song Be and inserting them along the river.” He gave the coordinates of the landing zone, which I was plotting on my map while my copilot flew. Russel had been in the unit for about three months and all indications were that he was going to be a fine aircraft commander. He was patient and unflappable and had a great sense of humor. “We’ll have three turns landing in staggered right formation. Landing will be from south to north.”

This would place our aircraft closest to the tree line as we were Chalk Two for this mission. Specialist Linam was on the left side of the aircraft and Johnson was on the right side, facing the tree line. Russel was almost ready to make aircraft commander, so I decided to let him take us in on the initial assault. I would be ready to take the controls but really didn’t think it would be necessary.

Things started out as usual, the artillery and Cobra gunships doing their thing at the appropriate times. We reached the H minus one time hack, and Russel gave the command, “Door gunner, open fire.”

Specialist Linam depressed the trigger, and nothing! Private Johnson did the same, and nothing! Our damn guns and ammo were so dirty that both weapons malfunctioned. The flight of six aircraft had a serious gap in our coverage because I couldn’t lend any firepower to the suppression.

“Yellow One is taking fire!” Chalk One was being impacted by green tracers, and he was still about four feet in the air. Slowly he started a pedal turn to the left, which began to accelerate. Shit, his tail rotor had been shot out and he had no control over it. As the aircraft continued to accelerate in the left turn, grunts were thrown out and were crawling as fast as they could away from the aircraft. Suddenly a sledgehammer began beating on the side of our aircraft as we were about to touch down. To Russel’s credit, he concentrated on putting us on the ground for the three seconds, but the grunts were already jumping off and engaging the tree line.

“Chalk Two is taking fire!” I reported. I was watching our instruments, especially engine and transmission oil pressure gauges. No master caution light and no fluctuation in the gauges, so we were good. Must have hit the tail boom. Still no fire from my guns.

“I’m hit!” Private Johnson screamed.

Damn, I can’t believe I wished this on him. Bullshit! He deserved this .

“Where are you hit?” I asked.

“In the ankle,” Johnson replied. Now I was pissed. That was a ticket home. He was going to be in the VA medical system for the rest of his life, and from what I had seen of him, he was going to milk that system for the rest of his life.

As we were coming out of the LZ, Yellow One called me to take the flight and lead position. Only Chalk One was left back in the LZ with one-third of a rifle company. Cobra gunships were working the tree line, and I was taking the remaining ships back to get the next turn. We loaded quickly and it was obvious that the grunts knew it was a hot LZ. Johnson was taken out by a waiting medic and ambulance, and that was the last I saw of him. A quick inspection of the exterior of the aircraft by Specialist Linam indicated we’d acquired some extra air vents in the tail boom, courtesy of the NVA. The only important items in the tail boom were the tail rotor drive shaft, which looked like a four-inch metal pipe that ran along the top of the tail boom, and the two cables that controlled the tail rotor. The rest was just hollow. Linam said we were good to go and Russel led the next lift to the LZ, which was still in contact. One of the grunts had been working on Johnson’s gun and had it working, as had Linam, so on this turn, both guns were firing. Chalk One crew were waiting on the ground for us to land, and as soon as the grunts were off, they were on, with their door gunner taking over.

The last turn into the LZ was uneventful, but a couple of prisoners were tossed on my aircraft, with Linam holding a gun on them. I looked back and for the first time saw an enemy that would like nothing better than to shoot me. No remorse in their eyes, just pure hatred. This was the enemy up close and personal. These were NVA soldiers. They were dedicated, disciplined and physically tough. No fat on those bodies. They were as good as our grunts, lacking only the technology that our guys enjoyed. I had seen Chieu Hois with their grins and waves. These were not Chieu Hois. This was the real enemy. An enemy that I would come to respect.