part0030

“How you feeling?” he asked.

“Sir, I’m not feeling.”

“Well, you best be feeling by tomorrow morning because you’re going back in the air. Look, we shanghaied you and I’ll admit it, but I need good pilots here and can’t afford to ship you off to some other unit. I barely have enough pilots to get all the birds in the air, and with you leaving and a couple of other DROSing, unless I get some pilots in, we won’t be able to put two pilots in each aircraft. If you really have your heart set on leaving, I can understand and won’t stop you, but I and a lot of others really want you to stay.”

Damn, now I felt even worse. “Sir, the Chicken Coop is family. I’m not going anywhere now,” I said.

“Good. Now when are you taking your extension leave?” he asked.

“I planned to take it in January when my twelve months was up. Mom is back in the States attending the University of Maryland while Dad’s in Saigon, and I was going home to spend it with her.”

“No girlfriend?” he asked.

“No, sir. I’ve gotten some letters from a girl I met two years ago in Morocco, but we never dated and her parents are good friends with mine. Just friends, nothing serious or anything.”

“Well, if you’re going home in January, I need you to get the orientation flights done on any pilot that comes in, and that’s your priority for the next two months. If a newbie walks in, he’s in the air the next morning with you. I’ll notify Ops that you and your crew are devoted to flying with every new pilot we receive, be it their first day in the unit or just getting them up to speed. Any questions?”

“Just one, sir. How come I got the IP position? I’ve never been to the flight schools as an instructor.”

“Flying with you, especially the other day, told me you have the combat experience and know the techniques that these guys need to survive. Flight school taught them the basics. You’re going to take them a step higher along with the other ACs. We’re going to start running into more NVA and less VC. The NVA know how to shoot at helicopters, whereas the VC can’t hit shit unless it’s on the ground right in front of them. Look at how many aircraft we’ve had take hits in the last two months versus the last eight months. Triple the number, and each time was a lot more hits in each aircraft,” he explained.

“Okay, sir, I’ll schedule Mr. Reynolds for first thing in the morning and Mr. Dumas for thirteen hundred. For the new guys, I’ll get with Ops and work out a schedule. Anything else, sir?”

“No, that about covers it,” he said as he held out his hand. We had a real CO, and he was a hard man to turn down. He was leadership that I hadn’t seen in the unit for the first eight months I was in the outfit, and his leadership was making great strides in raising the morale and esprit de corps in the unit. Unit pride was becoming more and more evident.

That night after I got some food in my stomach, I tracked down Mr. Reynolds and Mr. Dumas. Both were in the club. I took a chair at their table and introduced myself to them, although after last night I was sure they knew who I was.

“Mr. Reynolds, you and I will launch at zero nine hundred for your orientation flight. Have you made up a map of the AO yet?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Don’t call me sir. I’m the same rank as you. How about you? Have you put a map together?” I addressed Mr. Dumas.

“Ah, no. Should I?” he responded. Something told me this wasn’t good.

“Well, yeah. You need a map. Go to Flight Ops in the morning and they’ll give you the sheets and show you how to arrange it so it opens easy in the aircraft. Have you been to supply and drawn your chicken plates?”

Both responded in the affirmative.

“Good. I’ll meet you over at Flight Ops tomorrow, then. Thirteen hundred hours for you,” I said, looking at Mr. Dumas.

“One question,” Mr. Reynolds spoke up. “What are we going to be doing tomorrow?”

“Good question. We’ll leave here and go to a dirt strip up north and shoot some autorotations, then fly north and give you an orientation of the area, where the major towns are at, where the key firebases are located and how to get clearances through artillery. We’ll stop someplace and refuel and put in about three hours flying time. You might look over the dead man chart in the aircraft operator’s manual, the -10, tonight.” With that, I left them and headed to bed.

At 0500 hours, the damn rooster was raising hell over by the RLO hooch. Better there than next to my bed. He used to crow next to my bed on the sandbags until I hit him one morning with a broom. After that, I started leaving corn over at the RLO hooch, and he moved over there.

At breakfast, I saw Mr. Reynolds, John, and sat with him. He was full of good questions and spent the time picking my brain. I started to wonder if this was me ten months ago. Was I this inquisitive? Had I badgered Lou with questions, attempting to suck him dry of his flight knowledge? Lou was one of the best pilots I had ever flown with. I wished he was here now. Since John and I were both up, we agreed to meet at 0800 hours at Flight Ops and go over a few things before preflight. Specialist Linam was there, and I gave him a heads-up about the change in plans. He said he had no problem with the change of times.

John was right on time and we got to it. I discussed some of the finer points of the preflight inspection and discussed how to get out of the revetment. In flight school, you never hovered the aircraft in such a confined space as a revetment. The first time, it could be a bit nerve-racking. Taking off, we flew to the SF camp on Highway 13 and shot some autorotations, with me demonstrating and then allowing him to execute. He did all right and showed that with some practice he would be even better. We then flew to the northwest and refueled in Tay Ninh. From there, we went on to Quan Loi and Song Be with a return to Lai Khe at 1200 hours. Walking back to Flight Ops, I signed John off as qualified to fly. He was on the board for the next day with me again, but for missions. After chow, I met Mr. Dumas at Flight Ops. There was something about him. He did not ask questions.

As with John, I went over a few things in Ops and then we went out to the aircraft and conducted another preflight, which wasn’t normal, but it was his first flight of the day. Like me when I’d first arrived, he was looking for a written checklist, not only for the preflight but also for start-up. He started the aircraft, and I talked about exiting the revetments, asking if he had any questions. He said no.

“Okay, back us out.”

The crew cleared us, and I said, “Let’s go.” Before I could do anything, we were ten feet in the air and climbing. I grabbed the controls and stopped the ascent.

“What the hell! What are you doing?” I asked, attempting to hide my shock.

“I wanted to be sure to be above the revetment before I came back,” he said with a look of sincerity that really made me wonder.

“Rick—can I call you Rick?”

“Sure.”

“Rick, we discussed how to come out of the revetment. We don’t jump above the revetment and then back out. You come to a hover, three feet, and slide out of the revetment. Let me show you.” I took the aircraft, brought it back to a three-foot hover inside the revetment, and slid it back.

“There isn’t much room in here at a three-foot hover,” he said, looking around and measuring the distance to the walls with his calibrated eyeballs.

“There’s plenty of room. Take it slow and just think about moving the controls. You’ll be all right. You have the aircraft.”

Rick reached for the controls, almost moving reluctantly. I did not let go, however. “Rick, when I say you have the aircraft, your response is ‘I have the aircraft.’ Positive control transfer.”

“I have the aircraft,” he responded.

“Okay, let’s try this again.”

“Clear left.”

“Clear right.”

“Clear back.”

This time I heard fear in the crew’s voices. Rick came in slow with power, and the aircraft was light on the skids. As he continued to increase power, the nose was coming up as it should to five degrees and the aircraft broke ground. Rick was dancing on the pedals, which had the tail starting to swing back and forth. He was shaking and the cyclic was moving, which was causing the aircraft to drift from one side of the revetment to the other. We hadn’t touched, but we were getting close. I wanted to grab the controls, but he had to learn, and flight school didn’t teach this. Finally we were clear of the revetment.

“Okay, not so hard, was it, Rick? Now while we’re here, let’s put the aircraft back in the revetment. Just do what you did coming out, but do it in reverse and you’ll be fine. Slow, steady movements and just think about the movements. Okay, let’s go.”

It was called technique, and everyone had the opportunity to develop new techniques in combat, but newbies shouldn’t try new techniques until they’d learned the tried and true techniques developed by those that had gone before them. Rick was innovative in his technique. Lowering the collective so that the aircraft was lightly on the ground, he slid the aircraft into the revetment. I was too stunned to say anything. Finally after we stopped and were solid on the ground, I spoke up.

“Rick, if the maintenance officer sees you entering a revetment that way, he’s going to be all over you. That technique is rough on the skids. You have to hover the aircraft into the revetment, not slide it along the ground. We’ll work on that when we come back, but we need to get going. I got the aircraft.”

After clearances, I took the aircraft and flew north. I just wanted to relax for a couple of minutes, and flying the aircraft myself was relaxing at this point. Rick was looking around, and I was pointing out landmarks that he needed to know. Reaching the Chon Thanh, I landed the aircraft and told Linam and Private Diedrich, my gunner that replaced Private Johnson, to get out. Specialist Linam seemed to demonstrate some relief as he left the aircraft.

“Okay, Rick, we’re going to be shooting some autorotations. The first one will be textbook flight school. You haven’t flown in a couple of weeks, so I’ll do the first and you the next. Ready?”

“Yeah.”

“Any questions?”

“No,” he said matter-of-factly. Now, if I hadn’t flown in a couple of weeks and hadn’t done an autorotation in probably two months, I would have had more enthusiasm or apprehension in my response. We took off and climbed to one thousand feet and turned on final. Over the end of the runway, I cut the throttle, lowered the collective and set the airspeed for sixty knots. At seventy-five feet, I flared the aircraft, cutting our forward speed and rate of descent. At five feet, I popped the collective and lowered the nose and proceeded to pull in the remaining collective, setting the aircraft down gently. Rick was looking straight ahead.

“Just like in flight school. Any questions?” I asked.

“No.”

“Okay, you have the aircraft. Let’s go.”

“I have the aircraft.” And Rick pulled in power and brought us up to a five-foot hover before pushing the nose over and climbing out. Coming around on final at one thousand feet, he closed the throttle and lowered the collective while slowing the aircraft to sixty knots. So far so good. Now in helicopters, any landing you walk away from is a good landing. At seventy-five feet, he hadn’t changed the flight attitude of the aircraft. My hand slid down to the throttle and collective. At fifty feet, he flared the aircraft, standing the aircraft on its tail, and popped the collective. I knew what was going to happen and was ready for it. On the end of the tail of the UH-1H, there was a metal rod protruding back and down under the tail rotor, and it was there to protect the tail rotor from hitting the ground. Flaring as low as we did, the stinger, as it was called, hit the ground, thus forcing the nose of the aircraft to pitch forward.

“I got it,” I growled as I snatched the controls, rolled on the throttle and pulled in the collective, increasing the power and bringing us to a hover. To continue the autorotation would have resulted in a hard landing at best, possibly spreading the skids or a rollover at worst. Rick just looked at me.

“A bit rusty, are we, Rick? When’s the last time you shot autorotations?” Stupid question to have asked , I thought.

“Back in flight school.” No emotion, almost detachment.

“Okay. Let’s do a hovering autorotation. I’ll go first. Bring the aircraft to a three-foot hover,” I said as I demonstrated. “Once stable, cut the throttle and pop the collective. Hold and pull in as we settle. Any questions?”

“No.”

“You have the aircraft.”

“I have it.” Rick brought the throttle to full power. Nothing was smooth or gentle with him. He jerked in an armful of collective, causing the aircraft to leap into the air to a six-foot hover. It took full control for me not to grab the controls.

“Okay, Rick, get us at a three-foot hover.”

He brought us down but was sliding left and right. The aircraft wasn’t stable. Before I could say anything, like “Get it stable,” he cut the throttle but didn’t pop the collective until we were about a foot off the ground. We landed hard and had used little of the available power. Mentally, I was making some notes. Rick lacked confidence; he didn’t have a touch for hovering, and possibly his depth perception was off. At this point, my nerves were in serious need of relaxing, so I motioned the crew to join us. They appeared reluctant. The rest of the day was spent touring the area of operations and trying to get Rick oriented on his map. I let him fly and I held the map and pointed out landmarks. Maybe he was just rusty from flight school.

Arriving back at Lai Khe with Rick flying the aircraft, we entered the Chicken Coop and turned to our revetment. At about a five-foot hover, Rick worked us into the revetment almost like a pinball would in a pinball game. We didn’t touch, but it was an experience. Getting back to Flight Ops, I told the assistant ops officer I would get back to him on crew assignments for the next day. I wanted to talk to the CO first and headed for his office.

“Excuse me, sir, can I talk to you?”

“Sure, Dan. How did it go today? Want some coffee, or a cold beer?”

“Sir, I need the beer,” I said, reaching for it as he pulled it from his mini refrigerator that we all had acquired since moving to hooches. He had known what my answer would be before he’d asked the question.

“Mr. Reynolds did good, and I have him with me tomorrow on the board. Mr. Dumas is another story. Sir, the guy can’t fly. Oh, he can move the aircraft at altitude okay, but he has trouble hovering, and his autorotation was simply a controlled crash if I hadn’t taken it. If I sign him off, he needs to be with our most seasoned ACs for a time.”

“What do you mean he can’t hover?” the major asked. I explained the drill entering and exiting the revetments as well as the hover autorotation. Giving Rick the benefit of the doubt, I told the CO that Rick might have a depth perception problem and maybe the flight surgeon should check his eyes. The old man thought this over for a minute.

“I’ll talk to Doc about this and see when his last flight physical was. It should have been just before he left flight school. Might be something in there. Okay, are you going to sign him off for copilot duty?” Oh boy, the major was laying it all on me. My responsibility.

“Well, sir, he screwed up the autorotations, but we would have walked away. He did okay flying at altitude. Yeah, I guess I’ll sign him off. I’ll see who Flight Ops is putting him up with and talk to the AC for that mission.” With that, I excused myself and went back to Flight Ops to sign him off and see who his AC for the next day would be. Ops put him up with Mike George.

Mike George’s room was across the hall from mine, and Mike was a good pilot that I had a lot of respect for.

“Hey, Mike,” I said as I entered his room. “You’re flying with Mr. Dumas tomorrow, the newbie. Watch yourself.”

“Why? You signed him off, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, but he isn’t the most stable guy when it comes to flying. His autorotations are controlled crashes and his hovering is horrible. I’ll warn you right now, there’s something about the guy. He isn’t there.”

“Thanks for the heads-up.” And Mike went back to writing his letter. Big Rick would not prove me wrong.