Chapter 34
Bombing Runs

S eldom as a slick pilot did you get to really hit back at the enemy unless you were flying Night Hunter Killer. When an opportunity presented itself to do so, you took it. My flight school stickmate, Chief Warrant Officer 2 Bill Michel, had been flying VIPs since joining the division. He hadn’t flown in a combat assault or a log mission or Night Hunter Killer. He’d been flying for the division commander and the assistant division commanders, which didn’t get into the thick of things. Bill wanted to get down with us and fly some combat missions. I went to our CO and asked if it would be okay to take him for a day, and he agreed. With Lovelace in the copilot seat, we flew over to Camp Gorvad and picked Bill up. Lovelace was like a little kid with a new bike. He did not want to get out of the copilot seat when we landed.

“Morning, Bill,” I said and introduced him to the crew. “This morning, we’re going to Song Be and LZ Judy. We’ll be working for First of the Eighth Infantry, doing log resupply and a combat assault in the afternoon as well as anything else they want us to do. You have the aircraft.”

“I have the aircraft,” Bill said and applied the power, heading for Song Be. As we arrived over LZ Judy, I called the TOC.

“Wrangler Six, Chicken-man One-Niner, over.”

“Chicken-man One-Niner, Wrangler Six India, go ahead.”

“Roger, Wrangler Six, we’re en route to your location. Over.”

“Roger, Chicken-man One-Niner. Someone will meet you on our log pad. Shut it down and come up to the TOC. Over.”

“Roger, Wrangler Six, Chicken-man One-Niner standing by.”

To my crew, I said, “Okay, guys, when we get there I’m shutting down and heading up to the TOC. Any questions?” There were none, and we did as instructed.

Bill and I walked up to the TOC and were met by the battalion operations officer. “Mr. Cory, how ya doing?” I had worked for this unit before and found the battalion commander and ops officer to be very outgoing and energetic. The battalion commander had a red bow tied on the back of his helmet. Guess it reminded him of home. Never asked. I introduced Bill to them.

“How do you feel about dropping bombs?” the battalion commander asked.

“Sir?” I asked, not sure if I’d heard him right.

“How do you feel about dropping bombs?” he repeated.

“Sir, we really don’t have the capability to drop bombs.”

“Well, if you did, how would you feel?” He had this smile creeping across his face.

“Yeah, I guess I’m all for it,” I answered, looking at Bill and he at me.

“Good, we’re going to have some fun,” he said, and he turned to the S-3 and told him to have the aircraft loaded. Walking me and Bill over to a map, he pointed out a known river crossing over the Song Be River.

“I don’t have any troops near here, but I want Charlie to think we do. So, we’re going to drop a couple of bombs here, here and here. We’ll drop four bombs at each location. I need you to fly at two thousand feet and ninety knots. When you can see the target through the chin bubble, you say ‘drop.’ When the target’s at the top of your pedals, give me another ‘drop,’ and when it’s at the bottom of the pedals, you give me the last ‘drop’ and we release. Drop, drop, drop. Just about that fast. Any questions?”

“Sir, my aircraft can’t carry that many bombs. Our lift capability is only about two thousand pounds, and we aren’t big enough to put that many in the aircraft.” The old man had gone crazy, I thought.

“Trust me, Mr. Cory, your aircraft will handle this load easily.” He was still smiling. “Let’s go out to the aircraft.”

As we approached, I saw Lovelace and Peters standing off to the side, watching four grunts loading and strapping a wooden box into the aircraft door. The box had two legs on the inside of the aircraft, which was tilting the box at a forty-five-degree angle with the lower end hanging slightly out the side cargo door. The box was only about six inches deep, two feet wide and four feet in length. On the side hanging out the door was a trapdoor that allowed the entire side to open.

“This, Mr. Cory, is your bomb bay, and these are the bombs.”

He held up an 81 mm mortar round. The round had a piece of narrow cloth about six feet long wrapped around the tail fins and an aerial bomb fuse in the nose. The aerial bomb fuse had a small propeller that spun as the bomb was falling and, after so many revolutions, armed the bomb.

“We will stack the bombs in the box. On the third drop, we open this door and they start falling out. As they fall, the tape comes off and points the bomb downward so the nose is the first to impact the ground. The aerial bomb fuse activates the bomb after one thousand feet. Any questions?”

I was standing there looking at this jury rig, assessing it to make sure it was safe and secured. I didn’t want it falling out of the aircraft, and I didn’t want those aerial fuses spinning while in the aircraft and arming the bombs. After a minute, I had only two questions. “Sir, who’s going to operate this, and when are we going?”

“Good. Let me get my stuff and me and the S3 will be on board.” And with that, he and the S-3 turned and headed to the TOC.

Bill looked at me. “You do this shit often?”

“Bill, this is a first for me. Lovelace, Peters, how do you guys feel about this?” I asked.

“Hey, sir, we’re good,” Lovelace answered for both. Peters just nodded.

“Okay, then, let’s get loaded and ready.”

As we were loading ourselves into the aircraft, the battalion commander and S-3 joined us and we cranked the aircraft. When all was ready, the crew gave me an up, and we departed the LZ and headed for the first target.

“I’ll take the first target and you have the next two. Okay, Bill?”

“Yeah, fine by me. You screw it up, then I’ll redeem us,” he answered with a smile.

“Lovelace, I want you to tell me how this thing works on the first pass and check out where they’re impacting. Bill, we don’t have much wind if any, so I doubt if we need to worry about compensation for that in the drop.”

Approaching the location, I informed the battalion commander that we were at two thousand feet and ninety knots. He had been following our ground path on his map and was leaning forward, looking out the door at the target area coming up. His hand was on the release. I was concentrating on lining up so I could see the target through the chin bubble.

“Drop,” I said as it appeared in the chin bubble. At ninety knots, it was actually three quick “drops.”

“Drop. Drop.” And with that, the door opened and four 81 mm mortars rolled out.

“Sir, the tape is coming off the tail fins and they’re all nose down,” Lovelace said. Ten seconds later, the sound of four impacting explosions was heard.

“Bull’s-eye,” said the battalion commander. “Let’s get the next one.”

“Bill, you have the aircraft.”

“I have the aircraft.”

“Turn to a heading of one-three-five and maintain two thousand feet and ninety knots.”

“Roger.” Bill lined us up and we repeated the bomb run, as we did on the third target as well. I was sure the grin on his face couldn’t be removed for the next couple of days. And the day was just beginning.

Getting back to the LZ, we dropped the battalion commander and S-3 off and unloaded the aircraft. Once unloaded, we headed for Song Be to take on fuel and then returned to the LZ for the day’s missions. Bill wasn’t disappointed. He hadn’t flown in formation since flight school nor a combat assault since arriving in Vietnam, so he had difficulty holding position. We were given the Chalk Two position. Naturally the other crews, not knowing my situation and thinking that I had a newbie as a copilot that day, were unmerciful in their comments about his flying ability. I was in instructor mode the whole time. He also got to work in a couple of really good hover holes, which, flying the brass around, he didn’t get an opportunity to do either. When we reached Camp Gorvad that night after a ten-hour flight day, Bill thanked the crew. It was the last time I ever saw or spoke to my friend.