My War - Installment 20

I found out later that our Scouts had quite a reputation for kills. In fact, their kill ratio was higher than that of our weapons section. It had gotten to the point in our normal area of operation that many times the Viet Cong, unlike the NVA and even sometimes the NVA, would not even fire at a Scout ship. They knew that the Scouts could and would fire back with accuracy or call in artillery or air strikes.

We came in and gingerly sat the skids across one of the dikes; we did that just to steady the ships because there was insufficient solid ground to put all of the Huey's weight on. The grunts jumped out, their weapons bared, ready for action and quickly moved toward the waiting Viet Cong. The VC had neatly piled their weapons together. One of our squads went to collect them. The other squad had already started to approach the VC, who numbered five. They were motioning for the "Charlie" to move toward the waiting helicopters.

The VC, obviously frightened, slowly approached our ship. Three were directed, by sign language, to get on board our ship. The remaining two were to get on to the next ship, which was perched across the dike further down the paddy. The next ship, Jack's would carry the last two and the third ship would carry the seized weapons. We waited while the other ships were loaded and their respective squads back in place. Tom had secured the three VC with rope, having tied them to a seat strut. He sat across from the prisoners, weapon in hand.

The Scouts, during this time, had left their hovering positions and continued to check out the edge of the jungle. The Gunships that had escorted us in remained aloft circling the entire area while we unloaded, took care of our business, and reloaded.

We were all ready for take off. The ships were to take off one at a time because of the terrain. We hadn't really noticed before but the area where the VC had been standing in the rice paddy was in a little cove shaped area of the mountains with steep slopes on three sides. There was only one direction in which to take off, away from the mountains to the east.

We decided, jointly, to take off individually, the flight leader first then Bill and I and so on. We were to climb to five hundred feet, join formation and head for home. John's ship went out first. He climbed rapidly while banking to the right, to circle with the gunships. Bill and I followed the same pattern of climbing and banking. John was one hundred eighty degrees off of our right side and several hundred feet higher when we started our turn.

Jack and Dan's ship followed the same way. As they climbed I looked to my right and watched their Huey from our aircraft's position. We were still climbing. Their helicopter was at approximately three hundred feet when suddenly someone jumped from out of the open cargo doors quickly followed by a second person. Both bodies fell rapidly, feet and arms flailing wildly as the two people gained speed and dropped toward one of the rice paddies. I continued to watch, dumbfounded and amazed, as the two bodies hit the field simultaneously and then sank lifelessly into the mud and water. During the time this was happening a Scout ship raced in to see what was going on. Whether or not the two were dead upon impact had become a moot issue, as a Scout ship let loose with a burst of machine gun fire on the two bodies. We made formation and headed for base, the episode ended.

As we discussed what had happened later that evening we theorized: that the two VC, thinking that they could escape, had misjudged their height above ground and jumped- believing the soft mud would help absorb their impact. At that point it was immaterial as to whether the mud had helped them or not. They had tried to escape; they were fair game. No longer VC suspects. They had become VC confirmed. Case closed.

COUNSELOR ?

I seemed to get along well with the enlisted men in our unit, perhaps my youth made me less threatening to them; or, maybe they saw something in me that they just did not see in the older officers. In any case some of the enlisted men had started to visit me for advice on different matters- Dear John letters from girl friends and wives was one of the common topic - in fact it seemed to be the predominant difficulties which brought them to my door to start with. What I told them must have made some sense because more and more sought me out for advice in the days and weeks that followed. Basically I had told most of the Dear John recipients that they needed to concentrate on their own personal survival, at that moment in time. That particular issue was the only one that they needed to be concerned with just then. I told them that I knew it would be hard, but they should just think of themselves. That was what the letter writers were doing- just thinking of themselves and not being concerned about a future together, or thinking about anyone else. If they could understand this, other things would fall into line. They needed to develop a relationship with God, especially in our situation.

I was glad to be able to relax for a while that evening after my "counseling" session. I lay on my bed and daydreamed about buying a new car when I got home. That notion had started to be a recurring fantasy as I relaxed in the early evening after mess. With the money I was saving I could get any kind of car that I wanted- AM/FM stereo, tape player, air conditioning... Car after car wheeled its way into and through my mind as the bright lantern light threw a hard edged shadow of Jack against the tent’s walls.

At the OPs meeting that night we learned that the actions of the past few weeks had been just a small part of a larger operation called "Thayer II" and that the next day another portion, a B-52 strike, would take place northeast of Bong Son. The strike would go in approximately twenty-five klicks northwest of the coastal fishing village where we had seen action. It was believed that the NVA had a Division base in that area where the B-52 strike would take place. Our scouts would go in to see what damage had been done, if any.

The next morning we loaded and flew to the lager area at Bong Son to wait and see if we would be needed. We could see the clouds of smoke from the bombs and hear the countless, thundering, explosions as the air strike proceeded. The usual lively group of local child hucksters was there and was totally entranced by what was happening north of their village.

After the strike our Scouts were the first to enter the area to investigate. We continued our boring vigil at Bong Son. I had started to take my letter writing supplies along, during these waiting type days, to see if I could take care of some of my writing obligations. There were between fourteen and eighteen people that I had corresponded with initially, that number slowly, but steadily diminished. Most people had better things to do than to write regularly to someone in Vietnam; at least I believed they probably did. The guys that were there at home were probably keeping the girls too busy to write.

I sat in the cargo compartment and tried to scribble out one of my usually cryptic and ill composed letters. There seemed to always be something to distract me from writing, whether it was during the daylight hours or at night in our tent. This time the interruption was a call to bring in the recon platoon.

We loaded our squads and took off for the area of the bombings. They were to go in and check out something more closely. When we got to the area we ended up using bomb craters along a ridge for LZs. The area of the bombing was totally devastated. We did not know how many B-52's had been used in the strike, but we did know that they normally used everything from bombletts to five-thousand pounders in these raids. Trees were blown down everywhere and the whole area was pock marked with craters of varying sizes. The larger trees, those that were still standing, had leaves and limbs blown off. The green of the jungle was mingled with clouds of dust. We dropped off our load and quickly returned to Bong Son. Later we picked them up at the same spot and returned to Little Hong Cong, and then we called it a day. Nothing had come of the bombing- we heard nothing further about it.

November was progressing steadily and most of our time was spent waiting. We were involved in some search and destroy type missions. Search out the enemy's supplies and/or food stuffs and destroy them. The enemy had again seemed to disappear into thin air for a few days so we had nothing better to do. This was the only war we had to fight and we were trying to make the best of it that we could.

On Sunday 13 November 1966 we were doing our usual waiting number when the Scouts hit a veritable jack pot cache of rice. When the recon platoon had finished their tabulations and burned the rice. They had calculated that the find was well over thirteen tons. This find had brought our three week total to 1,626,000 pounds that we had found and destroyed. We also heard that the total number of enemy killed by our unit over the last six months was one thousand enemy dead versus twenty-eight American dead. We never did know the numbers for wounded on either side. It was reported that the death figures were from actual body counts.

The monsoon season, the second of the year, would be starting any day and would stay around for almost one month before letting up. The monsoons would more than likely pose some interesting flying situations for us, especially if we did any flying in the mountains. Most of our flying had been in the flat valleys and farm land, but it seemed pretty obvious to me that there had to be a lot of enemy out there in those jungle covered mountains.

That evening we sat around the tent and played our guitars for a while, a few others had joined us and sang along to our music. I again got caught up in day dreaming about buying a car. Its funny, when I first got there all I had on my mind was all the money I'd save while in Vietnam. Just then all I day dreamed about was spending it. I guess I figured that was what I was saving it for.

I lay down on my rocket boxes and started humming "Gentle On My Mind", all the while thinking about my prospects for the future in the States or where ever. Would I try to put in for Europe, perhaps I would try for Fort Wolters or Fort Rucker. Would I find a girlfriend when I got back or would my love life, luck, with girls continue as before? I was thankful that I did not have a girl friend at that point in my life- one less worry! Thinking of friends reminded me of the letter that had come that day from Buddy. Buddy and I had started to correspond since we were in Vietnam. I had sent a letter to him because I knew where he had been assigned. I finally received a letter in reply. The rotten fart had sent me a picture of him in civvies (civilian clothes) testing the temperature of the water in the swimming pool. He further heaped insult upon injury by telling me that they had real beds with sheets and pillows and the whole nine yards. Well, some people have all the luck. I was happy though. Buddy told me that Katie was doing fine at Texas Women’s University and that they wanted me to be "best man" in their wedding when Bob and I got back to the states. That was great news.

"Gee", I thought to myself, "maybe I'll end up getting married when I get back. Who knows? First I'll have to find some girls that are willing to date someone as crazy as me. Then I'll concern myself with other domestic matters. For now I'll worry about what kind of a car I'm going to buy when I get back."

Oh yea, Buddy's letter. Buddy was with the 128th Assault Helicopter Company. He did not say where they were located, I wondered why. He also told me that Nathan was with the 161st Helicopter Company about forty miles south east of where I was. Nathan's job was to fly some Korean General around. I must have dozed off wondering about my friends from flight school, because the next thing I knew Jack was shaking me awake again for OPs briefing.

C & C

Everything that morning seemed to be shrouded in mist. The normal colors of sunrise were not present; the jungle greenery was softened into hazy dim pastels. As we took off, the grass thatched hootches along the way also had the appearance of a soft pastel drawing.

We settled back and flew the familiar course east from Little Hong Cong, drifting ever so slightly northward and then up the 506 Valley which contained the main north south road- then again banking east northeast and landing at the lager area at Bong Son.

Now, if I were a kid, on a morning like this one....I believe I would try to sleep in. As a matter of fact, the thought had crossed my mind that morning. I guess when you sleep on a grass mat on the floor… the urge to remain there soon passes after waking. Maybe, just maybe, those kids would not show up. We had no sooner landed than the kids were there by our helicopters. I had guessed wrong again.

The sun must have inched its way higher in the morning sky, because light was gradually being added to the scene. The mist of earlier that day was slowly dissipating, revealing the face of the day that lay ahead. The sky was shaded over now by a relatively low hanging blanket of gray clouds. It was going to be a dreary, damp day in the Central Highlands. The first part of the morning was spent sitting in our helicopters, as rain started and then steadily began to come down. The children wearing their conical straw hats, toughed out the weather, by crawling underneath the helicopters for some shelter and continued with their devilment as usual.

We were called out at mid-morning to put the recon platoon in just to the west and over the first ridge of the 506 Valley. The Scouts had located what they thought was evidence of a large camp in that area. We took off, got into a loose formation at lower altitude than normal, and proceeded to cruise down the 506 Valley. We passed over a small outpost there that was set up in the valley as an artillery base and POL (refueling) point. Its name was LZ Pony. Just south of LZ Pony we banked to the west and headed toward the steep mountains that were only a few klicks away. As we were turning we received a message from a Scout ship, call sign, Apache 1-2 (One-two) that there were no adequate LZs over the ridge and the clouds were lowering anyway.We would have to pick out an LZ at the foot of the mountains. The poor grunts would have to go in on foot. We landed in a field bordered by thick hedgerows, which were common to the area. The recon squads, reluctantly, left the relative dryness and comfort of the cargo compartment, entering the rain drenched world that lay outside.

The Lift section was ordered to return to base camp. In the event that contact was made we would already be at a base where we could pick up any additional troops and/or supplies. That decision was OK with us; we could spend some time in the dry mess tent and drink some more coffee, while waiting. The Gunships remained on station with the Scouts and grunts.

We got to base around 1110 hours, then after refueling we immediately went to the mess tent. As I approached the coffee pot the CO motioned for me to join him at his table. I filled my cup with the dark black fluid and quickly joined him. What had I done now?

"Mr. Rollason."

"Yes Sir."