My War - Installment 25

Jack must have awakened me for the OPs meeting. I won't swear to it; all the recollections are hazy on that one. I went back to the hootch which we had built during the evenings after flying, working into the night to replace out tent. The small structure had been made from rocket boxes with rocket box trusses. Our roof was covered with ponchos that we knew would not leak like out tent had. We had salvaged sandbags from our tent and stacked them around to protect the walls up to the roof level. I fell asleep while thinking about and looking forward to the next day, my first in the Scout section. My head was fuzzy; morning would come sooner than I wanted it to.

FIRST DAY BUTTERFLIES

I woke wondering how the operation with the ARVN had come off the previous day. The morning seemed quieter than normal, perhaps because it was me along with the Scouts making the early morning noises. I had gone to mess very early after cleaning up; there had been dried flecks of vomit on my chin - oohh cripes I hope people hadn't noticed, but they probably had. I sat with the other Scout pilots and ate furiously.

"Rumor has it that you were trying to put the make on Ramirez’s girl friend yesterday, Sam," said John Talbot.

"Stories have a way of traveling fast," I replied. "That's not exactly correct, anyway."

"Ramirez has quite a reputation as a drinker and I hear he tried to out drink you as some weird sort of revenge?"

"So, that's what it was, huh? I sure didn't know that that was his girl friend. He's married isn't he?"

"Yea, but that doesn’t matter to him."

"Well, I'm no mind reader for sure! Plus, I didn't do any more than talk to her and act civil after I ordered a sandwich. Ramirez can be pissed off if he wants to , but as far as I'm concerned he can go piss up a rope."

"Ah...come on you don't have to get riled, you probably were trying to hustle her, at least in Ramirez’s eyes."

"I wouldn't mind trying to, but I'll probably never get the chance again; I don't mind taking' the blame for something I did. It's a shame that I may not have a chance to do what I've been blamed of. Now, you pecker heads leave me alone so I can eat, I had a rough enough night as it was. It reminds me of flight school."

Captain White (Dave) had previously told me my aircraft assignment and my observer’s name, G.W. Jones, a sergeant that I knew slightly. In that way I was able to do my preflight with everyone else before breakfast. I finished my fifth or sixth cup of coffee and then went out to my aircraft. My H-13 for that day just happened to be the one ship in the Scout section that had a nickname. I had flown in her before with John Talbot. Good ol' "Birth Control", the ship that had so many kills. A good ship to start out my Scouting in, I thought.

I was anxious to get started. I was the sole pilot of this bird. There was only one set of controls in our H-13's so observers would be pretty helpless if the pilot were to be killed. As they used to say in flight school about loosing the Jesus Nut or other ultimately fatal occurrences; all you could do was bend over and kiss your ass goodbye. Most observers did not know how to fly or very little anyway.

I finished checking over the aircraft again just as G.W. Jones came strolling up to Birth Control. G.W. was a black fellow, probably in his early to mid-twenties, I am terrible at guessing peoples ages, neatly dressed in fatigues - nobody in our unit had jungle fatigues or camouflage fatigues, we did have jungle boots though. G.W. was about my height, five ten or eleven, and wore a big smile on his face as he came up to me carrying his flight helmet and his M-60 (machine gun). I had noticed all the belts of 7.62 ammunition on the floor of the H-13 during pre-flight. G.W. carried the M-60 cradled in his arms gently as if it were a baby. That baby could save our butts I thought as I watched him carefully and tenderly prop it against the front of the seat.

"Mornin', Sir."

"Mornin', G.W. it's nice to meet you. I hear your one of the best observers we've got. I'm glad you’re flying with me. I can certainly use the help while getting used to this new job."

"Thanks, Sir, I'll try to live up to that reputation."

The cockpit of an H-13 is very stark when compared to the Huey. The instruments are few, dual RPM gauge, oil pressure, amps, magnetic compass and radios. The seats are not too comfortable either, just a metal bench-like arrangement with cushions that snapped on to keep them from shifting around. There are no ceramic shields on the seats like the Huey's. Weight was a prime consideration. There were only two one quarter inch metal plates (armor if you will) per person, one to slip behind the back of the seat and one under the bottom of the seat cushion. Our other armament, that is besides the M-60 and our personal weapons, consisted of hand grenades, which were hung everywhere in the cockpit; that is everywhere that there was some place or something to hang one on. There were the usual fragmentation grenades, plus white phosphorus and colored smoke (red, green, white) not to mention a number of CS grenades (the very strong tear gas). We did have our ceramic chest protectors, thank goodness for little things.

G.W. untied the rotor and then sat in Birth Control while I finished talking to John. Then I joined him and together we waited for Captain White. Dave White had served in Korea and was a Captain then also. He was, I supposed, the perpetual Captain. I think he had left active duty and was called back to active duty during Viet Nam, because he had had previous helicopter experience in Asia. Dave was always smiling. He had the start of a paunch, rosy cheeks, a rather narrow nose, blue eyes and, a pleasant personality. I looked forward to working with him.

Dave arrived a few minutes after G.W. and started his walk around. Darkness still blanketed the, moist November morning air. We talked briefly as he continued his pre-flight. He cautiously flicked on a cigarette lighter at different times to examine various components.

"We'll be doing a first light around the perimeter here and then will cruise out and work some of the smaller valleys east of the 506. They are in an intricate mass of intertwining passages, dotted with small farms and groups of dwellings - not really villages."

"Sounds good to me," I said not knowing what else to reply, forever the conversationalist. "By the by Dave, how did that operation go with the ARVN yesterday?"

"Crap! You would have to ask, wouldn't you? It just goes to prove why the Squadron usually doesn't like working with the ARVN."

"Come on, come on, and let me have it!"

"We had Chinooks and all kinds of birds here hauling troops in for the blocking force. Then the ARVN were moved into place. The stupid slope bastards, instead of spreading out and moving toward us in a pinching action, they walked in a straight line one behind the other at arms length. A couple of the dumb asses even got killed. The guy behind them tripped, or slipped, or what ever, and accidently sent a round into his buddy."

"Sounds like a real good time, Dave."

"Let's just drop it, huh? One of the reasons we're working east of the 506 is to try and relocate the NVA and get some action going. If all would have gone right yesterday, maybe the NVA would be fewer and further west today."

The sun wasn’t even up over the rim of the horizon before we took off, but there was sufficient light to begin our flight. All I had to do was stay on Dave's wing and do my radio work. George would be keeping a watchful eye out for the VC or NVA. I hoped and believed that later on I would be able to do more of the observing myself. At that moment I just wanted to do my best and get accustomed to flying recon - the rest would come with time.

We finished our first light and zipped into the POL to refuel before heading out to the east. The familiar roar of the reciprocating engine sounded sweet to my ears. It wasn't that I didn't like the turbines, I did; it’s just that there were no turbine powered recon ships in Viet Nam then. The Hughs OH-6A "Loach (Light Observation Helicopter), which would take the place of the H-13 was not due in country for probably another year or so, we had seen pictures of it though. It was to come about the same time that Bell’s Huey Cobra would arrive. The turbines were nice too, the LOACH was, I was told supposed to do about one hundred and twenty plus knots, but then most of our recon flying was done at speeds way below that, like five knots, or even less at times.

We were off moving east, at low level, flying over the scattered palm surrounded native huts. It seemed strange in a way. We crossed every area of possible concealment, always keeping a watchful eye for the enemy. I had to remind myself a few times that my job was to find the enemy. In a lot of instances the enemy was found because he took a pot shot at you. It was exhilarating flying the small birds again and low level contour flying had been my first love of helicopter flying. I was having a great time. Knowing that there were those little North Vietnamese or Viet Cong down below and that their whole purpose in life was to kill me, put an edge on the flying that was much keener in the H-13's with their large clear bubble unlike the Hueys. Borrowing a phrase I had heard many times, I said to myself..."Shoot away you bastards-I'm the meanest mother humper in the valley, if you shoot at me your ass is grass."

We spent about an hour after hour flying through the maze of little valleys between the 506 and the coast of the South China Sea. The scenery was magnificent; beautiful little mountains rose from the flat coastal plain. Lush fields planted in something, rice I believed, were everywhere. There were neat little houses surrounded by banana trees and coconut palms. Water buffalo grazed contentedly nearby, some domestic birds, probably chickens of some sort, pecked and scratched about the buildings. It was quite the pastoral scene, despite the fact that a war was being waged close at hand.

Vietnam was really a beautiful country. I didn't know why they couldn't put away their differences and push tourism - come visit the old Viet Cong tunnel complexes in Hong Cong Mountain near beautiful An Khe. See the ancient temples scattered amid the beautiful scenery of the oriental countryside. Some of us could stick around and give helicopter tours of the lush land and beautiful beaches along the South China Sea; we could pull advertising banners behind our aircraft just like back in the states.

I continued to day dream as I enjoyed flying wing on Dave. George continually kept his eyes moving back and forth looking for any suspicious looking people or movements below us. Dave had informed me that we were to look for and kill any water buffalo or elephants that we found in the wilds that appeared to have been used as pack animals. The NVA and VC would use animals and then turn them loose away from villages or any populated areas, to reduce the chance of their being found. I didn't think we'd see any where we were, but the water buffalo that we were flying over had reminded me of Dave's warning. You could presumably tell the difference between a farmer's animal and a pack animal. The farmer's buffalo had a yoke mark around the neck and shoulders, while a pack animal had marks along the entire back from large pannier-like packs. In addition farmers usually took better care of their animals. Elephants, I thought would be harder to figure out, bug had to show similar markings of use.

"This was crazy; I had better get my mind on what I was doing."

We worked every nook and cranny east of the 506, over and around, up and down, in and out, back and forth and I enjoyed every minute of it. Every couple of hours we would have to duck into LZ Pony to refuel and then returned to our recon.

As dusk approached and began to mask objects in darkness, making them almost indistinguishable, I followed on Dave's wing and we did a last light around LZ Pony before heading for home.

My first day with the Scouts had been entirely enjoyable, stimulating, and quiet, but thoroughly satisfying. I was also excited when I found that I had received two packages from home, and to top it off I got a letter from Buddy, plus a new hootch-mate. The day had een very eventful after all.

Mom and Dad's packages were always real treats to receive. They were always stuffed with all kinds of edible delicacies, from home, memories of my upbringing, childhood favorites, candies of all sorts, crackers and just, well just lots of goodies.

Buddy's letter told me that all was well with Katie and him. Allen Grigsby had been shot by a 31 caliber, but was alright. Tom Piper had had an eye shot out; he was doing fine and was being sent back to the states. How did Buddy get all this news? I wondered.

In the OPs meeting that night I sat and munched on Sugar Daddy Nuggets while I listened to the plans for the next few days. I was in heaven gobbling down the sweets, an inherited trait from my mother, brought to me complements of her German ancestry. We were going to be reconing another area after a big B-52 strike. The strike would be in the Ahn Lao Valley northwest of Bong Son. There would be thirty-six B-52's involved in the strike. They would crisscross a suspected division base. Eighteen would make a pass from south to north and eighteen would pass from west to east. Each B-52 carries 40,000 pounds of ordinance each, ranging in size from bomblets to 5,000 pounders. Now let me see eighteen times forty-thousand is one heck of a lot of bombs about three hundred and sixty tons to be exact.

"It will be two to three days before the 52 strike gentlemen; there may be some problems with the weather. Not for the 52s since they’re flying around 40,000 feet, but for our Scouts to get in to do a recon. In the mean time we'll be starting to work in the area to the west of Bong Son. There is a large free fire zone there, so anything in that area is free game..."

Jack and a few of the others made faces at me and tried to coax some Sugar Daddy Nuggets from me, while the CO continued his briefing. Humm, a free fire zone! Anything, rather anyone within that zone was considered to be fair game, enemy, NVA or VC, whatever.

I left the OP’s tent and went into my hootch and grabbed the newspaper lining from Mom's package, then headed for the Scout day-room to see what was going on, if anything. Only a few of the pilots were in the day-room, all were relaxing and as usual, puffing away on a variety of, shapes and size, pipes. I stayed only a few minutes before I returned to my hut. Jack and Dana, our new temporary hootch-mate, were chatting quietly when I came through the door. I had no sooner entered than we were all called to go on a night extraction. I scooped up a handful of licorice bits and ducked back out of the door, flight helmet in hand. It would be my first Eagle flight (quick reaction flight) with the Scouts.

The extraction went smoothly, and we pulled out a Brigade platoon that had been out in the jungle doing ground reconnaissance for a number of days. They had been expected out earlier that evening. They apparently had some difficulty making the appointed LZ on time. We got back late and immediately headed for our bunks. I met our new hut-mate, Dana, more formally, said goodnight and was soon sleeping like a baby.

ANOTHER DAY CLOSER TO HOME

I awoke refreshed. Things couldn't be better. I was doing the kind of flying I liked most. My coffers were full, not of money, but full of goodies from home. We would be starting to work in a new area away from villages and into the more mountainous regions of the Central Highlands. The day had some good prospects. I lay in my bunk for a few minutes thinking. Jack and Dana were sound asleep as I noiselessly slipped out of my bunk and ducked outside to wash up and officially start my day.

The air was moist as usual on this December morning; I could feel it on my skin although I could not as yet see any physical signs of it in the darkness. One nice thing abut the darkness of early morning was the privacy it afforded the user of the shitter. I finished doing my duty and eased back inside our crowded hut, which was only an eight foot by ten foot rectangle. I grabbed my flight helmet, camera, and a handful of Switzer's licorice bits, some Sugar Daddy Nuggets and took them to Birth Control.

"Gees’, this candy isn’t going to last me very long at this rate of consumption," I thought as I cautiously picked my way between the tents and huts on my way to my helicopter. I breezed through my semi-braille pre-flight procedure and danced my way to the mess tent to the mental sounds of the "Mama's and the Papa's", "California Dreamin". It’s funny how silly a persons acts when along. I guess it helps to be, a bit, crazy too.