My War - Installment 26

Buzz the mess sergeant, busily working on preparing breakfast with his small staff, looked up and acknowledged me as I entered still humming to myself. These guys were the heart of our unit. Somebody in antiquity had made the statement that: "An army runs on its stomach". They pretty well knew what they were talking about. In our camp, where we had restrictions on light during hours of darkness, these guys risked their butts as sniper's targets in the dimly lit mess tent every morning. I entered heartened by my thoughts for these guys and marched straight for the coffee, the first thing Buzz put on every morning. I filled a large, dented, tin cup. I sat alone and absentmindedly spooned gobs of sugar into the thick brew and stirred it around contemplating the swirls in my cup. I needed that early morning shot of sugar to get going.

I continued to gaze into the dark morning sky as I mused on nothing in particular. I carefully raised the metal cup to my lips trying to ease the inevitable burn from the hot metallic edge. I was looking forward to another long day of flying. We would be working in a new area. That pleased me. We had been flying in the same basic area since I had arrived in the field; the new area would be a pleasant change. I had been sitting by myself for about fifteen minutes, contemplating the day's mission, when Jack came up and sat across from me.

"Hey, what brings you out at this early hour of the morning?"

"It so happens that you’re not the only crazy bastard from our class, or our tent for that matter."

"Well excuuuuussssse me. What do you mean?"

"If you'll remember, the other day we lost more than one Scout pilot."

"Yea, unfortunately, so you’re another new Scout Pilot right?"

"Matter of fact, I am."

"Way to go. I knew there was more reason to like you than just your shit eatin' grin and your being a class mate. Congratulations! Who are you flying wing on?"

"To tell you the truth I don't know just yet."

"Why didn't you tell me last night, pecker head?"

"I didn't find out until after we got back from that Eagle flight. You came in said hello to Dana and were asleep lickety-split. So you figure it out."

"OK, OK! Just take my congratulations. How about some more coffee? We should have time for one more before breakfast is ready."

"Fine with me, you buying?"

"Sure am. You want it with or with-out the big pieces?"

I filled our cups from the big open pot, which sat on a separate kerosene burner. The second cup would be better than the first, because by that time the grounds would be settled to the bottom...........

Dave and I took off and headed out for a first light around our perimeter. We would refuel at LZ Pony, then move north up the 506 before turning west, just north of Hoai An, to work some of the areas in the larger mountains southwest of the An Lao Valley. The An Lao valley was the place where the big B-52 strike was to take place. These areas were similar to the coastal mountains, in that the mountains and valleys were a maze of passages and walls, which ran every which way. We swung west and moved past LZ Bird, another artillery base position without refueling capabilities, and either in or on the boarder of the free fire zone, which ran west through the mountains to within a stone's throw of Cong Tum.

I felt more relaxed with my Scout duties now since G.W. had given me some pointers on visual reconnaissance, over the intercom as we flew along. Dave and I were supposed to put in some defensive concentrations in this new area of operation. It was a new area of operation for us, even though there were some ground units based within the zone, most were artillery bases.

A defensive concentration is, a... - well...it’s really coordinates on a map. Spots are picked out, randomly or otherwise, where artillery is to be zeroed in on those coordinates. Artillery at one of the fixed land bases would be fired at these coordinates and adjusted by a forward observer, usually a Scout ship pilot, until they (the artillery rounds) would consistently hit the chosen spot. When the artillery was zeroed in the artillery base would note the settings on their guns and record them the spot’s coordinated would also be noted to be placed into the SOI. Thus a defensive concentration was established.

Now, if a Scout or, for that matter, a ground unit was working in an area and made contact with the enemy, and if they would need artillery called into support themselves, they could look for a defensive concentration, located close by and adjust from that spot to drop rounds on the enemy. We would be working that day with LZs Bird and Granite Rock in establishing these new defensive concentrations.
Dave and I flew in and out of valleys, up and down ridges and clearings doing our reconnaissance. It was important to recon an area before putting in a defensive artillery concentration, you wouldn't want the enemy to be watching you put them in. That was information which we didn't want them to have, because they would avoid the area.

We finished reconing one section and were preparing to start calling in artillery. Dave suggested that I continue working in an area to our west while he adjusted the artillery. That was fine with me.

G.W. and I peeled off of Dave's wing and headed further west to continue our recon. I figured it was terrific opportunity. Dave trusted me enough already to let me continue the recon on my own. Maybe he wanted me out of his hair, but I was sure that wasn't the case.

We carefully worked over the area west of Dave's location. He would be calling in artillery from LZ Bird for that particular position. I had crossed over into Granite Rock's AO (area of operation) for my recon. The jungle below us was extremely dense. The canopy seemed almost impenetrable and the trees throughout this region were all well over one hundred-twenty-five feet high. The air was clear, but still very moist. We picked our way slowly along the expanses of greenery trying to seek out any sign of enemy presence.

We had worked our way to the top of a ridge and were in the process of starting to slowly work our way down the western slope when G.W. pointed to a clearing. I too thought I had seen some movement of some kind. Perhaps it was just more of the large red deer that were abundant in these mountains; I didn't know.

I quickly slipped down toward the small clearing in the dense forest. We had no sooner reached the edge of the opening than George came over the intercom:

"Sir, may I shoot?"

"For goodness sake, man. You don't need to ask that here. Go! Go! Go! This is a free fire zone."

I scanned the area. It looked like twenty-five or so Viet Cong. I thought Viet Cong because I couldn't see or make out uniforms only what looked like black pajamas. They were beginning to engage us in exchanges of fire. I continued to fly slowly over the area as G.W. popped away with his machine gun. I was grabbing grenades, hooking their rings on the upper door hinge ( our doors were removed) and tossing grenade after grenade at the enemy. While doing this I was checking coordinates and getting ready to make a call to Granite Rock. It sure was a shame that there were no defensive concentrations there just then.

"Granite Rock six-five, Apache one-six over." (Six-five is the designation for the company commander, or command post.)

Apache one-six, Granite Rock six-five, go."

"Granite Rock six-five, we have two-five Victor Charlie in a clearing at coordinates....on.”

Suddenly there seemed to be an incalculable number of respondents all trying to reach me. The whole damn world was on the radio. Why wouldn't they shut up and let me give the coordinates.

In the excitement they apparently didn't think to stop keying their mikes, all at once, so that I could give the position. If there was one thing in my flying skills that I prided myself on, it was my navigational abilities or expertise if you will. I knew where I was and what my coordinates were. I had to or I would have been one helplessly lost young man. You don't fly low level for hours and not know where you are at.

We had been on station, doing recon, for slightly over two hours since we had refueled at LZ Pony and we would be cutting our return time short if we remained, in position, near the clearing any longer.

"Granite Rock six-five, Apache one-six coordinates...."

Again everybody and their brother, who had a radio, were keying their mikes again. G.W. and I looked at one another, kind of shrugged and decided we better go back and refuel, before it was too late. We had blown away perhaps ten or so of the VC and wounded some others, so we felt we had done a good job.

The VC had, upon being spotted, immediately begun to disperse in all directions in the clearing. While I had been calling Granite Rock six-five, we had been making pass after pass on the area, killing as many of the enemy as we possibly could. It seemed rather bizarre flying over these people that were obviously trying their best to knock us out of the sky. I could see them taking aim. I could see the tracers zooming out of their weapons in a strange slow motion manner, and flying, dimly in the light of day, passed the bubble of the cockpit. That was what it was all about, it was the real thing. We were there to fight and I was doing just that for a change. Dodging and weaving, climbing, turning, and diving straight at the little yellow bastards. I cursed my luck for running low on fuel, just when we were in the thick of it..."darn." We reluctantly disengaged the enemy and took up a bearing for LZ Pony.

I was aggravated and elated at the same time. I was sure my adrenalin level was running high. I wanted to refuel and get back into that same area to see if we could relocate what was left of the patrol that we had just decimated. There probably was not much chance of relocating those men. If I was on the ground and had just had my unit shot apart and I had survived, I would leave the area and stay low for a long time.

We landed at the POL point, at LZ, Pony just behind Dave. I had forgotten all about him. I wondered if he had heard anything about my little engagement.

We both quickly refueled and I resumed my position back on his wing and called on the UHF radio, to see what was up for the flight.

"Apache one-zero, Apache one-six."

"Go one-six, this is one-zero."

"Where are we headed to now, one-zero?"

"North of the area where you did your recon, one-six."

"Roger one-zero, I'm with you. Out."

I didn't believe that over the air was the place to discuss what had happened earlier, or to bring it up for that matter. We flew west down the valley past LZ Bird again and then turned north and proceeded up the valley a few klicks to start another recon. We were still working on defensive concentrations so I figured that I would be sent off as soon as Dave was ready to adjust artillery again. Low and behold, I was right. G.W. and I were sent off again, so we headed west again, away from the area where Dave would be working.

We spent the next hour or so tooling along the mountains enjoying the scenery. In the larger inland mountains there were literally hundreds of waterfalls. There were many small clearings in the jungle, which almost always contained some of the large red deer that roamed this mountainous jungle terrain. Occasionally we could see groups of monkeys moving in the tree tops, swinging from limb to limb, driven by the popping noise of our helicopter's rotor. G.W. told me there were rarely monkeys in an inhabited area of the jungle, meaning they were a good indicator as to whether there was enemy close by. We could see many water falls off to the northwest, cascading between the varying greens of the jungle. Unfortunately it was time to return to LZ Pony and refuel again. I flew back engrossed in thoughts about the beauty of the country, Viet Nam.

I refueled before rejoining Dave. We flew out, banked west again, flying just to the south of LZ Bird. It was well into the afternoon when we finished the recon around the next defensive concentration. Dave sent me off again. G.W. and I would go off and work an area north of where I had made contact in that morning. I bid Dave a fond farewell, G.W. and I turned and flew south to finish working the mountain that we had previously worked. We started at the clearing where we had engaged the enemy. The bodies of the men we had killed were still lying about, even after eight hours or so, broken and bloody where they had fallen, right where we had killed them. I wondered, to myself, if any of their comrades would ever return to retrieve their remains.

"No movement here, G.W."

"Right, Sir, let's get away from this death. Let's slide down and work the valley for a while."

"You must be reading my mind G.W... We will check out those little hootchs over there while we're at it."