Studies and Observation Group (SOG), March 1968….The Road Home
“Quigley, we’ve been into the 20-minute fuel light about ten minutes now. How deep into it has your aircraft been?”
He paused a little before he answered. “This is it, Sir.”
A shot of anxiety shot through my chest. Since it is a 20-minute flight back home, and overcast, I wonder if we make it back. As long as we make it out of this valley, we should have a chance. I hope the engineers threw some safety factor in that 20 minutes or this is going to be a long day. I glanced at the fuel gauge hoping to see some good news. None there!
I maneuvered the aircraft over towards the hole in the trees with guidance from Quigley laying on the floor with his head sticking out where he could see straight down. Quigley was a big target at over six feet and north of two hundred pounds. Guts was a quarter mile south of us, but he was not climbing out.
“Tom, find out what the heck he’s doing.”
Tom punched the floor transmit button and said, “Guts, where are you going?”
“I’m going to set down on the A Loui airstrip and get the team aboard. We don’t have enough fuel to get back at forty knots with the team hanging under us. Our only chance is to get them aboard and go like hell to the lowlands toward the coast.”
I was fully focused on keeping the aircraft motionless using a branch of a tree 150 feet from the ground flipping around in my rotor wash. It seemed like forever hovering there keeping that branch visible in my chin bubble thinking how we were a sitting duck. I sure did appreciate those Air Force phantoms distracting and menacing the bad guys.
“Sir, we have the last three. Pick them straight up”
“OK, Quigley.” I pulled in power and slowly pulled the team vertically up from the jungle floor watching that branch through the chin bubble getting smaller.
“Sir, they are clear of the trees.”
“Thanks Chief, get on your gun.” I said as I slowly accelerated to 40 knots and headed down to the A Loui airstrip.
“Sir, one of the guys on the ropes just got shot in the leg!”
“Is he still on the rope?”
“He’s hanging on, Sir.”
“One-Zero, Lift up! Lift up! You are dragging your guys through the trees.”
“One-Seven, they are clear of the trees.”
“No, they are not. Lift up!”
“Quigley are they still in the trees?”
“No Sir!”
“Guts, we are not dragging our guys through the trees.”
“Yes, you are. Lift up!”
“Roger that Guts.” His line of sight from his lower altitude must be the problem.
“Ok guys, we are going down to the airstrip and put these guys aboard. Quigley, keep an eye on the team and don’t let me get too close to the ground. As soon as I come to a hover I will start letting them down slowly and when their feet hit the ground, let me know. I will slide to the right and set it down as fast as I can. Get those guys on board. You can pull the ropes in after we take off.”
“Phantom, this is Covey. Do you see what those crazy guys are doing?”
“Roger, Covey. We will reposition to cover them on the airstrip.”
“Roger, Phantom. Thanks much. What do you have left in ordinance?”
“We’ve each got a nape and some 20 mike mike.”
“Roger that, Phantom. Let’s put a fence up between them and that unit moving in from the east.”
“Roger, Covey.”
I flew to the A Loui airfield and came to hover about 50 feet behind Guts. He had already set down and his three guys were on board. He was waiting for me to get my guys on board. The Chief let me know when the team touched down and I moved to the right and started a rapid vertical descent from a hundred fifty feet.
“Dale, remember settling with power!” Tom said calmly.
Another shot of adrenaline shot throu my chest. I immediately dropped the nose and slid forward a few feet and slowed my rate of descent. Thank God Tom was thinking.
My half of the team jumped/limped aboard. We felt heat on our face as a wall of fire roared in front of us.
“Killer Spade, Covey, fast movers have cleared and returning to base. I will hang around as long as you want.”
We both picked up and pedal turned to the south as we pulled in power and passed through translational lift. We continued climbing at maximum power turning East for the safety of clearing the east rim of the valley. There were no clouds to climb through as we passed over the rim at about 4000 feet, accelerating to 80 knots. Most of the anxiety left my body as we crossed. We were out of the frying pan but still close to the fire. We still had a very low fuel issue to deal with. All we could see to the east was clouds. Covey was still with us.
“One-Seven, One-Zero. What do you think we go to Evans rather than Phu-Bai. It is about 10 klicks closer.”
“Sounds good to me One-Zero.”
“Covey, this is Killer Spade One-Seven, we are heading to Camp Evans. It is not very likely that we will make it to the flat land on the fuel we have, and we will probably have to put down through the clouds dead stick. With any luck we will have enough time to pick a landing spot when we pop through the bottom of the cloud layer. In any case, we appreciate you keeping us company until help arrives.”
“Roger, Killer Spade. I will stick with you until I run out of fuel if necessary.”
“Tom, switch UHF to Evans Tower.”
I have never liked the prospect of being on the ground in enemy held territory. As long as I have a helicopter wrapped around me, I feel bullet proof even though the skin of the aircraft is very thin aluminum. Hardly a barrier for a blow gun dart let alone enemy bullets. I checked for my Grease Gun, and it was still where I put it sitting on the floor on my right between my leg and the radio consol. We also had two M-60s, even though we used most of the ammunition covering Guts, and whatever personal arms we carried. Most importantly we had three special ops guys onboard who knew how to handle themselves in enemy territory. If we were going down and survived the crash, we were in good hands.
“Chief, let the grunts know that we may have a forced landing on the way to Evans and to be prepared.”
We spotted a hole in the clouds about the size of a football field. Following Guts in, I slammed the collective down and nosed up slightly to put the brakes on and dropped through the hole with about a ninety-degree bank. A full circle later we were through the clouds and heading for Evans with the ground in site. I breathed in relief when I saw that we were out of the mountains with many flat places to land.
We had been flying for about 25 minutes since the 20-minute warning light came on and the engine was still running.. The clouds started thinning out and Guts was calling Evans tower.
“Evans tower this is Killer Spade One-Seven, flight of two very low on fuel, 10 klicks southwest requesting a straight in approach to POL, over.”
“Roger, Spade One-Seven. Are you declaring an emergency?”
“Evans Tower if we need to declare an emergency to get a straight in approach to POL then we are declaring an emergency.”
“Roger, Spade One-Seven. We will clear the pattern. Your flight of two is cleared for a straight in approach to POL. Winds NE at 5, pressure is three-zero-zero-one. Call one minute final, weapons safe.”
“Roger Evans, call final, weapons safe”
“OK boys safe your weapons. We could almost coast in from here!”
“One-Zero, One-Seven, are your weapons safe?”
“Roger One-Seven.”
“Evans Tower, this is Spade One-Seven, flight of two, one minute final, weapons safe.”
“Roger Spade, cleared to land POL.”
“Killer Spade, this is Covey. It looks like you are going to make it. I’m heading home.”
“Roger, Covey. We appreciate you shagging us in. Thanks for the help. You made the mission possible.”
“Roger, Killer Spade, it was a pleasure watching you work. I have never worked with anyone with bigger balls than you guys. Good day!”
“Thanks and good day Covey.”
It wasn’t about our balls. It started as a commitment morphed into a lack of choices and apparently God’s providence was with us.
The gunner was standing on the skid ready to jump out as we touched down in POL. As he was putting the fueling nozzle into the tank, the fuel pressure flickered and jumped back up into its normal range. I asked Quigley to check with the injured grunt whether he wanted to go to the field hospital here or back at Phu-Bai. He chose home, so I headed to the tail boom to take a wiz with the weight of the world lifted from my shoulders.
Guts let SOG Headquarters know that we would be there in about twenty minutes with their boys and that one had a leg wound. When we got there a crowd was waiting. I didn’t notice if the Marine pilots were in the throng. We shut down, socialized a bit and then headed to the O-Club for lunch. Apparently, our money was no good there.
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