MACV SOG March 1968 Part 1 of a 4 part Story

 Studies and Observation Group (SOG) . . . Prologue

 

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Military_Assistance_Command,_Vietnam_–_Studies_and_Observations_Group

Sunday Afternoon, March 24, 1968

The Crew Chief popped open my door, stepped up onto the flat surface on the toe of the skid and slid the armored seat plate protecting my left side back as the door Gunner did the same for the right seat pilot. The pilot beeped the engine governor down to flight idle. A few seconds later the engine instruments stabilized, the engine whine dropped a few dozen decibels and out of the annoying range in frequency as he rolled the throttle back to ground idle for the two-minute cool down. I pulled the lap belt release lever which freed the shoulder harness straps. The Crew Chief grabbed the left shoulder strap and flicked it over the slider to get it out of my way as I tossed the right one over the side of the seat. The pilot’s hands were all over the center console shutting down radios and navigation aids as I pushed the mic up over the visor shroud and unsnapped the chin strap on my helmet. I slipped my helmet off hanging it on the corner of the retracted side plate, straightened out my sunglasses, pulled off my flight gloves one finger at a time, and laid them on a blank spot on the center console. I grabbed the ball point pen, my Zippo and my L & M’s from the pocket of my chicken plate vest and sat them on the gloves. I ripped the chicken plate vest velcro straps to the sides and pulled the vest over my head and set it on the floor with the chicken plate leaning against the yaw pedals. As I straightened up, the Chief handed me the logbook he pulled out of the pocket behind my seat. I grabbed the little pile off the center console, put the cigarettes and lighter in a very damp left breast pocket of my jungle fatigues shirt, and laid the gloves across the top edge of the chest protector. 

“Two minutes, Dale. EGT and engine panel is in the green,” the pilot said.

“OK, shut her down,” I responded. He rolled the throttle closed past the ground idle stop, switched off the battery, generators, rotating beacon, the remaining switches in the overhead panel, and glanced again at his check list. The tach needles separated as the rotor rpm slowed and the engine rpm dropped to zero. Quiet . . . except the soft swoosh, swoosh of the main rotor winding down and the clicking of the cooling engine.

“It’s hellish hot compared to the crappy weather we’ve been having,” the pilot said as he pulled off his helmet.

“You’ll get used to it. Just be glad that you’re not a grunt! At least we have a 48-foot fan keeping us cool while we are at work,” I said. “And a nice cool shower at the end of the day”

I keep track of the tonnage, number of people carried, sorties and landings using lines scratched in groups of fives on the notepad, under the folded map on the clipboard strapped to my right thigh. I also noted blocks of flight time between fuel stops. I filled in the blanks, 1.9 hours of Combat Support time, one sortee, and three landings. We practically had the day off I mumbled to no one in particular, as I handed the logbook back to the Chief. He laid it on the cargo floor behind my seat.

I pulled the map off my knee board, put it in my left thigh pocket, unsnapped the kneeboard and laid it on the floor as I grabbed the hand hold on the front edge of the door jamb, lifted my right leg over the cyclic stick, pulled myself up, rotated around the left front corner of the chair and stepped down backward onto the toe of the skid and then to the ground. I pulled my helmet bag out from under my seat, emptied the stuff inside on the floor and parked my field cap on my headb. I grabbed my helmet off the corner of the slider, unplugged the commo-cord, put the gloves inside and slipped it into the helmet bag along with knee board and the stuff laying on the floor. My stuff included a survival radio, pen signal flares and my stick of C4 (I used a thumb sized pinch like Sterno to heat my C-Rations) and then zipped up the bag and sat it on the floor next to the chest protector.

The Crew Chief was standing in front of the aircraft just outside of the rotor disc with the main rotor tie down waiting for it to come to a stop and the gunner was removing the M-60 machine guns from their mounts and laying them on the cargo floor.

“I’ll post flight the top side, you’ve got the lower side,” I said to the pilot.

“Roger That.”

The Chief hooked the stopped main rotor blade and started walking it around to the tail boom to secure it as I started climbing up to the roof of the Huey checking the rotor hub, engine inlet filters, radio/nav antennas and the skin for battle damage. Everything was normal so I climbed down and picked the logbook off the floor.

“You have anything on post flight?" I asked the pilot.

“Everything looks good.”  I noted the clean postflight in the logbook and set it back on the cargo deck.

“You ready to head down to operations?" I asked the pilot.

“I’ve just got to grab my stuff," he said as I grabbed my helmet, pulled the chest protector off the floor and swung a vest arm hole over my shoulder like a backpack strap. I walked around the sandbag wall, tapped a cigarette out of the pack, replaced it in the still damp pocket, flipped the Zippo, lit the cigarette and waited for the pilot to come around the front of the aircraft. We headed down to the operations tent to check in. The Crew Chief and Gunner stayed behind to finish cleaning and buttoning up their aircraft.

I stopped by my tent on the way and dropped my helmet bag and chest protector on my bunk I grabbed a couple of Cokes out of our tent's communal mini fridge, met the pilot in the company street near operations and gave him one of the Cokes. We headed to the entrance of the operations tent.

 

“Mr. Fillmore.”  I looked toward the sound, saw my Platoon Leader and replied, “Captain Luther" as I gave him a smart hand salute. He returned the salute. “Do you have a minute?"

“Yes sir." I turned to the pilot and told him to continue to operations and check us in as I walked toward Cpt. Luther.

“We need to send a crew down to Phu Bai to work with Special Forces for a couple of weeks. Are you interested?" 

“What kind of work?"

“I don’t really know. I imagine it will be like working with the LRRPs back in An Khe”.  Gutwein and his crew are already down there."

“Why are you asking me instead of just assigning me the mission?"

“It’s volunteer only. The Old Man says it's risky and he wants volunteers."

Never volunteer for anything Dale… It will bite you on the ass, I thought. “OK, when do I go?"

“In the morning. Check with operations for a fresh aircraft and I’ll round you up a peter pilot."

“Yes Sir!" I saluted and headed back toward operations when a familiar excited voice with a strong Queens accent stopped me.

“Dale, I want to go down to Phu Bai with you as your peter pilot!" blurted Tom Harnisher.

“How do you know about that?”

“Luther’s been looking for you the last half hour or so and the rumor was about a half hour ahead of him. Apparently, a crew wanted out”.

“Harnisher, you just made Aircraft Commander. Why would you be willing to fly right seat?”

“I know, I’d love to work with those guys, what they do beats the hell out of flying log and boring holes in the skies around here. Besides that, I think we would make a great team."

   

“If you fly with me, I’m the AC and you’re the peter pilot."

“I’m definitely OK with that.” 

“OK. Go talk to Luther. He’ll have to take it to the Old Man, since you’re not in the 1st. Platoon. I’ll meet you in operations."

Warrant Officer Tom Harnisher and I were in the same flight class at Wolters and Rucker. During flight school we were always organized alphabetically by last name and so we were never in the same platoon, but we knew each other well because after hours the pool table and adult beverages opened his loud voice with humor and his exploits in Queens growing up. At Ft. Rucker after Instrument Training in the Bell “Whirlybirds” (from the late ‘50 TV show), we all transitioned to the Huey and started the tactical phase of training. We very likely flew together, although I don’t have a specific memory of that.  We became closer when we both got orders to the 1st. Cav toward the end of flight school and had the same report date to Oakland Army Base for our one year all expense vacation to beautiful SE Asia via Travis AFB on a C-141 with stops on Wake Island, Clark AFB in the Philippines and finally the white sands of Cam Rahn Bay, South Vietnam. We in-processed, hung out at the O-Club after hours, transported to 1st Cav HQs at An Khe together, went to in country training (charm school) and we celebrated my 20th birthday together in Sin City just outside the gates of Camp Radcliff at An Khe. Of the group of 30 or so brand new minted warrant officer pilots assigned to the 1st Cavalry, Tom, Ken Getchell, and I were all assigned to the same field unit, B company, 229th Assault Helicopter Battalion located at LZ English.

He was always a skillful, gregarious, but unassuming pilot. Most of us could not wait for the day that we would be eligible to move to the left seat as Aircraft Commanders. There were three qualifications in our unit. A minimum of 300 combat hours in country was the first milestone. After you attain that experience level, there had to be an open slot to fill. Our unit was authorized twenty UH-1H Huey helicopters, ten per flight platoon and with that 20 pilots per flight platoon, half of them Aircraft Commanders. When I became eligible experience-wise, I had to wait until another AC vacated his position by rotating back to the world or a duty change like becoming an operations officer. The last two requirements were a recommendation by the leadership in your unit, to assume mission responsibility and the ability to command a ship and crew, and a flight skills check-ride by the company Instructor Pilot.

 

Tom was never worried about being promoted to AC nor was he perceived as wanting the responsibility. The result was that he did not become one until well over six hundred hours of experience. He passed his AC check-ride a week or so before he volunteered to fly with me to the SOG unit at Phu Bai. He was experienced, rock steady under pressure and an extremely skilled pilot. I could not have found a better fit as my right seat for this so-called “risky” mission.

Monday Morning, March 25, 1968

I rotated the frequency selector switch on the center console from intercom to UHF and pushed the transmit button on the floor near the console. “Phu Bai Tower, this is Killer Spade seven-eight-five entering left downwind for landing POL, weapons safe.” Tom leveled out at 500 feet pattern altitude and turned 45 degrees to the right and entered downwind.

“Spade 785, winds calm, altimeter two-niner-niner-eight, stay left of the runway on final, cleared to land POL.” (POL is a multi-station hot refueling area where several helicopters can refuel simultaneously with engines running.)

“Roger that, Altimeter two-niner-niner-eight, cleared to land POL,” I transmitted.

I flipped the console switch back to intercom and stepped down on the floor button. “Guys, as soon as we top off we’ll pop over to the Special Forces compound and see what we got ourselves into.”

As the heels of the skids touched ground in POL, Specialist Bill Quigley, 785’s Crew Chief, stepped off the skid onto the ground and walked forward as the aircraft came to a rest and opened my door and slid back the side plate armor. PFC Chuck Morris, the Gunner, did the same on Tom's side.  Then Morris walked around the front of the aircraft and picked up the nearest fueling nozzle and walked toward the fueling point on the right side of the aircraft about halfway between the rear edge of the cargo door jamb and the mounting point of the tail boom. In the meantime, Quigley slid the right cargo door closed to expose the fuel point and removed the fuel cap. Morris stuffed the nozzle in the hole and pulled the lever.

Usually, especially after a long day flying, the pilots often take turns for a bio break behind the fuselage, on the ground under the tail boom when we are in POL as there is usually no opportunity elsewhere. But it was a short flight from Camp Evans where we lived to Phu Bai so the bio break was unnecessary.  Instead we just sat in our seats with our outside foot holding the door open while the crew refueled us. As soon as I heard the cargo door slide open, I pulled my foot away, Quigley slid my armored seat slider forward and locked it in place, closed my door and took his place behind his machine gun. Morris did the same.

“Phu Bai Tower, this is Spade seven-eight-five, request a high hover taxi from POL to SOG Pad”.

“Seven-eight-five cleared for hover taxi to SOG Pad.”

“Roger that, cleared to hover taxi to SOG Pad” I transmitted.

Quigley intercomed “Clear Left Sir” and Morris followed with “Clear Right”.

“OK, Tom the panel is good, let's go.”

 

We parked at the north end of the pad on the left side, ahead of two “Smiling Tiger” Huey Cobras and behind another Killer Spade bird.

Several other helicopters of various flavors were behind us or next to us on the right side of the pad. There were two Marine Huey Gunships with no markings on the right side of the pad next to us. Behind them were two Vietnamese Air Force CH 34’s. On the left side of the pad behind us and the Cobras were two Marine Boeing CH 46 Sea Knights. Behind them a few miscellaneous aircraft not associated with our missions.

 

 

After we shut down, and filled out the log book, we left our gear in the aircraft and followed a young soldier with a green beret over to operations where we met up with Gutwein, the Operations Officer and his staff. We were on a three day rotation where our two Army Hueys and the two Army Cobras were on day one missions, the two Marine Gunships and the two Marine Sea Knights were on day two missions and lastly the two Vietnamese Air Force Choctaws were on day three missions and either the Marine Guns or Army Cobras would rotate as their escorts.

We were told that we would be assigned quarters after the briefing for officers and crew, we would be required to be on standby at all times no further than 2 minutes from operations with aircraft ready to fly. Apparently, we were on day three as we were told that we would be doing a team insertion tomorrow afternoon.

After the briefing the same young soldier showed us around. The O-Club, Officers Mess, our quarters and then he took us over to the arms room. The NCO in charge started by showing all the different flavors of weapons the teams like to take out on missions with them. Lots of flavors! They had AK 47’s, SSK’s, Thompson Sub machine guns, M3 Grease Guns, hand guns, with and without suppressors including .22’s. I was carrying my Smith & Wesson .38 special revolver and he asked me if I had a service rifle as well. I told him that I had an M-16 but I left it in my unit’s Armory as it was two long to get through the huey pilot’s door if you are downed and in a hurry. The NCO asked me if I saw anything I liked. 

 

 

The Grease gun was the coolest thing that I have ever seen. I just had to have it. It was short enough to evacuate a crashed or burning helicopter, had an extendable wire stock and only one moving part while firing and it used very common .45 ACP ammunition. It would fit on the floor between my seat and the center console. I could even hang the wire stock from the ashtray making it very easy to reach.  

 

“I’ll take the Grease Gun”, I told the Sergeant, “and some ammo.”

“Here you go Sir” he said as he handed me the M3 and two fifty round boxes of ammo. “Do you need a cleaning kit?”

“No Sarge, I brought my cleaning stuff down with me.”

 

He went through the same process with Tom and later with Quigley and Morris. After the Armory, the soldier took us to our quarters, left us and went back to work. Tom and I went up to the aircraft and picked up our duffel bags and we headed back to our hooch to move in. They were all wood hooches, a definite upgrade from the GP Medium tents back home at Camp Evans. There were four people to a hooch and the beds were steel framed bunk beds. Springs as it were and real mattresses. There was also a chest of drawers of sorts, but we typically did not completely unpack so utilized the top of the chest and under the bunk space. They had a single light, so they were a little dark, but the wood of the building reflected more than the dark OD of the tents, so it was relatively cheery.

I spent the rest of the day settling in, making final checks on the aircraft, checking out the fit of the M3 between my seat and the console, enjoying lunch and dinner in the officers mess, and of course lounging in the air conditioned O-Club. Life is good!

 

Our Mission

Our mission was to insert six-man teams into areas where first-hand intelligence was needed and to later extract the teams when that mission was concluded.  We operated in the A Shau Valley and in the area around and west of Khe Sahn.  The troop carrying aircraft (the Choctaws, Sea Nights and the Hueys) rotated daily as I mentioned before. Also included in every mission was an Air Force FAC (Forward Air Controller) flying an O-2 Cessna Skymaster that went by call sign “Covey”.  He was there to get us assistance from high performance aircraft.  Our missions had the priority necessary to divert Air Force or Navy Jets from any other mission including bombing runs to North Vietnam. The FAC was the guy who took care of getting us that support when needed.

 

During March of 1968 the Army helicopters and crews were provided by the 229th Aviation Battalion (Assault Helicopter), the slicks from Bravo Company (Killer Spade) and the Guns from Delta Company (Smiling Tigers).  On Tuesday afternoon, March 26th, it was our turn to run the mission.  We were going to insert a team consisting of three US Army Green Berets and three Chinese Mercenaries.  No member of the Special Forces team carried identification and their uniforms did not have name tags, shoulder patches or any of the usual sewed on information that would assist the enemy if they got captured.  The team’s mission was to infiltrate a NVA (North Vietnamese Army) Regimental Headquarters and steal documents concerning radio frequencies, call signs and other information of significance.  They would also try to capture a radio operator and bring him out alive for interrogation.  We were to insert them in the north end of the A Shau Valley up on the four thousand foot ridge of mountains that made up the eastern border of the valley, near what later became “Signal Hill” during the Cav’s assault into the A Shau on April 19th.  This location was a few klicks east of the NVA headquarters.

 

WO1 Ron “Guts” Gutwien was the AC, WO1 George Phillips was Pilot, Mike Keele was Crew Chief and Wayne Carrol was Gunner of the lead ship and would do the insertion.  I was AC of the high ship and WO1 Tom Harnisher was my Pilot. Crew Chief Bill Quigley and Gunner Chuck Morris made up my magnificent crew.  We cranked up in mid-afternoon after enough of the cloud cover had burned off that we had some holes to climb through enroute to the valley.  AH-1G Cobra aircraft were not equipped to fly on instruments, and unless we could fly our missions visually the Cobras had to stay home.  The insertion went without a hitch and we were back at Phu Bai having beers in the Special Forces O-Club by dinner time.  Gutwien made several landings and all but one was a decoy.  The Cobra gunships stuck close and covered Guts while he made all of his stops.  Harnisher and I stayed high, ready to pick up the crew of any aircraft shot down or the Special Forces team if necessary.  The insertion went so smoothly that we could have given the Air Force FAC pilot and my crew the afternoon off.

When we arrived at the SOG compound the crews of the Marine gunships were kind enough to show us their equipment.  Their “E” model gunships had the same airframe and rotor system as the Army’s Bravo model Huey gunships.  

 

 

Their weapon systems looked like they were stolen out of the Army’s boneyard.  They had four rigid mounted M-60 machine guns, two on each side facing forward inboard of a rocket pod carrying 7 rockets.  Before the Army started using Mini-guns they also had this four M-60 machine gun configuration, but the Army’s were flex mounted and the aiming of the guns was controlled by the right seat pilot with sophisticated sights.  It did not matter which way the aircraft was flying as long as the target was located within the area between the guns left and right outboard stops.  The Marine version of the quad 60’s was rigid mounted, and the pilots had to point the aircraft directly at the target to aim the guns.  Apparently, the Marines couldn’t pass up an Army garage sale when they needed some equipment.  There were some things that did strike us as a positive, however, was the terrific navigational instruments their aircraft came equipped with.  They had radar altimeters and two sets of VOR’s (a system that gives you the direction you are, relative to a transmitter at an airfield or ship) with DME (and the distance you are from the VOR transmitter).  These systems also gave you glide slope information (the steepness of your approach into an airfield).  You could land an aircraft all the way to the ground without being able to see outside the cabin with this equipment.  They also had a machine gun in a nose turret. That gave them some “flex” capabilities. The main difference between the Marine pilots and us were our ages.  The Marine pilots were not hot shot punk kid “Wobbly Ones” like us.  They were suave, debonair, and very professional older fellows (in their late twenties and thirties), for the most part Captains, with a Major thrown in for variety, and they walked around like they had a stick up their backside. No interbranch trash talking here.

 

Wednesday Morning, March 27, 1968

About 9:00 AM Wednesday morning March 27th, we were out at the helipad when a Green Beret Sergeant came running out, yelling “We need all the pilots in the briefing room now!” 

 

The Vietnamese Air Force pilots were nowhere to be found and it was their turn with the Marine gunships in the rotation that day.  The weather was lousy.  It was drizzling and the ceiling was less than a thousand feet and solidly overcast.  We and the Marine pilots started toward the briefing room at a dead run, right behind the Sergeant.

 

We came into the room and the operations Lieutenant immediately started the briefing.  Apparently, the team that we inserted the day before was in trouble and needed an emergency extraction.  They had infiltrated the Regimental Headquarters as planned but something went bad and they were caught.  Then they escaped and were now on the run evading the NVA.  At the time they called in they were about a hundred meters ahead of the enemy and heading down the mountain toward the valley floor.  The longer they had to wait for an extraction the more likely that they would be killed or re-captured.  The Vietnamese Air Force pilots were still not there, and the Marines declined the mission due to bad weather.  Gutwein immediately volunteered us to do the extraction and one of the Cobra ACs said that we weren’t going anywhere without them and promptly volunteered to fly cover.  When I heard Guts volunteering us, I immediately felt a surge of adrenaline kick up the butterflies. The race was on and I no longer wondered what we got ourselves into.

 

We ran down to the helipad yelling at the crews to get the covers off and untie the blades. We were cranking.  We had already done the preflight inspection and skipped the checklist. I started cranking the aircraft as Harnisher buckled himself in.  As soon as I got the aircraft to flight idle, Tom took over as I buckled in.  The 60’s were already mounted and the Crew Chief and Gunner were standing next to the aircraft plugged into the comm system and ready to go.  Guts called for a radio check; I answered, and each of the Cobras answered in turn.  Guts called the tower for an immediate departure from our helipad, the crew jumped in and I pulled pitch.  It had been less than two minutes since we got to the aircraft and we were airborne and enroute to the A Shau Valley.

 

Ordinarily it would only have been a twenty-five-minute flight to the valley but this morning we were socked in and could not climb out through the clouds with the Cobras.  We had to find a way to get out to the valley over the mountains without flying through the clouds.  Guts was up ahead leading the way.  We tried valley after valley, and each try ended in a box canyon.  Finally we decided that we didn’t have time or the fuel to continue this trial and error and had to climb out through the clouds and in doing that we had to release the Cobras and go out with the very uncomfortable feeling of having to face the bully without our big brother standing behind us.

To be continued . . .

Flying Log (Logistical Resupply)

 3500 landings. That’s my best guess of landings per year flying logistical resupply. As I mentioned in a previous posting, 60% or so of our flying hours were spent like an Amazon Prime delivery truck. 

It was single ship time and totally in direct combat support of the men on the ground. The days were long but rewarding and at the end of the day we headed back to our base, sat down for dinner in a mess hall, had a hot shower, and relax with a cold beverage while watching the scenery from a lawn chair positioned on the roof of our platoon bunker. The soldiers we supported in the field that day were dug in for the night with sentries posted and perimeter armed with trip flares and claymore mines. I’m pretty sure they weren't relaxing with cold beverages. For the helicopter crews, life was good.

At zero dark thirty (the movie got that expression from us), the Operations Duty Sergeant would come into our tent and wake up any pilots slated for Logistical Resupply (Log) missions that day. At that early hour he got a lot of verbal abuse and maybe a few easy to reach projectiles like boots thrown in his direction. I would sit on the edge of my bed for a few moments while I gathered what few wits I had, then got dressed. The boots were the worst thing to put on in the dark. Even though Army regulations forbade it, most of us spent some free time and Piastres (South Vietnamese currency) in a nearby village having someone sew zippers in the boots. After getting fully dressed and strapped western style with a local village produced holster, I headed to the Operations tent for a fresh cup of coffee and a look at the missions board for aircraft tail number, parking spot, crew names and the “Report To” unit. This information was given to the Aircraft Commander (AC) on a little slip of onion skin paper. From there to the mess tent for breakfast, back to my home tent (which I will call my AO) to pick up my gear including helmet bag, chest protector, flashlight, and knee clipboard with my AO (area of operation) map. then head for the assigned aircraft. For my photographer friends it is now the Blue Hour, a couple of dozen minutes or so before sunrise.

The Crew Chief and Gunner are already there. They untied the main rotor, pulled all the protective covers (engine inlet, pitot tube), opened engine cowling and inspection doors, and mounted their machine guns. As we approach, the morning greetings are exchanged and the Crew Chief hands the AC the log book open to the inspection/deficiencies page as the pilot climbs up on the roof and checks out the engine inlet filters, main rotor hub, all its wear points and of course the Jesus nut. The AC talks to the Crew Chief about the deficiencies then checks engine/transmission fluid levels, safety-wired nuts, tail boom attaching bolts, and of course the tail rotor. Most people don’t know this; unlike a fixed wing aircraft, helicopters don’t want to fly. It takes the iron will of the crew to force it into the air and make thousands of parts fly close formation civilly with each other for hours on end.

Enough of the boring stuff. We are buckled in, cranked up, and with tower clearance, we head for the log pad of the grunt battalion we will be working for this day. The first sign of life at the battalion log pad we greet is a flight line mule loaded with mermite cans filled with all the hot breakfast food you would find at a luxury hotel buffet.

In this photo stolen from a website shows a typical first load of the day out to one of the field units. Those rectangular cans above the rear wheel and below the bags are called mermite cans and are insulated units with three compartments inside. These will contain a hot breakfast served buffet style.

Scrambled eggs, biscuits and gravy, bacon, hot cakes, hot coffee, and all the usual mess hall fare. Life is good. As an anecdote, occasionally a Marine unit would be attached to the 1st Cavalry for a given mission. When that happened, they were treated exactly the same as a Cav trooper in that we would bring three hots a day. I heard from someone who heard from someone else that some Marine commented that had he known that the Army served three hots a day while in the field they would have joined the Army instead of the Corps. Just saying.

Battalions were usually made up of four rifle companies and if all four were in the field, we made several trips first thing in the morning at sunrise. We would drop off their breakfast, mail, and whatever else the Battalion S4 (supply department) sent. When that round of deliveries was complete, we brought back their packs and other non-essential stuff they did not need to hump the bush that day. This usually happened by sling load.

So how did we remain as safe as possible during the day while playing truck driver. These units were in the field for a reason, combat. We were a single ship flying around a war zone with no lines between us and the enemy. To begin with, we had several radios at our disposal. We had two FM tactical radios, one tuned into the ground unit we were supporting and the other tuned in to our company operations. We also had a UHF radio tuned to our area airfield and on that same radio we monitored “Guard” which is the international emergency frequency. If we had an emergency whether caused by enemy action or mechanical failure, we could talk to a lot of people very quickly. Also, we normally flew at 1500 feet above the ground, which even at our slow speed we were essentially out of range for accurate small arms fire. I’ll talk anti-aircraft weapons including their 12.7mm (.51 caliber) machine gun at another time. Lastly, we had processes tried and true. These processes kept us from landing at an enemy location (colored smoke and mirrors). The enemy often monitored our tactical frequencies. We also tried when possible not to fly in a predictable way (sometimes the terrain or wind conditions was an enemy).

Before I give you a sample scenario, I’m going to talk about piloting skills that are perfected by performing log missions. I mentioned at the beginning of this blog entry the term AO (area of operation). This term officially is used to describe our location’s tactical area which typically covers about a 15 or 20 mile radius from our main camp. What this means is if we fly at 60 knots climbing/descending and 80 knots enroute,  everything in our AO is a flight of 15 minutes or less. If we visit every field unit 6 to 10 times a day, we rack up around 40 takeoff and landings a day. Commercial Airline pilots depending on whether they fly commuter or long haul make from 1 to 5 landings a day. Also, the landings that a helicopter makes are difficult in that they are confined areas, pinnacles, elephant grass, slopes, crosswinds, tailwinds, and so on. Building incredible piloting skills comes with flying log in combat over jungle terrain.

Another big skill building issue is aircraft loading and control with fairly large changes in CG (center of gravity). Hueys burn about 400 pounds of fuel an hour and we typically refueled every hour and a half to two hours. The first load after refueling makes steep approaches in tight landing zones - rather dangerous if you don’t have skills. Fortunately, you get a lot of practice under the supervision of a very skilled AC as you fly your mission.

Now the scenario. All unit call signs and their associated FM frequencies are listed in a little classified booklet called an SOI (Signal Operating Instructions) that we tie to the top button of our fatigue shirts with a ball chain similar to the one that holds our dog tags. We use our unit call sign which in this case will be “Silent Preacher” and we attach the last 3 digits of the aircraft tail number. So, for this scenario, we will be flying Bill Quigley’s #785.  Also in the 1st Cavalry Division, all unit commanders had the number 6 in their call sign. For example, the units commanding officer (using Grey Ghost for instance as their unit call sign) was “Grey Ghost 6”. The first platoon leader was the “16”, the 2nd platoon leader was the “26” and so on. The CO (Commanding Officer) had a radio man that stuck to him like glue and the CO was always our first contact.

In our scenario we will be enroute to Grey Ghost; I will be the Aircraft Commander on the radios and the pilot is flying. We are loaded with breakfast, mail, and a couple of FNG’s joining the unit. 

“Ghost 6, this is Preacher 785 inbound about 10 klicks out with breakfast, looking for your smoke”.

“Roger that Preacher, popping smoke”, the CO responded.

At this point we have to identify the color of the smoke. If we are right in our response, then the security handshake has taken place and we know that it is the unit we are resupplying and not an enemy unit trying to trick us in. To break up the monotony of this process, we often respond with a reference to the color rather than the color itself.

I respond with “Grey Ghost, I’ve got your goofy grape.

“Roger that. Preacher”.

With that we use the smoke to tell us the wind condition and we do a visual inspection of the landing area and pick an approach, keeping in mind that we are heavy with fuel and cargo.

On final approach we are watching the ground guide and the gunner and crew chief are on the machine guns focused on possible enemy locations for signs of activity. As we touch down, 2 or 3 grunts on either side of the aircraft start unloading us. And of course, the FNGs jump off in their brand-new jungle fatigues and packs. Once we are unloaded, they throw odds and ends in the cargo bay that they are sending back to Battalion as well as any soldiers going back for whatever reason.

We head back to reload for the next sortie and so on. 

We will make about 6 trips each day for every unit in that battalion. At the same time we are flying log that day, we may be pulled off the mission to join a ready reaction force to combat assault, extract a unit, do a medivac, run some VIP somewhere, or whatever. Many stories to follow now that the bread and butter of being an Army Helicopter pilot is written on these pages.

The List

During the year of 2002 I was asked by Johnny Hubbs, the Owner of the 229th website (http://www.229thavbn.com/) to write a story that took place involving the 229th Assault Helicopter Battalion. Actually, he broadcasted a request for stories, and I gave it some thought. I’ve never really liked writing, mostly because I’m naturally fidgety and hate being chained to a desk. Other reasons included general laziness and difficulty selecting topics.

The one and only time that I got a decent grade in English class was on a story I wrote about the personification of race cars. In high school I was definitely a car guy, particularly European sports cars and this paper was a father/son relationship using a Mercedes W125 and a W165 personified. Interesting enough Miss Williams was very encouraging with my A- story. Ironically she also gave me the only “F” I ever received for a term in high school. It may have been because I chose duck hunting with my friend Paxson over attending her 3rd period class. The waters were rising in the beginning of the great flood of 1964 and the ducks and geese were leaving the area. Priorities! I know I digress but from that experience I was encouraged to write a story for Johnny’s Website.

The problem was selecting a topic. Should I write a story glorifying myself in combat? What about a story about flying a non- combat mission like the beer run to the China Beach PX? Pretty petty and boring to the audience. I struggled with a topic for the story for several months. Finally, I made a list of topics of stories I had told to friends over the last 30 years or so who asked and softened me up with a beer or two. Below is that list. There are items on that list that I remember because they were very inappropriate behaviors and I’ve carried them with me in shame, but most are topics of experiences that got the adrenaline pumping. Unless I go home to the Lord, I’ll tell them all.

The last blog entry was about Combat Assaults and the next will be about Log missions. Both of which are meant to give the non military reader a basic understanding of normal day to day processes and vocabulary that will help in the understanding and their presence in the stories.

 

Combat Assaults

 I don’t know how many times I’ve watched the first five minutes of the movie “Top Gun”. Launching an aircraft took a coordinated effort from many sailors. Different colored helmets, vests and the tools they used, including exhaust blast ramps and the catapult trigger, required process precision. The military has got that right!

The Combat Assault is a precision process we used in Vietnam to insert infantry troops into the field to do whatever their mission required. It involved many distinct units within the Division and often different branches of our military and sometimes foreign militaries.

Some Veterans of the Vietnam war are not interested in anything Vietnam then or now. I am not one of those veterans. I grew up on war movies showing courage, determination, sense of purpose and feats of heroism. The first wave of Vietnam related movies including Apocalypse Now, Deer Hunter, and Full Metal Jacket were all political statements and definitely not about courage, etc. or even the greatest evolution in jungle warfare, the helicopter as a direct combat tool, pioneered by the 11th Air Assault (Test) at Ft. Benning, Georgia and perfected in Vietnam. Transportation units were transformed into Assault Helicopter, Assault Support Helicopter, Air Cavalry, Arial Rocket Artillery, and other direct combat units. None of the Vietnam movies represented actual combat aviation units correctly. Even Mel Gibson’s “We Were Soldiers” fell short of that bar although closer than any other effort to that point. However, that movie showed the creed of combat helicopter pilots better than any other in that we worked for the infantry. When called by the infantry, we came. It did not matter about the weather, the time of day or night, or how hot the LZ, we came.  They called; we came! I will say this though, Wagner’s “Ride of the Valkyrie” was a nice touch in Coppola’s version of “Heart of Darkness” by Joseph Conrad.

The “Combat Assault” that we flew was I would guess about 30% of our daily life. About 60% of our flight hours were what we called “Logistical Resupply” or LOG for short. The remaining 10% was made up of a wide variety of specialty missions like “Command and Control” (CC) where we flew Battle field Commanders and their bank of radios, Fire Fly which were also known as Night Killer Hunter, Psy War, Special Forces/Long Range Recon Patrols (LRRP), POW transport, and even flying out to Navy Aircraft Carriers. Today’s Blog entry will be about Combat Assaults.

Combat Assaults are multi ship missions. The assault itself is performed by group of aircraft we called “slicks”, armed with two pedestal mounted machine guns and loaded with Infantry Troops. The leader of this group of aircraft has a mission radio call sign of “Yellow One”. The rest of the group’s/formation’s call signs are Yellow Two, Three, Four and so on. If the group consists of more than 6 aircraft, then a second color was used for the 7th through 12th aircraft. Typically, the 7th aircraft was White One, the 8th, White Two and so forth. I’ve been revisiting “Star Wars” movies lately and the Resistance labels their X-wing fighters the same way. I wonder if George Lucas copied us in his productions.

The Combat Assault force I talked about above also included escort “gunships” that we just called “guns”. They were also UH-1 Hueys but earlier models that were specifically configured to carry weapons and ammunition. Around 4 months into my tour, our gun company started trading them in for AH-1G Cobras. These gave the gunships about a 300 horse-power upgrade, about 1/4th the frontal area, and a new rotor system giving them additional speed and ammunition carrying ability. Typically, there were a pair of guns per 6 assault aircraft. They were supplied by a sister Company and in the scenario used below, they will have the call sign “Tomcat”.

So far in this precision “Combat Assault” I have described two separate Army units working together. The troop-carrying Huey “Slicks” led by call sign Yellow One (in our case, B Company, 229th Assault Helicopter Battalion) and a light fire team (2 AH-1G Cobra gunships) call sign Tomcats from D Company, 229th Assault Helicopter Battalion.

Now I’m going to add the Artillery support. There are two types of artillery used in a combat assault if a tube battery is in range of the intended assault. In our scenario, a 105mm howitzer battery will be in range (about 11,000 meters). The second type of artillery is a rocket intensive Huey Cobra that carries 2 each 19 rocket pods and 2 each 7 rocket pods on the pylons instead of Gatling style mini guns like the escort gunships. They are referred to as Aerial Rocket Artillery (ARA) and they have the call sign Blue Max and in our case are from C Company, 2nd Battalion, 20th Artillery Regiment.

At this point I’ve described, counting the infantry unit, elements from five different Army units involved in this operation. Depending on the size of the enemy threat on the ground, there could be two other branches of military involved. The first, and often used, is the Air Force. They provide carpet bombing from B-52’s and more often “Tactical Air” provided by fighter jets of all kinds. The second and rarely used was Naval gunfire. I recall it being used once in my first tour. The Battleship New Jersey was very impressive using their 16” guns on ground targets in Vietnam.

OK, what is the sequence and purpose of each element in this precision Combat Assault? The first, of course, is getting the intelligence from many sources that are used to determine the location and size of an enemy force. Sources of intelligence include interrogation of POWs and other indigenous people, Special Forces operations, enemy activity against helicopters and so on. As a lowly helicopter pilot, we rarely knew the source of the mission. Once the higher-ups decide there is a need to put troops on the ground, the planning begins.

The first action generally involves tube artillery, who prepare the landing zone or soften it up if you will. The purpose is to kill the enemy, destroy fortified positions, and otherwise move enemy troops away from the intended landing area. The relative safety of the infantry and aircrews during the landing and distribution of infantry is the concern. Of course, we can’t land in the middle of an artillery barrage, so the shut-off of the artillery must be known and confirmed before the helicopters enter the prepped area and unload their troops. This confirmation is sent visually. The last projectile of the barrage is a White Phosphorus smoke round affectionately called “The Willy Pete”. The formation of landing aircraft must be on final approach one minute from touchdown when Yellow One confirms and advises his flight over the tactical radio that “I have the Willy Pete”.

So, what keeps the enemy from retaking that landing zone during that one minute of final approach? The answer is Aerial Rocket Artillery (ARA). While the flight leader is lining up our final approach, ARA (two ships normally) joins our gaggle about 1,000 ft above us and behind us, as soon as Yellow One confirms the Willy Pete ARA goes hot. The lead pilot transmits, “Yellow One, Blue Max is going hot”. They place their rocket fire on targets near the landing area that could conceal enemy troops. If they are in fortified positions the rocket barrage serves to keep their heads down so they can’t fire on the helicopters landing. This barrage lasts about 30 seconds. The landing slicks are now at about 30 knots and a couple hundred feet above the ground and very vulnerable to ground fire.

Now the gun escorts go into action. They peel off from the slick formation and go into orbit around the landing zone (LZ) 180 degrees apart and start strafing the perimeter, tree lines, etc., with their mini guns and stay in orbit around the LZ until the last slick unloads and takes off. They may escort the flight back to the troop pickup zone (PZ) or they may stay on station at the LZ depending on the needs of the infantry.

While the guns are doing their thing, our door gunners open up on any target they see and if fired upon, return fire.

The last two things I’ll discuss before I run the scenario below, are aircraft formations and cockpit activities. Aircraft formations are used to simplify control. How many of us have seen a gaggle of geese heading south for the winter or an elementary school teacher lead a line of kindergartners to a school bus? Aircraft formations are always a version of the base “V” formation. Based on the initial mission briefing, and later flight leader observation, a formation is called to get the most grunts on the ground in the least amount of time and is based on the size and shape of the LZ. If we go into a football field size LZ then the basic V formation will get the job done. However, most LZs were either one or two ship size so our typical formations were “sections trail” for two ships or “trail” for one ship. “Sections trail” is a formation with two ship groups in trail with some time spacing between each group. “Trail” formation is where each ship is in single file like that kindergarten line to the bus with time spacing between each ship. The gunship escort is usually two ships (light fire team) or three ships (heavy fire team). The lead gunship positioned itself about 100 meters to the right of Yellow One and back a little. The second gun placed itself to the left of the slick formation and about 300 meters to the rear of Yellow One. When they joined the formation enroute to the objective, they announced to Yellow One, “Yellow One, this is Tomcat 26 with a light fire team. We have you “saddled”.

Cockpit activities become somewhat automatic. There were unit policies and instructions given out by the Aircraft Commander (AC). Rules of engagement and the pilot on the controls were in the bailiwick of the AC. Unit policy included using clear face shields on the helmets (to protect our cool aviator sunglasses if our windshield got shot out), using forced trim on the control stick and having the non-flying pilot keeping a light touch on the controls during the final approach. We generally observed the first and ignored the last two (we twenty somethings were bulletproof after all).

OK, the scenario. If you are still with me at this point, thank you! 

Set up:

We are sitting in the pickup zone loading 7 troops per aircraft. We are a group of 6 aircraft. We are Yellow Two positioned left and to the rear of Yellow One, about 15 minutes from the objective and our troops are loaded. You, my readers are the right seat pilot and you currently have the controls. I’m the AC sitting left seat doing final gauge checks and setting radio frequencies. FM 1 on Mission Tactical, FM 2 on company operations, Automatic Direction Finder (ADF) on Armed Forces Radio Station at our home base, and UHF on our home base tower frequency. We are at flight rpm with all engine gages in the green. Our mission briefing has already taken place. After takeoff we will automatically go to “V of three” formation with Yellow Four, Five, and Six going to V of three behind us.

“Flight, this is Yellow One, commo Check.”

“Yellow Two, Lima Charlie.”

“Yellow Three, Loud and Clear”

Yellow Four, Five, Six………….

“Flight, let’s rock and roll.”

I put my hands and feet on the controls and speak through intercom, “I’ve got the aircraft.” You let go of the controls and start your outside clearance scan as I pull in power. I’m fixed on the torque meter as we are fully fueled and have 7 troops as well as our crew of four. In short, we are at Max Gross Weight for our aircraft. As I become light on the skids and proceed to a six-     inch hover, I check the position of the stick to see if we are within Center of Gravity limits. As long as I have some aft stick travel to work with so I can bring the nose up to slow down from cruise flight, all is good. I read 40 psi on the torque meter (about 80% available) and nose it over a little to build speed until we reach translational lift, adjust for a 500’ per minute rate of climb and 60 knot airspeed. Yellow One levels off at 1500’ altitude and accelerated to cruising speed of 80 knots. We stayed glued to Yellow One, about 45 degrees to his left and rear and about 3 rotor discs away. 

I opened intercom. “You have the aircraft”, and you responded, “I have the aircraft”. I released the controls, set back in my seat and turned up the ADF to listen to Green Tambourine by the Lemon Pipers (Armed Forces Radio played top 40 tunes). This was the quiet before the storm. We had an enroute time of about ten minutes with a few minutes of holding time to set up the final approach to exactly one-minute final. I lit up a cigarette and cooled my jets.

“Yellow One, this is Tomcat 26. We have you saddled”.

“Roger that Tomcat, thanks”. Yellow One continues, “Flight, looks like we have a two ship LZ, go sections trail, 45 second spacing.” Yellow One starts a slow right hand turn as the ships behind us slow down and turn wider to get the spacing. As Yellow Two, we were already in position. From the drifting smoke of the ongoing artillery barrage, Yellow One decided on the approach angle and started his decent to 500’, the starting point of the final minute before touchdown.

“Yellow One, this is Blue Max. We have a light fire team and are on station”.

“Roger that Blue Max, we will be landing to the west.”

“Roger that Yellow One”.

I put my cigarette out and push my floor button to talk on the intercom. “Ok boys lock and load and be alert. We will be the first two aircraft in the LZ. Chief let the grunts know”. I slide my clear visor down and take the controls. “I have the aircraft”.

“You have the aircraft”, you say as you release the controls.

“Flight, Yellow One, I’ve got the Willy Pete”.

“Yellow One, Blue Max is going hot”.

Adrenaline has been building since I took the controls. I lower the power and start the approach staying fairly tight with Yellow One. I’m becoming super aware much like a deer being stalked by a predator. Everything seems to go into slow motion as my senses amp up. I can feel the aircraft talking to me with its subtle motions. It seems relieved as I lower the power and slow down to 60 knots. I can feel small changes in the center of gravity when bodies and weapons move toward the cargo doors with their legs hanging out. This is where Coppola should insert Wagner’s Ride of the Valkyries.  I hear the swoosh as Blue Max’s rockets are blazing by. We pass the 30 second mark and we hear our escorts open up on the LZ fringes with their mini guns sounding like the roar of a male lion warning others to stay away from his pride. We are about 200 ft in the air and down to about 20 knots as I scan my landing area deciding the spot and whether I’m touching down or coming to a hover. The closer I am to the ground the less likely there will be grunt injuries exiting the aircraft. My crew chief and gunner are adding to the chaotic fire storm and noise as they lay down suppressive fire on each side of the aircraft.  As I pull in more power to stop the aircraft and achieve hovering flight, I feel the aircraft groan like a weightlifter pressing weights overhead. My gunners stop firing as the grunts exit the aircraft and I hold the aircraft reasonably still. The Crew Chief engages the intercom and says “Sir, grunts are clear as the last grunt clears the skids. Yellow One lifts off and I’m right behind him climbing like a bat out of hell, power at 100%. Yellow Three and Four touch down as we clear our spots. The guns stay on station while the grunts set up their perimeter and deal with any hot spots that may come up after Yellow Five and Six clear the LZ.

After we reach flight altitude, I turn the aircraft over to you and unwind with a cigarette as you fly back to the PZ. And we repeat the process in a much less violent way.

This photo is what we see on one minute final of a combat assault. The area circled is the touch down area. The large and very white puff of smoke on the right edge of the circle is from the “Willy Pete” artillery shut off smoke round. The orange red dots and streaks are from the rockets in flight.

That’s all for now. The next installment will be about another category of missions we performed.

Learning to Fly

This photo is a tight echelon right formation. Photo was taken from the right seat of the fourth aircraft

Now I am through with in-country processing. I’ve got 3 sets of jungle fatigues with the cool pockets in the shirt and what we now call “cargo pants”, olive drab underwear and socks, 2 very cool pairs of jungle boots with olive drab fabric tops and farm tractor aggressive treads. Also, some pilot stuff like a Smith & Wesson Model 10 in .38 Special (with a very hokey shoulder holster) and a brand new APH-5 flight helmet in olive drab. Two of my flight school classmates and I left An Khe assigned to B Company; one of 4 companies that made up the 229th Assault Helicopter Battalion of the 1st Cavalry Division.

 

An aircraft from our unit at LZ English was sent down to pick us up and deliver us to the Commanding Officer, Major Varner, to report for duty. I was assigned to the 1st Flight Platoon Commanded by Captain Kenneth (Kenny Hardcore) Hamburger and my two classmates were assigned to the 2nd flight platoon. After almost 14 months in the Army I was finally at work in a real aviation company and ready to fly for a living. My first real boss, Cpt. Hamburger showed me my quarters in a section of a GP Medium tent and took me to Operations where all aviation activities are assigned.

 

After a couple of days orienting to company policies, fixing up my AO (area of operation) in my tent and getting checked off with the Company Standardization Pilot, I was officially in the REAL flight school, flying real missions from the right seat and part of a real 4 man flight crew. Nothing was simulated. Every time I went into the air, there was a real combat reason to do so and the hazards of combat to accompany it.

 

I'm not a particularly brave man and I was very inexperienced, in a real war, flying an armed war machine in areas where other people want to hurt me. The excitement of the adventure was starting to wane. The arrogance that I took with me from flight school was also waning. No, in fact, it was crashing down. I was among the best helicopter pilots in the world and next to them I was just an FNG. Every day that I saw my name on the mission board in operations, I was put with a senior, very experienced AC (Aircraft Commander) who refined the skills I learned in flight school. Formation flying was based on the mission. The tightness of the formation and its style were determined by the size and shape of the LZ (landing zone). For multi ship operations called combat assaults, the LZs could be single ship size where we used trail formation with spacing based on how long the flight leader thought it would take to drop the troops and get out of the way of the following ship. In flight school they were always loose with very large fields for landing. In combat we were fully loaded with 6 or 7 troops heavily equipped. If we had a full load of fuel, we were heavy - in the ballpark of maximum gross weight. In flight school, no troops. In flight school we trained landing on pinnacles, and in confined areas. In Vietnam most of our single ship operations were confined areas not much larger than the rotor disc. We also negotiated slopes and pinnacles that were also confined areas, fully loaded with supplies for the infantry or artillery unit we were supporting. Loading and unloading the aircraft were often done at a hover because of stumps and severe slopes. Holding an aircraft still at a hover while loading was not covered in flight school. Conservation of engine power while very heavy, required a very smooth stick. A 200-hour pilot out of flight school was typically very abrupt on the controls. We learned to imperceptibly pressure the stick where a casual observer couldn’t see it move. Long story short, the REAL flight school began with flying missions in combat, and I flew under the tutelage of the best helicopter pilots in the world. That was just part of the adventure fading and growing into a competent adult who people could count on when all the chips were in.

 

Every evening after work and after dinner, most of the 1st Platoon pilots would gather in our bunker/Officers club and tell war stories, play poker and sip on adult beverages.  A lot of good things came out of these informal gatherings. One was our pledge to infantry soldiers to NEVER let them down. It did not matter the weather, the time of day or night, or the heat of battle; if they call, we come. Before I arrived, there had been some intense battles where my unit was involved in supporting the infantry under intense fire. Many of these war stories, and their related songs sung by our resident musicians, reinforced the code. We also learned the merit and skills of all the senior ACs in our platoon. I learned to stay out of poker games and to avoid alcohol. We also learned to hate the enemy and strip them of their humanity by assigning them names like gook, dink, slope, charley and so on. It’s difficult to kill or participate in killing people you don’t hate. When I left Vietnam the final time while in the Army, I pledged to myself to NEVER hate again.

 

In those first 2 months in the field, my sense of awareness was awakened and after awakened, continually sharpened. One day on a routine single ship logistical resupply mission, I was flying along skinny, dumb and happy at about 1500 feet above the ground. Suddenly the AC grabbed the controls and made a very sharp and steep left turn as an evasive maneuver. He claimed we got shot at and explained the popping noise he heard. It wasn’t long after that that my ears and mind became aware of the sound of ground fire through my helmet, through the ambient noise of the helicopter (rotor blades and engine), through those little pink plastic earplugs, and through radio noise. Amazing and true. The feel of the controls through flight gloves and thick soles of combat boots was totally lacking any sensation or feedback from the aircraft. Huey controls were all about hydraulic assist and dampened all feedback from the flight surfaces they controlled. Slowly as my hours and experience grew, I started feeling the aircraft talking to me. I felt the pedals under my thick soled combat boots talk to me about wind gusts, loading and vibrations. I felt feedback from the main rotor system. My hearing picked up airframe and engine noises. I became what is now called hyper-aware of my helicopter and its environment. By the time I had 500 hours (300 hours in country), I started strapping the Huey to my back and wore it like it was plugged in to my brain, not like being strapped to a runaway horse as before.

 

The months of September, October and part of November were the most important to me than the rest of that first year and somewhat quiet from the perspective of enemy activity where I flew. That allowed me to learn to fly, build my situational awareness and gain the confidence that I could make my aircraft do whatever I wanted it to and accomplish any mission given to me. I could have joined the unit on the eve of a great and ferocious battle like many of my associates did later that year, but God was working on my behalf, undeservedly, and I am forever grateful!

Why?

Two friends of mine, one I’ve known since Jr. High and the other of two years or so have asked me questions about this blog. After considerable thought I have provided the reasons below which are not necessarily in order of importance.

The first question from my photography mentor, an American living in Dublin was: Why? That question has many answers, some more important than others. Most of my friends are my age and lived during the Vietnam War. Some as observers and a few as participants who also observed. All of the history that I’m aware of was framed around big events like battles, movies and stories about individual bravery and scandals, or political commentary and analysis. All of which formed the positions we hold today on the legitimacy of the War. There are quite a few interesting  autobiographies out there, but once again not widely read except by the families friends, or veterans from their unit. This blog is my autobiography without the fuss of writing a book. Also it is living document in that it is a two way street addressing comments and questions. My blog is about my individual experience during 365 days of relative monotony punctuated by minutes of terror and my growth from a carefree teen to a responsible hardened combat flying soldier. It is not political, nor is it about the morality of our culture. It will contain some immoral aspects and events of war that I participated in, which the negative still walks with me most days of my life.

One of the interesting things about my children and grandchildren is that when the Vietnam War comes up in school they don’t hesitate to ask me questions about my participation as soon as they find out I was there. As soon as they write their assignment their interest wanes as they go back to their lives. I was the same about my uncles and fathers in laws who participated in WWII. All are dead now and I’ve lost the window to ask and they left no memories. No photos, no war stories, no letters home, nothing. This blog may answer questions about what Dad or Papa did in the war.

Among my friends are many I served with driven to inform people about our unit or their lives on the line through a web-site they manage or in other ways like Facebook. I’m guilty, at least in the social activities available through Facebook, Instagram or Twitter. I wrote my first “War Story” by request of the owner of the website for my first tour unit. I wrote the story and in spite of not caring so much about writing in general, I felt good about it. It even provided a little closure. Apparently many others did as well. I even got a call from one of the Crew Chiefs of the lethal Cobra crash that was part of the story. I get some relief about telling and writing some of the more interesting events in my life.

The last reason for “why” I’ll write about is my path to God. In a way my tours in Vietnam were a list of coincidences and events which should have ended my life, but didn’t. So this blog will be the long version of what Christians call my testimony. Vietnam wasn’t the whole path but certainly was the rockiest. Our spiritual lives are very important and if this helps someone else find God then I’m in.

The second question came from someone I’ve known since Jr. High. She was someone I’d admired then and now. Her question was, - Are your memories of so long ago as vivid as they read? I told her yes. The stories are about events in my life that involve minutes or a very few hours that really were about fear, or other feelings. However, there are other things in the stories that are not about vividness. Standard procedures, organizations, knowledge of physics, aerodynamics, radio procedures and other things that stitch the stories together are definitely not vivid. For example in one of my unpublished stories I had to do research within my unit to find the names of the crew members participating. My vividness was the story and I had to fill in some of the details from research.

The next episode after this will cram a couple of months into a paragraph which will be anything but vivid but important in my development as a pilot and soldier from a teenager setting foot into a combat zone.

PS: I’ve updated the blog to include a Follow  button. This gives you a notification when I post. If you want to continue with the real war stories please Follow.