An Assault Helicopter Unit in Vietnam (Undaunted Valor 1)

“Okay, Ron, we’re going to position ourselves slightly above the aircraft in front and maintain our one-rotor-blade distance.”

“Okay, but how do you know we’re only one rotor blade and not overlapping?” he asked. I could hear some apprehension in his voice.

“Notice his tail rotor hub and his exhaust?” I asked.

“Yeah.”

“What we want to do is line up his tail rotor hub in the exhaust stack, and that’ll give us our position slightly above him. You don’t want to focus on his taillight, as that will put you on the same level as him and subject you to his rotor wash. The trick is to stay slightly above him. The guys behind us will be doing the same,” I said.

“Okay, but what about the distance?” he asked. I could still hear some apprehension in his voice. He was a new guy, and in flight school you did night formation flying, sort of, with at least two-rotor-blade separation but more like three.

“To judge your distance, watch his exhaust flame. If you can barely see it, you’re about the right distance. If you lose it, then you’re back too far, and if it’s bright, you’re too close. Just watch,” I added as I eased us into position above and behind the aircraft in front.

“Hey, Specialist Posey, what does it look like behind us?” I asked my crew chief.

“Sir, some are hanging close and others might as well be in another formation. The aircraft behind us is looking good, but there’s a gap between him and the next aircraft. Some of our passengers don’t look real happy, however. They best not puke in here or they’re cleaning it up,” he added.

“Yellow One, Chalk Sixteen, Flight is up, sort of.”

“Chalk Sixteen, what do you mean sort of?”

“Yellow One, we have a couple of gaps of three to four rotor separation, it looks like. But everyone except one is in position above the next. Someone is having problems, it appears,” Chalk Sixteen added.

“Yellow One, Chalk Twelve.”

“Go ahead, Twelve.”

“Yellow One, that’s me. I put my newbie on the controls and he’s learning. We’ll get there.”

“Roger, Twelve.”

Chalk Twelve had a very old aircraft commander who was about to rotate home. To his credit, it was very good of him to let the newbie take the controls. We didn’t fly night formations very often, but when the opportunity to learn came along, we took it. The night was calm, so turbulence didn’t play havoc with us, and the weather was good, so no rain showers. In the distance, we could see the lights of Bear Cat, and Yellow One set us up for a long final approach.

“Flight, Yellow One. We will land and hover off the runway to the right. There’s an open field there and we’ll occupy it for the night. Shut down and get some sleep. We’ll refuel in the morning before we head home.”

Coming into the field, each aircraft came to a hover and set down. Specialist Posey got out and opened my door while Specialist Quillin, my door gunner, opened Ron’s door. As soon as the main rotor stopped, Specialist Posey had it tied down, and out came his hammock, which he proceeded to string up under the tail boom and climb in. Damn, I have to get one of those for myself, I thought, but he was the crew chief and staked out his sleeping area first. Our passengers just lay down on the ground or inside the aircraft. Chicken plates made horrible pillows, but I staked out a spot on the ground under the aircraft.

Intel didn’t get it right, as Lai Khe didn’t get hit that night. Instead, it got pounded with rockets and mortars the next night, once we returned. Some aircraft were hit and one was lost completely with a direct hit. One of Lobo’s aircraft took a direct hit as well. We’d suspected as much, as all the hooch maids had left that day at about 1500. They’d said nothing directly but had given plenty of indications that we’d best be on our toes for what was coming. We were used to receiving a couple of rockets or mortar rounds three or four times a week at night, but not like this.

In hindsight, this exercise prepared us for upcoming events.

“Wake up! Mission brief in thirty minutes in the mess hall,” screamed the ops clerk as he ran through the hooch. As we were all light sleepers now because of the rocket attacks, everyone was up immediately and scrambling to get dressed.

“What time is it?” someone asked.

“Zero two thirty. What the hell now?” responded Mike George as we were all heading out the door. Over in the crew chief and door gunner hooches, lights were on and everyone was moving with a lot of hollering. Entering the mess hall, Major Saunders and the ops officer were posting crew assignments and tail numbers.

“Okay, get in and get seated,” directed the major. Once we settled down, he began the mission brief.

“Firebases Jamie, Grant, and Joy all got hit about an hour ago by at least a regiment-size force at each one.” Worried looks were exchanged amongst the pilots. “Division has ordered an operation to place two companies in a blocking position north of Grant to foil a withdrawal of the remnants of the regiment in that area or to reinforce Grant if necessary. Our mission is to pick up one rifle company at this location”—he pointed at the map—“and insert them three klicks north of Grant in this location. I will be Yellow One and this will be a twelve-ship lift with two turns. Those of you not in the lift will go to Quan Loi and fly resupply to each firebase and backhaul wounded.” He paused while we absorbed his words.

“Now the bad news—there will be no artillery fire on the insertion. Division does not want the gooks to know we’ve landed in this location, so artillery support will be on call but not fired unless absolutely necessary. In addition, there was concern that an artillery prep would obscure the LZ with smoke and make it more difficult for us to land. The good news is that a recon team is at the LZ and reports no activity. I will be in contact with them on our approach. It is now zero three hundred and we launch in twenty minutes. Get your crew assignments and get out there. Crew chiefs and gunners are at the aircraft now.” With that, we all departed as ACs already knew which aircraft they were flying and right seaters had studied the board while the major was talking.

Arriving at the aircraft, we saw that the guns had been mounted and preflight was complete. Posey and Quillin were on top of their game. Mr. Fender was my copilot again for this mission, and he began his start-up procedure as soon as we were all strapped in. We were flying Chalk Four of the twelve-ship lift.

“Flight, this is Yellow One, coming out.” And with that, he picked up and moved to the runway, followed by each chalk in sequence. Over in the Snake Pit, Lobo was also cranking up four aircraft that would escort us. As each aircraft came out, they called Yellow One to let him know his flight was up.

“One, this is Two, you are clear to take off.”