An Assault Helicopter Unit in Vietnam (Undaunted Valor 1)

Chapter 35

The Hellhole

When you were conducting a resupply mission, a good load that was efficient for the trip but left you enough power to maneuver at a hover was thirty of the five-gallon water cans. These would go in on the first trip so that you could adequately judge the conditions affecting the hover hole and so the grunts could fill canteens while you delivered the rest of the supplies and on the last trip, take the empty water cans back out. Generally for a rifle company, it would take three trips to get all their nightly resupply in to them. Water, food, ammo, mail, beer and soda. The last two items were just as important to the grunts as the first two. These guys had few pleasures in their lives, and a letter from home and a cold beer after a long day of humping a rucksack did wonders for morale.

We had been working the Song Be area for one infantry battalion, but around noon we got a call to break off from our resupply mission and join up with two other aircraft from our company at Song Be along with a flight from our sister company. The sister company commander was flight lead, Green One. The company commander had a reputation and was making a name for himself, one that our unit didn’t think too highly of. On the few occasions that I had been around him, it appeared that he had his nose so far up the senior officers’ asses that he was being oxygen-deprived. But, hey, I was just a warrant officer pilot. What did I know? When we joined up with him, he informed us that we were going to be part of a twelve-ship lift and the Chickenman birds would be the last three chalks. As it was twelve ships, there would be two turns and then we would be released to resume our previous missions. Okay by us. The less time spent with this guy, the more we liked it. Formation would be staggered right.

The initial insertion was uneventful, as was the subsequent insertion. As we were following the flight back to Song Be to refuel before we were released, we were flying low-level, still in a staggered right formation. Looking out ahead, I noticed that we were approaching a known river-crossing site and there was brownish smoke drifting up from the trees. The same appearance as if artillery had recently impacted the location.

“Green One, Chicken-man One-Niner, over.”

“Go ahead, Chicken-man.”

“Roger, there appears to be some artillery impact recently up at those rapids on the river up ahead. Have we been cleared by Arty?” At ninety knots, we were approaching the spot quickly.

“Chicken-man, Chalk Two handled the clearance. We’re good.” His tone told me he wasn’t happy with me questioning him about this. It was standard procedure in the division that Chalk Two got clearances from Arty.

“Roger, Green One,” I said. His aircraft was over the smoke now and the flight pressed on. We were coming up on the spot rapidly as well.

Kaboom. Kaboom. Kaboom. Kaboom. Kaboom. Kaboom. Six artillery rounds impacted directly under our aircraft, and I was over it with my two teammates. Six 105 mm rounds impacting all around and under us! Shit!

“Green One, Chalk One-One, we’ve been hit. Master caution looks like a fucking Christmas tree. You took us through a damn artillery strike, you son of a bitch.” It was Lou.

“Chalk One-One, maintain radio silence.”

“Radio silence my ass, you son of a bitch. Shit.”

No comment from Green One.

“Chicken-man One-Two, Chicken-man One-Niner.”

“Go ahead.”

“You okay?”

“Yeah, but we’re going to have a hydraulic problem, and so

me of the electrical is messed up. The bird’s flying, but I’m leaking fuel as well. I’m going to kick his ass when we get down. You asked that son of a bitch if we were cleared. Damn his ass.”

“Chicken-man Two-Three, are you okay?” I asked.

“I’m good but have a busted chin bubble,” Chicken-man Two-Three came back.

“Chicken-man aircraft, stay off the net. You are released, Green One out.”

“Screw you, Green One. I’ll see you on the ground.” Lou was pissed and had every right to be. We all had a right. If one of those rounds had hit a rotor blade, there wouldn’t be any pieces of the aircraft left. All three aircraft could very easily have been blown out of the sky in an instant. We were all pissed, but Lou especially. We followed the flight into the refuel point, and as soon as we touched down, Lou was out of his aircraft and heading for Flight Leader’s aircraft.

“Mr. Price, stop right there,” a voice bellowed. It was our company commander, who, although not in the flight, had heard the whole thing on the radio and was also refueling his aircraft. Lou turned and stared at him.

“Sir, that pompous son of a bitch took us—”

“I know, I heard, as did the rest of the division. Let me handle this.” And the major walked past Lou and towards Green One’s aircraft. Lou started to follow. Turning on his heels, the major told Lou to go back and look after his aircraft, which was leaking fuel. We didn’t know what was said as the two commanders walked away from everyone, but our CO was jabbing his finger in Green One’s chest and close to his face. Green One was attempting to make it a two-sided conversation, but Chicken-man Six wasn’t having any of it. For the next two months, that commander kept a low profile, and no one from any other unit would fly with him.

Released from the flight and refueled, we headed back to our resupply mission. We were already behind schedule, as it was now later in the afternoon. We had one more unit to get supplies to before nightfall. No problem, three turns and we would be easily done before dark. When we got to the log pad, thirty water cans were ready to be loaded along with everything else, to include twenty cases of C-ratios, five boxes of ammo, one mailbag and two mailbags with soda and beer. Piece of cake.

“I’ll take us in the first time and you get the second. Any questions?” My copilot was really new. WO1 Fairweather had only arrived a couple of weeks before and had one resupply under his belt. He was older than most of us, having been a sergeant first class when he’d applied for flight school. We called him Grandpa because of his age. Hell, he had gray streaks in his hair as well as his mustache, and a mighty nice mustache it was.

“Naw, I’m good,” he said, and I took off with thirty water cans. We had a slight breeze blowing that day, but not much. Trees in the area were about two hundred feet high. Flying out to the company, I contacted them on the radio.