An Assault Helicopter Unit in Vietnam (Undaunted Valor 1)

He looked at me as if I was nuts. I flew the aircraft over the runway and passed it at one thousand feet. When it was behind us, I chopped the throttle and immediately raised the nose of the aircraft, bleeding off the airspeed to zero, but our altitude stayed at one thousand feet. As we passed through ten knots, I kicked in a left pedal turn, bringing the nose of the aircraft around 180 degrees. Our rotor rpms were going down slowly as I then pushed the nose of the aircraft forward and put us into a fifteen-hundred-feet-per-minute dive, pointed right at the runway. Rotor rpm was building rapidly, as was airspeed, and I pulled in some collective to maintain it in the correct operating range. As we were operating the rotor in the green, the landing point was where it should be. I raised the nose and reduced our airspeed, which was at one hundred and ten in the dive, to sixty knots and executed a normal autorotation, setting the bird down as pretty as I pleased. The major was just staring wide-eyed at me.

“Where the hell did you learn that?” he asked. “Surely not in flight school.”

“No, sir. I met a guy that was a test pilot at the Hughes aircraft factory once, and he showed me the maneuver, along with a zero-airspeed three-sixty autorotation,” I said.

“A what?” he asked with a shocked look.

“A zero-airspeed three-sixty autorotation. You do it the same way but just rotate the aircraft three hundred and sixty degrees. It’s best if you have a bit more altitude, but you can do it from a thousand feet as well. This guy did one back in sixty-six up north under fire. He said he was at about twelve hundred feet when two .51-cals opened up on him. He pulled up short right away as he could see he was going to get hit, and he did. He immediately zeroed out the airspeed and chopped the throttle and went into the pedal turn. They stopped shooting ’cause they thought they had hit him mortally. As he got into his dive, he brought the power back and went contour over the trees. Must have pissed the gooks off, but at least they stopped shooting at him,” I said. “He told me he read about pilots in World War I doing something similar when shot at by ground crews. Those pilot would abruptly pull into a stall, roll over into a spin, a classic split S maneuver, and then a spin down to a thousand feet before pulling out.”

“Have you ever done it, this zero-airspeed three-sixty autorotation?” he asked. Oh, the moment of truth, I thought.

“Yes, sir,” I answered. No denying it. I wasn’t a liar, and I was sure he had flown with a right seat pilot that I’d demonstrated this to and he had been told about it.

“Well, let’s not just sit here. Show me,” he said, tightening his seat belt. Off we went and climbed to altitude. Everything came off fine just like a ride at Disneyland, and the old man was grinning like a Cheshire Cat when we got to the ground.

“Very nice, Dan. Let’s get the crew and head for home,” he said, and we did. Kind of a fun couple of hours just being able to hone skills.

Two days later, we were at the club after a long day of flying. I was told that tomorrow would be a stand-down day for me, so I was working on my third beer when Captain Armstrong and Captain Beauchamp came over and dragged up chairs. Captain Armstrong was just a great guy and one of the few black pilots in the outfit. We had two, the other being First Lieutenant “Hobie” Hicks, also a fine man. As he and Captain Beauchamp sat down, he took my glass of beer.

“Let me touch that up for you a bit.” To my beer, he added a large shot of Jack Daniels. Now I was never a whiskey drinker, so this surprised me a bit. But, hey, it was my platoon leader, and I wasn’t about to refuse a drink. This was a bit odd. We had another, and another, with the conversation revolving around my flight with the major two days ago. Both were asking questions about the flight.

After abo

ut an hour of this, the company clerk came up to me in the Officers’ Club and asked me to sign some papers.

“What’s this for?” I asked with a slight slur and blurry eyes. I was becoming as drunk as our rooster who frequented the club each night and was fed scotch. Damn rooster would not drink beer. Expensive taste.

“Oh, it’s just some paperwork I need your signature on for your extension,” he said. And I signed it without another thought. I thought I had submitted everything. As he left, the RLOs excused themselves, slapping each other on the back and laughing their asses off. Two nights later, I found out what was so funny. The major wanted all the pilots in the club for a meeting.

“Okay, gentlemen, I have an announcement to make. First let me introduce two newbies that arrived today. Warrant Officer Rick Dumas joins us along with Warrant Officer John Reynolds, both just out of flight school. Welcome, gentlemen,” he said as he pointed at them. “Both of you will have an opportunity to fly with our new instructor pilot very soon. Listen to what he has to teach you, because he’s going to take you above flight school training and teach you combat flying. You both will be flying with him for the next month, one each day, and on the other day you’ll be flying with another aircraft commander who’s going to be teaching you as well, so you can learn from all of them. They’ve all been flying a minimum of four months and all have over five hundred hours in-country. Learn well and learn fast.”

Who the hell was the new instructor pilot? I wondered. The major went on, “Sit down, newbies. In addition, I’m happy to announce that one of our chickens has decided to stay in the Coop. Mr. Cory has graciously modified his extension to remain with us instead of going to a medivac unit. Thank you, Dan.”

“Wait one!” I yelled in shock. “Sir, I didn’t change my extension. What are you talking about?” I was trying to be respectful and noticed that most of the other pilots were laughing, to include Captain Armstrong and Captain Beauchamp.

“I beg your pardon, Mr. Cory, but you most certainly did,” the major said with all the seriousness of a criminal prosecutor. “Two nights ago, you signed the papers to change your extension from a medevac assignment to remain with us. You did it right here with Captain Armstrong and Captain Beauchamp as witnesses. Isn’t that right?” he asked, looking right at them with a very straight face.

With equally straight faces, they stood in unison and said, “Yes, sir.” And then they broke down laughing.

“Sir, they were getting me drunk with Jack Daniels when your clerk pushed those papers in my face,” I stated.

Maintaining his prosecutor’s face, he insisted, “Now, Mr. Cory, we all know that you’re not a whiskey drinker, and I will not have you trash the honest reputation of these fine officers. Does everyone agree with me that we know Mr. Cory is not a whiskey drinker? Whoever denies that fact, let him stand and speak.” No one came to my defense, and the major was now having trouble keeping a straight face. My goose was cooked.

“Hey, sir, one question,” one of the pilots sounded off. “Who is the new instructor pilot?” Silence. A long pregnant pause as the CO stared at the floor. Slowly he looked up and studied the room, with his eyes falling finally on me.

“Mr. Cory is our new instructor pilot. Congratulations, Dan,” he said. The room went into hysterics. For the rest of the night, I didn’t have to buy beer as everyone was feeding it to me and all having a good laugh at my expense. Some even offered to buy me, and the rooster, a shot of Jack Daniels. Bastards!

Chapter 25

Enter the World of the Instructor

The next morning, my mouth felt like the entire Russian Army had walked through it in their socks, if they wore socks. Someone was smart enough to tell Flight Ops not to put me in the air as the previous evening’s activities were taking a toll on my condition. At about 0900 hours, I was afraid I was going to live, I felt so bad. By 1500 hours, I was beginning to function and the major paid me a visit.

“How you feeling?” he asked.

“Sir, I’m not feeling.”

“Well, you best be feeling by tomorrow morning because you’re going back in the air. Look, we shanghaied you and I’ll admit it, but I need good pilots here and can’t afford to ship you off to some other unit. I barely have enough pilots to get all the birds in the air, and with you leaving and a couple of other DROSing, unless I get some pilots in, we won’t be able to put two pilots in each aircraft. If you really have your heart set on leaving, I can understand and won’t stop you, but I and a lot of others really want you to stay.”