An Assault Helicopter Unit in Vietnam (Undaunted Valor 1)
“Right in the middle of the buildings. He’s just standing there.” Grandpa had his grenade launcher cocked and loaded and was peering down as he was talking to Lobo. I slowly brought the aircraft back around.
“Jones, hit the searchlight. Everyone, get ready.”
The searchlight came on, lighting up the town, which wasn’t necessary as the flare ship had dropped a flare and the entire village was bathed in white light. The gentleman standing in the middle of the village was naked except for a loin cloth and a Montagnard crossbow he was holding.
“Sir, should I engage?” Leonard asked.
“No, not yet. We’ll hold off unless we take fire. Grandpa, tell Lobo to hold off, but keep us covered.” As we were at a hover at fifty feet right over the village, people started appearing. First it was just a couple of guys, then women and children. Within a minute, we had maybe one hundred Montagnards standing in the village center, but we didn’t take fire. I was calling this in.
“Wrangler Six, Chicken-man One-Niner, over.”
“Chicken-man One-Niner, Wrangler Six India, over.”
“Wrangler Six, Chicken-man. I have a village with approximately one hundred people that appear to be Montagnards.” I gave him the coordinates. “We have not taken fire, and they’re just standing here. Over.”
“Chicken-man, understand you have a village with one hundred people, is that correct?”
“Wrangler Six, that is affirmative,” I responded.
“Roger, Chicken-man One-Niner, engage.” What did I just hear?
“Wrangler Six, did you just tell me to engage?”
“Roger, Chicken-man, you are to engage.”
“Wrangler Six, you must have misunderstood. These are Montagnard villagers and not, repeat, not November Victor Alphas. We are not taking fire nor hostile actions. Over.”
“Roger, Chicken-man, understood and you are to engage.” Grandpa was looking at me with a shocked expression.
“What are we going to do?” he asked me.
“Not sure, but we’re not going to engage. I can tell you that. Guys, nobody shoots. Understood? Unless we take fire,” I told them. They all responded with an affirmative and I believe a sigh of relief.
“Lobo, Chicken-man One-Niner.”
“Go ahead, Chicken-man.”
“Lobo, are you seeing what I’m seeing in the village?”
“Sure am, and they look like civilians. What are we going to do?”
“We are not engaging. Repeat, not. We did not take fire.”
“Roger, sounds good to us. Let’s continue up the road.”
And we did, which paid off nicely as five minutes later, Jones reported, “Sir, I have a light, very faint, up the road maybe three hundred yards.” Grandpa was flying now, with the road on the left side of the aircraft.
“Grandpa, let’s parallel the road until that light’s at our ten o’clock. Jones, do you still see it?”
“Yes, sir. I’ll bet it’s someone smoking a cigarette.”
“When we get it at nine o’clock, hit it with the searchlight. Leonard, are you ready?”
“Yes, sir. Target will be at ten o’clock.” And he pointed his gun to the ten o’clock position. Suddenly the searchlight came on and there stood a guy next to a truck, smoking a cigarette. Leonard depressed the butterfly trigger on the .50-cal and laid rounds into the truck.
“Lobo, Chicken-man, engage!” My call was unnecessary as Lobo went into a dive as soon as the light came on and was delivering rockets when a secondary explosion occurred on the other side of the truck. On cue and without request, flares began to light up the area. It immediately became obvious that we needed to get out of there as we were sitting over a truck park with several trucks along the road and more under the trees.
“Chicken-man, Lobo, I’m expended.” The number of explosions and the secondary explosions left no doubt in my mind that he had punched off every rocket he was carrying.