IMPACT AWARD

During March and April 1969, the 1st Infantry Division mounted three in‑ strength offensives to flush out Charlie and try to make him fight in the open on a larger unit scale.

The first operation, Atlas Wedge (18 March to 2 April), was designed to hit elements of the 7th NVA Division in a pincer movement in the Michelin rubber plantation. The second was Atlas Power (10 April to 15 April), calculated to go back again after the 7th NVA in the Michelin.

Intelligence reports had pinpointed the enemy’s propensity to reoccupy an area once U. S. units had been withdrawn. Taking G2’s lead, Atlas Wedge troops were pulled out of the Michelin to see if the enemy would filter back in. They did. Then we did–hitting them with Operation Atlas Power.

Plainsfield Warrior was launched on 18 April against VC‑ NVA main forces in the Trapezoid.

Sandwiched between flying Atlas Wedge and Plainsfield Warrior cover missions, I flew a regular early morning VR mission, assisting the movement of a mechanized unit northeast of the “Testicles” (named for the two distinctive bends in the Song Be River at that point). An armor column, with M‑ 48A3 Patton tanks in the lead, was busting jungle for Ml 13 armored personnel carriers. The column was moving in on an enemy base camp that had been discovered on one of the hilltops. We were to scout ahead of the column to keep them on the best course to the camp and to alert them to any trouble we might spot out in front of them or to their flanks.

My gun pilot on 17 April was Pat Ronan (Three Three). All the scouts enjoyed flying with Pat. He was an aggressive and flamboyant Cobra driver, yet, outside the cockpit, he was quiet and reserved. He had the most impressive and distinctive mustache in the entire troop–a blond, bushy “Yosemite Sam. ”

At first light, Pat and I lifted out of Phu Loi and pulled around to a heading of zero three five. It didn’t take us long to reach the target area and pick up the column, which was already en route toward the NVA base camp.

Pat put me down in front of the column to check out the area and sweep the base camp a time or two to see if I would draw any fire. We didn’t know if the camp was still occupied.

The call sign for the mechanized team leader on the ground was Strider One One. Working to his front and flanks, I saw nothing that caused me any concern for his column, so I told him to keep rolling toward his objective grid coordinates.

Flying over the base camp location, I didn’t draw any fire, though there was evidence of recent foot traffic around some of the bunker entrances. I also noted that fresh camouflage had been placed here and there.

On my next sweep over the camp, my crew chief, Al Farrar, suddenly hit the intercom: “Sir, I smell dinks. They’re in here, I know it. I smell ‘em! Don’t get too slow, Lieutenant. They’re in hero, I can smell the fuckers! ”

Relatively new to the outfit, Al Farrar was a good‑ looking nineteen‑ year‑ old from Rhode Island. I had flown with Farrar before and knew I could trust his hunches. You actually could smell concentrations of the enemy from the air. I don’t know if it was a lack of basic personal hygiene, their mostly fish diet, or a grim combination of the two. But you could catch a very distinctive odor when enough VC were together in one place–a pungent, putrid odor, heavy and musklike.

I switched my radio to FM transmit. “Strider One One, this is Darkhorse One Seven. My chief smells bad guys. Keep moving heading zero three five, straight for the base area. ”

The column commander came back: “Darkhorse One Seven, Strider One One. Roger that. Moving on zero three five. ”

Turning out of the base camp area, I came back over the armor column. I checked out Strider’s flanks and then began a slow orbit over the column, watching it work.

Even as an armor officer, I had never seen anything like this. The two main battle tanks in front literally knocked down trees and burst through jungle undergrowth, making a path for the lighter, more vulnerable Ml 13 personnel carriers.

Then I headed back for another look at the column’s front and the base camp just beyond. Damn! As I swept back in over the base camp, there was an enemy soldier–big as life–standing on top of one of the bunkers. I could see his face clearly. No question, he was as surprised as I was.

In the split second it took me to pass over him, I could see that he was wearing a pair of tiger‑ striped fatigues and was holding an RPD light machine gun. The weapon had a wooden stock, pistol grip, drum magazine, and a bipod hanging from the end of the barrel–not yet pointed at me!

Just as I went over the soldier, he jumped down into the bunker and I could hear Farrar scream, “I’ve got a gomer! ” The crew chief didn’t even have time to key his mike. He let go with a yell that I could hear through my helmet and over the noise of the turbine and rotor blades.

Farrar triggered his M‑ 60 and sent a hail of lead at the VC as he dove into the bunker entrance way. I banked a hard, quick right and decelerated to give Farrar a better shooting angle, then got on Uniform to Ronan: “Hey, Three Three, we’ve got enemy on the ground here and taking them under fire. ”

Watching what was happening below like a mother hen, Ronan came back instantly: “OK, One Seven, come on out of there and let me work the area with rockets. ”

I had been chided the last time for mixing it up too long with the sampans, so I rolled straight out of the area and got on FM to the mechanized team commander. “Strider One One, this is Darkhorse One Seven. You’ve got people in the bunkers ahead of you. I’m going to pull out of here and go up to altitude… the gun is going to work a little bit. Continue your movement and I’ll be back with you as soon as we put some rockets on the ground. ”

Strider came back: “OK, Darkhorse, I roger that. We’ll be clear to do a little fire to the front, and we’ve got the Cobra in sight. ”

Ronan made a run into the area, shooting rockets. Just as he was beginning to pull out of his run, green tracers arced up out of the base camp, directly toward the Cobra. Ronan broke over the radio, yelling, “Three Three’s taking fire… TAKING FIRE! ”

My eyes were glued to the Cobra. As Ronan broke off his run and peeled to the left, I could see his turret depressing underneath him, spraying the area with 7. 62 minigun fire.

Hearing Ronan yell and seeing green tracers reaching up for his ship, I snapped. Without another thought, I rolled the little OH‑ 6 practically on her back and aimed the ship right straight back into the bunker complex with my minigun trigger depressed.

“One Seven’s in hot! ” I managed to shout. It never occurred to me that, up to this point in time, no scout pilot had ever rolled in on a target in an effort to protect a gunship. I shot a descending run right in on top of the bunker, firing the minigun all the way. Coming up off the guns, I moved out a distance over the trees and then climbed back up to altitude.

By this time Ronan was back up to altitude and ready to let fly again. Peeling over to his left, he asked, “Are you out of there, One Seven? ”

“Yes, ” I answered, “I’m coming out to the right. ”

“Three Three will be in hot from the north. ” With that, the Cobra rolled in shooting a second time, and again I could hear his pairs of rockets leave the tubes and trail smoke toward the base camp bunkers below. And, again, green tracers arced up toward him. “Three Three is taking fire… taking fire again. ”

Watching the base camp carefully for the source of the fire, I called Ronan. “One Seven’s in hot from the south. Three Three, make your break to the left so I won’t shoot into you. ”

In I went with minigun blasting, chewing up the terrain where I had seen the green tracers coming from. Between the rockets and minigun fire, the VC must have been taking casualties, or else they were burrowed awfully deep into the tunnel complex beneath the bunkers. We were causing a hell of a commotion topside.

We made one or two more hot passes, then Ronan went in cold a couple of times to see if he drew any fire. He didn’t, so I went down for a fast scouting pass to confirm Charlie’s demise.

While I was making a low, quick check of the damage done by Ronan’s rockets, I caught a glimpse of another enemy soldier out the corner of my eye. This one was dressed in dark navy blue clothing and was hunkered down in a stretch of trench line that ran between two bunkers.

I instantly slid the OH‑ 6 around into a decelerating right turn and looked the soldier square in the face. Probably thinking that he had me cold–which he did–the VC raised his AK‑ 47. His weapon seemed aimed right between my eyes. As I stared, my crew chief let go with his M‑ 60. The soldier lurched backward, practically cut in half by machine‑ gun fire.

Holy shit, I thought. HOLY SHIT! Beads of sweat pricked my forehead as I realized the situation that Farrar had just pulled me–us –out of.

Just then Ronan radioed that another hunter‑ killer team had come up on station to relieve us. The scout pilot taking my place was Jim Ameigh (One Five), one of my hootch mates. I briefed him on the situation, flying him through the base camp area and back over Strider One One, then joined Ronan for the flight back to Phu Loi. On the way back, I really didn’t think too much about the action. It didn’t seem like any big deal. But I had forgotten about ops officer Capt. John Herchert.

He was smoking! I went into the operations hootch just behind Ronan, and Herchert was waiting for me. He stuck his face right into mine and stared me in the eye. Then, as if to punctuate his words, he poked me in the chest with his finger while he raked me over the coals. “You are not a gunship. I didn’t teach you to be a gunship, and you had no business running in there hot like that. The gun on that scout ship is going to get you killed. ”

I didn’t intend to be insubordinate, but anger showed in my voice when I shot back, “What in the hell did you expect me to do? Nothing? Do nothing while Ronan is down there getting shot at? ”

Luckily for both of us, Ronan stepped in at that moment. “You know, John, if Mills hadn’t fired when he did to take the enemy pressure off me, they might have had me cold. ”

Herchert turned to Ronan as if to ask what the hell he was doing in this conversation, but Pat finished his comment: “I don’t think what he did is a bad idea. He fired from altitude in a diving pass and, frankly, I just don’t think it was a bad tactic at all. ”

Herchert’s jaw went slack. Ronan turned and walked out of the room and off toward his hootch. So did I. Herchert never mentioned the subject to me again. Pat Ronan, however, did not forget the incident. Unknown to me at the time, he recommended me to receive the Distinguished Flying Cross.

It was not something I was consciously trying to do, but I was developing a reputation–especially among the gun and slick pilots–as a “hot dog. ”

I was flying scouts the only way I knew to fly scouts. I wanted the firepower of that minigun on my ship. I wanted to stay in there and duke it out with the enemy as long as I could, not just simply haul ass and take cover every time my scout ship took a round from the ground. I felt strongly that the accepted scouting tactic of making enemy contact and then backing off for the gun to come in and blast was bullshit.

Charlie wasn’t dumb. He knew that a few AK‑ 47 rounds thrown at a scout ship was a sure way to get the scout off his back. It was definitely to the enemy’s advantage to shoot at a scout ship every time he had a chance. But when the scout stayed and slugged it out, the rules of the game changed in the scout’s favor.

The enemy, once discovered, had a decision to make: Am I going to throw a few rounds at the scout to try to get him to back off, or am I seriously going to try and shoot down the scout? If I decide to shoot down the scout, can I? If I do knock him down, what the hell is that Cobra going to do to me?

That’s the way I wanted to play with Charlie’s mind. But I had definite limits on staying and playing with the enemy. I knew when to get myself out of Charlie’s airspace in a hurry. When I saw that I had lost fire superiority and had failed to influence the action, it then became foolhardy to continue engaging the enemy. But until that time in a firefight, I saw no reason for the scout to break off.

If I was, indeed, becoming the hot dog in the troop, the younger, more aggressive scout pilots seemed to support it. However, my good friend and mentor, Bill Jones, told me in no uncertain terms that he thought I was crazy. “If you keep up that kind of stuff, ” he said to me one day, “you’re going to get your ass loaded with lead. You’re just plain going to get yourself killed! ”

For the duration of Operation Plainsfield Warrior, we were flying four, five, six, or more hours a day. I was learning more about the OH‑ 6 with every flight. With the added experience of every mission, I was becoming a better scout pilot. I was beginning to realize that the essence of scouting really hadn’t changed over the years. From the cavalry scout of the Indian wars to the aeroscout of the Vietnam War, the essential quality for being a good scout remained the same: the ability to read sign.

I discovered that I was developing something of an instinct–a little warning bell that went off when danger was near. It was a feeling in my gut, coupled with a tingling on the back of my neck, almost as though it was electrified. When I got that feeling, my senses automatically doubled guard. I could trust my senses, too. When the internal alarm went off, I generally found trouble.

On 26 April 1969, 1 was just four days away from wrapping up my first full month of flying scouts. That day I was lined up with Cobra pilot Bruce Foster (Three Two) to fly another routine reconnaissance mission up north of the Iron Triangle in the western Trapezoid area.

As VR‑ 2 that morning, we left Phu Loi at about eight o’clock and headed up north into the Thi Tinh River valley. The G‑ 2 had instructed us to look for enemy traffic along trails, VC base camps, new construction, signs of occupation–anything that might show us the location or the movement of enemy troops. Charlie had been making himself fairly scarce these days.

We came on station up in the Trapezoid, roughly on an east‑ west line running from fire support base (FSB) El Paso to FSB Lorraine.

Foster put me down over an area we called the Easter Egg and I began working along the trees. I twisted and turned, trying to get a look down through the jungle vegetation. We took no fire, saw no enemy.

Suddenly Foster came up on VHF: “One Seven, turn left to a heading of one eight zero degrees, southbound. I’ll give you steering corrections. We’ve got infantry troops in contact down to our south. I just got a frag order to move us down there to look at the area. ” I rogered the transmission and pulled a hard left turn to come up on a reverse heading of one eight zero.

Getting the order to make a move wasn’t that much of a surprise to us. We had heard Sidewinder come up on the Guard frequency a minute or two earlier, asking for any aircraft in the vicinity of grid X Ray Tango 677367 to give assistance to an enemy‑ engaged ground unit. Guard was the universal distress frequency. Sidewinder was the radio call sign for the air force FACs (forward air controllers) who operated in this area supporting the 1st Infantry Division. The FACs had the basic mission of directing artillery, rescue, and calling in fighter‑ bomber strikes. They flew USAF OV‑ 10 Bronco twin‑ engine, twin‑ boom reconnaissance aircraft.

Sidewinder was also unique in that it had a number of exchange pilots from the Australian Air Force. On this day, the accent coming up on Guard told us immediately that this Bronco driver was from down under: “This is Sidewinder Two Two. I’ve got infantry just inserted on the ground and not even out of the landing zone. They’ve been hit… their column is cut… got troops missing, and the company is bloody well pinned down. ”

Before I even heard the grid, I knew that the contact point could not be far away from where I was working up in the Trapezoid. I knew that because Foster left me down when he gave me the one eighty heading. If the action had been quite a distance away, he would have brought me back up to altitude and put me on his wing for the trip.

I stayed on the deck, heading south along a small, nearly dried up tributary. After awhile, it led into the upper Thi Tinh valley and to the main body of the Thi Tinh River. Actually, the Thi Tinh is little more than a stream.

I couldn’t see a hell of a lot, down as low as I was. But Foster was guiding me from altitude and was also briefing me on the tactical situation: “One Seven, follow the Thi Tinh south. Where the tributary turns back to the northwest, there’s an LZ. We put Alpha of 2/16 Infantry in there… they moved up northeast into the woods. The lead element walked into a VC base area and has been cut off from the trail element. They’ve got four to six people down and they’re split off from the main group. Can’t make contact to locate missing parties or provide information on what’s out in front of them. ”

Sidewinder had given us the call sign and FM frequency for the infantry unit on the ground in landing zone Toast, so I came up on fox mike 46. 45 and keyed the ground unit commander. “Gangplank Six, this is Darkhorse One Seven. We are a hunter‑ killer team arriving from the north. Should be at your location in about thirty seconds. What have you got? ”

With sporadic bursts of small‑ arms fire audible in the background, the ground unit commander sharply reported back on FM. “Roger, Darkhorse, this is Gangplank Six. We’ve got a platoon in the woods northeast of my position. As soon as they cleared the LZ we picked up heavy fire from light weapons. I’ve got one platoon pinned down… they’re attempting to maneuver now against the bunkers. Got five or six people in the lead element who are cut off. We need to locate enemy position and find out what’s happened to our people. ”

“Roger that, ” I responded. “I should be there about now. Can you give me a smoke to mark your lead element? ”

“Smoke’s coming. ”

Closing rapidly from the north, the LZ area popped out right ahead. Watching me like a hawk and monitoring all the radio transmissions, Foster asked me how I felt about starting a search pattern. “Ready! ” I answered.

Foster immediately keyed Gangplank. “OK, I’m going to bring the scout in. Stop firing. I say again, stop firing so you don’t hit him when he makes his pass to get an idea of how you’re situated. ”

Then, to me, Foster instructed, “OK, One Seven, come in far enough south from the contact point that Charlie can’t identify. Make your first pass fast from the southwest to the northeast. I’ll guide you onto the LZ. ”

Looking over my right shoulder at my crew chief, I keyed the intercom. “Farrar, are you ready? ”

I could see his boyish grin. “Ready, sir. Let’s get ‘em! ”

In an instantaneous response to my control movements, the little OH‑ 6 pulled into a hard right turn and came around directly over the trees. Foster gave me a fast, “Right ten degrees, back left five degrees. ”

I broke in over the jungle onto the southern end of the LZ just as I spotted the ground unit’s yellow smoke billowing up–just into the tree line at the far end of the landing zone.

To let the ground commander know that both the gun and scout were aware of the lead element’s location, Foster transmitted, “Gangplank, the gun’s got your smoke, and identified. ”

I came roaring in low at a fast eighty to ninety knots, right over the heads of our troops in the landing zone area. I could see them deployed on each side of the LZ, guarding against the prospect of the VC making any movements against their flanks.

Then, as I approached the far end of the LZ, the company commander’s position flashed underneath me. He was about fifty meters back from the tree line in the middle of the landing zone, with his RTO beside him, and he was motioning me in a northeasterly direction toward the location of his lead element.

I circled the tree line but didn’t see anything. I came around again, circling at the yellow smoke. But I still didn’t see anything or take any fire.

The area I was circling was approximately an acre in size with triple‑ canopy jungle. Trees were 100 to 150 feet in height, and at the speed I was going I couldn’t see down into the jungle. I couldn’t locate any sign of the friendly lead element or the enemy bunker area. I slowed down and tightened the circles I was making. I got slower and slower… still no ground fire. Still couldn’t see anything.

The OH‑ 6 began to talk back to me. As I got close to a hover, I had to begin to use the left rudder authority to hold the aircraft in trim. And I knew I was a perfect target for enemy ground fire.

But screw that. I kept the OH‑ 6 lying over on her right side while I circled so I could see straight down into the trees. While I strained for a glimpse of the platoon’s lead element, I kept keying the intercom to ask Farrar if he had seen anything. Al had his head poked as far out the door as he could get it. I could hear the air rushing by the aircraft when he answered, “No, sir, I don’t have anything… nothing yet. ”

As I circled around for a third time, I cued the infantry ground commander. “Do you have any radio contact with your people out front? ”

“No, Darkhorse, we haven’t been able to talk to them, and every time we try to move forward we get fired on by AKs and SGM light machine guns. We haven’t been fired on in the last few minutes, but every time we move they take a crack at us. We think that our people are fifteen to twenty meters ahead of us. They are our point team. ”

On the third pass, I spotted the lead element of the infantry company, half in and half out of the woods. Just at the tree line, one of the lead soldiers was lying on his back, waving to me and pointing to his front.

I needed to know who this soldier was. “Gangplank, I’ve got your lead element. A man is waving at me and pointing toward his front. Can you identify him? ”

“Roger, Darkhorse. That’s Three Six, Gangplank Three Six. He’s the leader of our northernmost element, and it’s the people from his outfit who are cut off. ”

“OK, Gangplank, ” I came back. “Now that I’ve got your lead element, let me go to work. ” I immediately pulled the ship into a tighter orbit–almost to a hover–then moved over top of the lead soldiers to a position where I could look down into the trees just beyond our friendlies. I still didn’t see any sign of their point men.

Then, suddenly, Farrar yelled into my phones. “Hold on… hold on, sir, I see a leg… you see the leg? ”

By the time Al shouted, I had gone past his point of reference. I hauled a sharp one eighty and came to a hover just as Farrar yelled again, “Here, sir, right under us. Mark, mark right under us. Do you see the guy’s leg? ”

Sure enough! As I strained to see through the trees to the ground, I saw the leg of a soldier lying dead still on the jungle floor. I recognized the jungle fatigues–U. S. type–with an American jungle boot on the right foot. But that was all I could see–the point man’s right leg and foot.

I keyed the mike. “OK, Gangplank, I’ve got your people located. They’re out in front of you about forty meters and I’m going to–Damn! I’m taking fire… taking fire! ”

I instantly pushed the OH‑ 6’s nose full forward on the cyclic and pulled an armpit full of collective. This jerked us up and away from the AK‑ 47 that had opened up from directly below. It was definitely an AK‑ 47. 1 had flown scouts long enough to recognize its loud, sharp, ripping staccato. Everybody remembered that weapon. It was a sound you never forgot.

Neither Farrar nor I saw where the rounds had come from. I could tell only that they were close beneath us, probably not more than twenty to thirty meters on either side.

I guessed, also, that our enemy below was probably NVA rather than VC. It was fairly well known that the Viet Cong, when discovered from the air, were less controlled and quicker to shoot at their target. Regular North Vietnamese Army troops were more disciplined. They would let a target come right up on them before revealing themselves by firing.

Cobra pilot Foster probably didn’t need my “taking fire” radio outburst to know that I had undoubtedly run into a bunch of trouble. When he saw my nose drop down and my tail flip up, he knew I was trying to get my ass out of there in a hurry.

The maneuver had rolled me out straight ahead, putting some speed and distance between me and the AK‑ 47. As I pushed the OH‑ 6 for all she had, I keyed my mike to talk to Foster. “Three Two, One Seven is taking AK fire down here. I’m coming back around to the right. ”

I knew there wasn’t anything the gun could do. He couldn’t shoot because the friendlies were right underneath me. Speeding up to about sixty knots, I made a right turn and headed back over the landing zone again. In the few seconds that it took me, my mind was whirling. I kept asking myself, what in the hell am I going to do? I can’t shoot, the gun can’t shoot. I’m not sure where the cutoff friendlies are. The enemy can shoot at me, but we can’t shoot back because we don’t have a defined target. What can I do?

While I was trying to figure this out, I switched to FM and reported to Gangplank. “I took heavy fire from an AK‑ 47 right underneath me, maybe from a trench line. The jungle is too thick for me to see who was firing. I did see one of your point men… at least one leg, that was all I could see. Couldn’t tell if he was dead or alive. ”

Gangplank rogered as I tried to decide what tack to take. We had to think of something. The more I thought about it, the more I believed that the only way I could do any good was to define what was on the ground.

“Gangplank, ” I radioed, “I’m going to hover back into that last contact area on a heading of zero four zero, then widen up my orbit to see if I can draw their fire. When I do, you have Three Six begin crawling forward on zero four zero to see if he can link up and get his people the hell out of there. ”

Then I keyed the intercom to fill in Farrar. “Stand by, Al. The only thing I can figure out to locate the bad guys is for us to go in there low and slow and let them shoot at us, then hope that the infantry on the ground can see where the enemy fire is coming from and try to suppress it long enough to move forward and get their people out. How do you feel about that? ”

There wasn’t a sign of unwillingness or hesitation in his voice. “Whatever you say, sir. Let’s do it now! ”

I went in right on top of the trees at thirty to forty knots. I knew I was going to get shot at again, so I squirmed down inside my seat armor plate and waited for the rounds to come.

Realizing that OH‑ 6 crew chiefs had no back or side armor on their jump seats, I snatched another fast look over my shoulder to see how Farrar was situated. He wasn’t even on his jump seat! He had propped his left buttock against the leading edge of the little seat, anchored his right foot on the edge of the door, and swung his entire upper body outside the airplane. He had his M‑ 60 pointed straight ahead with his finger on the trigger so he could shoot back the minute we were fired on.

“Shit, ” I muttered to myself. Here I was all hunkered down in the protected pilot’s seat, and there was Farrar hanging outside the aircraft!

It doesn’t make any difference if you are expecting it or not; the instant you take fire, it is a razor‑ sharp shock to your whole body.

R‑ R‑ R‑ R‑ R‑ R‑ I‑ P‑ P! The sudden AlObursts came back up again from the jungle floor.

“Taking fire… taking fire! ” I shouted into the radio again. My voice had gone up a few octaves. “Mark. Mark! Right underneath us. AKs… AKs… again! ”

I broke a hard right, then a hard left to zig me out of the line of fire. All the Cobra could say was, “Roger… roger… we mark. ” Foster was still in the unenviable position of only being able to locate on his map where all this was happening, rather than rolling in with all ordnance blazing.

Coming in from different directions, I repeated the decoy action several times during the next thirty minutes, each time marking the location we thought the fire was coming from.

As busy as I had been flying, trying to dodge fire, and searching the jungle floor below, I hadn’t looked much at my flight instruments until Foster finally asked, “How are you doing on fuel? ”

A quick glance at the gauge and I answered, “Wow! I’ve got to come up, Three Two. I’ve gotta go get some gas. How are you doin’? ”

Foster came back. “I’m OK, I’ve got plenty for now. You think we better get another hunter‑ killer unit up here? ”

I thought about that for a second. “OK, Three Two, roger that. But you better have the scout go on over to Lai Khe and shut down. No sense putting another scout down here and having him go through the same thing I’ve done. But we should probably keep the guns up full time over the contact area in case something develops. ”

Foster agreed and I switched back to FM. “Gangplank, this is Dark‑ horse One Seven. I’ve gotta get out of here for some fuel. Two more guns are on their way up here now. If you need ordnance on the target, contact Darkhorse Three Two on this push. We’re not putting down a new scout to stomp around in this mine field. As soon as I can gas up, I’ll be back. Hang in there, Gangplank. ”

“OK, roger that. ” Gangplank had a calm but urgent tone in his voice. “We appreciate what you’re doing, Darkhorse. We’ve made some progress, but Charlie is in a bunker line and our people who are down are on the far side of their trench line, so we’ve got gooks between us and our point men, and they’ve got us cross‑ fired. So get back to us, One Seven, as soon as you can, OK? ”

Rogering that, I pulled the ship around to head southwest down the LZ, so I could build up some speed for an altitude climb. When I reached 100 to 105 knots, I leaned hard aft on the cyclic and pulled a cyclic climb up through about eight hundred feet, then leveled off at a thousand feet and made a direct course for Lai Khe.

Now that we were up and out of the contact area, I took another look at Farrar. “How ya’ doin’ back there? ”

He was back on his jump seat. “I’m fine. You OK, sir? ”

“I’d be a hell of a lot better, Al, if you’d light me a cigarette. ”

“I don’t know if I can, ” he laughed, “my hands are shaking so goddamned bad! ”

I grinned back at him. “I’m sure glad to hear you say that, because my hands have been shaking ever since that first pass. ” Then we both started laughing, which broke the tension of the last hour.

I switched my radio to Lai Khe artillery and told them that a single OH‑ 6 was en route tö their fueling pad to take on a little gas and ammo. No artillery was coming out of Lai Khe at the time so they cleared me direct.

The refueling pad was nothing more than a pinta‑ primed assault pad with JP‑ 4 lines running up and down the sides and nozzles about every forty feet. There were no support people there to help you. The crew of the aircraft needing fuel was expected to do that.

I hovered into the pad area and set down near a nozzle that was on the right side of the airplane. The fuel intake port on the OH‑ 6 was just under and slightly behind the crew chief’s position.

We were refueling hot (not shutting down the airplane’s engine), so Farrar stepped down out of the ship, lowered the visor on his helmet (a refueling safety precaution), picked up a nozzle, and started pumping JP‑ 4. I stayed in the aircraft at the controls (I have a good, strong four‑ hour bladder) and kept the OH‑ 6 at flight idle RPMs.

When Farrar finished fueling, he jumped back in the ship. I picked up to a hover and moved about a hundred yards down the strip to the rearm point.

We hadn’t expended any rounds up till now, but Farrar wanted to throw in a handful of extra belts just in case. As he was laying in the fresh ammo, he plugged himself into the intercom. “Hang tight here for a minute, Lieutenant, and let me look over the ship. ”

Unplugging himself, Farrar began walking around the helicopter, looking at the blades, nose, underside, skids, and tail rotor. He came back to the cabin, shaking his head and with a grin on his face. “Lieutenant, you know the battery vent back there? ”

“Yes, so? ” There was a single vent on the bottom of the aircraft; while the engine was running, you could see battery fumes puff out of it every once in awhile.

“Well, sir, we’ve got three of them now–the one the factory installed as original equipment, plus two modifications that were just put in during the last flight. ”

Two rounds of AK‑ 47 fire had hit the bottom of the airplane, passed up through the self‑ sealing section of the fuel cell, and come out the top of the ship, putting holes in the transmission cowling in the doghouse area.

Thinking that some vital engine parts may have been hit, Farrar asked me to inspect my instruments. I carefully checked out the gauges that monitored engine functions. The turbine gas temperature (TGT) was OK, and everything else checked out within normal limits. “Everything seems OK, ” I reported to Farrar. “How big are the holes? ”

“Pretty big, sir, about. 30‑ caliber size. Wait a minute and let me check some more. ” He crawled back and opened the engine cowling doors. “Nothing seems to have fallen out. Looks OK to me. How do you feel about it, sir? ”

“If you hadn’t told me, Al, I’d never have known we had three battery vents. Let’s fly. ”

For more than ten grueling hours, we continued that method of engaging, drawing fire, disengaging, refueling, and coming back in again. At no time during that period did we ever see the enemy who was shooting at us. Nor were we able to see more than one leg and foot of the people down on the point.

To top that off, the progress of the lead element in moving forward to retrieve their people was practically nil. In spite of our repeated passes, Charlie was still able to keep our infantry pinned to the jungle floor in a vicious cross fire.

To add to our frustrations, it was now about 8 P. M. and beginning to get dark. Farrar and I had been flying since eight that morning, and we still weren’t sure how much we had been able to help Alpha Company.

I contacted the ground unit on FM: “OK, Gangplank, it’s getting dark and pretty soon I’m going to have to break station because I can’t see. What do you want to do? ” I didn’t tell him that the OH‑ 6 had no night navigation capability, and that I had to find my way back to Phu Loi before dark.

“I hear you, Darkhorse, ” Gangplank responded, “but we’ve got to get our people out before dark. If it gets completely dark on us, I don’t know if we’ll ever get them back. ”

That message made my mind up instantly. “OK, Gangplank, here’s what we’re going to do. We’ve got a pretty good idea where your point men and Three Six’s lead element are. There’s probably not more than forty meters between them. ”

“Roger that, ” he responded.

“All right, then, we’re going to do some shooting… I say again… we’re going to shoot as best we can. Can’t guarantee that we won’t hit your friendlies. But if our fire can pin down Charlie, your guys can move up there and get your people out, providing they’re all down in one area. You roger? ”

“I roger. OK, Darkhorse, let’s try it. Three Six will move out on your fire. ”

With another glance over my shoulder, I told Farrar, “I’m going to come around again, Al, and go in very slow. I know you probably feel like we’re hanging it out pretty far, but they can’t see us any better than we can see them. ”

Farrar nodded an OK as I continued. “They’ll be shooting at sound–they can hear the airplane but they can’t see us very well. If you see any fire coming up, shoot back immediately at the point of their fire. Don’t spray a wide area; shoot directly at their muzzle flashes. ”

We made three more passes, and each time came the rips of AKs and light machine guns. Farrar, being ever careful to avoid hitting our ground troops, shot back in short, well‑ aimed bursts. He was leaning half out of the airplane, responding to enemy tracers that were streaking up at us.

Gangplank came back on the radio. “All right, One Seven, you’re shooting about sixty meters directly ahead of Three Six. You roger? Sixty meters directly to Three Six’s front. ”

“OK, ” I responded, “I think your lead element is just behind me now…. they’re right behind me… I’m coming around again. ”

This time I cranked the OH‑ 6 up to about fifty knots and came in from another direction. I could hear Farrar’s M‑ 60 pecking away in the same short, controlled bursts as Charlie’s fire came up from below.

Suddenly, as I was looking down and to my right out of the airplane, I caught the blur of an image out the corner of my left eye. I jerked my head around just in time to see the top of a large dead tree looming up right in front of me. The twisted, blackened limbs looked like a giant claw, poised to snatch the little OH‑ 6 right out of the sky.

“Holy shit! ” I yelled and pulled all the power the bird had. Instantly responding to the controls, the tail flew up, automatically dropping the nose just enough to catch the top of those straggly limbs. With a shocking thump and scraping noise, the tree limbs burst through the front of the ship, sending debris flying into a dirty cloud that momentarily obscured the front section of the OH‑ 6.

My headset crackled immediately as the gun above me barked, “What’s going on down there, One Seven? What was that explosion? ”

Realizing that the Cobra must have seen that sudden gust of dirt and crud flying from my nose, I answered, “Hell, that wasn’t any explosion. I just hit a tree! ”

The terrible rush of wind through the cabin made it obvious that the whole front end of the OH‑ 6 had been knocked out. Both Plexiglas bubbles were smashed to smithereens and the wind was whistling through as though I was flying in an open cockpit.

Amazingly, the aircraft was still flying OK. The rotor system had apparently not been hit and the ship was still responding to my control movements.

After telling Farrar what had happened, I rang up Gangplank. “I hit the top of a tree up here, but we’re OK. I’m going to hover again. How close is Three Six? ”

Taking a few moments to check before answering me, Gangplank came back, “Three Six thinks he knows where the guys are. He can hear one of them moaning. Can you get in there again for one last try? ”

“OK, one more pass. Only this time I’m going to put myself right in the middle of where I think the enemy base camp is, come to a hover, and shoot the shit out of that area with everything I’ve got. Now, when the door gunner lets go with his M‑ 60, get your people up there and try to get those point guys out. It’s the best chance we’ve got, and it’s the last chance we’ve got. Roger? ”

With Gangplank’s acknowledgment, I headed in from the north over what I believed was the dead center of the enemy base camp. Just like every time before, Charlie opened up–AKs on my right side, a heavier light machine gun to my front, and at least two AKs behind me. Because I was at a hover, I could hear and feel the hits. They were ripping through the ship from every direction.

Farrar had leaned completely out of the OH‑ 6 and was shooting underneath the tail boom at the two AKs behind us. Right in the middle of one of his long bursts, I saw Al fall out of the airplane. My God, I thought. He’s hit!

Looking back, I saw that Al’s foot had landed on the skid and broken his fall. His monkey strap had steadied him, and the bungee cord had kept the M‑ 60 from going out with him. I tilted the ship to the left to make it easier for him to crawl back into the cabin. “Where are you hit, Al? ” I yelled.

I could almost hear the chuckle in his voice. “Ah shit, Lieutenant, I just slipped. I’m OK. ” Then he let go with another long M‑ 60 blast!

Just as I was starting to tell Farrar to cool it, that we couldn’t take any more hits and were going to pull the hell out and go home, Gangplank burst on the air. “OK, Darkhorse, get out of there… GET OUT OF THERE! WE GOT ‘EM! WE GOT ‘EM! ”

I pulled power and was bringing the nose around in a sweeping right turn when Gangplank came back, “We got everybody out, One Seven. Everybody’s alive. Say again, everybody’s out and alive. One of the guys is hurt bad–shot through both legs. But they’re going to make it. ”

With that happy message, Bruce Foster in the Cobra came up on UHF. “OK, One Seven. Sidewinder has got layers of fighters stacked up overhead waiting for ground to get their people out so they can come in and put Charlie to sleep. You back it out of there and get over to the LZ. When you tell us that all the friendlies are clear, we’ll put the fighters down on the base camp area. ”

As the infantry was moving out of the tree line and back into the LZ, I passed the word on to Gangplank. “Get your folks down and out of the way. We’ve got TAC fighters coming in with heavy ordnance to neutralize the base camp area. ” Then I keyed Farrar, “Get me a Willie Pete and a red smoke, one in each hand, and get ready to mark the target. ”

As I moved toward the base area, Al primed the grenades and held both of them out the door, ready to drop them on my command. I asked Foster to tell the FAC to watch for the Willie Pete and the red smoke.

When we passed directly over what I thought was the base camp location, I hollered, “Now! ” and Farrar threw both grenades straight down. From the jungle floor came a solid white explosion, with fingers of burning white phosphorous boiling and shooting out of it. I knew we were right on the button because the AK fire started again.

Just as I was about to pull power, the Cobra came back, “OK, One Seven, FAC has got your smoke. Get out of there. Get out of there now and come on up to altitude. ”

As I rolled out, Farrar got my attention. “Hey, Lieutenant, take a look at that. ” Off to the right, out of the lowering cloud level, came two North American F‑ 100 Super Sabres, one behind the other, drilling in on the white smoke that was still billowing up at the enemy base camp.

Screaming in fast, the first Sabre ticked off two napalm canisters that landed smack‑ dab on top of the white smoke and erupted into balls of flame. As the first F‑ 100 peeled off the target, the second one rolled in right behind him and pickled off two more napalm canisters. The long axis of the base camp was completely enveloped by a fierce wall of fire.

The jets dropped two more canisters each, then streaked around one more time as the Cobra warned, “All right, everybody stay clear. ” In they came, one behind the other, with 20mms blasting up and down the long axis of the base camp. As I watched their maneuvers, I thought to myself, there is no way any living thing could have survived all the ordnance those F‑ 100s had dumped in there. The FAC came up: “The Sabres are Winchester, ” which meant they had expended all their napalm and internal guns.

One last time, I got on the radio to Gangplank. “Gangplank, this is Darkhorse One Seven. I’m going home. The guns are going to stay with you for a little while in case you need them. We’ve got Dustoff inbound to pick up your wounded. Take care. ”

“Hey, man, ” he came back, “we really appreciate it. Darkhorse sure saved our ass! ”

When Farrar and I touched down at Phu Loi, I could hardly get out of the aircraft. After thirteen hours in the seat of that OH‑ 6, my legs were numb, my buttocks were numb, even the bottom part of my thighs had no feeling in them. My entire body was so exhausted that I even had trouble working the pedals to hover the ship onto the strip.

Bruce Foster had shut down his Cobra at the same time, and we walked in from the parking area together. He put his arm around my shoulder. “One Seven, you are one crazy son of a bitch! ”

I grinned back at him. “Man, I didn’t envy you one goddamned bit, because there you were hanging up there in orbit and couldn’t do one single thing all day to help me. ”

After a meal at the O club, I mustered enough energy to get back to the flight line and the little OH‑ 6 that I had flown the hell out of all that day. By thetime I arrived at the ship, Farrar was there, as was the scout platoon sergeant, Tim McDivitt. Sergeant McDivitt had some of the maintenance people going over the aircraft to assess the damage. All the crew chiefs called McDivitt “Toon Daddy, ” short for “platoon daddy, ” the patriarch of the unit.

As I reached the ship, I called out to him, “What kind of shape is 249 in, Toon Daddy? ”

He looked at me, and I quote his exact words. “Lieutenant…” He had a way of accenting that first syllable so it came out, L‑ E‑ W‑ W‑ tenant. “You have screwed up one U. S. Army helicopter… to the max! ” He shook his head in disbelief. “Not only is all the goddamned nose Plexiglas blown out of this ship, but you’ve got thirty to forty holes in her, spread out from the rotor system to the belly and tail boom. It’ll sure as hell take some major surgery to get her back in shape! ”

But what had both of us scratching our heads was the fact that this OH‑ 6 aircraft had hung together through thirteen hours of beating, with nothing vital hit, and was still totally flyable. What an aircraft!

As Toon Daddy was finishing his lecture to me, I noticed that Farrar was still walking around the ship, studying the damage. (As I said before, the crew chief considers the airplane his. ) He was especially noticing the two AK holes through the cabin where he had been sitting. I knew he was wondering how in the hell we ever got us and that airplane back to Phu Loi in one piece.

Suddenly realizing that I was scheduled to fly VR‑ 1 the next morning, I asked Al to help me move my personal gear from 249 over to the bird slated for first up VR. We walked together toward our hootches, then sat down for a minute near the orderly room and lit up cigarettes. As tired as we both were, it was good to “decompress” over a smoke and think back over what we had been through that day.

Farrar looked at me and hissed out a stream of inhaled smoke. “Shit, sir… holy shit! ”

I grinned back at him. “You know, Al, we flew thirteen hours today. Would you believe that we could ever be in the saddle that long in one operation? ”

“All I know, sir, is that my ass is numb. No, not numb… my ass is dead! ”

“Mine, too, ” I mumbled, “but I want you to know that you did pretty goddamned good work today, for a Yankee. ” Coming from Cumberland, Rhode Island, Al was used to the Yankee kidding.

With that, I walked on down to my hootch and hit the rack. I didn’t talk to anybody… didn’t see anybody… didn’t even take off my boots or flight suit. I just stretched out with my feet resting on top of the metal bar at the end of the bunk. I was asleep in moments.

An hour later the flip‑ flop noise of shower shoes tracking across the hootch floor awakened me. It was Bob Davis. He shook me by the shoulder until I finally growled, “Huh, what is it? ”

“Hey, Hubie… you asleep? ”

“I’m sure as hell not now, ” I groaned, my eyes still riveted shut.

“You know you got first up VR tomorrow, ” he whispered. “Do you want me to take it for you? ”

I answered through my fogginess, “Nah, that’s all right. I’ll take it. ”

“Well, ” he said, “you better go back to sleep. You need the sleep because you look like shit. ”

“Thanks a lot, ” I snarled, and drifted off again.

It didn’t seem like more than five minutes when I felt my shoulder being shaken again. This time it was the assistant operations charge of quarters (CQ). “Lieutenant, it’s four o’clock. You’re first up… it’s time for you to get up. ”

I struggled up to a sitting position on the side of the bunk. It was almost like being in a drunken stupor. As I held my head in my hands, I looked down and saw I was still dressed in the same flight suit and boots I had worn the day before.

My feet were like two blocks of ice. I couldn’t move them, and they tingled with prickly pain. I remembered that I had fallen asleep with my feet hung over the rail of the bunk. My limbs were dead from the knees down. I couldn’t even walk!

When the feeling in my feet finally returned, I picked up my CAR‑ 15 and chicken plate and stumbled out to the flight line. I started to run up the aircraft, but decided to wait until I was ready to leave. Maybe by then I’d be more awake and alert.

I walked over to operations and talked with the gun crew to find out what we were supposed to do that day. The mission called for some VR in the Quan Loi area, looking for base camps and trail activity.

We got off about 5 A. M. It was a cool, crisp morning, which did its best to snap me back to reality. Our instructions called for us to fly up Highway 13 to An Loc, shut down, and get a briefing from brigade before moving on over to Quan Loi to scout for the 11th Armored Cavalry Regiment (ACR).

We hadn’t been in An Loc more than twenty minutes before another OH‑ 6 bearing Bob Davis’s tail number roared in from the south. He set down and came running over to my ship.

“Hey, Hubie, ” he panted, “you need to get your ass back to the troop pronto. You have obviously pissed off somebody somethin’ terrible and they want to see you at division. Has something to do with yesterday’s action. That’s all I know! ”

“OK, but what in the hell have I done? ”

“I told you all I know, ” Davis responded, “but you better get a move on. ”

I quickly filled Bob in on the briefing, then jumped back into the airplane with crew chief Jim Slater and headed back to Phu Loi.

It was not unusual when on a nontactical mission for the crew chief to ride up front in the left seat. That’s where Slater jumped in, and as soon as we were up and on a direct to Phu Loi, I told him, “Hey, Jimbo, you’re going to fly. I’m dead, man. ” He grabbed the controls. “Yes, sir! I want to fly, Lieutenant. ”

I pulled my legs up and tried to relax, but my leg muscles still cramped up every time I moved them. I lit a cigarette and thought to myself that I wouldn’t last long in this damned war with many more days like yesterday. I wondered what I had done to get called off a mission and back to division.

Back down in Phu Loi, the operations CQ informed me that I was to go on to division headquarters at Lai Khe and see the G‑ 2. “You are to brief intelligence on what you saw yesterday, ” he said, “and Mr. Ameigh will be going with you. ”

Ameigh was my hootch mate. He was a scout pilot and was also the troop historian. But why would he be going back to division with me? By now I was beginning to get pretty worried.

Ameigh climbed in the left seat with his camera in hand. “What are you carrying a camera for, Jim? ” I asked him.

“You never know when there’s a good picture waiting to be taken, ol’ buddy. ”

The comment went right over the top of my head. But leaving it at that, we flew off to division headquarters, where we were met by a major who was the coordinator of the division commander’s staff. He looked at my name tag and the Darkhorse patch on my flight suit. “Lieutenant Mills, the people you actually need to see are not here. I want you to go on up to fire support base Lorraine. There are some people there who want to talk to you. ”

Ameigh and I got back into the OH‑ 6. I began to wonder if I had hit some friendlies on that last smokin’ pass over the enemy base camp. FSB Lorraine was home base for Alpha Company, 2d Battalion, 16th Infantry–the same outfit that was pinned down yesterday at LZ Toast. My mind was conjuring up all the kinds of trouble I could be in.

As I came in on short final over Lorraine, I noticed that all the troops at the base were standing formation out near the helicopter landing area. I landed, shut down the bird, and began walking over toward the formation. Nobody paid any attention to either Ameigh or me until a bedraggled captain came walking up and stuck out his hand. “Are you Darkhorse One Seven… Lieutenant Hugh Mills? ” he asked.

I answered, “Yes, sir. ”

He grinned. “I’m Gangplank Six, the guy on the ground who you spent most of the day talking to yesterday. ”

“Hey… howya doin’? ” We looked at each other for a moment. I laughed and said, “Sir, you look like shit! ”

“You don’t look a damned bit better yourself, One Seven! ” He told me that he and his troops had been in the action area all night. Their lift into the base had dropped them off just an hour ago.

I asked him quietly, “What am I doing here? Did I hit one of your friendlies on that last pass at dusk? ”

“No. Just hang on, there are some people coming out here to the fire base who want to talk to you. ”

About that time a Huey landed near my OH‑ 6, and out stepped a general grade officer, a lieutenant who was obviously the general’s aide, and a colonel wearing sunglasses. He looked like the stereotypical Hollywood press agent.

The lieutenant walked up to me and announced, “Lieutenant Mills, Brigadier General Herbert Smith is here to present you with a decoration, along with the division public affairs officer to get official pictures. If you will just kindly stand over there beside the assembled troops, the presentation will get underway. ”

I was flabbergasted. Seeing my jaw drop in surprise, the lieutenant continued in a patient tone. “Just stand over there, Lieutenant Mills. That’s right, all you have to do is stand there. The general will handle the rest. ”

I went over to the ranks and stood at the indicated position. The brigade adjutant stepped forward and, speaking into a small public address system, began reading from a blue three‑ by‑ five card:

On 26 April 1969, First Lieutenant Hugh L. Mills, flying a scout aircraft as part of a Delta 1/4 Cav hunter‑ killer team, flew in support of A Company, 2d Battalion, 16th Infantry. When elements of A Company attacked a bunker complex, two members were wounded in a position that kept other persons from recovering the wounded. Lieutenant Mills circled the contact area for more than ten hours, guiding the remainder of the company to the point of contact. Although he received enemy fire on every pass, he continued to return to the unit in contact. He did not leave the area until A Company had consolidated and withdrawn its wounded personnel. First Lieutenant Mills’s heroic actions and extraordinary flying skill enabled A Company to clear the enemy from heavily fortified positions, resulting in eleven VC KIA. Lieutenant Mills’s actions are in keeping with the finest traditions of military service and reflect great credit upon himself and the United States Army.

With that, the assistant division commander walked forward with his aide. The lieutenant removed the Distinguished Flying Cross medal from its presentation case and handed it to the general, who in turn pinned it on the left breast of my flight suit.

I was humbled beyond belief. Fortunately I had the presence of mind to salute. The general returned my salute and shook my hand. “Lieutenant, you should know that it’s a very unusual situation when we present an impact award–an award that is made immediately following the action it honors. ”

He continued while still grasping my hand. “I found out last night at ten o’clock that both the company and battalion commanders of this unit wanted me to find the scout pilot who flew for them yesterday. They wanted me to give you a medal, which is, in itself, quite impressive. But what is really impressive to me is that it was the unanimous decision of the men of this company that you should be given a medal for what you did for them. And that you were to come here, to their fire support base, to get it!

“Lieutenant Mills, I am now going to step back and let every man in this unit have the opportunity to step forward and shake your hand. ”

^{CHAPTER 6}