THE CRATER

Stuff really began to hit the fan in late July and August of 1969, as far as enemy activity was concerned. We believed that the war in Vietnam was close to being over just a month before. But things had changed.

Instead of looking all day and seldom finding the enemy, the scout platoon was making two, three, or more solid enemy contacts a day. We were beginning to find bigger groups of enemy soldiers in the field–more NVA soldiers than Viet Cong. We were beginning to get more people in the troop hurt and killed as a result of the increased enemy contact. And more scout helicopters were being wrecked and lost due to heavier ground fire from a determined enemy.

We were finding that our OH‑ 6As never got to three hundred hours for regular maintenance. We were darned lucky to get to one hundred hours before handing it over to the maintenance people–generally in pieces. There were, in fact, many times that we didn’t even have a chance to get a new factory‑ fresh bird painted with troop markings before it was pressed into scout service to replace one shot up beyond flyable use.

The enemy was getting busy as hell in the 1st Infantry Division area, and none of us really knew the reasons why. We speculated, of course. President Johnson had stopped the bombings of North Vietnam on 1 November 1968, and we figured that this had allowed Charlie time to rebuild forces decimated in their last big Tet offensive. With forces and supplies so strengthened, more and more enemy troops were probably heading into the field from their protected Cambodian sanctuaries.

There was also the fact that newly elected President Nixon had formally announced a schedule of planned withdrawals of American forces from Vietnam, beginning 8 July. With some of the Americans starting to leave, and ARVN forces replacing them in the ranks, the unfriendlies may have felt that the moment was right to rekindle their offensive.

It could have been one, none, or all of these factors. But we were just taking the days as they came. Flying every day, up to 130 hours or more a month, and doing what we could to find and bloody Charlie’s nose every chance we got.

We took a little bloodying, too. Bob Harris’s aerorifle platoon took 30 percent casualties in one day’s fighting while holed up in an old B‑ 52 bomb crater in the western Trapezoid.

It all started with a report from VR‑ 1 that an abandoned base camp just south of the Michelin and west of the Onion was showing some evidence of rehabilitation and reoccupation by the enemy.

Scout pilot Bob Calloway was first up that morning on VR‑ 1, and had reported seeing a platoon‑ sized group of VC move into a heavily wooded area near the old base camp. At this time in 1969 finding a platoon or larger element of enemy all together in a single group was unusual, and Calloway’s report immediately caught the attention of G‑ 2. The intelligence people wanted the troop to insert the ARPs ASAP to do ground reconnaissance and check out the enemy situation.

Even though Calloway wasn’t a seasoned scout pilot, he still recognized the potential danger of the situation. After making two passes over the site and seeing the enemy running from the open area into the woods, Calloway radioed his Cobra. “Don’t put the ARPs in. I think there are a lot of bad people in here. ”

On this day I was scheduled to fly VR‑ 2. While Calloway was up on VR‑ 1, I was training another new scout pilot in the unit, a warrant by the name of Jim Bruton. While I was doing some chalkboarding and maneuvers with Bruton around the base area, I. was also monitoring the radio conversations between VR‑ 1 and Darkhorse operations.

It wasn’t long before Major Moore was in the ops bunker and personally involved in the situation. He radioed Calloway’s snake driver. “Look, if there are a lot of people down there, we need to put in the ARPs. Let’s get Four Six on the ground and see what’s going on. ”

At that point, Calloway made another pass over the area and again reported to his Cobra. “There are a lot of people down here. I don’t think you ought to put in the ARPs. ”

The Cobra responded, “Do you see anybody down there, One Zero? ”

“Negative, ” Calloway came back.

Since no additional movement of enemy troops was seen and the scout was not taking any fire, the decision was made to scramble the ARPs for a ground sweep and investigation of the area. Since it was a scramble alert for the ARPs, Bob Harris didn’t get a mission briefing before lift‑ off; therefore, he had not heard about the size of the enemy force. Wayne McAdoo and his platoon of slicks whisked the ARPs out of Phu Loi in short order and headed up the Saigon River toward the western Trapezoid.

Harris, following his normal procedure, was in the lead slick listening for any radio information that would help him size up the ground tactical situation. If he had known that a platoon of enemy troops was involved, Harris probably would have called for a reinforcing company of infantry. This was routine in order to provide the normal three to one numerical advantage, which the attacker is traditionally deemed to need over a defending force.

Once out of the Hueys and about three hundred meters to the west of the objective area, ARP Sgt. Jim Gratton and Specialist Mitchell took the point and led the platoon toward the wooded area. Gratton had his usual shirt full of frag grenades and carried a shotgun. Mitchell had an M‑ 16.

Harris waved his Kit Carsons forward to take up positions near Gratton and Mitchell. The situation called for cautious movement because the aeroscout had seen enemy in the area, and there was always the possibility of booby traps. The Kit Carson scouts, being former Viet Cong themselves, were generally better at spotting booby‑ trap situations than our people.

As the ARP formation reached the edge of the wooded area objective, Gratton sensed real danger. The Kit Carsons were beside themselves with fear. The point got on the radio to Harris, who was just in back of the lead element.

“There’s a lot of people around here, in the woods. We think this thing is occupied. ”

Four Six radioed that information back to Phu Loi ops and was again told that he should move in and make contact with the enemy, to fix them in place. If necessary, additional forces would be brought in to support the twenty‑ eight ARPs already on the ground.

With that order understood, Harris pressed the platoon on into the woods, fully expecting to begin receiving fire at any moment. But, strangely enough, no enemy fire came.

Four Six radioed his point men again. “Why aren’t we getting shot at? What’s it look like up there? ”

Of course, Harris knew that Gratton couldn’t see much through the dense vegetation. No one in the formation could see more than a few inches in any direction. There was no way to detect enemy positions or firing lanes. Daylight itself was almost shut off by the thick growth of the stifling jungle foliage.

Without realizing it, Harris’s ARPs had pressed about halfway into the enemy base camp. Charlie was sitting in his bunkers all the way around the ARP formation–waiting, watching, allowing the whole platoon to enter the lair before slamming shut the ambush door. Harris’s men, though properly deployed and proceeding with all the skill and jungle savvy at their command, didn’t have the slightest tip‑ off that they were already amidst the cunningly camouflaged enemy bunkers.

Suddenly, Harris’s riflemen were deep enough into the trap. With a sharp staccato, AK‑ 47 rounds abruptly tore into the column. Enemy fire came from their front and both flanks. Everybody hit the ground, but nobody knew where to shoot back because of the density of the jungle and total inability to see an enemy target.

It took only a moment to discover that any movement among the ARPs drew fire. Obviously the enemy could see.

Realizing that there was no way to attack an enemy he couldn’t see, Harris concerned himself with finding cover and getting his men out of the killing zone. Most of the unit was right next to a bomb crater left by a 750‑ or 1, 000‑ pound bomb from one of our B‑ 52 raids. It looked like the only cover available. Rolling into the crater with his RTO, Harris contacted the other elements of his unit and told them to do the same.

It was then that he learned that both of his point men, Gratton and Mitchell, were down. They had been caught by the first eruption of enemy fire. It was impossible to tell if they were OK, wounded, or dead. Suddenly, in a lull in the withering fire, Harris could hear Mitchell cry out, then moan.

Harris immediately ordered his left flanking element to crawl forward and try to get to Gratton and Mitchell. But as soon as the effort began, enemy fire opened up on the men, pinning them to the jungle floor.

Lieutenant Harris then radioed his flanking element on the right side, “Left flank is pinned. We think Mitchell on the point is wounded. See if you can crawl up there slowly; try to either recover Mitchell or lay down a base of fire that will allow Gratton to recover him. ”

With Pfc. August Hamilton on the point, the right flanking element started to advance. They had crawled forward only a couple of feet when VC fire opened up on them. One of the enemy rounds went cleanly through the front of Hamilton’s helmet and struck him squarely in the forehead.

Seeing Hamilton hit, the man crawling right behind him grabbed his legs and pulled him back out of the line of fire. Harris then learned that his right flank couldn’t move forward either. They couldn’t see who was shooting at them, so they couldn’t effectively return the fire.

Now knowing that Hamilton was badly hit, Four Six ordered his right flank element to get the wounded man back to the cover of the bomb crater, where the medic could take a look at him.

Private First Class Hamilton was pulled, pushed, lifted, and finally lowered into the cover of the crater. Doc told Four Six that the man was losing blood fast. The supply of blood expander wouldn’t last long, and more blood would be needed very soon or Hamilton would die.

During these initial tactical problems on the ground, Bob Calloway in the scout ship above was completely dumbfounded by the situation. There wasn’t a thing he could do to help.

He couldn’t call in his Cobra to shoot up the bunkers because the ARPs were caught right in the middle of the base camp complex. He couldn’t call in an artillery strike to blast the place with heavy high‑ explosive rounds for the same reason.

All Calloway could do was fly circles over the contact point and provide information to his Cobra, who, in turn, relayed it back to troop ops. It wasn’t long before Calloway had to give up even that because of intense fire from the bunkers below. He either had to vacate the area or risk getting himself shot out of the sky.

By this time, I was in my hootch talking aeroscout tactics with Jim Bruton. I had stopped monitoring the radios when I left the ship on the ramp, and I had no idea how the ARP mission was going in the western Trap.

As Bruton and I talked, the hootch door burst open and a runner from operations came in. “Lieutenant Mills, sir, it’s coming over the radio that Four Six is in heavy contact with the enemy south of the Michelin. You’d better get over to the operations bunker right away. ”

Rushing into the bunker, I was just in time to hear Bob Calloway’s Cobra pilot come up on VHF to ops saying, “The ARPs are pinned down. They’re separated into at least two or three groups and the vegetation on the ground is so dense that Four Six is unable to tell where all his people are. They’re all trapped in a bomb crater and every time anybody sticks his head out, he gets shot at. ”

The ops officer questioned back, “What about casualties? ”

Cobra answered, “Four Six doesn’t know about his point men, since he can’t see them and he can’t get anybody up to them. They were caught in the first blast of gook fire. He does have one man, however, who has been hit in the head with an AK round. He’s in the crater and bleeding badly. ”

Standing there listening to those radio reports, I thought immediately of the many times I had been on ground missions with Bob Harris and his ARPs. I had gone with them as often as I could to sharpen my scouting skills. Those experiences had helped tremendously my understanding of the ARP’s world. I had found out right away that an aeroscout on the ground is totally out of his element.

In the air, the wind roared through the cockpit, making lots of noise and blowing the heat away. Also, you could see what was happening for several hundred yards in every direction.

On the ground, there was silence. The ARPs gave and received their instructions by hand and arm signals. Nobody talked unless the situation demanded it, and then only in quick, terse, all‑ business words. The heat was searing. Bodies were soaked with sweat and the beads ran down in their eyes–burning, blurring, and drawing swirling insects. Everybody carried at least two canteens of water on a mission, and guarded every drop.

But the most frustrating disadvantage of being on the ground was that you couldn’t see anything and had no idea what was going on around you. The grass, the jungle closed in on you like opaque walls. The infantryman was lucky if he could see three feet in any direction. It was the unseen enemy that posed the greatest threat to the ground soldiers’ good health and peace of mind.

So, standing there listening in the ops room, I had more than a minimal understanding of the mess Harris’s platoon was in. I leaned in close to the radio speakers and hung on each word coming through.

The ops officer continued talking with the Cobra. “What help do you need up there? What help can we give you? ”

The frustration in the Cobra pilot’s voice showed. “I can’t roll in with rocks because the ARPs are pinned right in the middle of the base camp. The scout door gunner has shot selectively but fears hitting friendlies. I got a Dustoff up here in the area to evac the head wound, but Four Six doesn’t want to risk the Huey hovering in, knowing that it would make an irresistible target for the unfriendlies. You better get another hunter‑ killer team up here though. One Zero needs gas. Better roll Scramble 1. ”

The Scramble 1 scout that day was Bob Davis (One Three). He and his Cobra were launched immediately and were quickly at the contact scene to join up with VR‑ 1 for briefing.

Davis was known in the troop for his happy‑ go‑ lucky, charismatic radio chatter, but when I heard him call his Cobra, I knew the situation was bad. When he dropped down in the contact area Davis lost his cool. “Holy shit… h‑ o‑ oly s‑ h‑ e‑ e‑ it! I’m taking lots of ground fire. But look at the dinks! I got dinks everywhere down here. I got bunkers everywhere. Everywhere I look there’s bunkers and everywhere I look there’s people! There must be a hundred unfriendly sons a bitches in here! ”

While he was talking, I could hear the M‑ 60 chatter in the background as Davis’s crew chief, John Studer, fired out the rear cabin door. Then Davis came back up on the intercom to his crew chief. “Quit firing! Quit firing! We don’t know where the ARPs are; we can’t shoot! ”

Then Davis’s Cobra broke in. “One Three, you don’t have to stay down there if it’s too hot. It’s your call. ” Davis responded that he would stay down, keep circling, and see if he could get a handle on how big the enemy base camp was.

Faced with the facts that his ARP platoon was pinned down, that Cobra gunships on the scene couldn’t shoot, and that artillery could not be called in, the troop commander decided to go airborne in his C and C and size up the tactical situation at the crater for himself. Once over the contact area, Major Moore elected to call in the infantry reaction force. This was an infantry unit of about company size that the troop could activate when ARPs on the ground needed backup. They were on combat standby and available within a fifteen‑ to twenty‑ minute time frame. With Major Moore’s decision, they were immediately loaded and transported directly to the contact area.

Jumping out of their slicks at the LZ and rushing across low scrub and underbrush to relieve Lieutenant Harris, the backup company was stopped cold in its tracks. The enemy opened up on them from the base camp and cut Harris’s relief to pieces! The infantry company, now stung by the hail of accurate enemy fire, began shooting back into the base camp area.

I could hear Bob Harris yelling into his radio. “Cease firing! Cease firing! Goddamnit, you’re shooting into my people! You’re shooting into our guys! ”

Confusion reigned, and I couldn’t stand it any longer. I turned to Darkhorse Three. “I’m going up there. I’m taking my remaining scouts to Dau Tieng so we can react to the fight. ” I burst out of the ops bunker and headed back to the hootch to get Jim Bruton and crew chief Jim Downing. It seemed like just seconds before we were on the pad, in the bird, and off with Chuck Koranda (Three Nine) piloting my Cobra.

Just as soon as we got to the contact point, I dropped down low and got on One Three’s tail so he could brief me. We had to maintain sixty to seventy knots because VC rounds were coming from all over the place. Ground fire out of that enemy base camp was as bad or worse than any I had ever seen. Davis was beside himself as he filled me in on the critical situation below. His voice was up about three octaves.

“Holy shit, One Six, there’s nothing we can do down here except get our asses shot off! There’s dinks everywhere! It’s all screwed up. Four Six is pinned down in the crater with a badly wounded guy who’s been shot in the head and needs more blood. They’re going to lose him if he doesn’t get more blood. And now we’ve got the reaction company of infantry pinned down with them, shooting back into our own people in the base camp. Man, we just plain got a shit pot full of trouble right here in Dodge! ”

The words were no sooner out of One Three’s mouth when over the net came the troop commander’s voice. He had been flying around in his C and C Huey somewhere near the contact point. “I’m going on the ground to take command of the operation, ” said Major Moore very succinctly. “One Six, find me a lima zulu! ”

My first reaction was that Major Moore was a cavalry officer. What in the hell was he going to do down on the ground in a strictly infantry situation. He ought to stay in his C and C and call his shots from there. But as that old saying goes, he’s the boss.

I left Davis and scouted out a place big enough to get Six’s Huey in and out, and that would provide some cover from the base camp’s line of fire.

The C and C ship hovered into the LZ, landed, and out went Six and his artillery observer, Lieutenant Allen. Allen had his PRC‑ 25 radio with him, and they hadn’t moved fifteen feet from their helicopter when Major Moore’s now more concerned voice came back up on the radio.

“This is Darkhorse Six. They’re all around us! We’re taking fire. We’re pinned down! ”

“Well, shit! ” I muttered.

So now, besides the ARP platoon and the backup infantry company, we had the troop commander and his artillery observer down and ineffective. Here I was on station over all of this mess, and there didn’t seem to be one damned thing I could do to help the situation.

Not knowing where else to start, I radioed Bob Harris. “Four Six, this is One Six. I’m just coming on station. Seems to me that you guys in the ARPs get all the no‑ sweat details. How’s it looking down there? ”

He came right back. “This is Four Six, One Six. Good to hear your voice. We’re in a world of hurt! One man’s hit–shot in the head. We’ve used all our blood expander. Doc says he’s still alive but we need a blood expander kit fast or he’s not going to make it. ”

“How’s everybody else? ” I asked.

“I’ve got point and his element out there somewhere in front of me, ” Harris continued. “I can’t see them… I don’t know where they are. I don’t know if they’re dead or alive, but we can hear a man moaning, and every time he moans, Charlie shoots. ”

“How can I help you? ”

“You can start by seeing if you can find Gratton and his point backup. Also see if you can get Dustoff in here to pick up my head wound. That Huey will make a hell of a target, but he needs help fast. We’ve got to try to get Dustoff in here. ”

Before I could respond to Harris, Koranda in the Cobra broke in, “Four Six, this is Three Niner. That’s a roger on Dustoff. I’ll work on getting a medevac up here. ” Then Koranda went off frequency to get that process started again.

I began looking for Sergeant Gratton. I dropped down to about forty feet, making tight little circles over the area to the front of the crater. Maintaining my airspeed at about sixty knots, I jinked to the left and right, trying to make the little OH‑ 6 a more elusive target.

There was plenty of ground fire coming up, but I was jinking and moving fast enough that rounds aimed right at the ship were actually passing in back of my tail. Thank God, I thought, Charlie hasn’t quite got the hang of leading a target!

I was cussing to myself because I couldn’t return any of that ground fire. The friendlies and enemy were too close together for us to shoot. We could see all kinds of Cong in their bunkers and the trenches that connected their firing positions, and it was frustrating not to be able to blow them away.

The enemy had really played it cool. They had allowed Harris’s men to walk right into the middle of the base camp before springing the ambush, and they knew that we couldn’t shoot at them without hitting our own people.

I couldn’t fire in any case because the minigun had been removed from my bird before leaving Phu Loi. We had to reduce weight to make room to carry Jim Bruton, who was flying as an observer in the left front seat. Jim Downing’s M‑ 60 in the back cabin was all the firepower we had.

After two passes, I spotted Four Six’s point men. They were lying about forty meters northeast of Harris’s crater, one on his back looking up at me and the other face down on the ground. I knew Gratton from the times I had been on ground missions with the ARPs. He was the one on his back.

I slowed and nodded my head vigorously to let him know that I had seen him. He tried to wave back without giving away his position, and then rolled back over on his stomach to use his weapon again.

The other man with Gratton must have been Mitchell. He was face down and not moving, so I didn’t know whether he was dead or alive.

Located right in back of Gratton and Mitchell was an enemy bunker. Fire from that position was what had the point men pinned down.

I immediately keyed the FM frequency to Harris. “Four Six, this is One Six. I found Gratton. He and his other point man are about forty meters out to your northeast. They’re down near a little mound in the earth that’s giving them some protection. Gratton looks OK and knows that we’ve found him. I think the other guy is hit. For right now they’re OK where they are. They can’t get back to you anyway because there’s a hot gook bunker located right behind them. You copy? ”

The same bunker that was blocking Gratton’s retreat suddenly decided that my little bird was getting entirely too nosy. Every time I made a pass over the area, he’d open up, and his fire was beginning to get pretty accurate! I could hear and feel an occasional hit.

Realizing that I was taking fire, Koranda came up on VHF from the Cobra and told me to get out of there. But I decided to stay down to keep a cover on Harris’s gang. I told Koranda I would try to go fast enough to avoid giving the bad guys a good shot.

Jim Bruton was getting a hell of an introduction to flying scouts. Having just gotten to the troop, he probably couldn’t follow what was going on, but he could feel me jinking that little bird all over the sky and see the muzzle flashes that were sending up enemy rounds, and feel them tearing through the ship. Bruton was probably scared to death. But so were the pilot and crew chief, perhaps more so.

I was impressed with the way Bruton handled himself while on the receiving end of the first shots ever fired at him. He never said a word as he sat in the left seat, doing the best he could to help the situation.

Even experience didn’t keep Jim Downing from being amazed at the enemy beehive below us. He kept keying the intercom: “Jesus, sir, there’s dinks everywhere! Bunkers everywhere. Three o’clock low… bunkers. Man with an AK at twelve o’clock low… bunker with SGM. Shit, Lieutenant! ”

All I could say was, “OK, OK, Jim. I got it. I got it! ” I kept the airspeed up to about sixty knots and kept jinking the ship to give Charlie a different look every time I came around for another pass.

I rolled back in over Gratton’s position to see how he was doing. He was over on his back again and had an M‑ 16 magazine on his chest. Each time I came over, Gratton looked at us and jabbed his finger at the magazine.

Downing was quick to figure out the sign language. “He needs ammo, sir, for the M‑ 16. He’s dry! ”

“OK, ” I answered, “how many bandoliers do you have with you back there, Jim? ” Downing carried a backup M‑ 16, which he stowed under his seat, and I knew that he would have some extra ammo.

“About six, Lieutenant. ”

“OK, ” I said. “Get three of them. We’ll come in and hover over Gratton and drop him the ammo.

“Now, Jim, ” I continued, “I’ll have to come in slow and hover down easy. You’re going to have to bull’s‑ eye the first time. If we miss, I don’t know what kind of chance we’ll have to try it again. OK? ”

“I understand, Lieutenant, ” he answered. “I’ll do my best. ”

I went in right on the trees. Downing was hanging out of the cabin door with the bandoliers in his hand waiting for the right moment to throw them down. I kept the left side of the aircraft toward the VC bunker so that Downing would make less of a target. We slid in right over Gratton and hovered down as low as I could get. Then Downing let go of the ammo.

The bandoliers landed right between Gratton and Mitchell. Bull’s‑ eye! Gratton rolled over, reloaded the M‑ 16, and started squeezing off short bursts at Charlie again.

As I regained altitude, taking a couple more AK hits in the tail boom, Koranda called me.

“Nice shot, One Six. I’ve got Dustoff coming in, right about now. Let’s try and get him to send a stretcher down and pick up the head wound. ”

Flipping to FM so that both the Cobra and Bob Harris on the ground could hear, I answered. “Four Six, this is One Six. Three Niner says that Dustoff will be here right away and wants us to try and get the Huey in. I don’t think that the bad guys will let a medevac in without blowing them to pieces. How do you feel about it? ”

Harris came right back. “Let’s get him in here if we can, One Six. Earlier I waved away one Dustoff feeling that he’d never be able to hover in here and stay in one piece. Now Doc says he’s bingo on blood expander for Hamilton and he’s bleeding to death. Let’s do it! ”

By this time, Dustoff was coming in at altitude, and wanting to know where to make the pickup. I came up on Uniform to give him directions. “Dustoff, this is Darkhorse One Six. We need you to hover into the base camp over the bomb crater, drop a litter, and extract a bad head wound. Can you handle that? ”

“Darkhorse One Six, this is Dustoff. I don’t know but we’ll try. We understand that the area is not controlled–that it is still hot. ”

“You copy right… the area is still hot. In fact/it’s very hot. But we’ve got a soldier down who needs blood fast and he won’t make it unless we get you in there. ”

“I’ll give it our best shot, Darkhorse, ” he came back. “Mark my area. ”

“Roger, Dustoff. Get on my tail and I’ll lead you in the best way. When I say, ‘mark, mark, ’ you’ll be right over the bomb crater. Drop down and make the pickup. ”

Dustoff rogered and fell in behind me. I took him down low on the trees and circled around once to get the Huey in on an approach that avoided as many of the major VC gun emplacements as I could. As we came in over the bomb crater at about forty knots, I called to Dustoff, “Now… mark, mark! ” Then I pulled a hard right and watched the Huey skid to a hover right over the crater and Harris’s ARPs.

The moment Dustoff decelerated, the base camp below erupted with what seemed to be every weapon the VC had.

“Taking fire! ” the Huey pilot screamed. “Goda‑ mighty! I’m taking fire… heavy fire! ”

I instantly jerked the Loach into a tight right bank around the medevac ship and keyed the intercom. “Dustoff will never make it out of there, Jim, unless you get Charlie’s head down. Get on the M‑ 60 and start shooting. Be careful firing into our friendlies. Just spray to keep VC heads down, not to hit anybody. ”

Downing opened up. He poured several long bursts into the base camp below, doing his best to make Charlie duck while the medevac ship struggled for altitude.

With Downing still shooting to cover its retreat, Dustoff staggered off to the northwest toward Dau Tieng. The Huey had taken all the punishment it could handle and still stay airborne.

I then came up on FM to Harris. “Four Six, this just isn’t gonna work. We’ve got another Dustoff flying into a nearby ARVN base camp to stand by, but to bring him in here would be murder. What do you think? ”

“Roger, One Six, ” Harris came back, “but Doc says that Hamilton won’t last another ten minutes unless he gets whole blood. We’ve got to do something! ”

I thought as I circled another time or two. Then I made up my mind and got on the intercom to Bruton and Downing. “Look, this OH‑ 6 is a hell of a lot more agile and a smaller target than that Huey. I think we can get in and out of there before Charlie can get us. So I’m going to go over to the Dustoff that’s waiting at the ARVN base camp, get the blood, and we’ll come back and drop it in. ”

I didn’t ask them. I just told them that we had no choice and that we were going to give it a try. Nonetheless, it felt good when I got their instant replies almost in unison. “OK, Lieutenant, let’s do it. ”

In the minute or two that it took us to get to the waiting Dustoff, I made plans with my crew chief. “OK, Downing, just as soon as we touch down, you jump out and get the blood from the Huey. Then when we get back over the crater, you’re going to drop it to Doc. You got that? ”

“Yes, sir, Lieutenant, I understand, ” Downing answered.

I gave Bruton his instructions. “Now Jim, I know that this whole experience may be a little new to you, but with you aboard, and no minigun, you’re the only cover I’ll have. Downing will have the blood kits and probably won’t be able to use his M‑ 60. You better poke that M‑ 16 of yours out the door and be ready to shoot at anything that gives us a bad time. ”

When I told Koranda in the Cobra what I was going to do, he didn’t mince words: “You’re crazy, One Six! ”

By that time, we were at the ARVN base camp. I landed right beside the idling Dustoff, waited while Downing ran over to pick up the blood, and then lifted off again.

I had never seen blood kits before, and had no idea that they came packed in a box the size of a milk crate. Downing sat in the back with that big box balanced on his lap.

I came in on the treetops and did tight, fast three sixties over the area while I checked out the situation in the crater. There was some ground fire but it didn’t seem directed at us this time. Charlie must have felt we couldn’t do anything to them anyway, so why waste ammo on such a little bird.

Watching below me I could see that the ARPs were not able to get their heads up over the rim of the crater without drawing instant fire. So they were lobbing grenades when they could and sticking their weapons over the top edge of the shell hole to snap off a few quick rounds.

As I slowed and came around for the third time, I felt the ship’s center of gravity shift dramatically. A quick glimpse over my right shoulder told me that Downing had eased himself completely out of the airplane and was centering the box of blood kits on the right skid. Bruton was sitting right beside me with his M‑ 16 pointed out his door. He was sure getting a hell of an indoctrination.

Suddenly my intercom roared at me. It was Downing’s voice straining to be heard over the wild rush of wind that was hitting his helmet mike. “Forward… forward… a little more. Now right… right, sir… a hair more to the right, ” he said, directing me into position over the crater.

Looking between my feet through the OH‑ 6’s chin bubble, I could see Bob Harris lying face up in the shell hole. He was also talking to me on FM: “OK, One Six, straight ahead… straighter… now right. That’s it… now hold it… hold it right there. ”

At that exact moment, hovering twenty to thirty feet off the ground, with Downing hanging outside the ship ready to drop the box, I glanced out the door toward my right front. About thirty feet away from me was a section of trench line cut into the jungle floor, which apparently connected some of the enemy bunkers. As my eye fleetingly traced the length of the trough, I was suddenly electrified to see a VC in a dark blue uniform rise up out of the middle of the trench. He was holding an AK‑ 47 and was looking straight at me.

His eyes met mine for an instant. Then he raised his assault rifle and aimed it at my head. I was sure that my heart actually stopped beating as I waited for him to pull the trigger.

There was nothing I could do. I was hovering a 2, 160‑ pound aircraft just inches above a shell hole full of our own people. Downing was hanging out of the airplane waiting to drop the blood. Bruton was looking out the other side of the ship completely oblivious to what was happening on my side. I felt my lips move as I repeated to myself, “God, don’t let him shoot… don’t let him shoot! ”

We stared eye to eye for a moment that seemed an eternity long. He didn’t appear to have a weapon malfunction. Nobody seemed to be shooting at him. He had me dead to rights, but he hesitated. He didn’t pull the trigger. Only God knows why.

The moment of horror was suddenly interrupted by the intercom. Downing shouted, “That’s it, Lieutenant, they’ve got the box. Let’s didi this place! ”

Feeling the hot beads of sweat on my forehead, I broke my fixation with the muzzle of the assault rifle. I yanked the collective stick all the way to stop and shoved the cyclic forward. The agile little bird responded instantly. It jumped for height and forward speed so positively that it pinned my backside solidly against the armored pilot’s seat. Then the VC in the trench opened up with several quick bursts from his AK.

While I was in a hover, he had me cold in his sights long enough to blow my head off. But, for some reason, he waited until we began to clear the crater before cutting loose. When he finally shot, his aim wasn’t bad either. I heard the thumps of three or four solid hits aft of the back cabin in the engine area.

I keyed the FM to Harris. “I’m out, Four Six. That’s all I can do for you right now. I’m hit. I’m going home for another bird, but I’ll be back. ”

“Roger, One Six. I see smoke from your engine compartment. We’ve got the blood kits and Doc’s working on Hamilton. Thank you, One Six. I’ll see you later. ”

I then radioed Koranda in the Cobra and told him that he better get another scout team up there right away because I was heading back to Phu Loi with a sick bird.

The shot‑ up OH‑ 6 made it back to base, but just barely. I had taken two rounds right through the compressor section, and the engine was trashed.

Next followed an almost unbelievable blur of events. As I was coming back into Phu Loi with my crippled ship, I passed Rod Willis (One Seven) and his Cobra (Dean Sinor, Three One), who were scrambling northwest to replace me over the contact area.

I wasn’t able to wait around to brief Willis before I had to pull out, but as we passed in the air, I radioed him. “OK, One Seven, do you understand what you’re getting into out there? ”

“Roger, One Six, ” he responded. “I’ve been in the ops bunker listening to the radios. I’m up on the action. ”

“OK, Rod, you’ll find the ARPs northwest of the tree line in the shell hole about thirty to forty meters into the jungle. They’re mostly pinned in the crater and Charlie is shooting at anything that moves. For God’s sake, don’t slow down. Whatever you do, keep your speed up. Don’t slow down over the contact area. You got it? ”

Rod came back with a simple acknowledgment. “Right… don’t slow down. I copy, One Six. On my way. ”

As soon as I got on the ground at Phu Loi, I grabbed my gear and headed for a replacement Loach. Jim Downing and I started to climb in when the executive officer, Joe Perkins (Darkhorse Five), ran up. “Hey, Mills, I’m going with you. I’m replacing your crew chief. ”

“What? ”

“Downing can stay here. I’m going with you, ” he repeated.

Anxious to get off, I agreed. “OK, Five, you’re the exec. Climb in back. ”

I nodded to Downing. “Jim, you stay here with Mr. Bruton. Get the platoon sergeant, and you three take over to get every aircraft that we have ready for combat. Get ‘em all out, ready to go, all with plenty of ammo and topped off with fuel. ”

Perkins and I cleared with the tower and lifted off. As we passed over the base fence I switched the minigun to “fire normal” and told Perkins to arm his M‑ 60. 1 poured the coal to the Loach. We were about six minutes from the contact area if I stayed low and didn’t waste time going to altitude.

With armament systems activated, I next switched tower frequency to troop Uniform to catch up on what was happening with the ARPs in the crater. I no more than came up on the push when I was shocked to hear Willis’s voice.

“I’m taking fire… I’m taking hits… I’m going down! ”

“Son of a bitch, ” I hissed.

Then Dean Sinor, Willis’s Cobra, came up. “One Six, One Six, this is Three One. Where in the hell are you? ”

“Three One, One Six. I’m just coming off the pad now. What’s happening? ”

“OK, One Six, get your ass up here. We just lost One Seven. He’s going down in flames. ”

I pushed the Loach to the red line. As I approached the base camp area from the southeast, my radio crackled again. “One Six, where are you now? ”

“I’m on the deck heading three one five degrees. Whatcha got? ”

“One Seven’s down in the LZ, ” Sinor said. “Can you see his smoke? ”

I rolled into a low‑ level right turn and circled the landing zone where we had originally put in the ARP Hueys. At the far northwestern edge of the little patch of open ground, I saw wisps of smoke curling up where Willis had ditched his bird. I didn’t see any flames, but the nose of the bird had been plowed into the ground and the tail boom was sticking almost straight up out of the elephant grass, looking to all the world like a giant lawn dart.

As I passed over the wreck I could see that Rod and Ken Stormer, his crew chief, were both out of the aircraft, busily removing their gear. I motioned that I saw them and would come in and pick them up.

I keyed the intercom and told Perkins my plan. He realized, I’m sure, that we’d be overloaded, with four people in the little Loach plus the weight of the minigun. But he nodded, knowing, as I did, that the OH‑ 6 was a miracle machine. The aircraft could tolerate a gross bending of the rules, when necessary, and still give back nine cents change out of your dime.

So, with Perkins and Willis in the back and Ken Stormer in the front left seat, I made directly for the nearby ARVN base. Jim Bruton could bring Rod a replacement ship from Phu Loi.

Leaving Rod and Ken, I hurried back to the crater area to see how Harris was doing. Four Six told me that if someone wasn’t successful in breaking through to him soon, he’d have to make plans for a night pullout.

We both knew that this would be a last resort. The VC were in their own base camp totally familiar with every inch of the ground. Their knowledge of the area gave them a tremendous advantage during the day, and that same advantage increased dramatically after dark. A night withdrawal would be extremely risky.

Within twenty minutes, Willis and Stormer were back. We circled for about thirty minutes before making another run over the base camp area. With Willis following close behind, I turned in for a fast run, staying on the trees and hitting about seventy knots. As we ripped over the crater, Rod gave me a call.

“Hey, man, maybe they’re asleep or dry down there. Nobody shot at me. ”

“Me neither, ” I answered. “So let’s slow ‘er down a little, make another pass, and see if anybody’s still kicking. ”

This time we came in from a different direction and dropped airspeed to about forty knots. We were almost over Harris’s shell hole when the base camp came alive with ground fire, apparently saved up from our previous high‑ speed run‑ by.

I didn’t hear or feel any hits to my ship, but just at that moment, my radio crackled again. “I’m taking fire… I’m taking hits. I’m going down! ”

I looked around just in time to see One Seven veer off my tail, start to smoke, and head for the LZ again.

I couldn’t believe it. Willis was going down again. Shot right off my tail and heading back into the landing zone, almost at the same spot as before!,

“You OK, Rod? ” I yelled at him. “Can you make it in? Get her down and I’ll run your flanks with the minigun to keep Charlie off your back. Take it easy. ”

All I heard back was, “Hurry up, man, those guys mean business. Going down! ”

I followed Willis until he was on the ground. He and Stormer jumped out of the ship and began removing their gear while I made runs down both flanks, squirting minigun fire.

As I hosed down the area, I got back on the radio to the C and C ship, telling them I needed their help again. I asked them to make a run into the LZ, pick up Willis and Stormer, and, while they were at it, also pick up Major Moore and Lieutenant Allen.

The C and C ship announced that they’d be right in. “OK, Two Niner, ” I said. “Take everybody back to Phu Loi. And tell Willis, if he and Stormer aren’t banged up too bad, to get into another Loach and get the hell back up here as soon as they can. ”

With Willis gone we still had One Three, One Zero, me, and four Cobras left on the scene. But none of us could figure out how to get the ARPs out of the mess they were in. It was about four o’clock in the afternoon and Four Six’s spot was getting tighter all the time.

After circling for a while, I got back in touch with the C and C ship and Major Moore. By that time, they were nearing Phu Loi. “Darkhorse Six, this is One Six. The day’s going to run out on us, Major, if we don’t get some help to these guys while there’s still some light left. Is there any armor nearby that you can get to bust into them? ”

Six came back, “OK, One Six, hang onto the help you’ve got up there now. Keep Four Six covered the best you can. I’ll get some armor coming. ”

A few minutes later Six came back up on the radio. “All right, One Six, we’ve got armor coming. They’re on their way now and will be there right away. They’re coming down the road from Dau Tieng and you need to send someone over to pick them up and guide them into the base camp. ”

As I rogered Six’s transmission, I looked over and saw Willis, now in Loach number three, burning back in on the trees hell‑ bent for election. After today, Willis would really be known as an “enemy ace. ” I radioed him. “One Seven, I need you to get over to the Dau Tieng Road and pick up the armor column. They’re close by now and need you to lead them into the base camp area. Be sure they know who they’re shooting at when they come in down there. Our friendlies have already had their share of shit for today. ”

In just a few minutes, Rod returned with the mechanized infantry company and an attached platoon of M‑ 48A3 tanks, leading them into the southern end of the base area. In the meantime, we had marked the enemy positions the best we could with red smoke so that the tankers would know where to shoot.

The very second the armored column entered the base camp, all hell broke loose. The relief column began to take horrendous fire from the bunkers. Willis and I were over the ARP crater trying to mark the friendlies when enemy fire seemed to explode from the base camp into one huge flaming ball. Rounds were flying everywhere. I could hear them hitting my ship as I goosed the Loach to get out of there. But not before I heard the now‑ familiar radio call.

“Ah, sheeit! I’m taking hits… I’m going down! ”

“Goddamnl” I screamed. “Rod again! ” Down he went. With smoke trailing.

Bob Davis came up on the radio as he watched Willis’s third OH‑ 6 pile into the LZ. “Why don’t you just leave the son of a bitch down there? We haven’t got any more aircraft for him to crash! ”

I tried to take over guiding the tankers into the camp, but I couldn’t get my FM radio to work. So, with Willis down and my FM not transmitting or receiving, I fed instructions to the C and C ship over UHF, who, in turn, relayed them to the tankers below.

In seconds, the armor began blowing the hell out of everything. They literally blasted their way into the base camp to link up with the beleaguered ARPs in the shell hole. As they moved forward, the M‑ 48s depressed their main guns and stuck their muzzles point blank into the bunkers’ firing ports, then pulled the triggers. The resulting canister round explosions blew the tops off the bunkers, sent debris showering everywhere, and completely vaporized everything within.

As the holocaust continued, I could see Four Six’s flank and point elements finally get out of their pinned‑ down positions and low‑ crawl their way back into the crater with the rest of the ARPs.

After about forty minutes of furious battle, the base camp suddenly fell silent. Charlie was apparently at the end of his rope. The tanks stopped firing while the mechanized infantrymen ran forward to secure the area and see about the trapped ARPs.

Still circling overhead, I watched Harris’s men begin to stand up, move around, and shake the battle debris from their bodies. Though looking totally drained by the day’s experience, they could still smile and clap each other on the back, thankful that their siege was finally over. After some quick looks around at the rubble of the VC bunkers that had held them hostage most of the day, the aeroriflemen began to filter back out of the base camp and toward the LZ.

The plan was to extract the ARPs back to Phu Loi and leave the armor and mech infantry guys at the base camp to mop up. We called the slicks back in to pick up Harris’s men, in addition to asking the C and C ship–again–to retrieve Willis and Stormer from their last crash into the landing zone. This time the engine had been completely shot out of his aircraft. Miraculously, neither man had been seriously hurt in any of their shootdowns that day. But Stormer was heard to say later, “Now, no shit, you guys, I ain’t doing this no more today. ”

I stayed over the base camp until everybody was loaded and well on the way back to Phu Loi. After one last look at the devastation below, I headed back to base myself.

By the time I set down the OH‑ 6 on the pad back at Phu Loi, the sun was slipping over the western end of the field. Perkins quickly bailed out of the backseat but I just slumped in my seat and sat in the aircraft for a minute, letting my body try to relax. I had been flying since about eleven o’clock that morning. It was then 7: 30 in the evening, and, after almost nine hours in the air, I had never been so bushed in my life.

The moment of calm ended abruptly, however, when Willis came running up to the ship and threw his arm around my shoulders, “Come on, ol’ aeroscout buddie, haul your weary ass out of that seat and let’s go find Four Six! ”

By that time, all the scout and gun pilots were on the pad and we started walking together toward Harris’s hootch. The ARPs joined us and everybody was hugging each other, laughing and joking around. We were like a long‑ lost family coming together for a fifty‑ year reunion.

The ARPs had suffered minor casualties considering the circumstances. Three of their people had been badly hit. The severely wounded Sp4c. August F. Hamilton did not make it, and we all mourned his loss.

The troop’s scout platoon had lost four Loaches that were damaged beyond repair. Two crew chiefs were hurt: Stormer was banged up after being shot down three times, and Jim Downing had broken his hand at Phu Loi while he and Jim Bruton worked to get scout aircraft armed, fueled, and ready to fly.

A close look at the OH‑ 6 I had flown back to base at the end of the day showed twenty‑ six bullet holes all over the ship. One of those rounds had gone through my FM radio apparatus. It was no wonder it wouldn’t work when I needed it to guide the armor into the VC base camp.

Some decorations were subsequently awarded to the scouts for that day’s activity. Jim Downing received the Silver Star medal for the heroic act of exposing himself to heavy enemy ground fire, while dropping the box of blood kits into the crater where the ARPs needed it. I also received a Silver Star for my participation in the aerial operation.

Rod Willis and Ken Stormer each received the Distinguished Flying Cross for being shot down three times in one day, and returning to the fight every time. Of course, I was of the strong opinion that it was Willis’s misfortune of being shot down repeatedly in the landing zone that helped save the day. The VC in the bunkers must have been so astounded, watching him get shot down three times in the same place, that it diverted their attention from the other things we were doing to relieve the beleaguered ARPs!

After that action, it took several days for the troop to get back to normal. We had wounds to lick. The ARPs needed replacements. I needed four new ships in the scout platoon. Everybody was a little skinned up and nervous.

By the end of July, however, our preoccupation with the crater incident was broken, at least for Willis, me, and gun pilots Sinor and Koranda. The Old Man called me in and said that he wanted two hunter‑ killer teams to go to Di An and be briefed for a “special combat mission. ”

We couldn’t figure out what they wanted with two combat‑ ready scout‑ gunship teams in this rear base area. But over we went on the morning of 30 July to get our briefing from a representative of the division G‑ 3. He told us that he wanted our two teams to work for a couple of hours right around the immediate Di An base area.

We said, almost in unison, “But, sir, there isn’t anything around here for us to work. ”

The G‑ 3 nodded his head as if he understood. “Well, I want you to work it anyway… carefully, very closely. Look for mines, foot traffic, anything that might be out of line. ” He pointed to the map. “We want you to set up a screen in this immediate area just outside the base perimeter. Don’t get closer than about five hundred meters to the perimeter, and don’t get more than about a thousand out from it. Understood? ”

As we rogered, he drew a tight little circle on the map around the Di An base area and dismissed us with a comment. “We’ve got VIPs coming to town, so keep a sharp eye out. ”

When it was time to start patrolling, Sinor and I took the first shift. It wasn’t long before we saw a Huey off in the distance on an approach pattern into the Di An base. I listened on the radio as the Huey pilot contacted the Di An tower for landing. He was obviously expected at the base, and I wondered if these were the VIPs we were covering.

Since the ground below me was practically sterile as far as any indication of enemy activity, I watched the ship as it settled down into the middle of the base. It landed near a formation of soldiers, and a group of people got out. One soldier in the group had on army “greens. ” I hadn’t seen anybody wearing a green dress uniform in the entire seven months I had been in Vietnam. I wondered who he was and where he had come from.

A brief ceremony was held, involving the formation of soldiers, then the group got back on board the Huey and it took off.

About the time the VIP bird departed, the G‑ 3 came up on our frequency. “OK, Darkhorse, you are cleared to depart station. Your mission is completed and we appreciate your support. ”

Sinor acknowledged and asked, “Say, Ops, who was that VIP anyway? What was that all about? ”

There was a slight pause. “That, gentlemen, was your commander in chief, President Nixon. Thanks again, Darkhorse, you can tell your grandkids that you flew cover for the president! ”

When we got back to Phu Loi, Willis and I walked into the hootch. Bob Davis was lying on his bunk reading a magazine. Knowing that One Seven and I had been out on a special mission for Major Moore, Davis perked up and asked, “Where you guys been? ”

Willis said, “Nowhere… no big deal. ”

“Ah, come on, ” Davis pleaded, “where you been? Did you get into anything hot? ”

“Naw, ” Rod answered. “Very, very quiet… no big deal at all. ”

Davis could tell by then that we were yanking him around a little. “OK, cut the shit, you guys. What did you do and who were you flying for? ”

“The president of the United States, ” I answered as nonchalantly.

Davis, by then, had had enough. “All right, you horses’ asses, quit bullshitting me and give it to me straight! ”

“We’re not shitting you, One Three, ” I said. “Oh, by the way, Dick said to tell you hello when I got back to Phu Loi. ”

“You didn’t meet him. You really didn’t get to meet the president… come on, that’s ridiculous! ”

“Sure we met him, ” I answered. “We met him personally… got to shake his hand… even got our picture taken with him! ”

That did him in. Davis spent the rest of that day kicking his butt for not getting to go on that mission… until he found out that Willis and I never got closer than a half kilometer from that VIP Huey, and couldn’t have recognized anybody on the ground if we had tried. Not even the president of the United States.

^{CHAPTER 10}