COBRA DOWN

One Three (Bob Davis) was one of the most reliable scouts in the platoon. If he said he saw something on the ground, it was down there. He had good, quick eyes and could read sign like a book. But one day when we were working out of Lai Khe over the western Trapezoid, Davis ran across a bunker in an old enemy base camp that defied his best efforts to identify it.

When flying VRs out of the Trap, we generally took two scout teams to Lai Khe and used that as a base. On this day, Davis was out working an area northwest of FSB Lorraine when he radioed me at Lai Khe.

“Hey, One Six, ” he said, “I’m on my way back in, but don’t you get off ‘til I get there. I need to talk to you. I’ve got something out here and I can’t figure it out. I’ll talk to you when I set down. ”

A few minutes later Davis got in, and while his crew chief was refueling his ship, Davis trotted over to my bird. He told me he had found a bunker at X‑ Ray Tango 670420. “This thing is really big, probably twenty‑ five feet across and maybe forty feet long, a hell of a lot bigger than any VC bunkers we ever see.

“Besides, ” he went on, “this thing’s got a corrugated tin roof on it–no camouflage, no logs and dirt on top like every other bunker we see. ”

“Has it got gunports? ” I cut in.

“Not exactly. There’re open spaces under the roof that look like observation slits, but no gunports. When I back the bird off to a side and try to look in under the tin, I can see something down in there, but I’ll go to hell if I know what it is! ”

“OK, ” I told him, “I’ll take a look. I’ll be out there in six to seven minutes and give you a call. ”

When I got to the bunker, I saw what One Three meant. This thing was a hell of a lot bigger than anything we’d ever seen before, except for maybe a company or battalion bunker‑ type classroom. The enemy was known to have built some large bunkers where they were conducting training classes for their troops. They outfitted them with all sorts of American equipment and weapons that they had either stolen or picked up in the field, so their soldiers would have firsthand knowledge of our gear.

The enemy didn’t fight from bunkers like that, however; they used them just for training. And these classroom bunkers were never located in small base camps, only in the larger, major base camps that were more secure.

After a little discussion over the radio, Davis and I agreed that a classroom bunker was what we had. We were excited about finding it because it meant that we had probably located a big and important enemy base camp. But before calling for an air strike, the decision was made to bring in the ARPs to do some reconning. We needed to determine if the base camp was occupied or if there were any fresh traffic signs around, and what was going on with the big bunker.

By that time, One Three had come back up to join me for another look, and to mark the big bunker with smokes to guide the ARPs.

As Bob Harris’s aeroriflemen got on the ground and began to approach the strange‑ looking bunker, their Kit Carson scouts got very excited. They found that every approach to the bunker was heavily booby‑ trapped and mined. There was rio question now that the bunker was very important; otherwise Charlie wouldn’t have gone to all this trouble to protect it.

Davis and I listened in on FM while the Kit Carsons slowly moved in and began dismantling the booby traps. It took some time before the area was cleared and Harris’s men could get close to the tin‑ roofed pit.

Finally, Bob Harris’s voice boomed into our phones. “One Six, this is Four Six. You’re not going to believe what we’ve got down here in this friggin’ bunker! ”

“Four Six, One Six. Whatcha got? ”

“We got a tank, buddy! ” he shouted.

“Say again, Four Six, what do you have? ”

“We’ve got a tank–a tango alpha november kilo–down here, One Six! ”

“You gotta be kidding me, ” I ventured one more time.

“Believe it or not, you guys, there’s a complete tank underneath this tin roof. Looks like Charlie dug the pit, drove the tank into it, and then built the roof over it. I’m not fooling you! ”

I had never seen an enemy tank in Vietnam. “What kind of a tank is it? ” I asked Harris.

“I can’t tell, ” he came back. “This thing is too heavily booby‑ trapped. I’m not going any farther until we can get some engineers in here. ”

So our best guess had been completely out in left field. The bunker wasn’t an enemy classroom; it was a shed for a tank!

Later, some Civilian Irregular Defense Group (CIDG) troops and elements of our 16th Infantry were pulled into the area. They occupied the base camp and provided security while a couple of officers from the 11th Armored Cav were flown in to make an ID on the tank. It turned out to be an old American M‑ 41 Walker Bulldog light tank. It was complete with its 76mm main gun, but its. 30 coaxial and. 50‑ caliber antiaircraft guns had been removed, probably to be used elsewhere. There were also some fifty‑ one rounds of main gun ammunition, two hundred rounds of. 50 caliber, and seven hundred fifty rounds of. 30‑ caliber ammunition still in the tank. This baby was really loaded for bear.

The tank had apparently been well maintained and appeared to be in excellent condition. The only questions left were where it had come from, and how it had ever ended up parked in an enemy jungle base camp.

These questions were ultimately answered when it was learned that the tank had originally been given to the ARVN forces by the United States early in the war. The enemy captured it from an ARVN cavalry outfit when their outpost at Ben Cat was overrun by the VC in May of 1966. The VC drove the tank away at that time and it hadn’t been seen since. Not until three years later, when Bob Davis spotted its unusual parking garage.

On 11 August a long‑ range reconnaissance patrol (LRRP) team went out of brigade HQ in Dau Tieng and was inserted up on the eastern edge of the Michelin rubber plantation. LRRP teams usually consisted of six to eight specially trained personnel. Their mission normally was to be inserted into the jungle, set up an observation post, and report enemy activities. They maintained concealed positions and absolute silence while in the field, except when executing an occasional ambush along an enemy trail. If they did execute an ambush, the LRRP unit had to be extracted immediately. As a general rule, the LRRPs tried to avoid heavy enemy contact because six to eight lightly equipped soldiers had no chance to prevail in a decisive encounter.

In this case, however, the LRRP team was hit and took casualties the moment they stepped off their Huey. That, in itself, was quite unusual because of the intensive planning that went into the missions and the precautions taken by the Huey in putting the LRRPs down into an LZ. The transporting Huey would always make several false insertions, landing and then taking off from several spots all around the area, so that enemy observers would not be able to pinpoint the real insertion location.

As soon as the LRRPs ran into trouble, they hit the radio for immediate backup and extraction. Their mission had been compromised, they had people hit, and they had to get out of Dodge before getting wiped out entirely. Their call for help immediately scrambled the ARPs out of Phu Loi, along with the Scramble 1 scout team, Joe Vad (Nine), and his crew chief, Al Farrar.

When Harris and his riflemen were inserted about a kilometer away from the LRRPs, they also were hit by the enemy, pinned down in the LZ with two men killed. Scout Joe Vad moved in over the contact area, trying to locate enemy positions. His low, slow flying, however, immediately alerted Charlie to his presence, and Vad’s bird began to take heavy ground fire.

There were NVA soldiers in dark green uniforms moving in all directions around the aeroriflemen and the LRRP unit. Farrar’s M‑ 60 blasted away at the host of targets while Vad twisted and turned the Loach to avoid taking vulnerable hits.

But to no avail. Ground fire ripped into the ship, causing an engine failure. There was nothing Vad could do. The bird plowed down into the far edge of the LZ where the ARPs had been put down just minutes before.

Amazingly, Joe Vad was not badly hurt when his Loach went in. Farrar was not so lucky. His knee and leg were twisted in the wreckage and he was in pain. Joe managed to help Al out of the aircraft, however, and they began to make their way toward the ARPs.

Back at Phu Loi, I was on alert as Scramble 2, with Jim Parker as my crew chief and Dean Sinor as my gun pilot. Receiving the call that Scramble 1 was down, we lifted off and started a fast run to the con‑ * tact area to assume air control of the situation.

Behind us, the entire troop–including every other available scout bird, gunship, and slick–was scrambled to move up to the strip at Dau Tieng to provide immediate support from that nearby base.

While Sinor and I were inbound to the contact area, I got VHF traffic and learned that the supporting scouts from Phu Loi were closing on Dau Tieng and wanted further instructions. I radioed back, saying, “Wait ten minutes and then send me One Seven [Willis]; ten minutes after that, give me One Three [Davis]. ”

Since I was just approaching the scene, I didn’t know the extent of the situation. I only knew that there was heavy enemy contact, that the LRRPs were isolated and pinned down with casualties, that the ARPs had been hit and had taken casualties in the LZ, and now we had the aeroscout down with at least one crewman hurt.

Arriving at the scene, I made one fast pass to try to get everybody’s position on the ground. I saw Four Six (Bob Harris) and his medic working desperately over a couple of their downed soldiers. Here we go again, I thought.

As we made eye contact, Bob began making hand signals. He pointed to the northeast, touched his index and middle fingers to his eyes, then pointed again off to the northeast. That told me he saw the enemy in that direction.

When I moved off on the heading Harris had indicated, I saw the wreckage of Niner’s OH‑ 6. The aircraft was on its side, with a crumpled tail boom and all four blades gone. It was smoking but hadn’t burned on impact.

As I made one circle over the crash, I saw Vad with his pistol drawn, half dragging and half carrying Farrar. Al was still hanging onto his M‑ 60 and had a very long belt of ammunition dragging along behind him. It took more than a crash and twisted leg to separate a crew chief from his machine gun!

Wanting to make sure that they made it to cover, I stayed over Vad and Farrar until I saw a couple of ARP point men move out to escort them back into the middle of the ARP formation. Satisfied that the scout crew would be taken care of, I headed off in the direction that Four Six had indicated.

Hitting about sixty knots and flying about ten feet off the trees, I crossed over a tree line not far from the LZ. Immediately I began to draw heavy automatic weapons fire from all directions. The rounds coming up at me were from both. 30‑ and. 50‑ caliber enemy weapons, probably positioned in bunkers. My airspeed, and the fact that the gunners weren’t leading me enough, kept me from taking any hits, however.

Parker opened up with his M‑ 60, spraying the general area. I didn’t ask him to check his fire, but I did remind him to be very careful, since we had a lot of friendlies down there.

After about three orbits, we spotted the LRRP unit huddled together at the base of a large tree. It looked as if three of the men had been hit. There was a small open area nearby, but it wasn’t big enough for a rescue aircraft.

One of the soldiers had a radio in his hand but was apparently talking on a frequency I didn’t have. I got off a quick call to Sinor, asking him to find out the FM push that the LRRP team was using. He was back to me right away, and I immediately called them.

“Ranger, Ranger, this is Darkhorse One Six. How do you hear? ”

Normally those LRRP guys were pretty cool and collected over the radio, but this soldier was fairly screaming. “Roger, roger, Darkhorse! I’ve got you. I see you. Can you see the enemy? They’re everywhere! They’re all around us. You gotta get us out of here fast! ”

“OK, Ranger, sit tight. I’ve got an infantry platoon on the ground about eight hundred yards to your southwest and they’re moving toward you. ”

“Negative! Negative! ” he shouted. “There are more enemy troops in here than that. They’re company force… company plus. It’s gonna take more than a platoon. Do you copy? ”

“I roger that, Ranger, but you’ve got more than just any platoon to help you out. You’ve got the Darkhorse ARPs. Do you copy? ”

Everybody in the 1 st Division knew and respected the aerorifle platoon. It was made up of select infantrymen from all over the division who had distinguished themselves in combat and had volunteered for the ARPs. This multiskilled, multifaceted group of twenty‑ eight young men really knew their business.

The LRRP leader immediately understood that I wasn’t just bullshitting him. “I copy, Darkhorse ARP platoon. So get us the hell out of here. We’ve got wounded. We need a doc for our wounded. ”

I rogered, “There’s a medic on the ground. Sit tight where you are. The ARPs are moving toward you from your sierra whiskey, so control your fire to the southwest. Now give me a target for the gunships to hit. ”

“That’s a roger, Darkhorse, ” he answered, “controlling fire to sierra whiskey. Can you see my cardinal direction for the ground fire… in this direction fifty to seventy‑ five meters? We’re taking heavy. 30‑ and. 50‑ caliber machine‑ gun fire from bunkers. Can you get on them? ”

“OK, Ranger. Can you give me a smoke? ”

“Roger, Darkhorse… stand by. ”

A second later I saw the flash of the grenade fuse going off, then a puff of purple smoke. “OK, Darkhorse, smoke’s out. Do you identify? ”

I answered, “That’s affirmative… I’ve got grape. ”

“Roger, Darkhorse, grape smoke is out. Enemy target from the smoke is fifty meters my direction… enemy bunkers. Give ‘em hell! ”

By this time, we had three Cobras over the contact area: Sinor (Three One), Koranda (Three Nine), and Carriss (Three Eight).

“OK, guys, ” I came up to the guns. “LRRPs are pinned down by bunker fire. Grape smoke is out just north of the LRRP position. In trail, make your runs east to west with a south break… a left break. LRRPs are going to be danger close… watch your rocks and keep impact twenty to thirty meters north of smoke. ”

Sinor acknowledged for the Cobras, “Roger, One Six. East to west run with south break. You cover the ARPs while we get busy. Inbound hot… now! ”

The Cobras made three firing passes, expending about twenty rockets. They put their rocks right on the money, and probably not more than forty to fifty feet to the LRRPs’ front.

Seeing that the gunships had temporarily taken the heat off the LRRPs’ position, I went back for a pass over the ARPs to see how they were doing. “Four Six, this is One Six. Snakes have got Charlie off Ranger’s back for a minute. Have instructed Ranger to control fires to sierra whiskey your direction. Now, how are you doing? ”

“Not good, ” Harris came back, “not good at all, One Six. I’ve got two men hit bad and down, and another not so bad. We need to medevac these people so we can move on up to our friendlies. Can you get a Dustoff in here? ”

I immediately radioed Sinor, who was just back to altitude after hosing down the enemy bunkers. “OK, Three‑ One, good rocks, good rocks. But right now Four Six has got three badly wounded. He needs a medevac before he can move up to the LRRP team. Get me a Dustoff in here as quick as you can.

“Also, Three One, ” I continued, “get hold of One Seven, who’s on his way out here right now, and have him link up with Dustoff and escort the Huey into the LZ where the ARPs are down. ”

In just a few minutes my radio told me that Dustoff was inbound with Willis leading the way. I turned and saw the medevac Huey on short final with One Seven breaking over the LZ ahead. They had made good time.

While Dustoff was loading the ARP wounded, I briefed Willis on the LRRP position and enemy bunker locations. “All right, One Seven, ” I told Rod, “come on around and get on my tail. And for God’s sake try for a change to not get your Texas ass shot out of the sky, OK? ”

“That’s one big roger, One Six, ” Willis drawled. “I am on your tail, pardner! ”

We orbited the LRRP team position and found them all OK after the Cobra runs. In fact, they were looking up and smiling at us, indicating that they were not taking any more bunker fire.

I told Ranger that Dustoff was picking up the ARP wounded and would be right back to get his. All he had to do was sit tight until the aerorifle platoon got up to him with their medic. Then we’d pull them all back to the LZ for extraction. This all went like clockwork.

Just to be sure the enemy bunkers were out of business, the Sidewinder FAC was then called in. It wasn’t long before he had fast movers on the target to massage the bunker complex with their hot stuff. Our work was done.

Not many missions involved the entire troop, but this was certainly one of them. Every available Darkhorse scout, gunship, and slick had been brought into action. Fine‑ tuned coordination and esprit de corps was typical of D Troop people–it was always there, in all our operations day in and day out. But it was especially keen when ground guys were in a tight spot and committed to a firefight. Or when an aircrew was down. These were high‑ priority situations.

Only a week later another Darkhorse aircrew was shot down by Charlie’s heavy automatic weapons fire and ended up down and stranded. Only this time it was a Cobra gunship and not a Loach.

The OH‑ 6 was the usual victim of enemy ground fire because we flew right down on the deck, and slow enough to make a juicy target. The Cobras were usually high, fast, and heavily armed, so getting shot down by enemy ground fire was not their greatest worry.

On 18 August, Dean Sinor (Three One) and I took off on a routine VR mission up over the Saigon River near the northwestern corner of the Iron Triangle. Larry Kauffman, a hootch mate of mine, was Sinor’s front‑ seater in the Cobra. Jim Parker was my crew chief.

As a flight of two we rolled out of Phu Loi at first light, bound for the areas known as the Coliseum, the Onion, and the Onion Stem, located between the Michelin rubber plantation in the north and the Iron Triangle in the south. Reaching station, we started in the north near the edge of the Michelin and scouted in east‑ west legs on south down to the Mushroom and the Saigon River. Other than an occasional bunker and a few trails showing relatively fresh traffic, we didn’t see anything unusual or make any enemy contact.

We intentionally did not fly any farther south than the river because the Saigon was the boundary line between the operational areas of the 1st and 25th Divisions. Everything west of the Saigon belonged to the 25th; everything east to the 1st. About the only thing that operated back and forth over the river between the two divisions was artillery. Many times 1st Division artillery fire was coordinated at unfriendlies on the 25th side of the river, and vice versa.

As we finished our VR and got ready to head back to Phu Loi, Sinor ran his procedural radio check to see if any friendly artillery was firing near our route of flight back home. He found out that artillery was being fired south out of Lai Khe in 1st Division O A, as well as rounds coming north out of the 25th Division base at Cu Chi, right through our route of return.

Sinor came up to me on the radio. “One Six, we’ve got an arty problem going home. We’ll either have to take the long way back to papa lima or go lima lima to Dogleg. ” That is, we could either fly all the way around the artillery that was crossing our return flight path, or we could drop down to low level (lima lima) and fly all the way back on the deck to Dogleg Village, which was the IP (initial point) for the northern approach into Phu Loi.

We decided to take the short route. Though it was unusual for a Cobra to spend much time traveling down low, it wasn’t any big deal for a scout. We did it every day for a living.

Kauffman checked his maps and plotted a heading of one two zero degrees. The course would take us straight south and east across the heart of the Iron Triangle, over the Saigon River at Phu Cuong, north to Dogleg Village, and then the short descent south into Phu Loi.

We dropped down out of altitude, took up one two zero, and began zipping along at about a hundred knots. Though fairly fast for the Loach, that speed was kind of lumbering along for the Cobra.

We were in trail with me leading and running about twenty to thirty feet off the ground. Since we hadn’t worked this particular area, we flew with guns hot and everybody watching. With big bird in tow, we were being especially cautious.

It couldn’t have been more than three to four minutes later when I looked down at the ground and was shocked to see troops below in contact! U. S. ground pounders were running through the marshy terrain and firing their weapons in the same direction.

As I passed over the American soldiers, I saw what they were shooting at. Coming up under my nose were twenty to thirty VC slogging through the mud and firing their AK‑ 47s like crazy back at the Americans.

I hit the mike button for Sinor and yelled, “Three One, break right, break right now! I got gooks under me. Get the hell out of here! ”

As I spoke, I slammed hard right pedal and jerked the cyclic to whip the Loach up and away from the danger zone, hoping that Sinor’s Cobra would be right behind me.

At the same moment, Sinor shouted, “Three One’s taking hits. I’m taking hits. We’re hit! ”

Still in my hard right turn, I looked around and saw Sinor veer off slightly to the left, then back to the right. I hoped nothing serious was wrong. Sinor was out of his element–actually hearing ground fire and seeing the people who were shooting. Maybe he was just over‑ reacting.

No such luck. “One Six, they got my hydraulics. I’ve lost my hydraulics and I’ve got to put it down! ”

I swung around behind him and got on his right wing. We would have to find a place fast to put her down before Sinor lost his accumulator auxiliary. When something caused hydraulic fluid to escape the aircraft’s system, an emergency accumulator provided a small reservoir of fluid, which permitted some movement of the aircraft’s hydraulic controls. But that emergency fluid was soon pumped right out the same hole in the lines that caused the initial loss. Sinor had to get his aircraft down before he lost complete control of his ship.

From my position on his right wing, I could see Sinor and Kauffman in the snake’s cockpit wrestling with the now‑ hardening controls. In his struggle to help fly the aircraft, Kauffman had dropped his map and wasn’t able to pinpoint a grid of our location. Well, I thought, I’ll figure that out later.

Suddenly I saw a clearing ahead that looked big enough for the Cobra. The ground looked wet and soggy, and there was a tree or two, but otherwise it was OK, considering our state of affairs.

I circled around off Sinor’s wing and keyed the mike. “All right, Dino, there’s the clearing. I’ve got you covered. Go ahead and put her down. Watch the tree… watch your tail to the right, you’ve got a tree. ”

Three One powered the big bird down into a controlled landing. He must have used the last drop of fluid in his system before the accumulator locked up. I started breathing again.

I circled close above as Sinor cut emergency power and fuel switches and the rotors began to wind down. The aircraft, other than the skids being stuck down halfway in the mud, looked in pretty good shape. And the crew was OK; I saw both men unbuckle and throw open their individual canopies.

Kauffman exited on the left side with his CAR‑ 15 in hand. He ran around the nose of the ship to Sinor, who was just jumping out on the right. The two men crawled underneath the ship’s right rocket pod. Kauffman was down on all fours, getting his CAR‑ 15 into firing position.

I couldn’t believe where they had taken up their defensive position. The Cobra’s fuel cell, containing probably three hundred to four hundred gallons of JP‑ 4, was right over their heads. In addition, there were the two rocket pods, one on each wing, still full of thirty‑ eight 2. 75‑ inch explosive rocket rounds. What a place to be with the possibility of somebody shooting at you!

As I looked down again, I noticed that Sinor was doing something funny with his right arm, kind of shaking it with short, choppy jerks. It looked as though something had happened to his arm or hand, probably when he put down the ship.

My speculation was interrupted by Kauffman, who had gotten his PRC‑ 10 radio out of his emergency vest and was talking into it. “One Six, One Six. ” His voice was a bit shaky. “Are you there? Can you hear me, One Six? I’m on Guard freq. Come in, One Six! ”

“I’m here, ” I answered. “I’m circling just to your sierra echo. Is Three One all right? Looks to me like he’s hurt. Did he injure his hand or arm? ”

“Nope, he’s not hurt, One Six. He’s just got his pistol caught in his sock and can’t get it out. ”

Cobra pilots seldom had reason to use their personal weapons when they flew, so they carried their sidearm in their shoulder holster, wrapped in a sock. They’d clean, oil, and load the weapon (usually a Model 10, 4‑ inch barrel Smith and Wesson revolver) and stick it into a sock to keep out dust and dirt. It worked well except when the knot in the top of the sock pulled tight and the weapon wouldn’t come out.

With Sinor jerking away, Kauffman continued to set up a defensive firing position under the right wing of the Cobra–with thousands of pounds of fuel and ordnance over his head. I radioed again.

“OK, Larry, you and Dino get the hell away from that wing and move down to the tail of the aircraft where you won’t have all that JP‑ 4 and ammo on top of you. I’m going to sweep around the area and find out where Charlie is, then see what I can do about getting somebody to get you guys out of here. Sit tight for now. ”

I keyed Parker on the intercom. “Jimbo, get ready back there. We’ve gotta keep the bad guys from coming down this way and messin’ up the rest of Sinor and Kauffman’s day. I don’t have a push on the friendlies up here, but I imagine they’re 25th Division on this west side of the river. Watch out for them if you have to shoot. ”

I pointed the bird straight north from the downed Cobra and almost immediately began taking heavy AK‑ 47 fire. I heard hits in the fuselage and the tail boom area.

“Sir, ” Parker yelled, “we’re catching it but I can’t see them! And I can’t shoot because of the friendlies! ”

My God, I thought, those gooks can’t be more than seventy‑ five to a hundred meters away from Sinor. I whipped the Loach around in a sharp 180‑ degree turn to get back on top of the Cobra. I could see Sinor and Kauffman huddled underneath the tail boom, looking north, where they must have heard the AKs open up on me.

Their faces showed their predicament. They looked alone and scared. The airborne power, speed, and heavy armament of their AH‑ 1G gunship was gone. Sinor and Kauffman were on the ground, with nothing more than a rifle and a revolver (maybe still stuck in its sock) to try to ward off an enemy that had obviously seen the Cobra go down.

Having been in similar circumstances, I knew what they were feeling. Every nerve ending in your body flashed red hot, then ice cold, feeling like thousands of little pins repeatedly stabbing you. Your eyes strained, trying to penetrate the dense foliage and see the soldiers whom you knew were closing in with their AKs. Tightening the clammy grip on your weapon, you breathed in short little gasps, wondering how you were going to get out of this mess.

I knew I had to get somebody in there fast to snatch these guys. It wasn’t going to be long before the VC were down on that Cobra. Sinor and Kauffman wouldn’t have a chance.

I got on the radio again to Sinor. “Three One, One Six. They’re close, Dino. Charlie’s about a hundred meters to your north front and headed your way. They may just want to hug for security, knowing we can’t shoot when they get that close in on you, but I want you to stand by while I go up on Guard to see what I can get in here to take the heat off. Stay cool. ”

Before he could roger, I went back up on Guard freq. “Break, break, any aircraft… any aircraft on Guard. This is Darkhorse One Six. I have an aircraft down at the northwest corner of the Iron T; crew is down. Any aircraft vicinity of the Iron Triangle, come up on Guard. Over. ”

A voice came right back at me. I recognized it immediately as one of our Darkhorse snake drivers, Paul Fishman (Three Four). He had been working farther up north that day with scout Bob Davis.

“I got you, One Six, ” he said. “This is Three Four up on Guard. Where are you? ”

“Good to hear your voice, Three Four, ” I answered. “I’ve got trouble. Three One is down. Crew is OK for now but they’re in close vicinity to a contact between U. S. and Victor Charlie located about a hundred to a hundred and fifty meters north of their position. ”

“I don’t have a grid, ” I continued, “but I’m at the northwest corner of the Iron Triangle, about two, check that… about six klicks south of fire base Tennessee, near fire support base Aachen. Do you copy my location, Three Four? ”

“Good copy, One Six, ” Fishman came back. “We have your approximate location. We’re up in the vicinity of Thunder III right now. We’re going to start your way. Where are you in relation to Highway 14, One Six? ” I tried to relay our position via landmarks.

“Roger, One Six, ” Fishman came back, “I got you covered. We’re on the way, balls to the wall! ”

“One more thing, Three Four, I’m lima lima and too low to make radio contact with the troop. Can you get hold of troop ops and scramble the ARPs? We need help up here fast before Charlie overruns Sinor and Kauffman. ”

“Roger that, One Six. We’re en route and I’m scrambling the ARPs. Hang in there! ”

Then my Guard freq crackled again, only this time in a deep Australian accent. “Hello there, Darkhorse One Six, this is Sidewinder One Five, your friendly neighborhood FAC. I hear you’ve got trouble, Matie. I’m just coming off Dau Tieng with a full load of Willie Pete and guns on board. Can I be of any assistance? ”

“Yep, you sure as hell can, Sidewinder, ” I answered the forward air controller in his OV‑ 10. “We’ve got a helicopter and aircrew down danger close to a VC contact. We may have to do a RESCAP. You got any fast movers you can haul in here to put a cap on this thing? ”

“Well, I don’t know, mate. I’m just getting off and haven’t checked in with my control yet. Stand by while I query. Meantime, I’m en route. ”

Then I heard Fishman go up on UHF to troop ops. “Darkhorse Three, this is Three Four… in the vicinity of Quan Loi with a message from One Six. Darkhorse Three One has been shot down in the area of grid X‑ Ray Tango 660290. Crew is down near heavy contact between VC and 25th Division troops. Need to extract immediately before Cobra crew is overrun. Scramble the ARPs. Scramble gun teams 1 and 2. I’m en route and moving out ahead of my scout to make contact. ”

While I waited, I mentally reviewed the situation. Sidewinder was on the way from Dau Tieng and was working on RESCAP. Three Four was on his way from Quan Loi, and scramble teams would soon be underway from Phu Loi. If only any one or all could make it to the crash scene before Charlie got on top of Sinor and Kauffman. This would be close!

The Australian came back up on the Guard emergency frequency and I heard him call in the blind: “This is Sidewinder One Five off of Dau Tieng at one zero past the hour. A U. S. helicopter and crew are down. Who can help me on a RESCAP operation? ”

I overheard a series of transmissions back to Sidewinder offering help. A flight of four VNAF (Vietnamese Air Force) A‑ 37 Dragon‑ flies in the area northwest of Saigon was diverting, a flight of four A‑ 7 U. S. Navy aircraft operating somewhere to the northeast was en route, a flight of F‑ 4 U. S. Air Force fighter‑ bombers operating up on the Cambodian border near the Fishhook was called in, and a flight of Spads, or Vietnamese Air Force A‑ Is, was diverted from down south around VC Island.

Sidewinder logged in the transmissions from the reporting flights and assigned them to various altitudes over the contact area. Knowing the basic characteristics and capabilities of each type of aircraft, Sidewinder stacked the flights according to which planes could stay longer and which had to do their thing fast and get out of the pattern. As cool as a cucumber, the Australian sequenced and layered all the air support over the contact point so that he could use each type of aircraft to its fullest capability. I had to hand it to him… he bloody well knew his business.

As all this was going on, I maintained a tight circle pattern over Sinor and Kauffman. For their own peace of mind, I wanted them to know that I was overhead and keeping an eye peeled for any sign that the bad guys were getting closer to their downed Cobra.

I really couldn’t see what the VC were doing, however, so I decided to make a run up to the last contact point and check out the situation. I radioed Sinor. “Get your heads down and keep ‘em down, you guys. I’m going to spread out my circles, see where the contact is, and try to find the U. S. troops. Be back in a minute. ”

In less than two orbits I saw the ground fight. The VC were withdrawing and moving south rapidly in the direction of Sinor and Kauffman. I also caught a glimpse of another VC force of about fifteen men south of the leading VC element. They looked as though they were trying to swing around and come up in back of the downed Cobra.

I keyed the intercom. “Get on ‘em, Jimbo. Fire at will. If you can identify the target, fire at will. ”

It was difficult to distinguish between VC and U. S. troops because they were so intermingled on the ground. But I immediately began to hear Parker’s M‑ 60 open up in long bursts, and black shirts began falling. He would knock one VC down and without even releasing the trigger go on to another target and put him down.

“Keep stickin’ ‘em, Jimbo! ” I yelled into the intercom. But I knew that nothing we could do from our bird would stem the tide of those VC. They were dodging, firing back at their pursuers, and running directly toward Sinor and Kauffman.

I flipped my radio over to Uniform and called Fishman. “Hey, Three Four, this is One Six. How you doin’, man? We’re in deep shit down here. How you doin’? ”

“OK, One Six, ” Fishman answered. “I’ve left my scout behind to catch up when he can. I’m hauling ass, coming up on Chon Thanh now. ”

“Hurry! ” I shot back. “I’m scared we aren’t gonna make it. I’ve got VC closing in on Thirty‑ one from their front and possibly their flank. We can’t hold ‘em off, and if somebody doesn’t get here damned soon I’m not sure we can get the crew out. ”

“How about the friendlies on the ground? Can they get to the crew before the bad guys do? ”

“Negative… negative, ” I answered. “No way can our guys leapfrog the VC and make it to Sinor first. Besides, I’m not even sure that the 25th people know we’ve got a ship down, although they should have seen Three One going down, and sure as hell should have seen our little bird flying around up here. What’s your ETA here, Three Four? ”

“Estimate eight to ten mikes, One Six, ” Fishman answered. No way, I thought.

Just then Wayne McAdoo, lift platoon leader, reported in. “One Six, this is Two Six. I have the ARPs on board and am just clear of papa lima. Estimate fifteen to sixteen mikes your location. ”

“Two Six, One Six copies. But you better put a burr under your saddle. I’m afraid we may just lose ourselves a gun crew if we don’t shake it out. Sinor and Kauffman have got all kinds of bad guys knocking on the front door!

“Break, break, ” I kept on. “Three Four, I’m going to come up on Guard to the crew. Can you monitor? I need to tell them what’s happening and how I want them to set up for your rocket runs. ”

Then I went immediately to Kauffman. “OK, Thirty‑ one, here’s the good news. ARPs are en route and are about fourteen to fifteen mikes out. Fast movers are en route and Sidewinder will be stacking them over you as they arrive, ETA working. Three Four is en route and will be here in eight to ten mikes, but I gotta tell you that the dinks are falling back your way and are closing on you fast from the northwest. ”

“Damnit! Talk to me, One Six! ” Kauffman obviously was not happy with the report. “How close are the bad guys? ”

“Well, the bad news is that I’m beginning to take some random ground fire from Charlie now on the November edge of my orbits over you. They’re close, maybe forty to fifty meters to your front. They’re getting chased toward you by the 25th. ”

“OK, OK, One Six, ” Kauffman replied. “If it looks that bad, why don’t you come in and get us? Land and pick us up in the Loach. ”

“Look, ” I came back, “if I have to do that, I will. But I’d rather stay up here and try to keep Charlie off your backs until we can get some help in here. ”

Worry showed in Kauffman’s voice when he answered. “We roger that, One Six, but we aren’t having any fun down here. Sinor’s finally got his piece out of his sock… if that doesn’t hold ‘em off, maybe it’ll scare ‘em to death. ”

“Listen, here’s what I want you to do. I need you to move away from the aircraft a little to your rear and get yourselves flat on the ground. Get your butts in defilade because when Three Four comes in here, I’m not even going to bring him around for a look‑ see pass. Fm gonna have him lay some rocks square between you and the bad guys, right from his in‑ bound run. ”

Kauffman really sounded worried now. “How’s Three Four gonna see where we are? We could end up with his rocks right in our laps! ”

“Relax, Larry, don’t worry so much, ” I consoled. Kauffman had just recently lost a wad of money in a hootch poker game bluff, so I needled him. “I wouldn’t dare let the dinks or a few little 2. 75 rockets take down a poker player as good as you. ”

“Fuck you, too, ” Kauffman said, but at least he chuckled.

I keyed the UHF to Fishman. “Three Four, we aren’t gonna make it. The way it looks, you’re going to get in here about the same time as the bad guys. I’m going to swing around to the north and try to work on the dinks with the M‑ 60 and my minigun. Maybe I can persuade some of the little folks that they don’t want to come down on our crew. ”

“OK, One Six, ” Fishman acknowledged. “I’m pulling max power. ”

“I won’t be able to hold ‘em long with my firepower, so just as soon as you can see our general area, holler and I’ll throw out some smoke. I’ll put out two smokes and I’ll want you to lay rocks in between the two markers for protective fire to the crew. ” I knew that he’d be on the scene as fast as he could. He was probably pulling 130 to 140 knots in a fully loaded heavy hog.

I continued to fly right‑ hand orbits over the downed Cobra. Every second or third circle, I swept out north where I could hear the sound of ground fire over the whine and chop of my Loach engine. Each time I came around over the enemy, Parker opened up with his M‑ 60, and a couple of bad guys would drop. I couldn’t line up a minigun shot because I couldn’t be quite as selective with that weapon and there were too many friendlies down there.

Those 25th Division guys must have wondered just who that little scout ship was and why it kept swooping in, killing a few enemy troops and then swooping out again. They probably still didn’t realize that a downed Cobra with a grounded crew was out there just to their immediate front.

As I looked down, though, it was evident that the VC were falling back fast. They may not have known either that a Cobra was down. Other than throwing a few potshots up at me, they were obviously most concerned with covering their own asses from behind. The U. S. troops were hot on their heels.

This is it, I thought as I watched the firefight below. No way will the ARPs get here in time to cover Sinor and Kauffman before the dinks are down on them.

I keyed the intercom. “We’re out of time, Jimbo. I’m going to swing around to land and pick up the crew. ”

Without a sign of reluctance, Parker came right back. “OK, Lieutenant, I’m set, but it’s going to overload the hell out of us. We haven’t used up much ammo or fuel. ”

Parker was right. Every time we took a scout bird off the ground, we were at or over max gross weight because of all the fuel and ammo we crammed aboard. We never knew what we would be flying into, so we wanted to be able to scout and fight as long as possible.

“I know, ” I answered Parker. “We’ll be putting another four hundred pounds in here with those two guys plus their weapons and body armor. We’ll just have to dump everything out the door that we can get along without, and then hope to hell that the Loach will get us up out of there! ”

Just as I was pulling around to go back and land, my radio snapped to life. “All right, One Six, this is Three Four. I’m just coming up on being able to observe your general area. Get your smoke out so I can shoot. ”

I touched my radio transmit button twice to let Paul know that I acknowledged. Then I pulled the Loach around in a sweeping right‑ hand turn. I keyed Parker again. “Get me a red… correction, get me two red smokes ready. We’re going to mark the limits for Three Four’s rocks. ”

Parker pulled two red smoke grenades off the bulkhead in front of him, pulled the pin on both, and held them straight out the cabin door. He threw one straight down on my command. “Now! ” I shouted again, and he threw the second grenade straight down, marking each edge of a north‑ south corridor where I wanted Three Four to aim his rockets.

With the second smoke out, I broke right, then another hard right in order to cross back over the enemy‑ occupied corridor. Fishman’s Cobra was still nowhere in sight, so I went back up on UHF. “Three Four, One Six. Smoke’s out. It’s right on top of the enemy. Give me rocks between the two red smokes. South edge of the corridor is the little clearing where the crew is down. You’ll be danger close to them. Shoot between the smokes on your approach out of the north as soon as you can. ”

Three Four rogered and I circled back south to take up an orbit just beyond Sinor and Kauffman. Just on the horizon was Fishman’s Cobra, a single snake with puffs of smoke beginning to erupt from the rocket pods beneath its wings. Pairs of Three Four’s rocks slammed down right between the two red smokes and into the men withdrawing down the corridor.

Fishman broke out of his run, and I quickly circled back over the corridor to see if his 2. 75s had slowed Charlie down. As the smoke and debris cleared, I saw that Three Four’s rockets had killed about half of the enemy force. A few of the survivors looked dazed, but the rest were running in a frenzy toward the crew.

Just then my Guard frequency came back alive with Kauffman’s shouts: “Here they come, One Six! We can see ‘em… we can see the little bastards coming! We’re going to get the hell out of here while we can! ”

“Negative… negative… stand by, Three One, ” I shot back. “I’m coming in to get you. Be ready to jump on board… I’m coming in. ”

Then I let Fishman know my plan. “Your rocks were good, Three Four, but we’re in deep shit down here. The Indians are closing in. I’m going to get the crew. I’ve got no choice… I’m going in to pick ‘em up. ”

“OK, One Six, ” Paul came back. “I got you covered. How are you going in? ”

“From east to west, ” I answered as I pulled the OH‑ 6 around, “and I’ll make a south break after I take the crew aboard. Keep Charlie occupied by putting a few more rocks in his way. Put ‘em same place as last time, only come on down south about forty meters. Don’t give us a haircut. We’ll be danger close, danger close! ”

Fishman swept around to set up another run on the corridor as I decelerated and started to put down. “Are you ready, Jimbo? ”

“Ready, sir, ” he came back in his steady, impassive voice.

I picked my spot and began to settle down right beside Sinor and Kauffman’s Cobra. As I was nearing touchdown, I heard Fishman’s second round of rockets impacting about thirty to forty meters away. Then came the sound of shrapnel zinging through the air all around my ship. Fortunately, none of it caught us or the crew, who by then were crouched down, waiting to jump aboard.

My skids reached the ground and I waved to the two pilots. Big smiles slashed across their faces as they sprang toward the Loach and piled in–Sinor in the back with Parker, Kauffman squeezing over the mini‑ gun and into the front left seat.

As the two jumped aboard, I felt the ship sag. They were both two‑ hundred‑ pound guys with their chicken plate on, and the little OH‑ 6 groaned under the new weight. I really didn’t appreciate just how much we were over max gross weight until I felt the bird begin to settle.

I looked out my door at the landing gear and my gut tightened into a square knot as I watched the Loach’s skids spread and slowly sink about a foot down into the soft, marshy ground.

“Son of a bitch! ” I cursed. Everybody aboard looked at me as if to say, Well, what the hell do we do now? Good thing Fishman’s second rocket pass had slowed the VC or they would have been all over us by that time.

I pulled up hard on the collective, knowing that I’d need a surge of power to get off the ground. To my horror, nothing happened. The Loach seemed stuck solid in a foot of mud.

“Come on, baby, ” I coaxed. “Get us out of here. Please get us out of here! ”

I pulled on more power. The rotors thundered. The ship vibrated. The engine tachometer climbed rapidly to 103… 104… then through 105 to near 107 percent. She was at max power, but the bird still didn’t move… not a damned inch.

I punched the intercom and yelled at Parker. “Dump everything! Throw everything out you can, because we aren’t gonna make it otherwise! ”

He reached over and broke off his M‑ 60 ammo belt, then kicked his nearly full ammunition box out the cabin door. Sinor and Kauffman ripped off their chicken plates and threw them out on the ground beside the ship. But it didn’t help. We were still stuck.

I tore my eyes off the instruments long enough to see that Three Four had finished his second firing run and was headed out. By then the enemy troops had recovered from Paul’s last rocket rounds and were rushing toward us. We could see them coming at us. But we couldn’t shoot. My minigun was pointed in the wrong direction, and we’d just thrown Parker’s M‑ 60 ammo overboard.

I looked back at the instruments. Everything was passing through the yellow arcs and climbing toward the red lines. Screw it! If I don’t get this bird out of here now, I ain’t gonna get it out of here… ever! I applied all the collective that was left, beyond the governor and as high as it would go, then started pushing the cyclic stick forward and back. Maybe rocking the skids back and forth lengthwise would dislodge them.

Pilots are very sensitive about not exceeding the operating limits of an aircraft. So I felt the pricks of hot sweat stab my face when I looked back at the instruments and saw that my gauges were no longer in the yellow arc. They were in the red. Not just in the red–the needles were hard up against the red pegs. I didn’t know what was keeping the OH‑ 6 engine from blowing itself up.

As I pulled up harder on the collective, I sensed that the aircraft might have moved up a slight bit. I continued rocking the cyclic, pleading, “For God’s sake, hold together engine. Don’t quit on me now. Please… please get us out of here! ”

Suddenly I heard a loud, slurping, suction* sound. Then all at once the ship broke loose and popped out of the mud. Under all that power, it literally catapulted fifty to sixty feet in the air, as though we had been shot out of a cannon.

“We’re out! ” I yelled. I kicked hard left pedal and yanked the cyclic over. Responding instantly, the bird went into a tight climbing left‑ hand turn to put my tail to the enemy.

Grins broke out all around. Kauffman reached over and gave me a grateful swat on the helmet. “Hey, man… all right! We did it… we’re out! ”

We all looked back at the little clearing where we had been just seconds before. Charlie had overrun the spot and his AK rounds trailed us as we squirted away.

Thinking that he had successfully cheated the hangman, Kauffman added his personal gesture of triumph to the moment. He leaned out the door, presented a stiff middle finger to the enemy, and yelled, “And fuck you, too! ”

The brief celebration ended for me as I lowered the power on the engine and saw that my torque and TOT needles were still tight against the red pegs. That told me for sure. I had flat‑ out lunched the engine. God only knew how much power I was pulling when the OH‑ 6A finally popped loose and lifted out of the mud. The army allowed you to operate–if necessary–up to thirty minutes in the yellow arc. But even in an emergency, the pilot was never to exceed five to ten seconds with indicators in the red. I wondered what the army would do to a pilot who had destroyed a $20, 000 engine.

To hell with that, I thought. The amazing thing was that we were out of there, and the engine was still running, still carrying four heavy people back home to Phu Loi. And with the needles still in the red.

When everybody was home safe and sound, we learned that Two Six had put the ARPs down in the contact area and secured Sinor’s airplane. Sidewinder had put in the fast movers, planting a lot of heavy ordnance on Charlie, chasing him out of the area. Pipe Smoke then went in and lifted out Sinor’s crippled bird.

The Hughes tech rep examined my OH‑ 6 with a fine‑ toothed comb, and he couldn’t believe what he found under the engine cowling doors. Every piece of machinery in the hot end of the engine was burned to a crisp! He couldn’t figure out how that engine continued to run without blowing up. Neither could I.

But it took Kauffman to provide the last word for the day. He came over to talk to me after we had set down at home plate. “Well, god‑ damnit, One Six, one thing you can be sure about. It’ll be a long cold day in hell before I ever fly around lima lima again behind a friggin’ scout ship! ”

^{CHAPTER 11}