BUT ROD WAS ROD

The rest of September passed in a blur. It was one of the hottest months we had in terms of flying hours and sustained enemy activity. The scout platoon was shorthanded because of the casualties we had taken. The rest of us flew more hours to make up the difference. I logged more than 138 combat flying hours in September, and the other scouts did much the same. It was a hectic and tiring pace.

October started out the same way. I ended up taking a few days off, however, during the first part of the month, but not because I planned it that way.

On 2 October, Rod Willis and I were working the early morning VRs out of Dau Tieng. We flew two hunter‑ killer teams up to Delta Tango, then took turns reconning the area around the western Trapezoid.

Willis (One Seven) was up first and started his VR along the east bank of the Saigon River heading south out of Dau Tieng. I stayed on the pad monitoring his radio transmissions and waiting for my turn to relieve him on station.

It wasn’t long before I heard that Willis had picked up some fish traps in a little tributary (Suoi Don) that headed off north and east of the Big Blue about three kilometers above our FSB Kien. Spotting the fish traps, Rod pulled in over the riverbank adjacent to them to see if there were footprints around. There were prints of sandals around the bank, and a trail showing recent moderate traffic. Dropping down to a couple of feet above the trail, One Seven determined that the latest foot tracks led away from the river and off through the jungle.

Willis followed the foot trail for four to five klicks into the jungle, where he discovered that it ended in the middle of an NVA base camp. He could see the outlines of the bunkers, the freshly washed clothes hanging on lines, the equipment and weapons leaning against trees. If those clues didn’t tell One Seven that the base camp was occupied, the bursts of enemy ground fire that suddenly erupted were conclusive.

The instant I heard Willis yell to his gun that he was taking fire, I cranked, took off out of Dau Tieng with my gun (Mike Woods–Three Five), and headed to the point of contact. It was less than ten kilometers down to where Willis was. I stayed down on top of the trees to get there fast.

About halfway to the point of contact, I called One Seven on Uniform to ask him what he had run into.

Willis answered, “I followed a foot trail up from the Big Blue and found myself in the middle of a hot NVA base camp. Several of the little sons a bitches tried to didi out the back door, and we got a couple of them with the door gun. Now they’re holed up in their bunkers and I’ve got Taxi on the way to blast ‘em out. ” Taxi was an armored group out of FSB Kien. “They’re about three hundred yards out now. In the meantime, I’m taking a heavy load of ground fire. ”

“Have you got anybody out in the open now, One Seven? ” I asked.

“That’s a negative. They’re all in the bunkers. I’m trying to blast ‘em out, but my minigun just jammed and I can’t shoot. I’ve got to break station for Delta Tango and get my minigun cleared. ”

A few seconds later I was on the scene, fell in on One Seven, and hit the radio again. “OK, One Seven, One Six is on your tail. What you got? ”

“They’re getting a little skittish down there, ” Rod said. “They can hear the armor coming and know they’re going to get their asses blown off, so they’re trying to knock the scout down to cut off our observation and keep us from guiding the armor guys in. ”

“That’s a roger, ” I came back. “I’ll try to keep their heads down while you go back to Delta Tango and get your minigun unjammed. ”

Rod peeled off and I went into the bunker area in a slow hover to see if I could catch anybody in the open. Nothing doing. Not a soul showed his face as I made several slow passes with the mini and door guns blazing. Apparently Charlie felt safer at the moment in the bunker.

“Screw this, Jimbo, ” I finally said to my crew chief. “Heat me up a CS. We’ll try and pop a gas down their chimney. ”

Parker pulled the pin on a gas grenade and held it out the door as I skidded to a low‑ level quick stop over one of the bunkers. Just as I slid over the bunker entryway, Parker released the gas canister. “Well, I’ll be damned–bull’s‑ eye! ” I hollered. Parker had pitched the gas canister squarely down into the bunker entrance.

Knowing that this would really piss off the bad guys, I immediately swung wide. I wanted to come around again for a minigun pass to dispatch anybody who stuck his head out for a breath of fresh air.

As I came back into the bunker area for the gun run, I miscalculated the wind direction and flew through some of the CS gas grenade residue. Parker and I both got our eyes full. Catching a snoot full of our own gas happened once in awhile, so I knew what to do. I kicked left pedal and swung the cyclic to the right rear to throw the Loach out of trim. That brought the nose left and immediately forced slipstream air into the right side of the aircraft. Then I leaned out my door and let the rushing air blow the gas out of my eyes.

That got rid of the gas all right, but it also took my eyes off the enemy bunker for just a fleeting second. That’s all it took for Charlie to pop up out of his hole and let go with an AK‑ 47.

I heard the rounds leave the muzzle, then heard the bullets ripping into the helicopter’s fuselage. Parker’s M‑ 60 hammered back a reply.

At the same time, there was blinding pain in my head and for an instant my vision exploded into orange. I felt a slamming impact to my body, and then a strange numbness below my waist.

“God! ” I gasped. I looked down at my body and couldn’t see my right leg. My first, horrible impression was that my leg had been shot off at the knee. But I didn’t see any blood.

Shock, pain, and confusion tore at me. I was trying desperately to control the helicopter and keep away from the ground fire that was still coming up at us from the enemy bunker.

I stole another look down in an effort to get my throbbing brain to acknowledge the fact that one of my legs had just been blown away. Is this the way this war is gonna end for me? I thought.

Suddenly it dawned on me that most of the pain that was surging through me seemed to be coming from the heel of my right foot. I cradled the collective under my left knee, grabbed the cyclic with my left hand, and used the other hand to investigate my leg. I patted my right thigh and knee, then rubbed my hand over my lower leg. I still had it! It had been there all the time, bent back under me and hanging outside the aircraft on the right door frame. At altitude, I often flew with my leg hanging there.

Lifting and tugging with one hand, I managed to drag the leg back into the cockpit. I couldn’t see anything wrong, except there was no heel on my boot. Then, blood began running out of the pant leg of my flight suit and, as the wind caught it, the blood splattered on me and all over the inside of the cockpit.

Realizing I had been shot someplace, I pushed the intercom to Parker and yelled, “Jimbo, I’m hit. My leg’s screwed up! ”

“Can you fly, Lieutenant? ”

“I think so. I’m going to head for Kien and try to put ‘er down, but I just don’t know how much control I’ve got over my leg. ”

It was then that my nerve endings all realized at the same time that something had violated my body, and that they weren’t going to stand for it. The pain became almost unbearable.

A voice over the VHF radio distracted me momentarily from my agony. It was Mike Woods. “Hey, One Six, you’re wobbling a little. You OK down there? ”

“We’re OK, Three Five, ” I gasped, “but we’ve taken hits… I’m hit. I think I can make it to Kien. I think I can make it that far. ”

As I finished talking to the Cobra, I heard some rustling noises in the back cabin. Looking over my left shoulder I saw that Parker had unstrapped from his seat, unplugged his helmet, and was beginning to crawl out the left rear door of the aircraft. We were about fifty feet off the trees and doing seventy knots, and there was Parker out of the aircraft, climbing up front to get in the cockpit with me.

Fighting the rushing slipstream and holding on tightly to the ship’s door frames, Jim planted a foot on top of the minigun, then swung himself into the left front seat beside me. I wasn’t hurting so badly that I didn’t realize what a gutsy thing he had just done.

Parker quickly buckled himself to the seat and plugged in his helmet. “Can I help you on the controls? ”

“I can handle them OK, ” I said, “but my leg is hurting pretty bad and I may need some help on the pedals. ”

Jim put his hands gently down on the collective and cyclic, then positioned his feet on the pedals. He was essentially flying the airplane along with me.

Though crew chiefs were not pilots, they were familiar with the basics. They could fly the ship on a straight and level course, and could even land it in some emergency situations.

As Parker gradually took over the controls and flew on toward Kien, I used my free hands to pat over my body and try to find out exactly what had happened. With my feet now off the pedals, I felt around on my right leg and discovered that a bullet had gone completely through my calf. But that wasn’t the only place I was hurt. Blood was also beginning to puddle up in the pilot’s seat, and my backside was burning like fire.

Together, Parker and I pieced together what had happened. The enemy AK round had come up through the floor near the pedals. The bullet struck and carried away the heel of my right boot, went through the calf of my leg, and literally blew my leg to the side and out the cabin door. The round then apparently hit the fire extinguisher stowed to the right of my seat, and ricocheted up into my seat and through my thigh. Then it evidently kept going right on out of the aircraft.

We were so busy looking around the cockpit that we nearly overflew Kien. I got back on the controls to help Parker land the ship, and we set her down right at the front gate of the fire base.

I was so groggy by the time we touched down that I bypassed most of the engine shutdown procedures. I went right through the idle stop to full off on the throttle, switched off the battery, then tried to get out of the ship. But I couldn’t. All I could do was sit there in the seat that was, by that time, full of blood.

I didn’t remember him doing it, but Three Five had radioed ahead for a medevac Huey to pick me up at the fire base. It landed just shortly after Parker and I did and made immediate preparations to load me up and take me to the Second Surgical Hospital at Lai Khe.

Before that, however, I was helped over to the battalion surgeon’s tent, where they checked me over and put some bandages on my leg and backside. I just barely remember the corpsman from the medevac ship getting me aboard Dustoff before the morphine took over and the lights went out.

I phased in and out of consciousness during a brief stop at Second Surge in Lai Khe. I was awake enough to recognize the hospital building as the same place where I had watched Jim Ameigh die on the operating table. It was an ugly thought. I closed my eyes and turned my head away. Then I was back in Dustoff and headed to the field hospital in Long Binh, where I had been just a couple of weeks before to visit Bill Jones.

They kept me at Long Binh for three days. My wounds turned out to be minor–much messier than devastating. I guess I wasn’t exactly a model patient. By the third day in the hospital, I was fit to be tied. We were shorthanded in the platoon before I left. Now I knew that the scouts were having to double up on missions. With Willis running the outfit, the only thing I could think was, God help us all!

I used the landline telephone to call back to Phu Loi and ask if the troop supply ship could come down to Long Binh to get me. I was back in the platoon that same day, sporting a row of stitches in my thigh, as well as a cane to help me gimp around.

A few days later, the troop officers were invited across the runway to a party that battalion was throwing. There was a change of battalion commanders and the party had been scheduled to mark the event. The only problem was the dress–the invitation called for attendees to be in khaki uniform, and wearing all ribbons and regalia.

I hadn’t worn a set of khakis for at least ten months. Neither had most of the other guys. But, in the military, an invitation was really a polite demand that you be present, and in the uniform prescribed!

Most of us had forgotten even the basics, such as which breast pocket your name tag went over, and on which side of the collar went the rank versus the branch insignia. Or, even more perplexing, what ribbons we were entitled to wear, and in what order they were put on the uniform.

So, it was off to see troop 1st Sgt. Martin L. Laurent. The first question generally was, “Check my file, will you, Top, and see what ribbons I’m entitled to wear. ” Then, “… and what order do they go in on the rack? ”

Thank God First Sergeant Laurent was a tolerant man. Not only did he have to shepherd all the new soldiers and young NCOs, but also a troop full of young warrants and officers. In our final inspection before leaving that night for the party, I remember the first sergeant saying to one of our number, “Young warrant officer, hold on there just a minute. I can readily understand that you are duly proud of that Army Commendation Ribbon with ‘V that you’re wearing, but damnit all, son, it goes behind your Silver Star. The Silver Star ribbon goes in front! Now, will you please fix that before you go parading into the party for the battalion commander? ”

Decked out in our starched and pressed khakis, spit‑ shined low quarters, and overseas caps, we all took off across the runway to the 1st Aviation club.

We had to hand it to them, those battalion guys really knew how to throw a party. They had a floor show with Filipino performers and an open bar with plenty of booze. The place was fairly well rockin’ right along.

We had so much fun that we stayed late. At about 10: 30 or 11 P. M. we noticed that one of the majors from the battalion staff was taking a fancy to one of the female performers. That was all Rod Willis needed. He sure as hell wasn’t going to let a major get the best of him, not when it came to a member of the fairer sex. So every time the major left to get another drink or go to the restroom, Willis tried to snake this young lady. Both men were more than just a little inebriated, and we all knew that sooner or later there was going to be trouble.

The next time the major went to the John, he came back to find Willis sitting at the lady’s table with his arm snugly around her shoulder. The good major stomped back over to the table, struck a very majorly demeanor, and yelled, “What the hell do you think you’re doing? Vm talking to this lady. She didn’t invite you to this table, and you need to get the hell away from here! ”

Rod remembered, thank God, that the man was a major. So, showing unexpected and uncommon respect for the gold oak leaf on the major’s collar, Rod very politely excused himself from the young lady’s presence and walked over to the bar where I was standing.

Then the lady, evidently having had enough of the bickering, got up and left. Instead of that breaking the chain of events, her leaving served only to further infuriate the major. His face turned beet red. He clamped his hands on his hips, stomped over to Willis, and stuck a forefinger into Rod’s face. “All right, Lieutenant, ” he fumed, “I want your goddamned name and unit! ”

Rod got this shit‑ eatin’ grin on his face. He continued drinking his beer but didn’t say a word in reply.

“You’re the sorriest excuse for an officer of the United States Army that I ever saw, ” the major raved on. “Your conduct was unbecoming an officer, and an insult to every man who wears an officer’s uniform. That young lady was my girl and you shouldn’t have been messin’ around with her. Do you hear that, Lieutenant? ”

I was proud of Rod. Though he kept grinning, he didn’t say a word back to the major.

With a few more stabs of his finger into Rod’s now‑ blissful face, the major ended his tirade with the threat, “… and don’t you forget it! ” Then he stormed off, still hurling expletives over his shoulder.

With the major’s final departure, Rod let go with one of the most heinous giggles I’ve ever heard. Nothing sounded very funny to me. “For Christ sakes! ” I told him. “For a guy who just got his ass chewed out from one end to the other by a ranking battalion staff officer, I don’t understand what in the hell you’re laughing about. ”

“Well, ” Rod replied, “do you know that for the last thirty‑ five seconds that he was rantin’ and ravin’ I was actually pissin’ all over the major’s left leg, and he was so fuckin’ busy reading me off that the son of a bitch didn’t even know it! How do you like that, One Six, for a little piece of low and slow aeroscout response to an enemy action? ”

Willis had unzipped himself during the height of the staff officer’s berating diatribe, and surreptitiously urinated all over the major’s leg and shoe! I knew it would be only a matter of seconds until the good major realized what had happened. I grabbed Rod, who was still giggling and watching the wet‑ legged officer across the room. “Let’s all get the hell out of here while we can still save our skins! ”

It was so late by then that no jeeps were available to take us from the club back to the troop. But wanting to didi the area with no further delay, we started half‑ walking, half‑ staggering back across the centerline runway ramps toward our hootches.

With the amount of booze we had in our tanks, some celebrators encountered navigational difficulties and didn’t make it back to the troop at all. They were discovered the next morning sound asleep in a low spot on the tarmac runway. Thank God Phu Loi didn’t have many nighttime flight operations.

Somehow, and thank goodness, we never heard any more about One Seven’s dramatic drenching of the staff major’s leg. But Rod was Rod, and he was developing a singular reputation. Since coming to the scouts a few months back, Rod Willis had already become known around the troop for flying with what might be called “a touch of wild abandon. ” He routinely returned to the base from scouting missions with sprigs of foliage, whole tree limbs, and sometimes even pieces of livestock impaled or otherwise hanging off his aircraft.

On at least four occasions, Rod didn’t even make it back to Phu Loi in his own aircraft. He had either hit something, or something had hit him, hard enough to bring down his Loach–with Willis and his crew chief always walking away unhurt from the wrecked airplane. I was never quite sure whether Willis was simply a bad pilot, or couldn’t see where in the hell he was going, or just didn’t give a damn.

On this particular day, Willis and I were wingmen on the early morning VR of the Thi Tinh River valley from approximately Ben Cat north to the area of the Michelin rubber plantation. There were two hunter‑ killer teams with Sinor (Three One) and me working VR‑ 1, and Phil “Combat” Carriss (Three Eight) and Rod Willis to relieve us on VR‑ 2.

At first light both teams took off from Phu Loi and headed directly up to Lai Khe. The VR‑ 2 team would land and shut down at Lai Khe while VR‑ 1 went right on to the mission area; we’d relieve each other about every two hours. After awhile, we’d move the operations base from Lai Khe to Dau Tieng, as our search pattern progressed farther northwest.

While working one of my patterns near the Ben Cat‑ Tri Tarn province line, I spotted a foot trail that ran east and west across the river valley. As I dropped down closer on it, I could tell that it had had some recent light foot traffic. Swinging the Loach around, I followed the trail west into the jungle for about seven hundred to eight hundred yards. Just as I stalked around a sharp turn in the path, I saw ten to twelve VC soldiers below me walking in column.

I banked hard and hollered to Sinor, “I’ve got dinks! VC on the trail, mark, mark. VC on the trail right below me! ”

Parker opened up on the column and his M‑ 60 immediately dropped four VC out of the middle of the group. The rest scattered into the jungle, trying to escape Parker’s red‑ hot fire.

I pulled the Loach into another hard right and came around 180 degrees. Parker was still firing out his door as I cut loose with the mini‑ gun. I kept kicking left and right pedal to spray both sides of the trail with 7. 62.

After making that run, I came back in again and asked Parker to pop a smoke. “It’s already out, sir, ” he said. “It went out on the first pass. ”

When I saw the red smoke beginning to come up from the jungle floor, I accelerated eastbound back toward the Thi Tinh and came up to Sinor. “OK, Three One, smoke is out. Hit the red smoke now. I’m clear, One Six is clear to the east. ”

I no sooner got the words out of my mouth when Sinor rolled on the smoke and worked his rocks and minigun all the way down the trail.

Watching him hose down the area almost made me forget that I was getting low on fuel and ammo. So I came up to Sinor again. “When you get a chance, Three One, crank the other team in here and I’ll hold for One Seven to brief him on the contact area when he gets here. ”

Willis’s Cobra (Carriss), being much faster than the OH‑ 6, got to the scene first and pulled into an orbit behind Sinor. A few minutes later, along came Willis. He was down very low, scraping the landscape as he cruised in leisurely from the west. He had apparently flown up to the contact point right down on the deck, all the way from Dau Tieng. That was Romeo Whiskey for you.

Once on the scene, Willis pulled up to where I was orbiting at about eight hundred feet, then we both headed back down low again with One Seven tight on my tail. I started briefing Willis as soon as we bottomed out over the area where we first discovered and hit the column. “OK, One Seven, ” I said, “you see the east‑ west trail? It’s just on the west side of the Thi Tinh where Thirty‑ one’s rocks have impacted. ”

Willis gave me back two short squelches on his transmit button, so I continued: “OK, you’ll want to work in this area east to west along the trail. This is where we hit ten to twelve Victor Charlies westbound on the trail. Door gunner engaged with mike 60. 1 engaged with mini‑ gun, Cobra engaged with rocks. Negative knowledge of results, no return fire. ”

Willis rogered again and then I said, “We’re bingo on fuel, One Seven. I’m going to cut a chogie on over to Delta Tango to refuel and rearm, then I’ll be back out to join you. See ya. ” Sinor elected to stay over the contact area with Carriss since his snake was not low on fuel or ammo.

Parker and I had just landed at Dau Tieng and taken on some fuel. Parker was out of the airplane getting ammo. As I sat waiting in the idling Loach with radios up, Sinor’s voice suddenly popped on UHF. “I’m in hot, One Seven… I’m in hot! ”

Realizing that enemy contact had apparently been reestablished back on the Thi Tinh, I motioned to Parker to haul ass and get back on board ASAP. I asked the tower for clearance and we were on our way.

As I cleared the Dau Tieng fence and rearmed the minigun, I flipped the radio back to troop Uniform so I could hear all the transmissions from the guys at the Thi Tinh.

The first thing I heard was Carriss yelling, “Turn left, turn left, One Seven… now straight ahead… straight ahead… there’s an open area straight in front of you. Straight ahead of you, One Seven. ”

I immediately switched to Victor and transmitted to Sinor. “Three One, this is One Six. I’m just off Delta Tango. What’s happening? ”

“One Six, Three One. Bust your ass, bust your ass back here. One Seven is going down. One Seven’s been hit and is going down! ”

I was flying down so low that I couldn’t pick up all of the conversations, but I did hear Willis say, “I think I can make it to the open area. ” That was the last thing I heard from him.

I climbed up to about five hundred feet and headed straight for the Cobra, just in time to hear Sinor say, “OK, he’s down. The crew’s out of the little bird and they both look OK. Looks like they both made it down OK. ”

I needed to get on top of Willis as quickly as I could to cover him. “OK, Three One, One Six is in hot. I’m on the trees. Have you got me in sight? ”

Sinor rogered. “OK, One Six, I’ve got you coming in from the northwest. Crew looks OK, but I don’t know how they’re fixed for Victor Charlies. ”

I keyed Parker on the intercom. “Keep your eyes peeled, Jimbo, we’ve got a crew down. Stormer and Willis are on the ground. Watch your gun so you don’t accidentally shoot our friendlies. ”

I made a low pass, turned right, and did a three sixty on top of the crash site. I could see Willis and Stormer lying flat on the ground looking up at me. Willis had his PRC‑ 90 emergency radio in his hand and I cranked in on the emergency Uniform frequency just in time to hear him say, “One Six, this is One Seven. How do you hear me? ”

“OK, One Seven, ” I answered. “I’ve got you loud and clear. Are you OK, buddy? ”

“Yea, man, ” he came back, “I’m OK, but the bastards are right over there. They’re right over there, man. ” Willis pointed to the tree line over to his west. “They shot the hell out of me, Hubie! ”

I hated it when anybody called me Hubie, but I guessed that this wasn’t a good time to discuss it with Rod.

“Are you hurt? ” I asked again.

“Negative, ” Willis answered. “Stormer’s back hurts, but he’s OK. The dinks are real close, One Six. I can hear them. They’re real close, I shit you not! ”

I thought for a second. “OK, One Seven, put your head down. I’m going to come around hot and hose down that tree line on your west. You and Stormer keep your heads down. ”

I pulled the Loach around to the west, ran my gun stop to four thousand rounds per minute, and kept kicking right and left pedal, spraying minigun all the way down the tree line.

As I turned back to make another pass, I told Parker to get out a red smoke and let it fly. Then I came up to Sinor in the Cobra. “Hey, Three One, we’ve got a covey of bad guys in the tree line on the west side of the downed bird. When you see the red smoke, hit it! Don’t worry about me, I’ll be clear to the east. ”

“OK, you guys, ” I said to Willis, “stay low to the ground and keep your heads down. Rockets are on the way. You copy? ” Then I jerked my tail up and accelerated eastbound.

Both Carriss and Sinor hit the tree line, and I could hear their rockets as I beat it out of the area. After about three gun passes I went back in to check things out. I circled around and hovered directly over Willis, Stormer, and the shot‑ up bird. At about thirty feet off the ground, I could look right into Willis’s face. Normally, no matter what, Willis was always grinning. But there wasn’t any grin on his face now. I think, for the first time since I had known him, he was actually scared shitless.

I could understand why. An aircrew downed in the middle of nowhere, with an enemy firefight going on, is totally out of its element. A scout pilot and gunner are used to having the advantage of height–being able to look down to see and shoot an enemy. They were not prepared to be in the middle of elephant grass over their heads, not able to see more than a couple of feet.

As I orbited tightly on top of them, I asked Willis, “What’s it looking like down there now, One Seven? ”

Rod looked up at me as he spoke back over his emergency radio. “Looks rough, One Six. There are bad guys all around us. I got gook chatter all around, a lot of voices on the west… no… on the east… ah, shit, I don’t know… maybe on”the south of us, too. They’re shooting the hell out of things. Get us out of here, One Six! ”

I got on Uniform to Sinor. “Hey, Thirty‑ one, Charlie’s throwing everything but the kitchen step stool at One Seven. What’s the ETA on the ARPs? ”

“They’re loading up now, ” Sinor came back. “They were on strip alert for another mission. It’ll be another ten to fifteen minutes before they can make it up here. ”

I moved my bird out of the fire zone and thought for a second. “OK, Three One, they’re hearing bad people all around them down there. We don’t have time to wait. Have we got anybody in the neighborhood who can get in here now and pick up the crew? ”

“Negative, ” Sinor came back. “I’ve been up on Guard, but no response. Nobody but us chickens around until we get the ARPs in here. ”

“OK, ” I answered, “why don’t you and Three Eight cover us on both flanks, one on the left and one on the right. I’ll make my run in between you from north to south. I’m going in and pick up the crew before those guys get blown away. ”

I rolled around and headed in directly toward the downed bird. “One Seven, this is One Six. I’m coming in to get you while the guns try to keep Charlie’s head down on the flanks. You need to mark me a place where I can set down. ”

I studied the ground as I steered directly for One Seven’s ship. It was fairly open, obviously the site of an old fire base right there near the Thi Tinh River. The high, thick grass would make it hard as hell to see anything at ground level.

As I reached the area, I arched slightly off to the side of Willis’s ship so I could land right beside it. I wanted it to be a short run for Rod and Stormer, so we could get back out of there in a hurry.

Sinor and Carriss rolled in and put rockets down on both sides of the trees. Willis jumped up out of the grass, holding his CAR‑ 15 in both hands about chest high, parallel to the ground. He was rotating the weapon toward him, signaling me to land.

I kept my eyes riveted on Rod while Parker watched out the side for any trouble that might be coming from his direction. I got right on top of Willis and decelerated to almost zero at about four feet off the ground.

My rotor wash blew Rod’s hair flat on his head. It also parted the elephant grass around the site and laid it level against the ground, almost like a giant’s foot had stomped on it and mashed it down.

Then, suddenly, as I began to let down the last few feet, to my absolute horror I saw below me what appeared to be about a ten‑ foot section of rolled‑ up concertina wire. As if brought to life by my rotor wash, the barbwire roll began to uncoil out of the elephant grass. It was almost like watching a slow‑ motion movie.

Like a long, writhing serpent, that damned ugly section of wire unfurled and came right up off the ground. It fluttered up over Willis’s head, past the cockpit door, and was sucked right on into my tail and main rotor blades.

In the instant it took to happen, there was nothing I could do to stop the stuff from choking down my engine. But before it did, the ship spun uncontrollably in two or three violent revolutions before finally slamming down hard into the ground, right beside Willis.

I immediately chopped the throttle, jerked up the fuel shutoff knob, cut the master battery switch, and rolled out the cabin door. Parker, unhurt in the slam‑ down, jumped out of his backseat. We both looked up at the grisly strands of barbed concertina wire wound tightly around the Loach’s main rotor system. The tail rotor was gone altogether, having separated completely from the aircraft.

“Ah‑ h‑ h SHIT, sir! ” Parker spat.

“Ah‑ h‑ h shit isn’t the half of it, ” I sputtered. “Wait till I get my hands on that goddamned Willis! ”

The enemy soldiers were going crazy with this new development–they now had two Loach crews down in their playpen. Bullets were flying everywhere around us, and I was madder than hell!

By this time, Willis was back up off the ground where he had thrown himself when he saw me spin in. He jumped into my face and hollered, “You stupid son of a bitch! What the hell are you doing crashing your stupid airplane into the goddamned concertina wire. You’re supposed to be rescuing me. Now you break up your aircraft, and here we both are with no way to get our asses out of this mess! ”

I shoved my face right back into his. “You stupid son of a bitch. If you had picked a better landing zone we’d both be out of here by now and not standing around with two busted‑ up airplanes in the middle of a goddamned firefight! ”

Rod burst out laughing. I started to grin. Then both of us were laughing hysterically over the sheer insanity of the situation.

Our crew chiefs, however, failed to see the humor. Stormer, with an ugly cut on the side of his head, had set up his M‑ 60 and gone prone on one side of Willis and me. Parker had done the same on the other side. They were ready to chop down anything that moved toward us through the grass.

Stormer looked around over his shoulder at us. “Jesus Christ, sir, can we get the hell out of here? Come on, Lieutenant Willis, we need to get out of here before Charlie decides to come and get us! ”

That snapped us back to reality. Rod and I hit the prone position and I grabbed Willis’s radio. “Hey, Three One, ” I yelled, “One Six is now down with One Seven. ”

“So I see, One Six, ” Sinor came back. “Are you OK? ”

“Both crews are OK, ” I answered, “but I’ve got a main and tail rotor strike. We’ve got to get out of here. Gooks are close by. Keep the ARPs coming. We’ll sit tight till they get here. You copy? ” He rogered.

Glued to the ground, we began to notice that hostile fire from the tree lines on both sides of us had stopped. The VC must have figured they had either gotten us or perhaps we had created so damned much fuss and confusion in cracking up two helicopters that Charlie had used the diversion to escape the area.

It was just a few minutes later that we began to hear the distant whop, whop, whop of Huey rotors. It was the ARPs coming inbound to get us.

I got on the emergency radio to Wayne McAdoo, who I knew would be in the lead slick. “Watch out, Two Six, we’re in an old fire base here. There’s an old tank run beside us. Set down on that road, because there’s all kinds of crud lying around in the elephant grass. I had a rotor strike from concertina wire in here. ”

He rogered and moments later brought the ARPs flight of four slicks in on the old tank road about twenty yards away from us. The appearance of four more helicopter targets started the unfriendlies firing again, and they promptly drilled several AK‑ 47 holes in McAdoo’s tail boom. As we raised our heads, trying to see through the elephant grass, the ARPs off‑ loaded and made their way over to us, sighting on the downed helicopters. The point man and his backups flared out around us and kept making their way toward the enemy tree line.

Then Bob Harris, whose headquarters element was always back in the middle of the platoon, came sauntering up. Obviously feeling that the enemy had gone, Four Six had his CAR‑ 15 drooped over his shoulder, his helmet off (as usual), his bright red hair and freckled complexion shining like a mirror in the sun.

He walked over to Willis’s ship and took his time looking over the shot‑ up bird. “One Seven, what happened to you? ”

“Damnit, Four Six, can’t you see that I got the holy heck shot out of me! ”

Harris smiled, stroked his chin, and then asked me, “So‑ o‑ o, One Six, what in the hell are you doing here? ”

“I just listened to Willis, ” I answered, but before I could elaborate Rod cut in.

“Come on guys, cut the crap. I would like to go home! ”

^{CHAPTER 16}