BAM! - The Basic Air Medal

 

Back in the late 1960s, Army rules and regulations dictated that the Air Medal for Meritorious Service (seen below) would be awarded for 25 hours of combat assault missions and 50 hours of direct combat support. That meant, basically, that for every 100 hours of combat assault flying time, the air crewman would receive four Air Medals. This explains why the helicopter crews who completed a yearlong tour in Vietnam came home with, literally, dozens of Air Medals. The record for the highest number of Air Medals, I believe, was a general officer with multiple tours at a lower grade, with 125.

But this isn’t about that, but about the Basic Air Medal, which would be the first award after completing the 25 hours of flight time… or, as things went, about a week of combat assaults.

I had been assigned to the Hornets for several weeks, had the orientation flights to show me the local area, given the check rides to ensure that I have the proper skills, and had been integrated into the flight. Looking at my flight records, I reached that goal in the first few days of October, 1969.

Although I don’t remember exactly, I believe that an officer’s meeting was held in the club every night. These were often short, just a few points about the missions of the day and what to expect the next. Sometimes there were special events but most meetings were routine.

In late October, there was an added feature. A small number of us, who had arrived in September were called forward. We were awarded the Basic Air Medal because we had achieved the required 25 hours of combat assault flight time. I was there, with, two or three others.

Once the awards had been presented, we were introduced to another of the Hornet traditions… the Flaming Mimi. This was an alcoholic beverage of our choice, poured into a shot glass and set on fire. I was 19 at the time and it was illegal for me to drink, except, of course, on military reservations and in Vietnam.

The first guy took his drink and downed it, leaving a swirl of fire in the bottom of the glass. The perfect Flaming Mimi outcome. There was wild applause.

I didn’t do so well. I instinctively huffed through my nose, putting out the fire. When I finished, there was no fire at the bottom of the glass and cries that I had cheated. I had to do it again.

I was given another shot glass filled with bourbon; it was set on fire. I hesitated and someone shouted, “Better drink it before it gets too hot.”

I tried again and failed again. There were calls for me to try again and I was handed another shot glass filled to the brim. And when I finished there was no fire at the bottom of the glass.

Of course, they wanted me to do it again. After the fourth time someone said, “He’s getting too many free drinks.”

“He’s smarter than he looks.”

About the only other thing I remember is that things were getting fuzzy and I’d lost the feeling in my face. I sat down abruptly and the company commander took pity on me and declared that I would not have to down any more bourbon. At least, I think that was what happened… after all, I didn’t have a great deal of experience in drinking straight shots of bourbon in the space of about ten minutes.

The tradition ended several weeks later when one of the pilots, recipient of an award, I don’t remember what, managed to set himself on fire. The alcohol streamed down from the side of his mouth and ignited his nylon shirt. They put out the fire before he was seriously burned but no one thought it a good idea to set the pilots on fire. We were stretched thin enough as it was.

For those interested in such things, I earned another three Air Medals in October, but I wouldn’t receive the Oak Leaf Clusters then. It would be long after I left Vietnam that I would receive the certificate with the full accounting.

Night Mission - Aftermath

 When we arrived by at Cu Chi, and had refueled, we had been told to stand by in the Hornet’s Nest, our revetment area on the airfield. That meant sitting around the aircraft, in the dark, waiting for ordered. It wasn’t long before we were told to stand by in the company area, which was across the road. I think the reason was that we could respond from the company area just as fast as we could to orders passed from aircraft to aircraft in the Nest.

The dark area at right center is The Hornet's Nest. Across the road in the center is the
Hornet's Company area. The hootchs to the left at the enlisted soldiers and the NCO quarters. 
In the center right, beyond the wooden fence and open area are the officer quarters. The dark
material is called petaprime and was sprayed over the roads and in the Nest to hold down the
dust during the dry season. More about petaprime later.

We hadn’t been in the company very long when the order came to stand down. We were through for the night. The obvious reason was that we’d been so badly shot up that we couldn’t come up with enough helicopters to fill out the flight with a gun team. True, some of the damage was little more than bullets through the rotor blades, but the aircraft couldn’t fly until the blades had been replaced. We had operationally ceased to exist.

In the company area, there wasn’t a lot of talking. Most just sat staring, though I was a little bit elated having survived the night. Had the club been open, I might have had a drink or two, though it was something like three or four in the morning. Somehow, I ended up in one of the rooms occupied by one of the Stingers. The Stingers were the Hornet gun teams. They even had cards printed that said, “Have Gunship. Will Travel. Wire Stingers, Cu Chi.”

Almost as if to get the conversation started, one of the slick pilots said, “Hell, I can’t believe we were ordered to go around. We would have been better off to land. We were nearly on the ground and then Six said, ‘Go around.’”

“Maybe that was the most brilliant thing said in this war. Maybe we would have been really chopped up.”

This triggered a discussion like those I would participate in college a couple of years later. The gunship pilot, who was older than me, and might have been older than most the pilots, who was, at most 23, said, “You have to look at the overall picture.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

He took a pull at his cigarette and said, “I just mean that we came out ahead. If I got killed, I would be ahead. I’ve killed the VC and the NVA but they can only kill me once so that I win, in the long run. There is no way they can catch up.”

“That’s messed up, man.”

“You guys are missing the point. Don’t you see? In this war, hell, in all wars, the point is to kill more of them than they kill of you. It’s all about attrition, and in that game, I win.”

I’m not sure where this discussion would have gone from there, but the company commander entered the hootch. He didn’t look as if he’d just had the company shot out from under him. He looked as if he was fresh from the shower in a clean and pressed uniform. We all looked as if we’d been through the wringer, which, from one point of view we had.

He stood looking at us for a moment and then said, “We’re down tomorrow. We need to repair the damaged aircraft. Need everyone out in the Nest by, say, ten.” He turned and left without another word.

That seemed rather anticlimactic, but what the hell, it meant we didn’t have to get up early. That was about the only benefit that I could see.

Night Mission - Part Two

 (Disclaimer: I have a fairly clear memory of the run up to this mission. I remember, fairly clearly, the aftermath of the mission. When we move into the actual combat assault that night, my memory is a bit foggy. I have no explanation for this, it’s just the way it is. Following is what I do remember, though it’s a jumble of memories that might have slipped in from other missions. The details are accurate, it’s just that some of those details might be from other missions. I believe that other combat veterans had similar trouble when we move into the realm of heavy combat.)

I watched the rest of the flight lift off and the AC followed suit. As soon as we broke ground, he keyed the mic and said, “You’re off with ten.”

We climbed out, caught up with the flight and the AC said, “You’re joined.”

“Roger. Rolling over.”

The AC told me, “Dim the panel lights.”

The instrument panel had small, red lights on it so that we could read the instruments. They could be very bright, or so dim that the instruments were barely visible. At their brightest, these lights made it easier for those outside the aircraft to see the pilots. Decades later I would continue dim the dashboard lights in my car unconsciously as the sun went down.

We reached the RP and Lead called C and C to tell him where we were. We made a single orbit and then were ordered in. I felt myself shake once and the sweat bead on my forehead. I understood a combat assault, but those had been during the day. This was something a little different. So far there had been no flares and I wondered if someone had missed the timing. I put my hands on the controls but let the AC guide the aircraft.

When the first flare burst, it caught me by surprise and I jerked upright. The AC said, quietly, “Take it easy and kill the rotating target.”

I reached up and flipped the switch. I also cut the nav lights so that we were blacked out. In trail, no one was guiding off us. Those in front of us had to leave their lights on steady dim so that that those in the formation around them could see them and maintain their position. Being blacked out was a small compensation for flying trail.

We hit the IP and Lead said, “IP inbound.”

Now we descended toward the LZ and as we did, I saw a flash from the village. Over the radio I heard, “Chalk three is taking fire on the right.” That pilot’s voice was icy calm.

Suddenly the whole side of the village began twinkling with the muzzle flashes. Lead said, “Flight is taking heavy fire on the right.”

I could feel the bullets hitting the aircraft and hear the sound of dozens of AKs firing at us. There was a flash from one of the hootchs. One of the gunships rolled in, hitting it with fire from a mini gun. It sounded like a buzz saw rather than a machine gun and the tracers looked like an unbroke red ray dancing across the ground.

We had full suppression and the door guns on the right side of the flight opened fire. Their muzzle flashes seemed to reach out three feet and created a strobing effect that gave motion the jerky nature of an old-time movie.

Someone said, unnecessarily, “Flight’s taking heavy fire.”

There was an explosion in front of the flight, in the LZ. A huge fountain of sparks.

“Flight’s taking RPGs.”

“Chalk four’s going down.”

The air around us was filled with tracers. Red from us and green from the AKs. The village was alive with movement.

Wrecked Huey in the Iron Triangle. Photo copyright by Kevin Randle

Just as we were about to touch down, C and C said, “Lead. Make a go-around. I say again, make a go around. Do not land.”

“Lead is rolling over.”

The AC pushed the cyclic forward, dumping the nose as he lifted the collective. We picked up speed as our skids brushed through the grass as we shot across the LZ. Over the radio rather than the intercom, someone said, “Shit.”

C and C said, “Four. Guns will cover. Flight is coming around.” Then said, “Give me a head count.”

Although there had been a lot of fire, the damage to the flight was minimal. Everyone was still flyable. Unbelievably, no one had been hit. It seemed, for a moment, as if the whole world had been shooting at us but the enemy was almost ineffective.

“Lead, land about fifty yards short.”

“Roger.”

We hit the IP again and began the run into the LZ. Now the gunships, were working over the village and our door guns were pouring fire into the enemy positions.

“Flight’s taking fire on the right.”

“Whose taking fire?”

To me it seemed a dumb question. We all were taking fire but someone said, “Chalk five is taking fire.”

I kept my attention focused out the windshield. I was concentrating on our landing spot and trying not to see all the tracers flying around. I had it in my mind that if I didn’t see the tracers, they couldn’t hit me. I didn’t think about the four rounds between each of the tracers.

The AC keyed the mic. “Lead, you’re down with nine.”

I looked to the right. In the bizarre green light of the flare, I could see shadows moving about. The soldiers attacking the village. I saw one man fall and another crouch near him. I dragged my attention back to the instrument panel and tried not to think about all the shooting. It was a continuous roar that overpowered the sound of the turbine and the popping of the rotor blades. It seemed that it was taking hours for the soldiers to get out of the aircraft. And then that sound faded until all I heard was the radio calls and the firing of the M-60 behind me.

Soldiers in the LZ. Not from the Night Mission. Photo copyright by Kevin Randle.

“Lead’s on the go.”

“Lead, you’re off with nine. Heavy fire on the right.”

I was sure that someone had picked up the crew from the downed helicopter. I turned slightly and looked back. I could see the shapes of the soldiers as they dodged forward, moving toward the village. The firing was tapering off as the enemy was engaged by the soldiers. The VC were now abandoning their positions.

C and C said, “Give me a damage report.”

It was clear that everyone had taken some hits. Chalks Two and Three reported damage to the rotor blades setting up vibrations that could shake the rotor ahead apart. Chalk Six said that he was losing hydraulic fluid and Seven said that he was losing fuel. There was no report from Eight. He must have lost his radios. Over half the remaining aircraft had taken enough damage to ground them under normal circumstances. The rest of us were still mission capable, as far as I knew.

“Chalk Five. Just lost my engine. In autorotation.”

“Trail. Pick him up.”

“I’m following him down,” said the AC.

“Lead. Return to Cu Chi. Stand by.”

There should have been another lift, but we’d been so badly shot up that we didn’t have the aircraft to make it. Someone else would have to take over for us. Once back at Cu Chi, we were joined by the spare aircraft but that didn’t help. Too many of those in the original flight were no longer air worthy or were down somewhere between Cu Chi and the LZ.

Within minutes, word was passed to us to stand down. We were through for the day or rather for the night. Given the damage we had operationally ceased to exist. We couldn’t mount enough aircraft for another lift and the gunships hadn’t fared much better. We didn’t even have a light fire team left.

As the AC climbed out of the aircraft, he said, “We were lucky tonight.”

I didn’t say anything but the door gunner did. “How can you say we were lucky?”

“Nobody got killed. Lost some aircraft but they can be replaced. Most of the damage is superficial. Could have been a lot worse.”

“So, now what?” I asked.

“We wind down. We won’t be flying tomorrow.”

I was somewhat surprised by his attitude, but it wouldn’t be long until I put the whole thing into perspective. One of the gunship pilots would clue me in.

Night Mission - Part One

 

(Disclaimer: While I am trying to make each of these stories accurate, I must note that these memories are over fifty years old. I am reporting, for the most part, what I remember of these events. So far, they have been short, and given the topics, true. Now, I take on a somewhat longer piece. It is a night mission and I do have some very clear memories of what happened. But there are some facets of this tale that I simply do not remember. However, only a few years after I returned from Vietnam, I wrote some stories for a magazine named Combat Illustrated. The story of the night mission is in it and there are things in it that I do not remember. Having read it over now, my memory is refreshed. I didn’t remember a briefing in the officers’ club, but given the article, I do, sort of remember it. Yes, we did have the philosophical discussion after the mission. The other thing is I believe that this is a mixture of two different night missions. I can’t be sure of that, but it seems that some of the details happened on another night with a different company. Having said all this, the essential elements of the story are true… and some of the names have been changed because it seemed like the thing to do at the time.)

We were called to an evening meeting in the officer’s club, something that had not happened before. True, we held meetings there, often to discuss the day’s missions and what we could do to improve on our flight operations. This was different. We were being briefed on the mission that would be held later, after midnight, and it was expected that there would be contact.

We were told that intelligence had learned that the VC would be moving into a village at sunset to recruit men and steal rice, though they called it a collection of taxes. We would land just after 0100 hours (1 a.m.) in the attempt to catch them in the act. Another company would insert the blocking force about five minutes after we landed and still another company would insert a second such force. It was hoped that the VC would try to escape and run into one of the blocking forces and if they chose to fight, the combat could get very rough for those in the village.

One of the first things I noticed as the meeting broke up was that the aircraft commanders were drawing M-16s from supply. Normally, this would have outraged the supply officer, but tonight he said nothing about it. When I went out to pre-flight the aircraft, I saw that both the crew chief and the door gunner had M-16s and that there were piles of ammunition under their seats. The crew chief even had an M-79 grenade launcher. I don’t know where he got that.

The AC showed up with several boxes of .38 ammo for our pistols and he had survival kits and survival radios. He opened one of the kits and pulled out a large piece of cloth that had an American flag with writing under it. He told me, “This is a blood chit. In nine different languages and a variety of dialects it tells the locals that the American government will pay a thousand bucks for your safe return. Inside there is money and gold. I had to sign for these so I want them back.”

Being something of a smartass, and being that I was only 19, I asked, “What happens if those people can’t read.”

“Then your are well and truly screwed.”

I picked up a box of the .38 ammo, opened it, and then shoved the single cartridges into the loops of my Old West style gun belt. (You can see it in the first picture on this blog).

As I was finishing that, the AC spread the map out on the cargo compartment floor and using his flashlight, with the red lens in place, showed me the LZs as they had been planned, the location of the village, and the shortest distance to the evac hospitals. He told me that for minor wounds, head for Dau Tieng and Cu Chi for more serious injuries. He also made sure that I knew the radio frequency, which was good for all the hospitals… 62.05. All this was something that hadn’t been done before.

When the AC finished, the crew chief asked if it was going to be that rough. The AC said that he didn’t know. He just wanted to be sure that each of us knew what to do in case he was hit. He said, “I’m just making sure that we’re all prepared.”

We waited for about twenty minutes and then climbed into the cockpit for engine start. As soon as we were cranked and ready, the AC switched our intercom system to “private” so that he could talk to me without the crew chief or the door gunner listening. He said that it was going to be rougher than he had let on. We were in trail which meant that there was a good possibility that we would take some heavy fire.

He then said that we were going to do things differently. After we reached the IP, he wanted my hands on the controls. Not near them as we did under normal circumstances, but actually on the controls. That would give me a better chance to take control if necessary, especially as we neared the ground. He also said that as we made the final run in to turn off the rotating target, his name for the rotating beacon on the aircraft. Since we were trail, there was no one behind us. This gave us a little better chance to avoid some enemy fire. I was also on the “guard” frequency, the UHF channel that would broadcast to every other aircraft in the area, in case we needed help quickly.

Hornet helicopters lined up for an upcoming mission. This was the night mission
described here. Photo copyright by Kevin Randle.

Rather than line up on the assault strip for takeoff, we lined up on the active runway. We formed a heavy right formation and when we got to the PZ, the troops were lined up that way. It was better than the staggered trail that was strung out behind lead.

Since the soldiers couldn’t throw smoke at night, they were using small strobe lights. That looked like the muzzle flashes. On landing we used the landing lights but the searchlights were off. Once we touched down, those lights went out. We didn’t want to set the grass and other vegetation on fire.

As soon as the soldiers were on board, the crew chief said, “We’re loaded.”

I glanced into the cargo compartment. They were all American soldiers. I knew that without looking. Americans always went in if there was a possibility of contact. If the contact was light, then they would be reinforced with ARVN. If it was really hot, the reinforcements would be American.

The AC told the crew chief to tell the soldiers to unass the aircraft as quickly as possible. He replied, quietly, “They know.”

We sat in the PZ, the minutes building slowly. C and C was coordinating with the flare ship and the other companies. Because the target was a village, there would be no arty prep. Once we were airborne, we would head directly to the LZ, hoping that the VC would have little to no warning.

Lead finally announced, “On the go.”

As we broke ground, the AC said, “This one is for real, so let’s be alert.”

Mortar Attack

 

The first mortar attack came after I had been in country for a few weeks. Those who had been around for a while were getting concerned because it had been a while since the last attack. They knew one was coming and intelligence seemed to have confirmed it.

The problem with the 116^th Assault Helicopter Company (116th AHC) area was that it was near the center of the Cu Chi base camp. That meant that the enemy, who wasn’t all that well trained, aimed for what we would call the center of mass because a long or short round would hit something on the base.

When the first round hit, sometime after midnight, I was asleep, in the top bunk in the small room I shared with another pilot. When I woke, there was no one around. I hesitated until I heard another explosion close by. I rolled out of the bunk, crouched down, and then dodged into the short hallway that would lead outside, to the bunkers.

As I started to move, a round hit no more than twenty-five feet from me, striking the roof of the hootch just outside the door. I dropped to the floor, rolled up against the wall and waited. There was dust swirling everywhere and I could hear the shrapnel rattling against the corrugated steel of the hotch’s roof.

After a moment, with no more impacts, I leaped up, hit the door and was outside. I headed for the first bunker entrance I saw. These were narrow, dug into the ground, and covered with perforated steel plates (PSP). On top of them were 55-gallon drums, these covered with another layer of PSP and then sandbags. The idea was that the sandbags would detonate the mortar round, absorb most of the shrapnel, with the other layers protecting the soldiers waiting inside.

There were electric lights inside and because our generator had not been hit, the lights were on. There were only a couple of others in the bunker with me, and I don’t remember who they were or if I knew them. I hadn’t been in the company all that long and hadn’t worked with the pilots of the other platoons. The enlisted soldiers’ hootchs were on the other side of an open field with their own bunkers.

The 116th AHC (The Hornets) company area in the center. Beside the brown fence is the
company headquarters building. To the left are the hootchs of the officers and to the right are
those of the enlisted soldiers. The helicopter across the road and to the right is sitting on the Hornet 
VIP pad and the dark area are the revetments and the Hornet's Nest where the aircraft are parked.

I have to admit that I was a tad bit nervous. I didn’t know what to expect or how long the attack would last. Counter mortar had already been launched so that those firing the mortars were now in danger. The muzzle flashes of the weapons would give away their positions. I learned later that these attacks didn’t last all that long.

After ten minutes or so, which seemed longer, someone came around and told us that the attack was over. We came out of the bunkers. I was told that I had gone to the wrong one and those who lived in the same hootch as I did, wondered where I was.

Five members of the company had been hit. One of them, an FNG lieutenant was badly wounded and had to be evacked, eventually making to The World (our term for the US). He had taken a long, dagger-like piece of metal to the throat. We learned that that he had survived, and although they though he might not be able to speak again, he recovered completely. He never returned to the company.

One of the others was hit just as he stepped through the door of the outhouse liberally referred to as the latrine. Wrong place at the wrong time, but he was treated at the 12^th Evac Hospital and returned to the company.

Damage to the company area was minimal. The aircraft, parked in revetments, in the area we called The Nest, because, what else would you call that area for a company known as the Hornets.

The only scheduling change for the days’ missions was to replace the two pilots injured with two who would have been off that day. The overall effect was to teach me to ignore the mortar rounds unless the impacts were coming toward you. Rockets, on the other hand, were more dangerous because they were larger and their impact sites sporadic. You couldn’t predict where they would hit.

Combat Assault

Most combat assaults were boring. It was moving soldiers from one location to another without any real fear of a hot LZ. It might be a day or two before we hit anything that could be considered hot, and most of the time, the enemy just fired a couple of bursts at the flight and then ran off. On one occasion, they, or rather he, only fired a single round that splashed the rice paddy water I front of my aircraft and I don’t believe anyone else saw it.

There is one other aspect that I need to mention. The helicopters were equipped with an Automatic Direction Finder, known as the ADF. The ADF could be tuned to a small transmitter that would provide a morse code identifier of three letters. When that station was dialed in, the needle on the ADF would point toward it, making navigation simpler. But the ADF also covered the broadcast band, which meant that radio stations could be found. If you wanted to fly to Denver you just had to dial in KIMN-AM (which I listened to as a teenager in Denver), and follow the needle. In Vietnam you could listen to AFVN, Armed Forces Vietnam radio which played the current top forty hits. If there was a good tune being played, someone might say over the radio “ADF,” so others could tune in. Pat Sajak was the morning DJ while I was there… yes, that Pat Sajak.

The typical combat assault began with a landing in the PZ, pick up zone. The soldiers, eight to ten of them, climbed on. Once all the helicopters were loaded, the Trail aircraft would radio lead, “You’re down and loaded with ten.”

Lead would then announce, “On the go,” and take off. The others would follow and we’d climb out, usually at about 80 or 90 knots until we joined with Lead, which was flying at 60 knots. Once Trail said, “You joined with ten,” Lead would respond with, “Rolling over.” That meant airspeed was increased to 80 knots.

At that point we’d head for the LZ, avoiding the gun target lines. The gun target lines were the direction and altitude that artillery would be firing. Artillery is an indirect fire weapon, and the artillery shells could easily reach the altitudes at which we flew. It wasn’t difficult to avoid the gun target lines. The Air Mission Commander, in the Command and Control (C and C) helicopter had that information. He supplied the route for the flight. The Aircraft Commander on a single mission flight had to get the clearance himself from one of the arty controls, most often where we operated was Cu Chi Arty.

If there was an arty prep of the LZ, we’d stand back, orbit outside the gun target lines, waiting until we heard, “All rounds on the ground. Tubes clear.” It meant that no additional artillery rounds would be fired and all had impacted the LZ. We then turned inbound.

Smoke and dust from the arty prep as we turn inbound at the IP. Photo copyright
by Kevin Randle.

Depending on the situation, we’d be met by a gunship. He would lead us to the LZ, and either the door gunner or the crew chief would throw out a smoke grenade to mark the touch down point. Lead would be told to either land short of the smoke, on the smoke, or beyond the smoke.

If there was full suppression, the door gunners with the flight would open fire on likely places of enemy concealment and the gun ships would be working over one or both flanks of the flight. We’d land, the soldiers would jump out, sometimes deploying into the trees, or other obvious places where enemy might hide. As they left the aircraft, the door guns fell silent. Trail would say, “You’re down with ten and unloaded.”

Lead would then take off, climbing out rapidly and the rest of the flight would join as quickly as possible.

That then, is a quick synopsis of a combat assault mission. This is the somewhat generic version because there were, of course, many variations, including hostile fire, aircraft accidents and soldiers injured as they jumped out to name but a few. A hot LZ could add many complications and I’ll get into some of that later. 

Formation Flying - A New Skill

 

There was, of course, a learning curve to integration into the flight. While in flight school we had practiced formation flying, but it wasn’t something that was a major part of that training. Oddly, what we learned had little relevance to what we’d find in Vietnam given that the instructors were all pilots who had returned from Vietnam. You would think that you’d get the straight dope that way, but it didn’t work out. The reason, I think, was that the rules that governed formation flying in the United States were quite different than those we’d find in country.

After the orientation flights in country, in which we were shown the local area, taught the radio frequencies such as those for the evac hospitals and the tricks of moving around South Vietnam, we were assigned to fly the real missions. As Peter Pilots, meaning we were the FNGs, we were paired with Aircraft Commanders who were the most experienced. The gag here was that most of them had only been in country for seven or eight months. We’d often joke about “back in the old Hornets,” which might have been just a few weeks earlier… Everyone in the company had been there less than a year.

Formations were much tighter, designed, for the most part, to facilitate the picking up of soldiers in the field and to allow for the door guns to cover the most area. Most often the formation was called a staggered trail, meaning Lead was followed by the odd number chalks and to his right or left, was chalk two, followed by the even numbered aircraft so that there were two lines of helicopters.

Formation Flying over South Vietnam

The thing was, these sorts of tight formations set up other flight dynamics with which we FNGs were not familiar. Each aircraft had to be slightly higher than the one it followed, otherwise, you’d get caught in the rotor wash. To maintain your position, you had to keep adding power until it was maxed out. The only solution then, was to drop down, swing out, and then rejoin the flight. Once everyone was integrated into the flight properly, that just didn’t happen.

If the PZ (pick up zone) was hot, meaning, of course, there was enemy firing at the soldiers, we’d know that. If the LZ was hot, we might not know that until on final approach. There were rules of engagement to cover that. Mostly we went in with “normal rules,” which meant we could return fire for fire received. Many times, given various circumstances, we went in with “full suppression,” which meant the door guns would be firing and the gun ships would by firing. “Negative suppression” meant we didn’t return fire unless a specific target could be seen.

We might run a dozen or more combat assaults in a day, shifting the soldier from one location to another, flying in supplies and reinforcements, moving in a blocking force, or heading out to support another mission. As the day wound down, we would often recover the soldiers that we’d put into the field in the morning.

On one occasion, one of the soldiers climbing into the helicopter was a washout from flight school. He recognized me and shouted, over the sound of the turbine engine and the popping of the rotor blades, “What are you doing here?”

I shouted back, “Get out of my aircraft.”

Of course, I didn’t mean it. I was just glad that I was flying over Vietnam rather than walking through it as he was. It was the value of getting through flight school.

My Entry into the Vietnam War

 

In the Amazon review section for one of the Eric Helm books, someone, I suspect a Marine because of the term he used, accuses me of having served, at best, in a rear area in Vietnam. Ignoring the fact that there were no real rear areas, though some areas were safer than others, I took offense at this. Since that man didn’t provide his name, hiding behind his keyboard identity, I thought I would provide, in short segments, the chronology of my active duty service duty the Vietnam War.

At the risk of revealing my true, advanced age, I graduated high school the day before my 18^th birthday in June 1967. In July, I was on a bus headed to Fort Polk, Louisiana, for basic infantry training and in October, I was assigned to Fort Wolters, Texas, for my AIT, advanced individual training, which was as a helicopter pilot. From there I was sent to Fort Rucker, Alabama, to complete that training. In August 1968, as a 19-year-old teenager, I was appointed a warrant officer and then graduated from flight school as a helicopter pilot.

On September 23, 1968, I arrived in South Vietnam. We landed at Ton Son Nhut and were herded aboard buses that had no air conditioning. We all were covered with sweat within minutes of leaving the aircraft. The bus had screens over the open windows, but the pattern was something like an inch square. It wouldn’t keep out the insects. Someone said it was to keep out the grenades, and someone else said, “Yeah. Now they tie fishhooks to them.”

From Saigon we drove to Ben Hoa, Long Binh complex and the 90^th Replacement Battalion, which I mention because I suspect almost no one who didn’t service in the Army in Vietnam would know that. From there, a day or two later, I, with three other warrant officers, was assigned to the 116^th Assault Helicopter Company at Cu Chi.

Kevin Randle in
Vietnam.

During that first week, I flew rarely. There was an orientation flight to show me the local area. There was a check ride to ensure that I knew what to do if the engine quit, and to demonstrate my other skills. When that was completed, I was assigned to a flight, and then began flying combat assault missions. That meant that we picked up soldiers in one place, took them to another and landed. While many of those missions were without incident, some of them were more than a little exciting. Nothing beats sitting in a pick-up zone to evacuate soldiers while the enemy pumps small arms fire into the flight. You’re sitting in a plexiglass encased cockpit, easily visible to the enemy and have no recourse but to sit there as the windshields break and the instrument panel disintegrates.

One of the first night missions I flew, as what was known as a peter pilot, meaning that I was the copilot, was into an PZ we knew was going to be hot. The soldiers were taking fire and we were going to extract them. There were tracers flying all over the place. Red ones from our weapons and green and white ones from the enemy. They dropped a few mortars on us as well, which erupted into a shower of sparks and had that been just a little more colorful, it would have looked like fireworks.

Everyone took some hits, but most of the damage was superficial. One of the aircraft, if I remember correctly, was left in the PZ. The engine had been hit and failed. The crew was picked up by another aircraft, which means that they abandoned the aircraft and ran to one of the others. The gunships, which had been working over the tree lines and enemy positions, took it out with rockets, setting it on fire to prevent the enemy from getting anything of value from it.

We were on the ground for thirty seconds to one minute as the soldiers scrambled onto the helicopters. Our door gunners and crew chiefs used their M-60 machines in an attempt to suppress the enemy fire. They aimed at the muzzle flashes of the enemy weapons.

Landing at the PZ. Photo copyright by Kevin Randle

That was the last flight that night. Once we had the soldiers out, I suspect the Air Force might have dropped some ordnance on the enemy positions, or the artillery might have dropped a few rounds on them. I really don’t know. Once we dropped off the soldiers, we were released and returned to Cu Chi so that maintenance could patch up the aircraft.

Again, I mention all this because someone who didn’t know me could make comments about my service in Vietnam. Unlike literally millions of others who claim Vietnam service but never set foot in-country, I was actually there and engaged in combat operations. In the future, I’ll write about more of my service in Vietnam.