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.