I Blow a Helicopter Up on a Land Mine

 

My original plan was to post here, in chronological order, my service in Vietnam. That is, it would begin with my entry in country and end with my DEROS some 355 days later. That meant that some of the really interesting events would have to wait until I was appointed an aircraft commander later in my tour. But sometimes things just get in the way.

I have been watching 12 O’clock High on one of those nostalgia channels. I have said for years it was sort of my inspiration into volunteering for the Army out of high school because the Army had a program for high school graduates that sent them to helicopter flight school. Age wasn’t the factor; it was the high school diploma and a sufficiently high score on a battery of Army tests to select those who would have the aptitude to complete flight school. It also required a number of physical tests, such as one to determine if you were color blind or not. Obviously, given the nature of this blog, I was successful in passing those tests, was inducted, and finally, eventually sent to flight school.

My flight school class. I'm second from the left in the second row.

What ultimately inspired this break in my self-imposed chronology was an episode of JAG, in which Harm, as a passenger in a Lear Jet flown by Air Force pilots, found himself sitting in the co-pilot seat. The Air Force lieutenant, who was obviously the aircraft commander, but only a lowly first lieutenant, was outranked by Harm. Those in Hollywood apparently believed that Harm’s superior grade gave him command of the aircraft. Rank, however, has nothing to do with it, and while in the air, the aircraft commander, regardless of rank, was, well, the aircraft commander. Harm, in this case was subordinate to him.

While in high school, I watched 12 O’clock High, and a friend of mine, while we were riding in the back bus to swim meets, would pretend that we were flying B-17s on combat missions. The bouncing around in the bus seemed to simulate the B-17s flying through clouds of flak on combat missions.

For those of you who wish to validate this tale later, I point to the 187^th AHC Unit Incidents section of their website. On May 16, 1969, you can read the sentence that shows I did blow up a helicopter on a land mine. You can access it here:

http://www.187thahc.net/Incidents/incident_index.htm

Just click on 69 and scroll down to May 16, 1969, to read about the incident. I mention this, as I said, for verification.

As was my habit, though I’m not sure why, as aircraft commander, I would always fly the first mission of the day. As one of the senior aircraft commanders at the time, I was paired with an FNG. The co-pilots were not assigned to a crew, the philosophy being that they would be exposed to many different pilots and would gain experience from all of them and not pick any bad habits.

187th AHC "Crusaders" on the ground waiting for the next mission.

We made the routine pick up of infantry soldiers and were taking them to the LZ. I glanced at the co-pilot and said to him, “I’m not telling you what to do, but it is a good idea to put the sun visor (on the helmet) down to shield your eyed in case something comes through the windshield.”

Everything was fine and we hit the RP and then the IP and were inbound. There had been no arty prep, and we were landing in rice paddies that provided no cover for the enemy. Just before we touched down, there was a tremendous explosion just in front of the aircraft. Without thinking, I executed a hovering autorotation and we hit the ground. The soldiers bailed out of the cargo compartment, scattering rapidly.

To the left, I saw one of the helicopters pull slightly forward of his position in the formation and the door gunner leaped out, running toward us. To the right, the crew chief was out and coming toward us.

Over the radio I heard someone saying, “I know where the RPGs are coming from.”

I’m thinking if the first one was that close; I don’t want to hang around for the second.

Trail said, “Lead. You’re down with nine. Explosion in the center of the flight.”

There must have been other chatter on he radios, but I don’t remember any of it. I just glanced at the instrument panel, noticed that all the instruments were in the green, so I rolled the throttle back to 6600 rpm. There were no major vibrations from the shrapnel in the rotor blades.

Lead said, “On the go.”

I picked up to a hover, kicked the pedals right and left to ensure I had control, and pushed the cyclic forward. I saw the door gunner from that other aircraft skid to a halt, and then turn to run back to his helicopter.

I continued to climb out, thinking that I would rejoin the flight and they realizing that when we touched down in the PZ, none of the soldiers are going to want to climb onto my aircraft. The chin bubbles were broken, the nose was slightly caved in, and the pedals on the co-pilot side were broken off.

I keyed the mic and said that I was going to take the aircraft to Cu Chi. It was the closest airfield. I broke away from the formation and could see the big column of smoke that seemed to always be on the perimeter of Cu Chi, which was visible for miles and what we used as a nav aid.

I called the tower and said, “This is Crusader 617, extensive combat damage. Requesting straight in approach.”

The tower asked, “Are you declaring an emergency?”

I had thought that was clear, but said, “Yes.” I wanted all the emergency equipment out there in case I rolled the aircraft up into a little ball.

I reported that I was and that I was on final. The tower said, “You’re coming in downwind?”

At that point I didn’t care because the wind as the least of my problems. I just “rogered,” them and shot the approach to a hover. Everything was still in the green and I turned off the active runway and landed in the maintenance of the three quarter cav (3/4 Cavalry Regiment), if I remember correctly. I shut down and then wondered what in the hell we were going to do.

It was then that a jeep rolled up and a colonel and lieutenant got out. I don’t know who they were. The colonel didn’t say anything to me, but pointed at the broken chin bubble and told the lieutenant to get up into the pilot’s seat and dangle his feet out through the broken Plexiglass. At that point I had a life-sized picture of the colonel, at home, showing the picture and telling the harrowing tale of his adventure in saving the aircraft.

We, which is to say, my flight crew and I, were taken to battalion headquarters. I was told that Spare Two, which had been standing by at Tay Ninh, would be brought down. I was going to take over that aircraft and standby at Cu Chi until the flight was released. Spare One, which had originally been on standby at Cu Chi had been launched when I left the formation.

We made it to the mess hall for lunch. While we were eating, a captain approached the table and told me that the battalion commander was disappointed… my boots were not properly shined. I’m thinking, I’ve just blow up a helicopter, I’m lucky that the worse injury seemed to be a slight headache and a ringing in my ears, and the battalion commander was more worried about the luster on my boots… not to mention that we didn’t shine our boots. We paid someone else to do it.

Frankly, I don’t remember anything else about this. I don’t know how the crew for Spare Two got back to Tay Ninh. I don’t know why we were assigned to take over rather than the crew for Spare Two just standing by instead.

When I got back to Tay Ninh, I had to fill out a “hit report.” That was sort of fun. Number of hits? One. Damage? Well, it was quite a list because the front was slightly caved in, the pedals were broken on the pilot’s side, the chin bubbles were gone, the windshield was cracked and the air frame was bent. That helicopter would never fly again.

On the other hand, I was scheduled to fly the next day after the flight surgeon cleared me. He said the headache would go away and the ringing in my ears would stop. Besides, we were short of aircraft commanders at the time.