187th AHC and the Presidential Unit Citation

(Note: Although this doesn’t fit into the sequence I had planned here, it is a story I believe needs to be told. It’s more about military customs and protocols than it is about my participation in the war, but it does have significance. I didn’t understand any of that until I began a search for more information about the 187^th AHC receiving a Presidential Unit Citation.)

A number of years ago, then President Barack Obama awarded the Presidential Unit Citation to soldiers of Troop A, 1^st Squadron of the 11^th Armored Cavalry Regiment, who had earned it during the Vietnam War. They had, on March 26, 1970, broken through the jungle to rescue about 100 other soldiers who had stumbled into an enemy bunker complex. These soldiers were outnumbered about four to one. Troop A, risking ambush, land mines, and enemy attack, smashed through to assist their fellow soldiers.

The Presidential Unit Citation

It was a story that reached a national audience and I wondered what the big deal was. True, it was a unit citation given by the President but it was a unit citation and I didn’t understand the overall significance of it.

Let me explain. Almost from the moment I entered the Army back in 1968, I had been authorized to wear a Presidential Unit Citation. Not in basic training, of course, and not during flight school, but as I left Vietnam in September 1969, I was told that we had earned a Presidential Unit Citation, and a Valorous Unit Citation, for which I barely qualified. In my assignments to other units after graduation from the University of Iowa and receiving a commission in the Air Force, I was sent to Air Force units that had earned their own Presidential Unit Citations.

Here’s the kicker. Anyone assigned to the unit, even if not present for the action in which the award was made, has the right to wear the award while assigned to the unit. When I reported to the 442^nd Tactical Airlift Wing at Richards-Gebaur Air Force Base, I learned that I could wear a Presidential Unit Citation earned by the predecessors in the organization during the Normandy Invasion in the Second World War. To me, it meant little. I hadn’t been a member of the unit that had earned the award, no one in the unit had been with it when the award was made, and few, if any, knew what had been done to receive it.

But after seeing the article in the newspaper, and after looking at the websites for the 1^st Aviation Brigade, the 269^th Combat Aviation Battalion, and the 187^th Assault Helicopter Company, all of which mentioned that the Presidential Unit Citation had been awarded to the 187^th AHC, as well as the 116^th AHC, I wondered what we all had done. There was nothing anywhere on those websites that gave me the answer.

I began a search, first using Google but could only find out that both the 187^th and the 116^th had received the award for action that took place from 24 April to 26 April 1969. No specifics about the action and I had no memory of anything that spectacular happening at that time.

Looking at my flight records and at the little notebook I carried back then, as well as the pictures I had taken, I could find nothing to clue me in. I remembered night actions in which the ground units had been shot up badly. In one case, flying with the Hornets, we flew into a hot landing zone at night and took so much fire that the Command and Control ordered us not to land but to just get out of there. Several of the aircraft were so badly shot up that they had to head back to Cu Chi or land somewhere away from the LZ for later retrieval. But that was in the fall of 1968 and had nothing to do with this.

A search of the General Orders (GO) for 1969 and 1970 gave me no hints because I wasn’t sure when the General Order had been written. Searches using all kinds of names, organizations provided nothing, other than both the Crusaders and the Hornets had received the Presidential Unit Citation for the same action.

I tried various combinations of the names of the units, figuring that learning what the Hornets had done would tell me what the Crusaders had done, but found nothing. I concocted several plans to learn more but one night, on a lark, tried Presidential Unit Citation 187^th Assault Helicopter Company, rather than 187^th AHC, figuring it would make no difference because it was the same thing.

But this took me straight to General Order No. 14, dated 10 May 1973 and provided the information I needed. The Presidential Unit Citation was awarded to Company C, 4^th Battalion, 9^th Infantry, 25^th Infantry Division; Battery B, 7^th Battalion, 11^th Artillery, 25^th Infantry Division; Company B, 25^th Aviation Battalion [known as the Little Bears]; Troop D, 3D Squadron, 4^th Cavalry; 116^th Assault Helicopter Company and the 187^th Assault Helicopter Company.

I now had the citation that told me a little about the battle but not much. The key, in the citation, was the line, “With full knowledge of the enemy’s intentions, Patrol Base Frontier City was constructed adjacent to the Cambodian border on 24 April 1969, directly in the path of the enemy’s intended route of advance.”

Using the search engines, I typed in Patrol Base Frontier City and learned about the battle that I had seen. I still remembered little about that special mission, but only because it was shrouded by all the others taking place in that time frame. There had been a lot of missions in support of various bases around the Angel’s Wing area of the Cambodian border and the land north of Tay Ninh in what was then called III Corps. This all was something like fifty or sixty miles from Saigon, and about half that distance to the main base of the 25^th Infantry Division at Cu Chi. The 25^th Aviation Battalion and the Hornets were based there as well. The Crusaders were in the large base camp northwest of Tay Ninh.

Patrol Base Frontier City was what was known as an “instant patrol base.” It had been built in about nine hours using two bulldozers, one flown in by helicopter and the other rafted down a river to be driven overland to the site of the base. An engineer stake was driven into the ground in the center of a large, open area, and a 130-foot-long rope was tied to the stake and used to trace the bunker line.

With these preliminaries carried out, twenty-four pre-packaged bunker kits were flown in and dropped onto the perimeter. There was a shaped demolition charge with each kit and that was used to excavate the bunker. The soldiers then squared the resulting crater off and used the other materials that included pierced steel planks (PSP) and bundles of sandbags, to finish each of the nine-foot bunkers.

The first equipment arrived at about 0800 hours in the morning and by 1700 hours the patrol base was ready. It included a prefabricated observation tower, radar, starlight scopes, two 105 mm howitzers, concertina wire and claymore mines. There were ammunition pits and an unobstructed field of fire out to at least 100 yards. One company was airlifted out and Charlie Company assumed control of the base.

There was no action that first night. The enemy, elements of the 271^st and 272^nd NVA Regiments, were spotted moving around the perimeter in small groups, but made no attack. These enemy units, a klick or more from the patrol base perimeter, were engaged with artillery from fire support bases in the surrounding area.

Aerial photograph of Patrol Base Frontier City.

The next day, April 25, 1969, was spent reinforcing the perimeter, adjusting the fields of fire of the crew served weapons, and finally extracting the two bulldozers by heavy helicopters. Alpha Company, flown in for the purpose, made security patrols, but there was no contact with the enemy. Late in the afternoon, they were extracted.

At 1945 hours, about dusk, the radar picked up company-sized unit moving to the southwest of the base. The target was not engaged. Major Harry Ray, the senior officer present and the 4^th Battalion Operations Officer, wanted to let the situation develop. There was no firing from either side.

An hour later, about 2100 hours, a platoon-sized unit was spotted through the starlight scope. It was setting up RPG launchers about 1000 yards or a klick away. Ray ordered that the enemy position marked by flares and the perimeter illuminated with pre-placed smudge pots. Two cobra gunships from the 25^th Aviation Battalion attacked the enemy. A helicopter flare ship began to drop better illumination creating a scene of strange color with dancing shadows.

At that time, artillery at the nearby fire support bases began to fire rounds from eight-inch guns, 155 mm and 105 mm howitzers, and another helicopter gun team was called in. The area to the south of the patrol base was brought under heavy direct and indirect fire. The base’s two howitzers joined in, and rounds were now dropping from about fifty yards from the perimeter out to about 1000 yards. By 2330 hours, the firing had slowed and then ceased and it was momentarily quiet.

The enemy had not withdrawn and just after midnight, they opened fire with both rockets and mortars. Gunships from both the 25^th Aviation Battalion and the 3^rd Squadron of the 4^th Armored Cavalry began their attacks, as did Air Force gunships that carried multiple miniguns and heavier weapons. The area about the patrol bases was peppered with aerial and ground-based artillery and with fire from miniguns that looked like ruby red rays playing across an alien landscape.

At 0100 the enemy rocket and mortar fire tapered off, and a battalion-sized attack was launched from the south. A Bangalore torpedo was used to blow up a section of the wire and during the assault that followed, eleven of the enemy soldiers reached the interior of the base. The claymore mines were detonated, and several of the American soldiers ran from their bunkers to engage the enemy. The company commander, Captain Ramon T. Pulliam, manned one of the M60 machine guns during the assault. The two howitzers lowered their tubes and fired at the enemy at point blank range using flechettes, that is, firing rounds that contained dozens of small metal darts designed as an anti-personnel weapon.

Gunships from both the Hornets and the Crusaders began working the area, backing up the teams from the other aviation units. An enemy .51 machine opened fire on one of the gunships as he rolled through the area.

A cobra pilot called, over the radio, “Can you roll through again to draw the fire and I’ll suppress it.”

The response was quick from the C model gunship. “No, you roll through there and I’ll suppress the fire.”

The gunships, working to stop the assault, seemed to break the enemy’s back. Air strikes, heavy artillery, and the artillery and machine gun fire from inside the patrol base were too much. The enemy’s crew served and heavy weapons were destroyed, and the battalion strength assaults had failed to overrun the perimeter except for the small hole in the southern wire that was quickly filled. The enemy soldiers there were overwhelmed and forced to retreat.

By 0330, the enemy was attempting to disengage.  Helicopter gunships and artillery harassed that action. The enemy left 214 dead on the battlefield. Six others were taken prisoner. Sixty-four individual weapons and thirteen crew-served weapons were captured or destroyed. One American on the ground was wounded.

Looking at the interior of the camp from outside the wire.

The citation that accompanied the award of the Presidential Unit Citation said, in part, “With full knowledge of the enemy’s intentions, Patrol Base Frontier City was constructed adjacent to the Cambodian border ... directly in the path of the enemy’s intended route of advance. During the early morning hours of 26 April 1969, the patrol base was attacked by an enemy force estimated to be two reinforced battalions of Viet Cong and North Vietnamese regulars. Although the enemy fought savagely to seize the base, the defenders repeatedly repelled the determined, combined artillery and infantry assaults on their position. Purposely permitting the enemy to approach within a thousand meters of their position before bringing them under fire with artillery, mortars, machineguns, small arms and air strikes, the brave defenders devastated the enemy attack. Enemy forces were able to breach the perimeter wire at only one point, but were trapped in a blistering cross-fire and were unable to exploit their gain. The attack was completely stopped and the enemy forces were routed with heavy losses of men and equipment. Totally defeated, the enemy was forced to withdraw to sanctuaries in Cambodia, leaving behind a large number of casualties, numerous weapons, and a large amount of ammunition.”

But that wasn’t the only testament to the soldiers. According to an after-action report on the 25^th Infantry Division website, “By late May the division was able to move freely throughout the area without fear of small unit contacts. Civic action teams went into the villages to find a new confidence there in the allied ability to defend. Vietnamese civilians, no longer faced with the fear of enemy reprisals cooperated with the American and ARVN soldiers by pointing out booby traps, supply caches and enemy bunker complexes.”

Three weeks after the battle, on May 14, 1969, Patrol Base Frontier City was torn down by the same men who had defended it. Delta Company, 4^th Battalion, 9^th Infantry provided security for them. It had been erected as a temporary stronghold, served its purpose, and then ceased to exist.

So, now I knew what had happened and why the Presidential Unit Citation had been given to the units named. But there was one other thing that I hadn’t understood, and that was the significance of the award.

According to Army regulations, “The Presidential Unit Citation is awarded to units of the Armed Forces of the United States and co-belligerent nations for extraordinary heroism in action against an armed enemy occurring on or after 7 December 1941. The unit must display such gallantry, determination, and espirit de corps in accomplishing its mission under extremely difficult and hazardous conditions as to set it apart and above other units participating in the same campaign. The degree of heroism required is the same as that which would warrant award of a Distinguished Service Cross to an individual. Extended periods of combat duty or participation in a large number of operational missions, either ground or air is not sufficient.”

The battle for, and around Patrol Base Frontier City, is not of major significance in the overall picture of the Vietnam War. Fewer than a thousand soldiers on either side were engaged and the American media took no notice of it. The battle was fought within sight of the Cambodian border, there was a single American casualty and he was only wounded. No one outside of those who took part even knew about it and it certainly hasn’t made any of the major books about the war. But it did mean a lot to the men who were there and who were recognized for their courage, even if that recognition came four years after the battle and certainly after the majority of them had left Vietnam, left the army, and never knew that they had received the award.

I certainly fit into that category. I had only heard that we had been awarded a Presidential Unit Citation, but no one seemed to know what it was for, and while I left Vietnam in September 1969 believing that the award had been received, the General Order was dated 1973.

Given what I know now, given the research I have done, made so much easier by the Internet, I can tell the story of that brief little fight in the dark of April 25 that was over before the sun rose on April 26. The fact that so few know about this, including those of us who were there, just reinforces the public perception of Vietnam. But here was a fight with the Americans outnumbered, using their technology, communications, and courage to repel an enemy force that badly outnumbered them, an enemy who then retreated across an imaginary line on the ground to an artificial sanctuary. Now, however, many more of us know what happened, and we have one more reason to be proud of the Army that did a thankless job in an obscure place in a war that so few understood. 

From the Hornets to the Crusaders

My plan here had been to tell the tale in a chronological order from my arrival in Vietnam to my departure (DEROS). I have violated that rule on a couple of occasions because, well, I could. For the most part I will continue along that road, but sometimes will either jump forward or fall backward to cover an interesting tale.

It was in March that the command staff, meaning the company commanders and the battalion commander realized that there was a problem looming on the horizon. The Crusaders, that is, the 187^th Assault Helicopter Company, would see many of its senior pilots, meaning the aircraft commanders, rotating home in a short time. To avoid that, some of the pilots were moved around. I was one of those.

I was told that I would be moving up to the Crusaders from the Hornets and by moving up, I mean going from a point about thirty miles from Saigon to Tay Ninh, which was closer to Cambodia and a little farther north.

I arrived there without much in the way of fan fair. I had packed my duffle bag, stuffed some other, person items in a satchel, climbed into the back of a Huey, and was flown to Tay Ninh. I really don’t remember much about that but I must have reported to the company commander and was assigned to the first platoon.

The Crusader's Officers Club. Notice the sign on the right that suggests that if you

wear your hat in the club, you must buy the bar a round of drinks. I point this out because 

it is a rule that is routinely ignored on those TV shows that feature an officer's club. 

Because I was now a new guy, not in Vietnam, just to the unit, I was again a Peter Pilot, meaning that I wasn’t an aircraft commander. I flew with the first platoon’s ACs on a number of occasions and again, don’t remember much about that. One of the ACs was a heavy smoker and had a habit of engaging the forced trim on the cyclic. That meant that if you let go of it, for whatever reason, it would return to the position that put the aircraft in a climbing right turn. The theory, I think, was that if the pilot who had actual control of the aircraft was suddenly incapable of flying it, the helicopter would not quickly spin out of control, but would enter a shallow climb, giving the surviving pilot a chance to grab the controls.

It also meant that you had to fight the cyclic the whole time because it wanted to enter that climbing turn. Rather than slight pressure to move the cyclic, it required a little more effort. I thought of it as annoying. It made the task more difficult and I know of no case in which using the forced trim in that fashion saved anything. I did find a way to defeat it so that flying wasn’t as strenuous as it had been.

The first platoon had a scheduling board and the platoon leader would put up the aircraft assignments for the next day on that board including which AC and pilot in which aircraft. One day, after about a week or so, I checked the board and didn’t see my name in the pilot slot. I thought I had the next day off and as I turned, I though that I did see my name. I looked back and found that I was assigned as the AC of Spare Two.

Each day two “spare” aircraft were assigned. Spare One, would be pre-flighted and ready to go if needed. If the flight was staging somewhere away from Tay Ninh and there was an airfield or location closer to the area of the day’s operations, Spare One, would locate there. If not needed, when the flight was released, Spare One returned to Tay Ninh if it had flown anywhere else.

Spare Two was the aircraft that would replace Spare One, if Spare One was called up to take a slot in the flight. In other words, it was fairly unlikely that Spare Two would be flying and all you had to do was remain in the company area, sleeping, reading, playing cards or whatever in case you had to replace Spare One. It wasn’t much of an assignment, but then I was now the AC of Spare Two for the next day.

There had been no announcement that I was now an AC. No one said a word to me about it. No ceremony, such as we had had at the Hornets when I was made an AC there. Just my name on the scheduling board in the left-hand slot for the AC rather than the right-hand slot for the pilot.

Of course, the next day, my name moved up and I was assigned to one of the chalk positions in the flight.  I don’t remember where it was because, I don’t remember if we had the lead or trail part of the flight, and I don’t remember if I was assigned an aircraft in the middle of those positions.

I do remember that I was assigned an aircraft, and if it was available, then that was the aircraft I would fly. If it wasn’t, then I would fly another, such as the one that I blew up on a land mine. And I had a crew, or rather, there was a crew chief and door gunner assigned to my aircraft as well. We all flew together most of the time.

For a little bit of foreshadowing, which we’ll get to later, their plan to prevent a number of the ACs leaving the company about the same didn’t work out.

  

Shot Down

 

The 269^th Combat Aviation Battalion was made up of two combat assault helicopter companies; 116^th AHC (Hornets) and the 187^th AHC (Crusaders), as well as a Chinook transportation company, the 242^nd (Muleskinners). There were other units assigned and then reassigned to other units before I arrived in Vietnam. While I was in country there were only the three companies. The area of operations (AO) ranged from near the southern border of II Corps, all of III Corps, and deep into IV Corps. It all depended on the missions, the units and where there was a need for helicopter support.

I had been an aircraft commander long enough that I was no longer assigned to the middle of the flight. I had been deemed competent and others were now flying in Chalk Three or Chalk Eight. On this mission, to extract the Mike Force from the mountains near Song Be Special Forces Camp, I was in Chalk Four. There had been no reports of the enemy in the immediate area. Contact had been broken, and it was time to return the Mike Force to Song Be. In other words, we weren’t expecting much in enemy fire, if any at all.

Song Be Special Forces Camp. Photo copyright by Kevin Randle

We flew over the camp, toward the mountains and up over the ridge line. We were flying Delta Model Hueys, which were weak compared to the Hotel Models flown by the Crusaders.  That meant we didn’t have the power that the H-Models had and we were now operating at a higher-than-normal altitude in high humidity, not to mention a nearly full fuel load, all of which made things even more problematic.

We crossed the ridge line and began the approach to the PZ. It was a crappy PZ, studded with broken tress, brushes, and other debris that could be sucked up in the rotor wash the penetrate the rotor disk, damaging the blades. It was the only place large enough for us to get into as a flight and one that had a defensible perimeter.

The gunships led us in and then buzzed around the periphery of the flight, searching for the enemy. As we touched down, it became clear that the enemy hadn’t completely disengaged. One side of the PZ erupted in small arms fire. I couldn’t see the muzzle flashes, but I could hear the AKs and the .30 caliber machine guns.

Trail said, “You’re down with ten.”

As the firing picked up the Mike Force soldiers began to crawl over one another to board the helicopters. Mortars began to explode with a distinctive crump. I saw a fountain of dirt off the right, at the edge of the PZ, too far to do any real damage to the flight. There were others falling around.

The gunships rolled in, first with mini guns and then 2.75-inch rockets. There was now more smoke and clouds of dirt and dust to the right.

Over the radio I could hear the ground mission commander giving orders to the Green Berets with the Vietnamese, directing the fire. The air mission commander was attempting to coordinate the suppression with the gunships. Our door guns, for the most part, were silent. Friendlies in the line of fire.

Trail said, “Lead, you’re loaded.

“On the go.”

Lead lifted off and began to climb out, turning the left as soon as he was clear of the trees, climbing up and over the ridge.

Chalk Two wasn’t quite as lucky. He was overloaded and under powered. He broke right, down the slope, picking up speed in a slight dive so that he could climb out and turn left.

Chalk Three apparently had no trouble and followed Lead to the left.

It was now my turn and as I climbed over the trees, we were hit with enemy fire. I could feel the rounds striking the aircraft. I was losing power. I watched as the rotor speed fell and the engine RPM wound down. I pushed the collective down. I knew I wasn’t going to be able to make it over the ridge. I didn’t have the power. I thought that I would follow Chalk Two, diving away to the right but couldn’t see him.

One of the enemy rounds stuck the bundle of wires for the commo. The Fox Mike began to cycle with a tuning squeal that went on and on blocking me ability to talk to the flight. I could hear nothing on the Fox Mike except that squeal, but the Uniform was still working.

I slipped down in the seat slightly. There was a two-inch gap between the top of the armored seat and the bottom of my helmet. I was trying to cover that gap.

Over the radio I heard someone say, “The AC’s dead. The ACs dead.”

Hornet Six asked, “Who’s going down?”

I reached over and turned off the Fox Mike to stop the noise. I was looking for the aircraft that was going down because I wanted to land near him for the mutual support. I couldn’t see anyone in front of me. I was unaware of what was happening with the rest of the flight. Over the radio I could hear the gunfire. It kept increasing in volume.

I said, “Four trying to gain rotor RPM,”

There was the ripping sound of the mini guns from the gunships. I couldn’t hear any mortars falling.  I was now far enough from the PZ, that those explosions were lost in all the firing.

I heard, “Lead you’re off with ten. Fire Received.

“Who took fire?”

Someone, I don’t know who, said, “Everyone.”

“Chalk Four. What’s your status?”

I glanced at the engine instruments again. They had crept back into the green during the dive. The rotor speed had recovered and the engine was operating at full RPM. I turned to the left, pulled in some pitch and began to climb out, to get over the ridge line.

Once I cleared the ridge, I rolled over, again diving slightly, to build up the rotor RPM again. I knew that we were getting close to the Special Forces camp. I could tell that we weren’t going to quite make it. I was still losing altitude and now had no real way to recover it. The engine was losing RPM. The engine must have taken a round or two.

I landed about a klick short of the Special Forces camp. I didn’t think we’d make it to their airstrip, and I didn’t want to attempt a low altitude autorotation. Landing under power is always better. Besides, we were far enough away from the PZ and basically under the protection of the Special Forces camp, that it made sense.

Chalk Five touched down about fifty yards behind me. I thought he was there to pick us up, but that wasn’t the case. When he approached me, he said, “I thought you were leaking fuel. I could smell the JP-4 but the bottom of my aircraft looks like Niagara Falls.”

About that time a couple of vehicles from the Special Forces camp arrived. The two sergeants looked over the damage to the aircraft. One of them traced a bullet that had hit the side of my aircraft and traveled up, into the engine. He opened the access panel and found part of the bullet embedded in the engine which explained the power loss. He dug it out, examined it and asked, “Can I have this?”

I looked it over. I thought it was just part of an armor piecing round. Nothing special about it, but the sergeant wanted it. I said, “Sure.”

The rest of the flight had landed on the airstrip outside the camp and were taking off again, heading back to pick up the rest of the Mike Force. That went off with only a little enemy fire and just a couple of mortars. In and out quickly. I don’t think anyone took any hits.

My crew, and that of Chalk Five, rode back to the Special Forces camp. The members of the Mike Force walked. It wasn’t all that far for them.

I don’t remember how we all got back to Cu Chi, but will assume that we rode back in one of the slicks. At the debriefing that night, I don’t remember any of this coming up, except that I was told to be a little quicker on the radio. I mentioned that the Fox Mike had been shot out so that I couldn’t make the normal radio calls until I switched over to the Uniform.

The question came up about who had said that the AC was dead. Turned out it was my co-pilot. He’d seen me slump down in the seat and thought that I had been hit. I looked at him and said, “But I was flying the aircraft. Why didn’t you take the controls?”

He said, “You seemed to know what you were doing.”

That brought a laugh from the other pilots because that made no sense.

At that point the SIX (meaning, of course, the company commander whose call sign was Hornet 6) moved on to other issues.

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.