by Matt Jackson
Chapter 5
Take No Prisoners
Sitting in the left seat, WO1 Ritchie was getting strapped in for the day’s missions.4 His right-seat pilot was fairly new, having only been in-country about a month. Specialist Lovelace, the crew chief, unclipped the fire extinguisher and took up a position on the left side of the aircraft, looking through the inspection panel of the engine compartment for a potential engine fire on start-up. Specialist Mondie, a crew chief on another aircraft that was in maintenance for the day, had volunteered to serve as the door gunner today, and he did the same on the right side of the engine compartment. Fire was the one thing all crew members feared the most, even more than being shot.
“AC panel circuit breakers all in. Radios set and off. Fuel off, hydraulics on; DC panel circuit breakers all on. Nonessential bus off,” Mr. Bob Zuccardi called out, placing his left hand on each item as he called it out. “Throttle set; battery on, fuel on.” With that, he pressed the start button on the collective, and the engine began to turn. “N1 is coming up.” At twenty percent N1, he rolled the throttle past the detent button and the engine fired up as he continued to roll the throttle to full power. “Engine rpm is sixty-six hundred, and rotor is in the green.”
While he was going through the start-up procedures, Ritchie was tuning the radios and calling for clearance to take the runway. Once they were satisfied that there would be no engine fire, Lovelace and Mondie moved to the front of the aircraft and secured the fire extinguisher, then pulled the bulletproof protector on the exterior of the pilots’ seats forward and closed the pilots’ doors.
“I have the aircraft,” Ritchie said.
“You have the aircraft,” Mr. Zuccardi responded, indicating that positive control of the aircraft had been transferred from one pilot to the other.
“Clear left,” Lovelace indicated.
“Clear right,” Mondie responded.
“Clear to come back,” both responded in unison.
With that, Ritchie picked the aircraft up to a hover within the metal revetment and started backing out to move to the runway. Revetments were about fifteen feet wide, forty feet long and six feet high, with dirt sides sandwiched between corrugated metal sheets. They were designed to provide some protection to the aircraft during rocket or mortar attacks, and the sides of most revetments indicated that they were doing their job.
Ritchie called Flight Operations. “Chicken-man Three India, Chicken-man One-Two.”
“Chicken-man One-Two, go ahead.”
“Chicken-man One-Two is off Lai Khe.”
“Roger, One-Two, have a good day.”
As Ritchie pulled in power and climbed out, he turned to his copilot. “Zuccardi, call Arty and get us clearance up to Song Be.”5
The morning sun was just cresting the horizon and the sky was clear right now but could change quickly, which was typical for this time of year. The southwest monsoon season was from May to September, so a downpour could occur and usually did in the afternoons. Fortunately, most downpours could be seen coming and avoided. Traffic was moving on Thunder Road, Highway 13, the main road from Saigon to the Cambodian border and Snoul, the first major city in Cambodia and the scene of heavy fighting on May 1, 1970, with the Cambodian Incursion. Since it was a dirt road, most vehicles were plowing through mud. Ritchie tuned in the Armed Forces Radio Network for some morning music for the crew. A country song was on, and Ritchie sang along.
“Mr. Ritchie, do you have all those country songs memorized? How about some Aretha Franklin?” asked Mondie. Mondie was a nineteen-year-old black kid from the Lower East Side of New York City, known as the Alphabet City, and had enlisted for Huey mechanic. Rather than spend his evenings drinking away his pay, he was working on taking his SAT exam so he could take his GI bill and go to college once he got home.
“Mondie, I do have most country songs memorized as I grew up listening to the greats. Merle Haggard, Johnny Cash, Marty Robbins, Sons of the Pioneers…great stuff.”
“Where you from, Mr. Ritchie, that you would listen to that stuff? Sure ain’t from California,” Lovelace jumped in. Lovelace was from Kentucky, as his accent indicated, and was new to Mr. Ritchie’s crew, as the AC he normally crewed for had recently gone back to the States. Lovelace was a quiet fellow who always carried a smile and others would tease a bit about his curly blond hair. After high school, he’d worked for a time in a furniture store but had aspirations of going back to Lexington and opening his own store.
“I’m from Los Alamos, New Mexico,” Ritchie stated.
“Is that why you always wear them shit-kicker cowboy boots?” Lovelace asked.
“I wear them because they’re very comfortable and easy to get on and off, and until someone says I can’t wear them when I’m flying, I will continue to do so,” Ritchie unapologetically explained.
“What’d you do there before the Army?” asked Mondie.
“Would you believe I was a cop when I got drafted? Started as a cop as soon as I graduated from high school. They’re even holding my job for me until I get home.”
“Hell, how old were you when you got drafted? I thought being a cop, you would be exempt from the draft,” Lovelace chimed in.
“Being a cop got me exempt for only so long. I was twenty-seven when they finally called me up and married too. Thought that alone would keep me from getting drafted but no.”
“No wonder you look so old,” Mondie interjected.
“Hey, I’m not as old as Fairweather,” Ritchie protested.
“That’s true. He even has gray hair in his mustache, and a lot of it too,” Mondie stated.
All the while, Zuccardi was taking this running diatribe in, just enjoying the morning flight. He had been in-country all of three weeks and flying only a week, so everything was fairly new to him. Originally from Premont, Texas, he rather enjoyed Ritchie’s musical selections.
“What about you Mr. Zuccardi? You married?” Lovelace asked.
“Nope,” was all Zuccardi would say.
Not to be left out of the conversation, Mondie started in, “Were you drafted too, Mr. Zuccardi?
“No, I had two years of college and thought I needed a break. Wasn’t sure what I wanted.” Finally Zuccardi asked, “What have we got once we get to Song Be?”
“Not sure. We’re working for Third Brigade, so we’ll refuel and then go to the Ops center and see what they got for us. Why don’t you take it, and I’ll get us clearance to the refuel point?” Ritchie directed.
“Okay, I have the aircraft,” Zuccardi indicated.
“You have the aircraft,” Ritchie responded. Tuning in the frequency on the VHF radio for Song Be tower, Ritchie depressed his foot switch and made the call. “Song Be Tower, Chicken-man One-Two.” Song Be was the largest town in the area northeast of Quan Loi. About a thousand people lived there in mostly concrete block and stucco structures. There was a Catholic Church and a small hospital as well as a school located next to a civilian dirt airstrip. Song Be tower provided clearances at the military airfield which was separate from the civilian airfield in the town. The civilian airfield had no tower.
“Chicken-man One-Two, Song Be Tower, over.”
“Song Be Tower, Chicken-man One-Two is three miles south for landing POL. Over.”
“Roger, Chicken-man One-Two, you’re cleared for straight in.”
“Roger, Song Be,” Ritchie responded. Turning to Zuccardi, he asked, “Did you get that?
“Yeah, cleared for a straight in to POL,” Zuccardi answered.
“Roger that,” Ritchie stated and switched his radio to FM radio 1. “Badger Six, Chicken-man One-Two, over.”
After a short pause, he heard, “Chicken-man One-Two, good morning, Badger Six India here.”
“Badger Six India, Chicken-man One-Two is on final for POL. What do you want us to do? Over.”
“Chicken-man One-Two, someone will meet you at the base of the tower with your work for today. Initially you’ll be in support of the ARVN battalion at
…” And Ritchie plotted the coordinates on his map as Zuccardi hovered into POL and the crew commenced with a hot refuel. After Ritchie had the position plotted, he handed the map to Zuccardi who looked up at Ritchie with wide eyes.
“What’s the matter?” Ritchie asked.
“These coordinates put us about one klick from the border,” he said as he passed the map back to Ritchie.
“Yeah, that’s about right. Never been that close, have you? Don’t worry. Things have been fairly quiet since we went into Cambodia and cleaned out their supply bases. The Vietnamese airborne units are just cleaning up the remnants of the NVA that were south of the border when we crossed over back in May. How you coming on the refuel, Lovelace?”
“Sir, we’re just finishing up the top-off.”
Lovelace and Mondie came forward and closed the pilots’ doors and took their respective places.
“Clear left.”
“Clear right.”
“Clear up and back,” came the expected response from the crew.
Ritchie came to a hover and slid right before executing a pedal turn and hovering to the base of the tower, where two individuals were standing. One appeared to be a Vietnamese soldier and the other an American. On closer examination, both were officers, and it appeared that the American was an advisor to the Vietnamese unit. Upon landing, the Vietnamese officer jumped in and took a seat while the American came up to Ritchie’s door and stood on the skid.
“Good morning, are you Chicken-man One-Two?” asked the US captain.
“Yes, sir, Mr. Ritchie, and this is Mr. Zuccardi.”
“Good. We need to head to the ARVN battalion location and have you run some resupply for them, and then we have a six-pack for this afternoon.”
“Sounds like we aren’t going to get bored today. We have the location for the battalion, so anytime you’re ready,” Ritchie stated. With that, the captain climbed into the back and took a seat.
“Get us clearance for takeoff. Coming up,” Ritchie said to everyone who was monitoring the intercom system.
As Zuccardi got clearance from the tower, the crew cleared the aircraft to come out and depart. Climbing out over the town of Song Be, Ritchie took a heading of due north, flying over the US firebase at Bu Gia Map and continued on until he sighted the ARVN firebase just south of the Cambodian border. As he approached, he could see where a logistics pad was established, with cases of C-rations and water stacked neatly in three piles. In addition, each pile had some chickens and a pig.
“Hey, guys, guess what’s for dinner—fowl or pork?” Ritchie remarked.
“Oh, Mr. Ritchie, that is sick,” Mondie spoke up. Being from New York City, Mondie had only seen meat in packages and not on the hoof.
Lovelace was a bit more practical. “Those chickens and pigs best not shit on my aircraft or that captain is going to be cleaning it up.” They did have a habit of doing that, especially if the guns were fired. Everyone hoped that wouldn’t be necessary. As they touched down, the captain came forward between Ritchie and Zuccardi.
“Here’s the location of each unit and their call signs. An American NCO is with each unit and will be monitoring the radio as well as talking to you.”
“That’s good, sir, as my Vietnamese is limited to ‘You number ten GI.’”
The captain chuckled and shook his head. “Then I suggest you don’t get captured anytime soon, Mr. Ritchie.”
“Don’t intend to, sir.”
“Okay, after your last resupply, refuel and come back here to shut down. I’ll be here to brief you on the next mission. Any questions?”
“No, sir, we’ve got it,” Ritchie said. With that, the captain exited the aircraft along with his Vietnamese counterpart, who addressed the Vietnamese soldiers standing next to the supplies to be loaded. As he walked away, they started loading everything.
“Lovelace, take the water cans first, and only thirty. Have them take the C-rations off until all the water cans are loaded.” As Lovelace had them start correcting the load, Ritchie turned to Zuccardi.
“Only want thirty water cans on the first lift until we see what the LZ is like. Thirty water cans gives you a manageable, efficient load for the first time in. It also gives them time to fill canteens before the second load so we can backhaul the empty cans. The first hover hole I went into with Cory was so bad we only got in with fifteen water cans. That was the hover hole from hell. You were on that one, weren’t you, Lovelace?”6
“No, sir. Lieutenant Cory had a habit of getting the worst hover holes every time. Use to scare the crap out of me. The worst I was with him on was a time with Grampa. That was the worst hole, and don’t you ever take us into one like that,” Lovelace whined.
“Your call, Lovelace. You can see back there; we can’t from up here. We just fly the aircraft, you tell us where to go.”
“We’re up, Mr. Ritchie,” Mondie indicated. The Vietnamese had the aircraft loaded with thirty water cans but couldn’t understand why that was all Ritchie was taking. Mental block and language barrier, Ritchie thought.
“Coming up,” Ritchie indicated as he raised the collective, and the aircraft came to a three-foot hover. Checking his power, he was satisfied that it was sufficient for the load and started forward, increasing speed and altitude. Climbing to twenty-five hundred feet, Zuccardi called the unit they were supporting on FM 2.
“Snake Six-One, Chicken-man One-Two, over.”
After a minute or so, they heard an American voice with a Southern drawl. “Chicken-man One-Two, Snake Six-One, go ahead.”
“Snake Six-One, Chicken-man One-Two is inbound to your location. Pop smoke.”
“Roger, smoke’s out.”
“Gads, that was quick,” Zuccardi commented.
“He was expecting us and had it ready to go. There it is,” Ritchie said. In the distance, red smoke appeared, drifting up on the side of a small clearing.
“Snake Six-One, I have Rosie Red smoke.”
“Affirmative, Chicken-man One-Two. Recommend you land north to south as we have light wind from the south. Tree height is lowest on the north side.”
“Roger, Snake Six-One,” Zuccardi responded. “Did you get that?” he asked Ritchie.
Ritchie was looking over the landing zone out the left side of the aircraft. “Yeah, but we need to be careful about going too far north. That border is right over there.” After a pause, he added, “Okay, we’ll make our approach north to south but tight over the landing zone. Left-hand pattern on this trip with ninety-degree turn to final. The LZ is partial filled with water, so we’ll go long over the water and land on the south side. Never land in a pond, but stay at a hover as you don’t know what’s just below the water level. Could be stumps or logs. Stay on your toes, guys.”
With that, Lovelace and Mondie raised their guns and began scanning the vegetation as Ritchie circled the LZ while losing altitude. As the aircraft continued downward in a wide spiral, Zuccardi sat looking over to the left, occasionally glancing at the instruments to see that all was normal. As the aircraft passed through three hundred feet, Ritchie lowered the collective more to accelerate the loss of altitude over the north end of the landing zone and decelerated rapidly, dropping into the landing zone. As soon as the aircraft was a few feet above the ground, the crew cleared him to land after ensuring that there were no stumps to poke holes in the fuel tanks or logs that would bend the skids. They also cleared the tail rotor so there were no tail rotor strikes, which could amount to having to replace the blade or cause a serious crash. Zuccardi started to reach for the controls out of habit, stopping short as Ritchie pulled in more collective, arresting the rapid descent and gently setting the aircraft on the ground. Zuccardi just sat there with a look of fright on his face. This was his first nonstandard flight school approach. He was learning to be a combat pilot now.
Ritchie looked over. “You don’t wanna be hanging around the treetops low and slow in the dead man zone when you have space to come in fast and settle in quickly. You g
ot to have airspeed or altitude and preferably both, but if you don’t have either and your engine quits, you’re going to have a bad day. When we get back and shut down, pull out the -10 and we’ll go over the dead man zone parameters.”7 In the meantime, Vietnamese soldiers were grabbing water cans and hunkering down beside them in anticipation of the rotor wash when the aircraft took off.
“You’re up, Mr. Ritchie,” Lovelace said as the last water can was removed. The crew cleared him to come up. Pulling up on the collective and easing the cyclic forward, Ritchie moved the aircraft up and forward, clearing the tops of the nearest trees by a few feet, at which time he increased his power but moved the cyclic forward rapidly, increasing airspeed instead of altitude.
“Let’s stay low-level back to the firebase. You have the aircraft.”
“I have it,” said Zuccardi as he took the controls.
“Snake Six-One, Chicken-man One-Two,” Ritchie called.
“Chicken-man One-Two, Snake Six-One.”
“Yeah, Snake Six-One, we have one more load for you of chow and ammo. We’ll backhaul any empty water cans you have for us. Should be back in one-five mikes. Over.”
“Roger, Chicken-man, see you soon. Snake Six-One out.”
Arriving back at the firebase, Zuccardi brought the aircraft into the log pad, which was compressed grass, so there was little dust to contend with. As soon as the aircraft was on the ground, Vietnamese soldiers started tossing everything left into the aircraft, to include the chickens and the pig. One Vietnamese soldier also got in to keep the pig and chickens under control. Lovelace motioned to the Vietnamese that if the pig crapped, he was cleaning it up. He understood but did not look happy. When all was set, Zuccardi came to a hover, checking his power, and started climbing out when he was satisfied.
