by Matt Jackson
“Okay, you put in too much collective, but just come back more on your cyclic to bleed off some airspeed and that’ll slow your descent.” Kelly made the adjustment and noticed the runway stopped moving away.
“Good, now just hold what you got. What’s your altitude?” Mike could see what it was on his altimeter but wanted Kelly to be scanning his instruments as well as flying the aircraft.
“We’re at three hundred feet,” Kelly answered.
“Okay, your rate of descent looks good, so just come back on your airspeed a bit.” Bill put a slight amount of back pressure on the cyclic, and the airspeed dropped to forty knots.
“Good, now a little more down pressure on the collective to compensate for the drop in airspeed.” Kelly responded accordingly. “Good, back some more on your airspeed and a bit of down pressure on the collective.” The runway was growing larger in the windshield as the aircraft descended to treetop level. “I’m on the controls with you, but you’re flying the aircraft. Back pressure on cyclic to get your airspeed down to twenty knots. Keep us lined up on the center of the runway with your pedals. Hold what you have on the collective to a one-hundred-foot-per-minute rate of descent.”
Kelly’s eyes were glued to the front of the aircraft as they passed over the end of the runway at about thirty feet. His airspeed was right at twenty knots.
“Okay, think about down pressure on the collective and back pressure on the cyclic,” Mike instructed. Kelly had a white-knuckle death grip on both the cyclic and collective at this point.
“Hey, Kelly, don’t screw this up,” Conrad chimed in as he couldn’t pass up the opportunity to jerk Kelly’s chain.
“He won’t,” Mike said as they felt the skids touched the runway at ten knots airspeed.
“Slowly continue to lower the collective and put some back pressure on the cyclic,” Mike coached as the aircraft kept sliding on the sheet metal runway, finally coming to a full stop.
“Nice job. I got the aircraft,” Mike said as he took the controls and called the tower for clearance to hover taxi to the Chicken Pen.
“You have the aircraft,” Kelly said, taking a deep breath.
“You did good. We’ll practice that a couple more times in the next couple of days and you’ll have it down pat without me talking to you. Maybe by then Mr. Reid will even learn how to shoot,” Mike added with a chuckle.
“Hey, Mike, kiss my ass” was heard on the intercom.17
Chapter 11
Find the Enemy
The Night Hawk mission had one purpose, find and kill the enemy. The mission rotated between the three assault helicopter companies of the battalion on an almost monthly basis. Lobo generally had one aircraft up each night, providing gun cover for whatever company was flying low bird for the night. Tonight’s Night Hawk mission was being flown by elements of B Company, 227th Assault Helicopter Battalion. The mission consisted of three aircraft, two from B Company and one from Delta Company, the Cobra gunship.
The mission was flown after dark with one aircraft flying below two hundred feet above the ground at sixty knots airspeed with all his navigation lights up bright so he could be easily seen. In the cargo door position on the left side of the low bird, a third crew member was manning a fifty-thousand-watt searchlight that had a starlight scope mounted on top. The sensitivity of the starlight scope was such that someone on the ground smoking a cigarette could be easily seen like a lighthouse on a distant shore to a ship. When that happened, the operator turned on the searchlight and the crew chief opened fire with the .50-caliber machine gun. Next to the searchlight and mounted in front of the crew chief was a .50-caliber, M2 machine gun. On the right side was the M60 machine gun normally located on the UH-1H aircraft. That aircraft was the bait. The aircraft commander had flown this mission several times since his arrival in-country over six months ago as the same crews generally flew the mission and slept during the day. You had to be a bit insane to fly this mission, which was usually done by volunteers. Generally, married men were not considered for this mission, and thus most of the crews consisted of single soldiers. In addition, older aviators generally did not fly the mission. There are old aviators and bold aviators, but few old and bold aviators. This mission required bold pilots and crews.
The Cobra gunship would fly above and behind the bait aircraft, watching to see if it took fire, and would engage anyone foolish enough to engage the bait aircraft, or low bird as it was referred to by the crews. The Cobra would also engage any targets that the searchlight illuminated. The Cobra gunship was armed with four rocket pods on the wing pylons. The outboard pods on both sides contained seven flechette rockets each, which were effective against troops in the open. Each flechette rocket contained one thousand, one hundred and seventy-nine darts approximately one inch in length. Inboard on each wing pylon was a pod containing nineteen seventeen-pound, 2.75-inch folding fin rockets, each equivalent to a 105-millimeter artillery round. In addition, the aircraft had two 7.62-millimeter miniguns in his nose turret, capable of firing up to six thousand rounds per minute. Generally, however, the rate of fire was set at three thousand rounds per minute.
The third aircraft was the flare ship, a UH-1H with two pods containing twenty one-million-power flares, ten in each pod, strapped to the outside of the aircraft. Under no circumstances did the crew want any of those flares inside the aircraft. If one accidentally ignited, it would burn through the aircraft in less than ten seconds and there would be nothing the crew could do to save it, or themselves. The pods could be jettisoned if one ignited while in the pod. The flare ship would drop flares one at a time only if needed. One flare igniting at twenty-five hundred feet above the ground could light up a high school football field as if it was day for about five minutes.
Tonight the mission was being flown for the 2nd Brigade, 1st Cav Division, who had the call sign of Sabre. “Sabre Six, Masher One-Five, over.” Masher One-Five was the low bird for tonight’s mission and the mission commander.
“Masher One-Five, Sabre Six India, over.”
“Sabre Six India, Masher One-Five is off Bu Gia Map. Will contact you when we come back to refuel.”
“Roger, Masher One-Five.” Switching radios, Masher One-Five contacted his escort for the night.
“Lobo One-Three, Masher Two-Zero, Masher One-Five, over.”
“Lobo One-Three, over.” Lobo was an AH-1G Cobra gunship assigned to provide cover.
“Masher Two-Zero, go ahead, Masher One-Five, over.” Masher Two-Zero was the flair ship tonight.
“Okay, here’s what we got for tonight. We’re going about twenty klicks to the east and recon a valley out there. Psyops bird thinks they had some .50-cal fire there earlier today and Sabre Six wants us to check it out. Evidently they have other indications of movement in that area. First we’ll run the ridge line and later drop into the valley and see if we get anything.”
“Masher One-Five, roger, Lobo will be at one thousand.”
“Masher Two-Zero will stay behind Lobo at fifteen hundred.” “Roger, Masher One-Five is on the go,” he said as he departed the runway at Bu Gia Map, climbing into the night sky to get to one thousand feet as they headed to their objective area to start their Night Hawk reconnaissance mission. The night was as black as the inside of a well. Cloud cover and a moonless night only added to the darkness typical of this remote portion of Vietnam. There were no towns or electricity in this part of the country. There were few roads, and those were dirt. A sundown curfew was well known by the local villagers, which weren’t many, so they knew to stay in after dark. They were well aware that with the setting sun came the night hunters in low-flying helicopters. They also knew that the NVA would be out after dark, and the villagers didn’t want to be caught between the two opposing forces. Truthfully, they just wanted to be left alone and really didn’t care who the Saigon government was controlled by. One was as corrupt as the other in most people’s minds.
Reaching the valley, Masher One-Five contacted the other two aircr
aft. “Masher One-Five is dropping to two hundred feet. Reducing airspeed to sixty knots.” Both Lobo and Masher Two-Zero came back with affirmative acknowledgments.
“Okay, guys, here we go. How’s the scope working?” the aircraft commander or AC, Mr. Cliff Jeffery, asked. Mr. Jeffery is from Seaford, New York and had attended New York Tech, but like most warrant officers, had dropped out. His sense of humor was constant.
“Sir, it’s working fine,” responded the operator, Specialist Morton. Morton actually worked in maintenance but had requested and gotten permission to fly this evening on the starlight scope. The starlight scope was usually manned by company personnel that weren’t on flight status but just wanted to get out for some fun and excitement. To each his own.
“We’ll start at the top of the ridge line surrounding the valley and slowly work our way to the bottom, flying in a clockwise racetrack pattern the whole time.” Flying in a clockwise pattern inside the valley placed the ridge-line out the left door and the valley floor on the right. One racetrack at this speed would take about thirty minutes, Mr. Jeffery calculated. As the low bird continued to fly slowly along the top of the ridge-line, the starlight scope operator scanned the jungle, hoping to catch some sign of life. On the second lap, Mr. Jeffery dropped down a couple of hundred feet on the ridge and continued his pattern. Patterns weren’t a good thing to do on this mission. If the NVA identified the pattern, they would lay an ambush for the aircraft. Ambushes were generally three heavy machine guns, previously captured US .50-caliber or Chinese Communist 12.7-millimeter. God help an aircraft if one of these weapons was a twin-barrel 23-millimeter antiaircraft gun. The weapons were placed in a triangle pattern on the ground with the hope of catching the aircraft in the middle of the triangle, where it would be very difficult for the aircraft to escape. You attempted to never fly the same route two nights in a row. So far the night had been quiet, with no indications on the starlight scope and no ground fire. As the third lap was completed, Mr. Jeffery called the other aircraft.
“Lobo, Masher, I’m getting low on fuel. How about you guys?”
“Lobo is down to four hundred pounds.”
“Masher is at three hundred and fifty pounds.”
“Okay, let’s head back and refuel and take a break. Masher One-Five is coming up to fifteen hundred and airspeed to ninety knots.” Switching to the intercom, Mr. Jeffery addressed his crew. “Okay, guys, we’re going back to refuel and then shut down for a couple of hours to get some chow and relook our options. Might give the gooks time to come out of their holes and get some work going so when we come back we’ll have something.”
“Sounds good to me,” Specialist Morton responded. He was starting to get a headache from staring through the scope at moving ground.
Mr. Jeffery contacted Sabre Six. “Sabre Six, Masher One-Five, over.”
“Masher One-Five, Sabre Six India.”
“Sabre Six, Masher One-Five is breaking for fuel. Returning to Song Be. Will let you know when we’re back in the air. Over.”
“Roger, Masher One-Five. Give us a call when you’re airborne. Sabre Six India out.”
The flight back to Song Be was quiet as the three aircraft flew through the dark night to refuel. Once refueling was completed and the aircraft repositioned and shut down, the aircraft commanders huddled over a map on the floor of Mr. Jeffery’s aircraft while the crews enjoyed a C-ration midnight snack and a quick nap.
“How do you want to fly the next trip out there?” asked Mr. Waldrep, the Lobo aircraft commander.
“This time I’m thinking of flying north to south starting at the top of the ridge on the west and just flying back and forth scanning the valley floor. We didn’t see anything flying a racetrack pattern in the sides of the valley, so I’ll just cover the ridge quickly and get to the valley floor. There are some large open areas on each side of this road that cuts through the middle,” Mr. Jeffery indicated.
“Okay, what time do you want to head back?” asked Mr. Wilkerson, the commander of the flare ship. “I’d really like to get a quick power nap in. All this night flying is taking a toll on me.”
“It’s 0130 now. Let’s crank at 0330. That puts us there at 0400. Sunrise is at 0630, so that’ll give us plenty of time to work the area. That okay?” Mr. Jeffery asked. They were all in agreement and split up, heading to their respective aircraft.
Two hours later, all three aircraft had rotor blades turning and were departing for the valley they had left earlier in the evening. As they approached the northern end, Masher One-Five began his descent to treetop level. “Flight One-Five is departing altitude. I’ll run the valley north to south.”
“One-Five, Lobo One-Three, roger.”
“One-Five, Masher Two-Zero, roger.”
As Mr. Jeffery lowered the collective and began a deceleration to sixty knots airspeed, he gave a heads-up to his crew. “Okay, guys, here we go. Let’s be on our toes.”
“Guns up, scope up,” the crew responded.
Turning to his copilot, Mr. Pile, he asked, “You want to take this first run?” Mr. Pile was new in-country, and this was his first experience with the Night Hawk mission. He was rather tall and had lowered his seat so he was mostly hiding behind his side armor plate and barely able to see above the forward console.
“I have the aircraft,” Mr. Pile indicated.
“You have the aircraft,” Jeffery responded. Jeffery also launched into instructor mode. “As you start your descent, remember you’re going to be following the contour of the vegetation, which will be high trees on the sides of the valley and cleared fields on the valley floor. Need to be extra alert not to run into a tree as you get towards the south end of the valley. Our navigation lights will help illuminate the treetops a bit so don’t overrun your field of vision. May have to slow down so you don’t. Can you see above the console?”
“Yeah, I’m good. Got it,” Pile responded as he concentrated on flying the aircraft towards the valley floor. At two hundred feet above the ground, he stopped his descent and slowed the aircraft back to fifty knots. It almost felt like they were at a hover moving this slow. The valley floor was a combination of open fields interspersed with tree lines. The one road through the valley was to the left side of the aircraft, the side with the starlight scope and searchlight.
“Truck!” screamed Specialist Morton, and he turned on the searchlight, which blinked twice before a steady light painted the truck on the road. The truck appeared to be a two-and-a- half ton truck covered in tree limbs and brush to camouflage the truck. Instantly, Specialist Dunbar, the crew chief manning the M2 .50-caliber machine gun, opened fire. He was very accurate with this weapon, having had extensive practice over the past month. His first rounds hit in front of the truck, moving in the opposite direction of the aircraft, and then began chewing through the engine and cab. Mr. Jeffery took the controls almost immediately.
“I got it.” He executed a tight left turn, keeping the truck in the searchlight beam.
“You got it,” Mr. Pile indicated, and he grabbed the 40-millimeter grenade launcher that he carried, which had been on the seat back next to him. He began scanning outside the aircraft on his side. His door had been removed earlier just so he could add fire to the right side if necessary.
“Lobo, Masher, you see this?” Jeffery asked on the radio.
“Roger, am I clear to roll hot?”
“Roger, Lobo, breaking north, keeping him on my left. I got you covered,” Jeffery said as a flare was dropped from fifteen hundred feet and turned night into day.
Lobo nosed over into a one-thousand-foot-per minute dive and unleashed two 2.75-inch air-to-ground rockets along with a stream of 7.62 minigun fire. Both rockets impacted next to the truck. One might have even hit, as the next instant, the truck exploded in a massive fireball.
“Holy shit! It must have been full of ammo,” Mr. Waldrep said as he pulled out of his dive, and Masher One-Five opened fire around the truck with the M2 to cover Lobo’s climb. Then the
ground lit up. Green tracers from the tree line across the fields concentrated on the aircraft. Mr. Pile was firing his single-shot 40-millimeter grenade launcher as fast as he could reload the single-shot weapon. The M60 machine gun on the right side was at its maximum rate of fire, stitching the tree line, while the M2 on the left side was doing the same on its side. Lobo executed a tight diving pedal turn at one thousand feet, directing his fire at the tree line. More flares were turning night into day and both M60s on the flare ship were engaging wherever enemy fire was coming from, which at this point was almost the entire valley floor.
“Masher One-Five, get out of there!” screamed Mr. Waldrep as he punched off the last of his inboard rockets.
“Roger, One-Five is exiting to the south,” Jeffery said as he nosed the aircraft over to one hundred knots, pulling power to increase speed but not altitude.
“We’re taking hits!” Dunbar, the crew chief, said, trying to control his voice. Small hammer sounds could be heard on the side of the aircraft. Too many, dammit, Jeffery was thinking. With each sound, his eyes flashed to the engine and transmission instruments to make sure they hadn’t been seriously hit. A helicopter had a lot of hollow space but also critical components that couldn’t withstand a bullet. The enemy fire was inaccurate, but the intensity was so great that some rounds were going to find the aircraft. Lobo continued to cover Masher’s escape, launching his remaining flechette rockets and expending the remainder of his minigun ammunition. Finally, Masher was out of the valley and climbing to altitude.
“Sabre Six, Masher One-Five,” Jeffery called, attempting to raise the brigade headquarters operations officer.
With a slight yawn in his voice, Sabre Six India responded, “Masher One-Five, Sabre Six India, over.” Sabre Six India, the Operations clerk, had come on shift at midnight and things had been boring and quiet for the evening. So boring that he had been alone in the TOC for the past half hour.
