by Lew Jennings
Personnel in the air traffic control tower had watched the whole thing and fire trucks were already on their way. The tower called us and we reported safe with little apparent damage.
After the fire trucks arrived and stayed on the other side of the concertina wire barrier, the now totally embarrassed Instructor Pilot notified the tower he would lift the aircraft to a hover out of the mud and back to the runway to further inspect for any damage.
We did just that and with the help of the fire trucks and their high-pressure water nozzles gave the aircraft a complete bath and spent a long time examining the helicopter. With no apparent damage, he terminated the check ride and we flew back to Vinh Long.
Even though I hadn’t flown a single maneuver, the Instructor signed me off as competent to fly with the promise I wouldn’t reveal to anyone in the unit what had happened. I didn’t and he shall forever remain unnamed.
My first real mission was with Chief Warrant Officer Ed Bobilya. He had been in country quite a while and was an experienced Aircraft Commander. He would become my primary mentor while flying for the Charlie Troop “Comanches”. We took off from Vinh Long and headed to a US Special Forces camp named Moc Hoa to conduct reconnaissance operations near the Cambodian border.
This was the Mekong Delta of Vietnam where the insurgent Viet Cong forces transported weapons and supplies, infiltrating in small boats called sampans from Cambodia on the many rivers, canals and tributaries throughout the region.
We were to team up with another Cobra and two OH-6 LOHs or Loaches as Scouts, plus a Huey flown by the Commanding Officer or Operations Officer to provide command, control and communications to coordinate our mission.
The Scouts flew extremely low, sometimes less than 10 feet, continually bobbing and weaving to avoid being hit by enemy fire as they looked for enemy personnel, supplies and equipment.
The Cobras flew overhead at around a thousand feet keeping a close eye on the Scouts and ready to lay down horrific fire power if they ran into trouble.
Scout Pilots were well known for their extreme bravery flying low and slow to ferret out enemy positions. They even had a different anatomy than the rest of us as their testicles were as big as basketballs and their sexual prowess was, well, let’s just say they were men of much bravado!
And they depended on us Cobra Pilots to watch out for and protect them whenever they needed some help, which was often.
I was thinking about our brave Scout Pilots and anxious to prove myself and gain Ed’s confidence as a good Copilot.
I climbed into the front seat and got my gear sorted in this little confined space; Chicken Plate in place over my chest, pistol between my legs to protect the family jewels, large tactical maps carefully folded so I could help with navigation and at the ready to call in position reports, adjust artillery fire, request medical evacuation or just keep us informed of our location, grease pencils to write notes on the Plexiglas that I would wipe clean after the mission, and the gun sight at the ready in case I had to respond to enemy fire with the devastating Gatling gun.
As we cranked up to head out and did radio checks over the intercom, I told Ed how excited I was to be his Copilot on my very first mission.
He hesitated a moment, then told me, “Lew, your position up front is not Copilot, it’s Bullet Catcher. Your job is to protect me, the Pilot. You will fly for three months up front as bullet catcher and if you live, you will get to be Pilot”.
With that, he laughed as we lifted off to join the team. Me, I was totally silent thinking about what he just said and wishing I had a bigger Chicken Plate!
We flew all kinds of missions, day and night, throughout the Delta region, staging out of places like Moc Hoa and Chi Lang. We constantly provided cover for our Scout Pilots as they discovered enemy locations. We prepped landing zones (LZs) for large formations of troop-carrying Hueys and escorted them into and out of danger. We provided close air support to troops of the 9th Infantry Division. We conducted reconnaissance operations to find and fix enemy locations and when we did, fought pitch battles for hours, returning to the battles again and again after refueling and rearming at remote locations. And we performed a peculiar mission called “Heroes Hooch”, where we would sleep out under the helicopters in full gear at night to instantly respond to incoming mortar fire or rocket attacks on our base at Vinh Long.
I learned a lot from Ed Bobilya, Damon Cecil and many of the other Aircraft Commanders I had the privilege of flying with and being their Bullet Catcher. After two months, I was nominated early to become an Aircraft Commander myself and having survived my time in the front seat, started flying Cobras from the back seat as Pilot. Don Ericksen was the first to volunteer to fly as my personal Bullet Catcher and we would become life-long friends.
The guys would laugh at my routine flying in the back seat. I was just 5 feet, 9 inches tall but would put my seat all the way down so all you could see were my eyeballs peeking out the bottom of the windows.
I was one of the few Pilots to wear the new “Ballistic Helmet”. It was supposed to be strong enough to repel small arms fire, however most Pilots didn’t like the damn thing as it was very heavy and wouldn’t wear it. Not me! I always wore my ballistic helmet even though within a few minutes, my head would flop over to one side or the other from the weight and stay that way for the remainder of the flight. I didn’t care as long as it would help me survive and complete the mission.
And even flying in the back seat with Bullet Catchers up front, like my dear friend Don Ericksen, I always wished I had a bigger Chicken Plate. We were always getting ourselves into trouble with the bad guys. That was our job.
I flew as Aircraft Commander with the “Comanches” of C/7/1 for just a few weeks when a new unit of the 101st Airborne Division (Airmobile) arrived in country and needed experienced Aircraft Commanders. I was selected to join the new unit way up north near the demilitarized zone at a base called Camp Evans. It was Alpha Troop, 2nd of the 17th Air Cavalry, 101st Airborne Division (Airmobie). My new call sign would be Assault 23.
I would not see Don Ericksen again for 20 years.
7/1st Air Cavalry Cobras over the Mekong Delta
CHAPTER TWELVE
SCREAMING EAGLES
2/17th Air Cavalry Squadron
There were a bunch of us Loach, Huey and Cobra Pilots from throughout the 7/1st Air Cavalry Squadron at Vinh Long that would be “infused” with the new air cavalry squadron up north near the DMZ and the ancient city of Hue.
Most everyone in the new unit, which had come over from Fort Campbell, Kentucky, had arrived at the same time so all had the same DEROS date (Date Estimated Return from Overseas Service) which meant they would all be leaving at the same time 12 months later.
It was necessary then to transfer many of the new arrivals to other units in Vietnam and infuse experienced folks into the new unit. This would make the unit combat ready quickly while at the same time reduce personnel turn over due to similar DEROS dates.
The familiar term “short-timer” refers to counting down the days you have left in country to your DEROS date. When you get within weeks or days to your Date of Estimated Return from Overseas Service, you officially become a Short-Timer.
Ed Bobilya and I were the chosen ones from the Weapons Platoon to join the others from our Squadron and head north. We packed up all our gear into our Hueys at Vinh Long. We were flown to the nearby base at Can Tho where we loaded aboard Air Force C-130 cargo transports for the several hundred-mile flight north to Hue Phu Bai in I Corps (pronounced Eye-Core).
The rear loading ramp was down as we climbed aboard with the Air Force Load Master directing “40 to a pallet” over and over again as we sat down on the plane’s hard steel floor and squeezed together as tight as we could.
Finally, he raised the loading ramp as the four huge turboprop engines cranked up and we were off. I don’t remember much about the trip other than it was uncomfortable as hell, alternating between a sweatbox on the ground and a cold mea
t locker at altitude. I loved being a Pilot but hated being a passenger, especially being treated like cargo and squeezed together like sardines “40 to a pallet”.
It didn’t take the C-130s long to fly us north for our rendezvous with destiny with the 101st Airborne Division (Airmobile). The decorated Division of World War II fame, known as the Screaming Eagles with the bald eagle as its combat patch, also has the battle motto; “Rendezvous with Destiny”.
The 101st Airborne Division (Airmobile) in 1969 was a huge organization with over 15,000 soldiers in three combat Brigades, an Air Cavalry Squadron, an Artillery Battalion, an Aerial Rocket Artillery Battery, a Ranger Company and a host of Transportation, Communication, Intelligence, Medical and other Support and Special Operations units.
The Division Headquarters and main base was located at Camp Eagle just outside of Hue in I Corps, the most northern military sector of South Vietnam. Other units of the Division were spread throughout the region at Camp Evans, LZ Sally, Phu Bai, Quang Tri and temporary forward locations called firebases, with names like Bastogne, Blaze, Zon, Berchtesgaden, Rendezvous, Currahee, Airborne, Ripcord and more.
My new unit, Alpha Troop, 2nd Squadron, 17th Air Cavalry was located at Camp Evans just north of the ancient city of Hue.
We arrived at the Hue Phu Bai airport where we were greeted by our new Squadron Commander, Lieutenant Colonel William “Bill” DeLoach. He went down the line as we stood in formation, shaking our hands and welcoming us to the new unit. When he got to me, he looked me in the eye and thanked me for coming aboard as a combat experienced Aircraft Commander. Little did he know I only had a few weeks experience as an “AC” and hadn’t fired a rocket in anger yet, however that would quickly change.
We loaded our gear aboard trucks and then climbed aboard Hueys to fly to nearby Camp Evans. When we arrived in the new Alpha Troop area, it was a sight to behold. Organized chaos!
Unlike our old unit down south at Vinh Long with manicured grounds, palm trees, clean comfortable quarters and lots of amenities, Camp Evans looked like the aftermath of some terrible storm that had left small buildings strewn on a sea of mud. The whole base was a series of scattered structures on small hills of dirt and valleys of sand and mud.
The hooches were 20 by 30-foot plywood structures with tin roofs, precariously arranged in rows on the sides of hills and gullies. Their walls were 4 by 8-foot single plywood sheets laid horizontally, with sandbags piled up 3 to 4 feet around the base. Then screen mesh for ventilation from the top of the plywood up another four feet to the tin roof. And more sand bags had been thrown up on the roof to keep the tin sheets from blowing off during the monsoon season’s wind and rain.
Small shower and latrine buildings of similar construction known as “shitters” could be seen scattered throughout the area, with their distinctive 50-gallon drum and diesel immersion water heaters mounted up on the roofs, to provide hot water for showers, and an adjacent latrine that could accommodate up to five patrons.
The headquarters building and mess hall looked the same as the other hooches.
The location of the Tactical Operations Center (TOC) which is the communications center and heartbeat of the unit was easily identified by the cluster of antennas nearby, however, the center itself was a steel Conex container buried under the ground, with layers of sandbags on top and around the narrow entrance for protection from rocket or mortar attacks.
The aircraft were located a few hundred feet away on the top of a small ridge. Perforated Steel Planking (PSP) are large mats of steel with holes in them and easily hinged together, that had been laid on the ground in rows of 10 by 20-foot sections, each section bordered on the sides with 4-foot high sand bag walls. Each section was called a revetment and spaced far enough apart to park the helicopters side by side with room for the turning rotor blades.
Compared to Vinh Long, Camp Evans looked like a garbage dump. It was our new home though and in typical GI fashion we set to work to make it our own.
Each one of us had a cot, sleeping bag, duffel bag with our gear, and a mosquito net which we set up in our hooches along with stringing lines to hang laundry and we pounded nails near our cots as hooks for our gear. Then we started searching the base camp, scrounging materials to build out the interior of the hooches to include small night stands, wall lockers, foot lockers, card tables and even a bar with a refrigerator in ours!
In short order, we were pretty well settled in and it was time to get down to the serious business of getting the unit combat ready. We would move to Camp Eagle a few weeks later.
Alpha Troop was a large, complex organization of 26 aircraft and nearly 300 personnel.
The aircraft included 8 UH-1 Hueys, 9 AH-1 Cobras and 9 OH-6 LOHs (Light Observation Helicopters or “Loaches”).
The aircraft, Pilots and support personnel were organized in Platoons; LIFT for the Hueys, WEAPONS (also called GUNS) for the Cobras and SCOUTS for the LOHs.
In addition to the aircraft platoons were a Headquarters section for our command and admin personnel, a Maintenance section for aircraft and vehicle support and, unique to Air Cavalry Troops, a Platoon of infantry known as the BLUE Platoon.
Colors were also associated with the platoons; RED for Guns, WHITE for Scouts and BLUE for the Infantry and Lift.
The Troop was commanded by a Major, with a Captain as Executive Officer, a Captain as Operations Officer and more Captains as Platoon Leaders. Most of the Pilots were Warrant Officers with enlisted men as helicopter crew chiefs, door gunners, maintenance and support personnel and infantry.
Major Tom Curtin was our commanding officer. He was a cigar chomping, combat-seasoned leader and much older than the rest of us. At the ripe age of 34, Curtin had commanded the Troop at Fort Campbell, Kentucky while it was being organized and prepared for deployment to Vietnam. He was well respected by his troops and definitely knew his stuff.
Curtin was now faced with the formidable task of getting Alpha Troop combat ready within 30 days. He started a daily regimen of briefings on combat tactics, unit procedures, and enemy intelligence and orientation of our area of operations (AO).
The daily briefings were supplemented with flight training in our particular aircraft, check rides from the unit Standardization Instructor Pilot (SIP) and one-on-one orientation flights with experienced Pilots like Roger Cauble of Delta Troop, 1st Squadron, 1st Cavalry Regiment, who had been there for about a year and knew the area well.
We spent hours and hours building our map books, memorizing procedures, orienting ourselves to the Division area of operations, prepping our gear and aircraft and getting to know and trust one another.
It was April 1969. We had already performed some reconnaissance and convoy cover missions up north, as the 9th Marines had wound up Operation Dewey Canyon in the northern A Shau Valley and Khe Sanh plain and were recovering back to their bases at Vandergrift and Quang Tri. It would be the last major combat operation for the Marines up there.
I had a really close call while supporting the Marines that almost ended my tour of duty before it could even get started. It was one of those things you don’t expect to happen that gets you. And this one classifies as a true near disaster.
We were refueling at Firebase Vandegrift (the Marines owned it and called it Combat Base Vandegrift) up by the DMZ covering their pullout from the Khe Sahn plain. I was lounging in the back seat as Aircraft Commander Supreme with the helicopter running at “flight idle” while the lowly Copilot, today it was John Bacic, had the duty of refueling the aircraft.
The fuel port was right next to my cockpit on the right side of the aircraft, outside and just behind my right shoulder. Even though it was close to me, the standard operating procedure at the time was for the Copilot to exit his front cockpit on the left side and come around and perform the refueling behind me on the right side. A matter of seniority or something I suppose.
John’s a little guy like me and had to stand on his tippy-toes to put the nozzle in the port to start the refuel
ing process. The fuel bladders and pressure pump were probably a hundred feet or more away from us. He started pumping the gas (JP-4 jet fuel like kerosene) and everything was going smoothly as I sat there, fat, dumb and happy, just watching the engine gauges.
Then, unbeknownst to us, the pump started surging, sending a huge bubble of fuel down the line towards us. The nearby fire crew heard the pump, saw the bulge in the hose heading our way, leaped into the fire truck and started racing towards us.
When the high-pressure fuel bubble reached us, it hit with such force that John was thrown backwards and the nozzle he was holding came out of the fuel port and started whipping around, gushing fuel everywhere.
First, the hose and nozzle turned him left, blasting a torrent of raw fuel directly into the engine intake and the engine roared to life, trying to drink it all in.
Then the nozzle whipped him to the right, sending a waterfall of fuel into the cockpit, nearly drowning me!
I instantly closed the throttle, hit the console switches closed and in a nanosecond, dove out of my seat and hit hard, head first in the dirt, rolling over and over.
By some miracle I didn’t catch on fire but the JP-4 was caustic, burning my skin, as I started ripping my clothes off faster than a professional stripper.
The fire crew arrived a second later and started hosing the helicopter with fire retardant as the engine and rotor were slowing down. Then they turned the hose on me and washed me down with water to cool the burning chemicals.
John was okay. The helicopter was a mess and had to be “hooked out” with a Chinook to home base and I was transported in my underwear back to base too.
Whew! That was a close one. My incident, along with several other tragic refueling accidents, caused a change in operating procedures for hot-refueling Cobras throughout the Division and maybe all of the Army. From then on, the Pilot did the refueling while the Copilot manned the controls. A lot safer.
