by John Muir
CHAPTER 31
FLYING VISIT TO BORACAY
KALIBO, PANAY, near BORACAY.
Captain Felipe Ramigoso checked his Iriquois helicopter very thoroughly for any damage after the early morning raid. Two of the twelve helicopters were destroyed and a further three were damaged too much to fly before major repairs had been done. As pilot of one of the seven remaining functioning helicopters, and the first having completed the post raid inspection, he had been ordered to check the mysterious phone calls about insurgents on White Beach at Boracay.
None of the pilots had been on the base at the time of the raid. He had slept peacefully through the whole thing. Even if he had not been staying with his girlfriend, he would have been at his parents’ home. All pilots went off-base at night-time. Only a skeleton staff remained.
Some pilots returned immediately to base when they were woken by the explosions. Others were summoned by military police to be on stand-by. But he had arrived at his usual time of 9:30A.M. unaware of what had happened. The MP's had not been able to find him.
The Squadron Commander had ordered his crew to check out Boracay as punishment for being the only one off the base to arrive late. He felt it was not fair on his co-pilot and side gunners to punish them for his sound sleeping. Maybe he could repay them with an unauthorised landing to check out one of the beaches of Boracay.
The rotor blades were already turning as he climbed into the pilot's seat. His co-pilot had completed all the pre-flight checks.
Ramigoso was quite happy flying these Vietnam vintage Iriquois helicopters, affectionately known as Hueys after the earliest HU 1 version. If they had not been surplus to American requirements after that war, and given to the Philippines, his Government would never have had any aircraft for him to fly.
Six soldiers strapped themselves into the seats of the cabin behind him. The doors had been permanently removed to lighten weight. While his helicopter was not fitted with the pods of 19 x 2.75 inch rockets, he was happy with two other Air Force personnel manning the side mounted M.60 machine guns. They sat with their legs dangling into space as he took off.
Everybody had a relaxed holiday feeling as they headed toward Boracay. Ramigoso had never been there as a tourist, though he had flown past on area familiarisation. His first flight past had been when the helicopter group transferred to Kalibo Airport six months ago. That transfer meant he could stay with his parents who were locals. He could use this "investigation" flight as an excuse to land, and have a look at the facilities the foreigners had available.
The Base Commander insisted, for this flight he use a new call sign. He was concerned that someone might be listening in to the military radio, be familiar with the call signs and therefore be ready for their arrival. Ramigoso was to use "Looker One" and not to refer to the destination other than "Lookers Place". He was happy to go along with the word game.
As they moved out to sea to approach Boracay from offshore, he could see the normal activity of fishermen plying their usual livelihood from their bancas. They waved greetings as the helicopter flew over them. Nothing seemed out of place there.
After flying up the east coast of Panay, he cut overland at Ibijay then up the west coast. Some of the hills of Boracay were both high and steep. So he would make his approach to White Beach from the sea to the west, and slightly into the 10:00A.M. sun. The reflection off the beach was quite bright. He realised if he had thought more about it before beginning his approach he would have done it differently. If there were any people on the southern part of the beach, he could not see them at this stage.
He kept low, barely above the calm sea. The plan was to swing in over the southern-most resort at Angol, near the gap in the reef. Then fly south to north over the four kilometres of the long white sandy beach. He warned his gunners to ready themselves when he saw the beach ahead. Some of the seated soldiers shifted in their harnesses to help in support fire if they could, but mostly to act as extra spotters. The machine gunners had pulled their legs indoors. He switched his helmet microphone on to speak to the gunners and warned the right hand gunner that he would have the first run up the beach.
Just before he drew level with the beach he lifted the helicopter's height to about one hundred and twenty feet and increased the speed to near maximum of 100 knots. With the beach about 100 metres to his front, he kicked the pedals hard to make a sharp left turn keeping the white beach about 80 metres off his right hand side.
He nervously concentrated on keeping the height and speed constant, yet ready to begin a sharp left turn and a drop to about twenty feet if they started to receive incoming fire. His co-pilot was using binoculars to scan the front and right of where they were flying. The four kilometre straight run seemed to take forever, but was done in less than two minutes.
At the end of the long white beach Ramigoso pulled left and westward out to sea and slowed to 60 knots.
"Well, did you see anything?" he asked his co-pilot.
"Nothing, not a soul," replied the co-pilot.
Ramigoso switched over to speak to his gunners. They affirmed that they had seen nothing. Next he leaned back towards the soldiers in the cabin behind him. He had to yell at the top of his voice to overcome the noisy rotors.
"Anybody see anything that looked out of the ordinary?"
All the heads turned toward him and all shook in the negative.
"Well," Ramigoso said to his co-pilot, "maybe the call came from one of the other beaches. But I'm sure Base Commander said the main beach."
His co-pilot shrugged.
"O.K., I'll do a closer slower run, north to south this time. Tell the left side gunner to be ready this time."
Ramigoso pulled the helicopter through a 180 degree right hand turn and headed back to the northern tip of the beach again approaching from out to sea.
He dropped his height to eighty feet and began his run closer to the beach along the line where the sea met the sand. He started his run at 30 knots and looked along the beach himself as he flew.
After about 300 metres, it suddenly dawned on him what was strange. This was supposed to be a popular beach resort. Several bancas were pulled in to the shore as he expected but there were no people on the beach.
"Where are all the tourists?" he called out to his co-pilot.
"I can see a few people in the bancas in front of us, I didn't see them before," the co-pilot replied.
Ramigoso looked toward a group of several bancas close together a few hundred metres to his front. He spotted a few people sitting inside them looking toward the approaching helicopter. He slowed his speed almost to a hover about fifty metres away.
Immediately he had done so, he wished he had not. Dozens of men suddenly appeared from the bottom of the bancas brandishing weapons and firing toward them. He screamed into his helmet mike as he tried to gain height and speed with a right hand turn to get out to sea. The left side gunner had not needed his warning. He was already spraying bullets in every direction of the 150 degree arc he could reach.
For the gunner it was self preservation, he was fully exposed. Ramigoso knew the helicopter was too low to dive for additional speed. Bullets began smashing into the front screen. Shards of the plexi-glass were pitting into his face. He was thankful he was wearing sun-glasses. He could hear the fire from the left hand gunner and possibly from some harnessed soldiers with their M16's. The screen to his left, where his co-pilot sat, began receiving hits from inland fire. It seemed an age before the helicopter began to react to his control. The slow response of the helicopter to turn was making him too easy a target. He wondered why his co-pilot was so quiet and controlled through the firing, and looked toward him. He was just sitting there, hands frozen clutched around the handles by his seat.
Ramigoso felt a sharp pain in his left shoulder and instantly lost all strength in his left arm.
"Take over, I'm hit," he screamed at his co-pilot as the helicopter had begun a slow spin and passed beyond the 90 degrees needed to turn right. Ramigoso waited for the
co-pilot's confirmation call of "I've got it" and for the co-pilot's feet to take control of the pedals. But the pedals seemed to have a mind of their own as the helicopter continued on its slow circle, now heading back toward the beach. The incoming fire was now from the right. The right hand machine gunner had begun firing back.
"Take over," Ramigoso screamed again, and looked toward his co-pilot. The co-pilot's eyes were wide open, staring straight ahead.
"Take over you gutless little bast...," Ramigoso stopped mid sentence. His co-pilot would never hear him or anybody else again. Blood ran down his nose from two holes in his forehead, and flowed onto his zip-jacket top. He would not have felt a thing. He must have been hit at the very start.
While he fought to gain more control of the pedals with his feet, he felt a hard punch in the stomach. A quick feel in the stomach area with his good left hand revealed that no blood showed on his hand from any wound in that area. The response from the pedals was too slow. He seemed to be fighting an unseen hand in manipulating the controls. He realised that the dead co-pilot's feet were still on the separate set of controls pedals. That was making Ramigoso's pedals stiff and unyielding. Small-arms fire continued to come through the now almost non-existent screen. Yet he had not felt any more hits to himself.
The helicopter had not lost any more height and was continuing its lazy circle. The left side was again exposed to the incoming fire. He noticed there was less return fire coming from behind him then it stopped altogether. Perhaps the soldiers had jumped out. It was only about 20 feet to the shallow water below them, and they were still only 30 metres offshore.
The Base Commander would need to be told what was happening. He reached for the R/T switch with his good right hand and noticed the top of his middle and index fingers on his hand were missing above the second knuckle. The R/T switch was hanging loosely from the control stick. He tried to use the alternate on/off foot switch for the radio but in his panic he could not find it. Looking down, he noticed the side of the pedal was bent slightly upward. It too must have taken a hit probably saving his foot. The stiffness of the pedals was not just the co-pilots feet but the damaged pedals themselves. With the radio useless, he would try and get as far away from the island as the helicopter would carry them, before ditching.
Pushing both feet on the left pedal with all the strength he could muster, the helicopter finally started to fly a straight path away from the beach and out to sea. How it was still flying he could not understand. If the soldiers had jumped out, it would lighten the weight and increase the helicopters chance of escape. As much as he tried he could not increase the speed much above the 10 knots that he had slowed to before the shooting began.
He was already passing over the outside reef and nearly a kilometre away from the beach. But the engine power was reducing. All the gauges had stopped functioning after the screen took the first hits. The revolution gauge had been reading zero since then.
The helicopter skids began touching the sea surface. Then the blades stopped rotating altogether. The helicopter cabin began to settle comfortably on the surface like a wading seagull.
Ramigoso felt under his seat for his life jacket, but could not find it. The first of the rising seawater began stinging the severed fingers of his hand as he continued to feel for his life jacket. He tried reaching under the co-pilot's seat but the pain of his left shoulder and the restraining safety belt prevented it. Clumsily he tried to release the seat belt safety catch with his still good fingers, but it would not release. Pulling the belt up a little to examine why the catch would not release, he saw that it had been crushed, presumably by a bullet that would otherwise have hit him in the stomach. That must have been when he felt the punch. The bullet had jammed the belts safety- catch.
He knew he did not have to panic. The sea here was probably too shallow to allow the whole canopy to sink below the surface. He hoped he had not gone too far outside the reef and into deep water. If not, he could just wait until the level of the water was sufficient to allow him to float out the top of his seat belt.
The cabin began filling more rapidly. Ramigoso was feeling nauseous and faint from the pain and loss of blood. The sharp pain in his throbbing fingers prevented him passing out. It kept snapping his consciousness to the safe awareness he needed to get out of his predicament. When the water level rose to his knees, he felt a sharp pain shoot up his spine, and saw the blood flow in front of him. His knee had been hit and he had not noticed. The extra pain pushed him over the edge of consciousness and he passed out. On-shore the guerillas watched the helicopter sink in the deeper waters outside the reef. Within seconds, even the last bubbles had gone. They realised it would be unlikely for the wreck to be spotted from the air as the Tablas Strait was deep in that area.
