Low Level Hell

by Hugh Mills

  The bandoliers landed right between Gratton and Mitchell. Bull's-eye! Gratton rolled over, reloaded the M-16, and started squeezing off short bursts at Charlie again.

  As I regained altitude, taking a couple more AK hits in the tail boom, Koranda called me.

  “Nice shot, One Six. I've got Dustoff coming in, right about now. Let's try and get him to send a stretcher down and pick up the head wound.”

  Flipping to FM so that both the Cobra and Bob Harris on the ground could hear, I answered. “Four Six, this is One Six. Three Niner says that Dustoff will be here right away and wants us to try and get the Huey in. I don't think that the bad guys will let a medevac in without blowing them to pieces. How do you feel about it?”

  Harris came right back. “Let's get him in here if we can, One Six. Earlier I waved away one Dustoff feeling that he'd never be able to hover in here and stay in one piece. Now Doc says he's bingo on blood expander for Hamilton and he's bleeding to death. Let's do it!”

  By this time, Dustoff was coming in at altitude, and wanting to know where to make the pickup. I came up on Uniform to give him directions. “Dustoff, this is Darkhorse One Six. We need you to hover into the base camp over the bomb crater, drop a litter, and extract a bad head wound. Can you handle that?”

  “Darkhorse One Six, this is Dustoff. I don't know but we'll try. We understand that the area is not controlled—that it is still hot.”

  “You copy right … the area is still hot. In fact/it's very hot. But we've got a soldier down who needs blood fast and he won't make it unless we get you in there.”

  “I'll give it our best shot, Darkhorse,” he came back. “Mark my area.”

  “Roger, Dustoff. Get on my tail and I'll lead you in the best way. When I say, ‘mark, mark,' you'll be right over the bomb crater. Drop down and make the pickup.”

  Dustoff rogered and fell in behind me. I took him down low on the trees and circled around once to get the Huey in on an approach that avoided as many of the major VC gun emplacements as I could. As we came in over the bomb crater at about forty knots, I called to Dustoff, “Now … mark, mark!” Then I pulled a hard right and watched the Huey skid to a hover right over the crater and Harris's ARPs.

  The moment Dustoff decelerated, the base camp below erupted with what seemed to be every weapon the VC had.

  “Taking fire!” the Huey pilot screamed. “Goda-mighty! I'm taking fire … heavy fire!”

  I instantly jerked the Loach into a tight right bank around the medevac ship and keyed the intercom. “Dustoff will never make it out of there, Jim, unless you get Charlie's head down. Get on the M-60 and start shooting. Be careful firing into our friendlies. Just spray to keep VC heads down, not to hit anybody.”

  Downing opened up. He poured several long bursts into the base camp below, doing his best to make Charlie duck while the medevac ship struggled for altitude.

  With Downing still shooting to cover its retreat, Dustoff staggered off to the northwest toward Dau Tieng. The Huey had taken all the punishment it could handle and still stay airborne.

  I then came up on FM to Harris. “Four Six, this just isn't gonna work. We've got another Dustoff flying into a nearby ARVN base camp to stand by, but to bring him in here would be murder. What do you think?”

  “Roger, One Six,” Harris came back, “but Doc says that Hamilton won't last another ten minutes unless he gets whole blood. We've got to do something!”

  I thought as I circled another time or two. Then I made up my mind and got on the intercom to Bruton and Downing. “Look, this OH-6 is a hell of a lot more agile and a smaller target than that Huey. I think we can get in and out of there before Charlie can get us. So I'm going to go over to the Dustoff that's waiting at the ARVN base camp, get the blood, and we'll come back and drop it in.”

  I didn't ask them. I just told them that we had no choice and that we were going to give it a try. Nonetheless, it felt good when I got their instant replies almost in unison. “OK, Lieutenant, let's do it.”

  In the minute or two that it took us to get to the waiting Dustoff, I made plans with my crew chief. “OK, Downing, just as soon as we touch down, you jump out and get the blood from the Huey. Then when we get back over the crater, you're going to drop it to Doc. You got that?”

  “Yes, sir, Lieutenant, I understand,” Downing answered.

  I gave Bruton his instructions. “Now Jim, I know that this whole experience may be a little new to you, but with you aboard, and no minigun, you're the only cover I'll have. Downing will have the blood kits and probably won't be able to use his M-60. You better poke that M-16 of yours out the door and be ready to shoot at anything that gives us a bad time.”

  When I told Koranda in the Cobra what I was going to do, he didn't mince words: “You're crazy, One Six!”

  By that time, we were at the ARVN base camp. I landed right beside the idling Dustoff, waited while Downing ran over to pick up the blood, and then lifted off again.

  I had never seen blood kits before, and had no idea that they came packed in a box the size of a milk crate. Downing sat in the back with that big box balanced on his lap.

  I came in on the treetops and did tight, fast three sixties over the area while I checked out the situation in the crater. There was some ground fire but it didn't seem directed at us this time. Charlie must have felt we couldn't do anything to them anyway, so why waste ammo on such a little bird.

  Watching below me I could see that the ARPs were not able to get their heads up over the rim of the crater without drawing instant fire. So they were lobbing grenades when they could and sticking their weapons over the top edge of the shell hole to snap off a few quick rounds.

  As I slowed and came around for the third time, I felt the ship's center of gravity shift dramatically. A quick glimpse over my right shoulder told me that Downing had eased himself completely out of the airplane and was centering the box of blood kits on the right skid. Bruton was sitting right beside me with his M-16 pointed out his door. He was sure getting a hell of an indoctrination.

  Suddenly my intercom roared at me. It was Downing's voice straining to be heard over the wild rush of wind that was hitting his helmet mike. “Forward … forward … a little more. Now right … right, sir … a hair more to the right,” he said, directing me into position over the crater.

  Looking between my feet through the OH-6's chin bubble, I could see Bob Harris lying face up in the shell hole. He was also talking to me on FM: “OK, One Six, straight ahead … straighter … now right. That's it … now hold it … hold it right there.”

  At that exact moment, hovering twenty to thirty feet off the ground, with Downing hanging outside the ship ready to drop the box, I glanced out the door toward my right front. About thirty feet away from me was a section of trench line cut into the jungle floor, which apparently connected some of the enemy bunkers. As my eye fleetingly traced the length of the trough, I was suddenly electrified to see a VC in a dark blue uniform rise up out of the middle of the trench. He was holding an AK-47 and was looking straight at me.

  His eyes met mine for an instant. Then he raised his assault rifle and aimed it at my head. I was sure that my heart actually stopped beating as I waited for him to pull the trigger.

  There was nothing I could do. I was hovering a 2,160-pound aircraft just inches above a shell hole full of our own people. Downing was hanging out of the airplane waiting to drop the blood. Bruton was looking out the other side of the ship completely oblivious to what was happening on my side. I felt my lips move as I repeated to myself, “God, don't let him shoot… don't let him shoot!”

  We stared eye to eye for a moment that seemed an eternity long. He didn't appear to have a weapon malfunction. Nobody seemed to be shooting at him. He had me dead to rights, but he hesitated. He didn't pull the trigger. Only God knows why.

  The moment of horror was suddenly interrupted by the intercom. Downing shouted, “That's it, Lieutenant, they've got the box. Let's didi this place!”

&n
bsp; Feeling the hot beads of sweat on my forehead, I broke my fixation with the muzzle of the assault rifle. I yanked the collective stick all the way to stop and shoved the cyclic forward. The agile little bird responded instantly. It jumped for height and forward speed so positively that it pinned my backside solidly against the armored pilot's seat. Then the VC in the trench opened up with several quick bursts from his AK.

  While I was in a hover, he had me cold in his sights long enough to blow my head off. But, for some reason, he waited until we began to clear the crater before cutting loose. When he finally shot, his aim wasn't bad either. I heard the thumps of three or four solid hits aft of the back cabin in the engine area.

  I keyed the FM to Harris. “I'm out, Four Six. That's all I can do for you right now. I'm hit. I'm going home for another bird, but I'll be back.”

  “Roger, One Six. I see smoke from your engine compartment. We've got the blood kits and Doc's working on Hamilton. Thank you, One Six. I'll see you later.”

  I then radioed Koranda in the Cobra and told him that he better get another scout team up there right away because I was heading back to Phu Loi with a sick bird.

  The shot-up OH-6 made it back to base, but just barely. I had taken two rounds right through the compressor section, and the engine was trashed.

  Next followed an almost unbelievable blur of events. As I was coming back into Phu Loi with my crippled ship, I passed Rod Willis (One Seven) and his Cobra (Dean Sinor, Three One), who were scrambling northwest to replace me over the contact area.

  I wasn't able to wait around to brief Willis before I had to pull out, but as we passed in the air, I radioed him. “OK, One Seven, do you understand what you're getting into out there?”

  “Roger, One Six,” he responded. “I've been in the ops bunker listening to the radios. I'm up on the action.”

  “OK, Rod, you'll find the ARPs northwest of the tree line in the shell hole about thirty to forty meters into the jungle. They're mostly pinned in the crater and Charlie is shooting at anything that moves. For God's sake, don't slow down. Whatever you do, keep your speed up. Don't slow down over the contact area. You got it?”

  Rod came back with a simple acknowledgment. “Right… don't slow down. I copy, One Six. On my way.”

  As soon as I got on the ground at Phu Loi, I grabbed my gear and headed for a replacement Loach. Jim Downing and I started to climb in when the executive officer, Joe Perkins (Darkhorse Five), ran up. “Hey, Mills, I'm going with you. I'm replacing your crew chief.”

  “What?”

  “Downing can stay here. I'm going with you,” he repeated.

  Anxious to get off, I agreed. “OK, Five, you're the exec. Climb in back.”

  I nodded to Downing. “Jim, you stay here with Mr. Bruton. Get the platoon sergeant, and you three take over to get every aircraft that we have ready for combat. Get ‘em all out, ready to go, all with plenty of ammo and topped off with fuel.”

  Perkins and I cleared with the tower and lifted off. As we passed over the base fence I switched the minigun to “fire normal” and told Perkins to arm his M-60.1 poured the coal to the Loach. We were about six minutes from the contact area if I stayed low and didn't waste time going to altitude.

  With armament systems activated, I next switched tower frequency to troop Uniform to catch up on what was happening with the ARPs in the crater. I no more than came up on the push when I was shocked to hear Willis's voice.

  “I'm taking fire … I'm taking hits … I'm going down!”

  “Son of a bitch,” I hissed.

  Then Dean Sinor, Willis's Cobra, came up. “One Six, One Six, this is Three One. Where in the hell are you?”

  “Three One, One Six. I'm just coming off the pad now. What's happening?”

  “OK, One Six, get your ass up here. We just lost One Seven. He's going down in flames.”

  I pushed the Loach to the red line. As I approached the base camp area from the southeast, my radio crackled again. “One Six, where are you now?”

  “I'm on the deck heading three one five degrees. Whatcha got?”

  “One Seven's down in the LZ,” Sinor said. “Can you see his smoke?”

  I rolled into a low-level right turn and circled the landing zone where we had originally put in the ARP Hueys. At the far northwestern edge of the little patch of open ground, I saw wisps of smoke curling up where Willis had ditched his bird. I didn't see any flames, but the nose of the bird had been plowed into the ground and the tail boom was sticking almost straight up out of the elephant grass, looking to all the world like a giant lawn dart.

  As I passed over the wreck I could see that Rod and Ken Stormer, his crew chief, were both out of the aircraft, busily removing their gear. I motioned that I saw them and would come in and pick them up.

  I keyed the intercom and told Perkins my plan. He realized, I'm sure, that we'd be overloaded, with four people in the little Loach plus the weight of the minigun. But he nodded, knowing, as I did, that the OH-6 was a miracle machine. The aircraft could tolerate a gross bending of the rules, when necessary, and still give back nine cents change out of your dime.

  So, with Perkins and Willis in the back and Ken Stormer in the front left seat, I made directly for the nearby ARVN base. Jim Bruton could bring Rod a replacement ship from Phu Loi.

  Leaving Rod and Ken, I hurried back to the crater area to see how Harris was doing. Four Six told me that if someone wasn't successful in breaking through to him soon, he'd have to make plans for a night pullout.

  We both knew that this would be a last resort. The VC were in their own base camp totally familiar with every inch of the ground. Their knowledge of the area gave them a tremendous advantage during the day, and that same advantage increased dramatically after dark. A night withdrawal would be extremely risky.

  Within twenty minutes, Willis and Stormer were back. We circled for about thirty minutes before making another run over the base camp area. With Willis following close behind, I turned in for a fast run, staying on the trees and hitting about seventy knots. As we ripped over the crater, Rod gave me a call.

  “Hey, man, maybe they're asleep or dry down there. Nobody shot at me.”

  “Me neither,” I answered. “So let's slow ‘er down a little, make another pass, and see if anybody's still kicking.”

  This time we came in from a different direction and dropped airspeed to about forty knots. We were almost over Harris's shell hole when the base camp came alive with ground fire, apparently saved up from our previous high-speed run-by.

  I didn't hear or feel any hits to my ship, but just at that moment, my radio crackled again. “I'm taking fire … I'm taking hits. I'm going down!”

  I looked around just in time to see One Seven veer off my tail, start to smoke, and head for the LZ again.

  I couldn't believe it. Willis was going down again. Shot right off my tail and heading back into the landing zone, almost at the same spot as before!,

  “You OK, Rod?” I yelled at him. “Can you make it in? Get her down and I'll run your flanks with the minigun to keep Charlie off your back. Take it easy.”

  All I heard back was, “Hurry up, man, those guys mean business. Going down!”

  I followed Willis until he was on the ground. He and Stormer jumped out of the ship and began removing their gear while I made runs down both flanks, squirting minigun fire.

  As I hosed down the area, I got back on the radio to the C and C ship, telling them I needed their help again. I asked them to make a run into the LZ, pick up Willis and Stormer, and, while they were at it, also pick up Major Moore and Lieutenant Allen.

  The C and C ship announced that they'd be right in. “OK, Two Niner,” I said. “Take everybody back to Phu Loi. And tell Willis, if he and Stormer aren't banged up too bad, to get into another Loach and get the hell back up here as soon as they can.”

  With Willis gone we still had One Three, One Zero, me, and four Cobras left on the scene. But none of us could figure out how to get the ARPs
out of the mess they were in. It was about four o'clock in the afternoon and Four Six's spot was getting tighter all the time.

  After circling for a while, I got back in touch with the C and C ship and Major Moore. By that time, they were nearing Phu Loi. “Darkhorse Six, this is One Six. The day's going to run out on us, Major, if we don't get some help to these guys while there's still some light left. Is there any armor nearby that you can get to bust into them?”

  Six came back, “OK, One Six, hang onto the help you've got up there now. Keep Four Six covered the best you can. I'll get some armor coming.”

  A few minutes later Six came back up on the radio. “All right, One Six, we've got armor coming. They're on their way now and will be there right away. They're coming down the road from Dau Tieng and you need to send someone over to pick them up and guide them into the base camp.”

  As I rogered Six's transmission, I looked over and saw Willis, now in Loach number three, burning back in on the trees hell-bent for election. After today, Willis would really be known as an “enemy ace.” I radioed him. “One Seven, I need you to get over to the Dau Tieng Road and pick up the armor column. They're close by now and need you to lead them into the base camp area. Be sure they know who they're shooting at when they come in down there. Our friendlies have already had their share of shit for today.”

  In just a few minutes, Rod returned with the mechanized infantry company and an attached platoon of M-48A3 tanks, leading them into the southern end of the base area. In the meantime, we had marked the enemy positions the best we could with red smoke so that the tankers would know where to shoot.

  The very second the armored column entered the base camp, all hell broke loose. The relief column began to take horrendous fire from the bunkers. Willis and I were over the ARP crater trying to mark the friendlies when enemy fire seemed to explode from the base camp into one huge flaming ball. Rounds were flying everywhere. I could hear them hitting my ship as I goosed the Loach to get out of there. But not before I heard the now-familiar radio call.

  “Ah, sheeit! I'm taking hits … I'm going down!”