George notes 1969

From: George <gvanriper@hot.rr.com>
Sent: Friday, December 16, 2022 9:19 AM
To: mike southerland1970.us <mike@southerland1970.us>; 'M Sells' <miklel6@gmail.com>; marc@marcwolff.net; wcpdickinson@msn.com; gvanriper@hot.rr.com
Subject: RE: A Co - 5 men in a 53 year old picture

Gentlemen, I have not laughed so hard in a long time. The video conference was terrific. After searching for Marc for many years I had pretty much given up, so happy he was found my Mike Southerland. Mike is also right that it is uncanny that all five of us are still alive and apparently in pretty good shape. I only half-jokingly tell people I can do everything I could do when I was eighteen, just a little slower and maybe only once! 

When I got to the Americal Welcome Center (about 20 June 1969) I was a 1st Lieutenant and a brand new Cobra pilot hoping to fly gunships. I was in the Welcome Center for about five days before getting a set of orders to an Cavalry Squadron (I have forgotten the designation). I went to see the WC commander, a Captain or Major and asked him if he knew where this Squadron was located and what kind of helicopters they were flying. He grabbed a clip board with all the units listed in the region and told me this was a Cavalry ground squadron, and they were flying M113 and M114 upgunned and uparmored personnel carriers! He further explained that I had been assigned this slot as an Armor officer, not an Aviator. 

I explained to him that the Army spent mucho dinero training me to fly helicopters and I did not expect to drive around the jungle in a tracked vehicle. He suggested I take his jeep and driver and talk with the first aviation unit along the MSR - I did. The first unit sign with wings on it was the Box Cars a Chinook outfit. I found the battalion XO and pleaded my case. He explained that he just returned from the America Division’s weekly staff meeting and no one was looking for a gun pilot. He said there was a ”slick” company looking for a Captain XO, a slot that had been vacant for a while. I told him I would be a Captain in three or four days. He asked if I was interested talking to the 123rd Aviation Battalion XO – one Major Mathias! I said hell yes rather than a ground assignment. He seemed to understand. He gave us directions to the 123rd.  

I found Maj Mathias and pleaded my case. A day or two later my orders were changed, and I reported into A Co. 123rd Aviation Company (the mighty Pelicans) as the XO. I was working for Maj (A) Gene Woods (the A is for “Alcoholic”). A mean “fucking drunk” as I recall. I moved into the first hooch next to the O’Club with Bill Shreve and another Captain who was the Bn S-4 I believe. These guys did not get to fly very much as I recall. I lived in the first hooch until Larry Meese DEROSED and took his place in the infamous Red Rotor Lounge Hooch! 

MORE TO FOLLOW SOONEST!  GVR  BEFORE SIGNING OFF KUDOS TO MIKE SOUTHERLAND FOR GETTING US ALL BACK TOGETHER AT LEAST VISUALLY. Do you guys remember we were all going to meet up at Mardi Gras 1971?  escribe the services you offer. Also, be sure to showcase a premium service.

HOOTCH MAID HUMOR

When I left Fort Rucker with my brand new Aviator wings I was headed for home in northern New Jersey for 30 days of leave en-route to the Republic of Vietnam (RVN). My intent was to hide out at Beaver Lake, drink Screwdrivers, and fish right up until I had to get on the plane for RVN. After four days of paradise I got a letter in the mail amending my current orders. It seems I was urgently needed at Fort Hood, Texas and had to get there not later than yesterday.  At that point in time I was single and could fit all my worldly goods (mostly uniforms,  flight gear, and a small TV) into a 1967 Oldsmobile Cutlass. I loaded up and headed for Texas. 

Arriving at Fort Hood three days later I found several of my flight school classmates also had been diverted to this hot and humid Army post. I was assigned to 2nd Armored Division, nicknamed “Hell On Wheels.” Hell was descriptive of the daytime temperature in late July 1968 in Killeen. None of us had any idea why we had been sent here instead of going to Vietnam. Most of us were new 1stLieutenants or 2nd Lieutenants pending promotion orders to 1stLT. Six or seven guys from my flight school class and I were assigned to 2nd Armored Division’s Flight Detachment on Hood Army Airfield. 

One of the good things that came out of this assignment was the opportunity to work and fly with many chief warrant officers, captains, and majors who were Vietnam returnees. This helped many of us get great flying experience by sharing a cockpit with decorated war seasoned aviators before going into combat ourselves later on.  They also provided some insight about what to expect living and working in a third world country during a time of war. Although sometimes you had to sort out what was bogus and what was true depending on who was telling the war story. 

CWO L. told me honestly that he seldom slept in any kind of a building during his first tour in country. He slept mostly on the ground, on a hammock rigged between two trees, or in a helicopter seat. He said it depended on the unit you are assigned to and what kind of operations they conduct. None of this sounded too appetizing from my standpoint. Camping out, eating cold food, and being smelly dirty might be fun for a day or so, however, for the long haul it was not appealing to me. Imagine my relief at being assigned to a general support aviation company in Chu Lai, Vietnam I would be living right on the beach in a wooden sea hut (commonly referred to as a hootch) on Ky Ha heliport overlooking the South China Sea. The 23rd Infantry Division (Americal) had thought of everything including a mess hall, showers, bunkers, and maid service provided by Vietnamese “hootch maids.” 

My guess is that twenty or so hootch maids came into our living area each morning. Mostly, they cleaned inside and outside our hootch, provided laundry service and shined boots. I think we paid them $5.00 per week per man. There were six of us living in one hootch. Thirty dollars per week was much better wages than they could make in their village. As hootch maids go they were a diverse group. Ages were between 18 and 35, most were physically fit, attractive and unattractive, hard working and not so hard working, funny and not so funny, talkative and quiet. As a group they were mostly friendly and would wave to everyone as they entered our living area each day. 

Our hootch maid was named Sam. She arrived on the job about the same time I arrived in the unit. She replaced another woman who was sick and unable to work any longer. Sam was young (probably 16 or 17 years old), attractive, efficient, and hard working. Turns out she also had a somewhat ribald sense of humor. 

Each morning as I walked to the company’s orderly room across the flight line the gaggle of hootch girls would be coming to work. I would wave to them and say hello as I crossed their path. They would wave back and giggle. I had no clue what they were giggling about. One day in an effort to endear myself to the morning hootch maid gaggle I asked Sam how to say Good Morning Ladies in Vietnamese. Sam said “Tomorrow morning you say “Tu Tuey Lom.” This is pretty close to the phonetic pronunciation of these words that I can remember from forty three years ago. I practiced saying Tu Tuey Lom several times throughout the day until I was pretty sure I had it down close to what Sam taught me. 

The very next morning armed, with my new found language skills, I timed my departure for work to pass along side the hootch maid entourage. I waved and spoke loud and clear “Tu Tuey Lom!” There was a brief moment of silence which I attributed to my unexpected greeting in their own language. A second later the entire group was laughing hysterically. Some were bent over at the waist just howling. Right away I knew I had been had. My good intentions had gone strangely amuck. Sam was nowhere to be found! Embarrassed, but not knowing why, I beat feet to the orderly room to let things quiet down. 

After lunch I found a woman everyone called “Mama-san.” She was the unofficial leader of the hootch maid brigade. She had been around soldiers a long time. She told stories of working for the French when they fought in Vietnam in the 1950s. Mama-san spoke darn good English (also French I am told) so I sought her counsel. I asked her if she remembered what happened that morning when I greeted the hootch maids. She smiled broadly and said she remembered, and that I was very funny. I asked her if I pronounced the words wrong and if that was the reason everyone laughed. She said no I had pronounced the words just fine and everyone understood them. 

She blushed and was reluctant to tell me the real humor. I explained that I had asked Sam what to say and that I practiced all the day before.  This made her eyes smile, however, the explanation was not forthcoming. I finally pleaded with her and told her I had no intent to insult anyone. I just wanted to be friendly and did not want to make the same mistake again. She finally gave in and said, “Tu Tuey Lom means same same you got smelly pussy!” 

Then Mama-san told me Sam had a wicked sense of humor and was not quite as sweet and innocent as we all thought. She said Sam told all the hootch maids afterward that she had set me up. They found great humor in this too I understand. Sam and I reached an uneasy truce, however, I never asked her for any more “help” with the Vietnamese language. She was there the day I left. She gave me a hug. I gave her an inflatable lounge chair my sister had sent me. I imagine Sam and Mama-san have told this “Hootch Maid Humor” story as many times as I have over the years.  

Chu Lai Remembrances

My Lai: 

When the “freedom bird” carrying the Peers Investigation team landed at Chu Lai Main (I think) airfield it taxied over to the parking apron and stopped. A crewmember swung the big passenger door open expecting a set of mobile stairs to be pushed against the fuselage so the VIPs could deplane. No such luck. There were no stairs available nearby. Some enterprising young soldier found an extension ladder and started to run toward the airliner. Several LTCs and COLs were beside themselves trying to stop the soldier with the ladder. I thought it was the funniest thing I had ever seen on a flight line. After a fairly long wait and lots of red faces on “the brass” a set of stairs finally arrived

The first several missions I flew were supporting the Peers team. This must have been like the last few days in June or the first days in July 1969. I flew almost every day. Different AC and helicopter each day - all platoons were represented. Initially, I flew a lot with CPTS Southerland, Wolfe, and Dickenson. I eventually moved into their hooch after CPT Meese DEROSed. Mostly back and forth missions. I seldom sat at My Lai. As I recall there were actually 4 My Lai villages – yes? 

When I first arrived I was living in the first hooch next to the O’Club / Mess Hall. There were two or three captains living there at the time. They were 123rdAviation Battalion staff officers (S-! personnel &, S-4 supply. I don’t remember a battalion level S-2 Intel or S-3 training and ops officer). They were rated aviators but seldom flew missions of any sort – sometimes the Courier mission. I do not think they amassed many flight hours in country. I flew every chance I could and only ended up with 350 flight hours. The hazards of being the Company XO especially when your boss MAJ Mathias liked to fly too. I did fly with Mathias several times. He had been a Huey IP at Fort Rucker and was an accomplished pilot on his second tour. 

I do not remember Karl Rutherford at all. 

I found your assessment of the three groups of Vietnam Veterans was spot on. The great majority of Vietnam Veterans moved on without much fanfare except for an occasional unit or VHPA reunion. Most seem to have been very successful at their chosen career. I think it is a matter of knowing how to deal with risk. My feeling is “If you can successful persuade a helicopter to do your bidding without hurting you too badly then you can pretty much do anything.” Maid Humor” story as many times as I have over the years.  

CWO Warren’s Dogs

A Company 123rd Aviation Battalion was a General Support aviation company. From one day to the next you never knew what kind of mission you would be flying. We had a daily courier that left Chu Lai about 0800 hours and went north to Da Nang making regular stops along the way. From Da Nang the courier went south to Quy Nhon making more regular stops along the way. If you flew the courier bird you would get back to Chu Lai about 1700 hours logging 8 to 10 flight hours in a day. My first two or three weeks in A Company were spent flying the Senate investigators who were looking into the Me Lai Massacre. We would shuttle them from place to place around the battle ground of Me Lai and return them to the relative safety of Chu Lai each evening. This was mostly a boring mission with a lot of “hurry-up and wait.” Pigs and Rice was a favorite mission. Formally it was called “resettlement” by the brass. Pilots and crewmembers called it the more descriptive Pigs and Rice. Essentially you would take a farmer, his family, his water buffalo, chickens, pigs, rice, clothes, and tools from a hostile area and move them to a non-hostile area. It was like moving the Native Americans from their open land to the government’s reservation. This mission was always challenging and fraught with both tears and laughter. A Company supported a Marine Detachment in Da Nang regularly with Light Observation Helicopters commonly referred to as a Loach. Combat Assaults, Battle Damage Assessments, MEDEVAC, and route reconnaissance were also in our repertoire of missions. These last five had the most excitement potential because someone was likely to shoot at you sometime that day. 

The picture I am trying to paint is that our missions varied greatly from day to day and so did the mission length. Some missions took one hour; some took fourteen hours or more. Some missions were changed in the air and a milk run could become a MEDEVAC supporting an Infantry unit in contact with the enemy. You usually knew your take-off time; however, your return time was always in question. 

Thus begins the story of CWO Warren’s dogs. Warren is actually the first name of the guy who is the main character of this story. Everyone who served in this unit from 1969 to 1970 will know his last name. He went on to have a distinguished Army and civilian career in the Aviation Safety business. We were not supposed to keep pets in Vietnam. No dogs, cats, monkeys, or anything else – period. However, I can tell you that most every line combat platoon or company had a pet monkey that was famous or infamous for one reason or another.  Pets were frowned up mostly because the native Vietnam dogs and other animals were susceptible to rabies as they were seldom inoculated. The Military Police would sometimes roam through our Company area with shotguns and kill every free roaming dog they saw, especially those without any kind of a collar. 

Mr. Warren had three Vietnamese dogs that lived in his hootch. He somehow convinced the local Army veterinarian to inoculate his dogs. He even had tags on their collars to attest to their status. None of them looked like Lassie; in fact they barely looked like dogs.  These dogs were curs mostly with suspect lineage. They loved Mr. Warren and he loved them. He fed them scrapes from the mess hall, kept their shots up to date, bathed them on occasion, and even gave them names. They slept in a semi permanent building every night and ate regularly. They had better lives than many Vietnamese people who lived in the mountains or jungle. The only name I remember was a dog “Trim Tab” named for the blade adjustment tab on a helicopter’s rotor blade. I am sure the other two dogs were also named for helicopter parts. 

CWO Warren was an experience aircraft commander by the time I joined A Company which meant he flew some mission almost every day. Missions were usually briefed the night before take-off so pilots could do their mission planning before an early morning departure time. Mr. Warren was not the tallest man in the outfit. When he walked out to the flight line with his helmet, flight bag, personal weapon, maps, and survival vest he looked something like a holy man carrying everything he owned on his back. He was followed by his three disciples walking in a staggered trail formation. Trim Tab was always in the lead. The dogs would mill around the revetment while the crew conducted a pre-flight inspection of the UH-1H helicopter. This usually took about 30 minutes if no problems were encountered. The crew then strapped in to their seats and went through start-up procedures for five or ten minutes. As the blades began to turn the dogs would move on the outside of the revetment to shield themselves from the rotor wash that the Huey produced. As Mr. Warren’s helicopter hovered out to the take-off pad the three dogs would walk back to their hootch to hold a daylight vigil until CWO Warren returned. They did not roam around (remember the shotgun toting MP story) or bark or even play while Warren was gone. 

Remember that our mission end time was constantly variable for many reasons. Sometimes it was weather, sometimes passengers were late, sometimes equipment was not where it was supposed to be, or sometimes it was enemy activity. You just never knew what time you would get back to our little heliport on the North end of Chu Lai. Also, we shared the heliport with two or three other Aviation units with the same kind of helicopters that we had. My guess is that thirty to fifty landings and take-offs happened on Ky Ha heliport every day of the year including many night missions like our nightly flare drop mission. 

Now comes the eerie part of this story. Fifteen to twenty minutes before Mr. Warren would return to our heliport, Trim Tab and his two pals would walk out and sit near the revetment that Mr. Warren had departed from that morning. All of us who were not flying that day or had already returned from a mission would gather near the flight ramp to watch this spectacle in amazement knowing that these dogs were never wrong about his return. How the hell they knew when he was coming back is something I will never understand or forget. They say animals can sense things that we cannot. For example dogs are now used to alert their owners that a seizure is coming on or that a heart attack is imminent. Some are used to sense and provide early warning for earth quakes or storms. 

People say that truth is often stranger than fiction. This story is like that. How CWO Warren’s dogs could sort through approaching helicopter engine noise, pilot control techniques, rotor beat variables, and know that their master was coming home for the day will remain a mystery. Some forty years later with marvelous advances in sensor technology we probably cannot duplicate with reliability what these three dogs could do out of love and devotion for their human friend. 

Four Guys Running From a Fire

We had just refueled at Duc Pho and were headed home end of mission. It was late afternoon on a cold (for Vietnam) clear day with a pretty good wind blowing from the west.  My best guess is that it was February or March 1970.  It usually took about thirty minutes in a UH-1H doing ninety knots and no head wind to get from Duc Pho to Chu Lai. As I remember this was the last leg of our daily courier flight which left Chu Lai each morning, went north to Da Nang, then south to Quy Nhon, then back north to Chu Lai end of mission. There were two or three stops between all these major cities at small Army, Marine or Navy outposts or installations.  All in all about eight or nine flight hours in a ten or twelve hour day. A Company, 123rd Aviation Battalion was a General Support Aviation Company supporting the 23rdInfantry Division with UH-1 and OH-6 helicopters. General Support meant we did a little of everything on any given day.  We moved people, mail, cargo, farm animals, weapons, ammunition, razor wire, celebrities (Tab Hunter and Miss Mississippi 1967), and beer and ice on occasion. One day we even transported a singing group from the Philippines complete with a small, but heavy, piano. 

One of my hooch mates, CPT. S and I were flying together with a crew chief and gunner on-board a UH-1H from Second Flight Platoon. We had no passengers or cargo to deliver which was somewhat rare for the courier bird. About five minutes out from Duc Pho we got a radio call from our operations officer requesting that we look for four American soldiers on a nearby hilltop. Apparently, this group was separated from their unit, and they were trying to find their way to safety at Duc Pho fire base. Ops told us that these four men were being pursued by an enemy force of ten to twenty men who were lighting fires to flush the Americans out into the open. We took up this mission forthwith and turned west a few degrees. 

No sooner had we clicked off the radio transmission with our unit ops when the gunner said. “I got them ten o’clock low on the top of the hill.” We all spotted them. I lowered the collective and started an approach to their position. CPT S got back on the radio and told our Ops that we found the four Americans and were making a pick-up in two minutes. As we got close we could see that one man was being helped to walk and that they were moving at a pretty slow pace. We could also see that their clothes and hair was burned and charred by one of the grass fires lit by the enemy. We landed. The crew chief and gunner helped them aboard the Huey. 

We took off to the north staying low across the top of the hill to avoid any small arms fire if the enemy force was nearby. We saw nothing until sliding off the top of the hill when we almost hit the lead enemy soldier with the helicopter’s left landing skid. CPT S said he could see this guy’s face as we passed overhead. Fortunately, these enemy soldiers were Viet Cong and not North Vietnamese Army regulars. This bunch had their weapons on slings hung over their shoulders. They were as surprised to see us as we were to see them. In fact, nobody got a shot off, us or them. By the time they got their rifles off their shoulders we were out of range. It turned out that our new passengers were four Special Forces soldiers who were stationed at Chu Lai and had been operating between Duc Pho and Quang Ngai for the past several days. 

We figured the MASH at Chu Lai was the best place to take them for care.  We radioed our operations and told them our plan and requested they notify the local SF commander that his soldiers were found and being taken to the main hospital at Chu Lai. We called the MASH helipad operator and told him we were inbound with four soldiers needing treatment for burns and one injured leg. About twenty minutes later three medics were waiting as we landed at the hospital pad. The hospital staff was careful and efficient removing the four soldiers from the helicopter. Everyone got great care at the mobile surgical hospital even captured enemy wounded soldiers. These enemies sometimes became a great source of intelligence after they realized that U.S. Army doctors and nurses saved their lives. 

It was just a short hop over to our home heliport at Ky Ha. We hot re-fueled; slid the H model into the revetment on our parking ramp; and conducted a post flight inspection with the crew chief. CPT S and I debriefed the operations officer and headed to the mess hall for supper. It was now about 1730 hours. We were enjoying our fourth day of pot roast, mashed potatoes, peas and seeded rye bread. The seeded rye bread was always a subject of suspicion, as at times the seeds looked like bug parts. We could never be sure and usually turned it down. 

The usual mess hall chatter stopped almost immediately when a very large Special Forces Staff Sergeant entered and asked that the pilots of the Huey who picked up four SF soldiers a couple of hours ago identify themselves. CPT S and I raised our hands. He came to our table and explained that his Colonel had sent him to get the UH-1 pilots and bring them over to the SF compound so that he could thank them in person for rescuing his soldiers. Initially we declined, however, he reiterated that his Colonel wanted to thank us and would not take no for an answer. Our boss, MAJ M, was sitting nearby and told us to go ahead and report to the SF Colonel as requested. We turned in our dinner trays and headed out the door. Staff Sergeant “Hugeman” had a jeep and drove us over to the SF compound about two miles away, yet still inside the Chu Lai perimeter. 

When we got there the entire SF Team, probably fifty soldiers, were assembled behind their Colonel.  He was a Lieutenant Colonel, but no matter he was indeed the SF Team commander. LTC X (I have forgotten his name) returned out salute and quickly grabbed our hands to shake. He thanked us on behalf of his Special Forces Unit and personally for bringing his four soldiers to safety. After he let go of our hands every SF soldier present came up to shake our hands and thank us. Then they explained that there was going to be a small party in their “club” in our honor, and that our money was no good there that night. They broke out the booze, a few guitars, a set of drums and the party was underway. My hooch mate CPT S was a country boy from Louisiana and could play a guitar and sing with the best of them. Needless to say we had a great time with the SF guys. 

Certainly, this was a night to remember. The problem is I cannot remember much after the hand shaking in the receiving line just before the party started.  I woke up the next day “at-the-crack-of-noon” in my hooch, in my bunk, still in my party clothes (a sodden Nomex flight suit) reeking of bourbon and other distillates. A monster hangover was upon me. CPT S was also barely moving, however, he was in a little better shape than I was. Apparently, he sang more than he drank, but he could not clearly explain how we got back to our Company area any more than I could. I think our boss was proud of us for just surviving a legendary Special Forces party which usually ended in all kinds of debauchery. However, he told us to get clear headed and be ready to fly in the morning. The good times were over for that week. Turns out the SF boys knew how to throw a party. It was really meaningful to me that they went out of their way to say “Thank you” for bringing their brothers home safely. 

Scalped by an Iroquois

In the aviation business there is an old maxim that goes: “Twenty four hours from bottle to throttle, and no smoking within fifty feet of the aircraft.” In Vietnam this was often bastardized to “No smoking twenty four hours before take-off and no drinking within fifty feet of the aircraft.”

Six Captains roomed together in a Navy sea hut on the beach overlooking the South China Sea along the coast of Chu Lai, Vietnam. Three were flight platoon leaders, one was the Maintenance platoon leader, one was the Operations officer, and I was the Company XO. We were all Aviators. I will use only rank and first names in this story to protect the foolish from any further embarrassment. Hopefully, the statute of limitations will add some restraint from prosecution by the military, but you never know about the Army. 

As background I can tell you that our “hooch” (slang for sea hut) had its’ own drinking team. CPT Mike and CPT Mark were well known for their ability to drink huge quantities of liquor before losing consciousness. Yes, the boys from the Red Rotor Lounge lived up the hootch moto that was painted on a red rotor blade: Killers by Day, Lovers by Night, Drunkards by Choice. They would take on any other team of two men regardless of rank, age, color, or physical handicap to see who could drink the most shots of whiskey, vodka, gin, or rum in four hours. Chasers were allowed, however, only shots of 86 proof or higher counted for credit.  

Our two heroes usually won by drinking over fifty shots for a team total.  Sometimes they won because they had the last man standing before or after reaching fifty shots. Of course, this also generated many side bets which went back and forth as the drinking progressed throughout the evening according to which team appeared to have the best chance of winning. Naturally, all the spectators and gamblers were themselves drinking while the challenge progressed. A designated referee was appointed to keep score. It was usually the bartender.  He was not supposed to drink anything during the event, although, this was often violated.  

My mother always said, “Idle hands are the Devil’s playground.” How very true this became in Vietnam. No one said this was very smart. It was just a way to kill time between missions when and where there were only a few ways to entertain oneself and stay somewhat inside the bounds of propriety.  Propriety can be a somewhat vague term. On our small heliport there were no restaurants, movie theatres, dance halls, gymnasiums, tennis courts, golf course, sporting events (except drinking of course), few women, and only one TV channel that played reruns of the old television series “Combat.” The last thing you want to watch when you are involved in an armed conflict is re-runs of a previous war.  

After successfully defending their title of the Worlds’ Greatest Drinking Team, CPT Mike and CPT Mark stumbled into their bunks. They were mostly comatose by this time in the proceedings. Someone usually sat up with them for awhile to assure they did not fall out of bed or drown in their own vomit. Yes, Virginia, these guys were drunk on their ass and fairly close to alcohol poisoning or death. 

Unfortunately for our champions, missions were launched every morning at first light whether or not you were ready for them. Herein created the opportunity for CPT Mark to be ambushed then viciously attacked and scalped by an Iroquois. 

Missions were briefed by the Operations Officer in the evening. Crews were appointed, and aircraft were assigned to crews for the following day. It seems like CPT Mark was to fly with CPT Mike on a VIP pick-up at 23rd Infantry Division’s Headquarters helipad at 1000 hours the next morning. Fortunately, we had two Captains named Mike. This crew was lead by CPT Mike2 as the aircraft commander with CPT Mark as co-pilot. It was somewhat of a milk run so the guy in the co-pilots seat did not have to be much more than a warm body with a pulse. That pretty much described CPT Mark that fateful morning.  

In an effort to sober up as fast as possible CPT Mark wolfed down a breakfast of eggs, bacon, pancakes, and a large quantify of coffee. He met CPT Mike2 at the revetment at 0830 hours to help conduct a pre-flight of the UH-1H assigned to the mission and brief the other flight crew members, a crew chief and door gunner. They took off at 0900 for the five minute flight to the Headquarters VIP pad. After landing they shut down the engine and waited for their passengers. They were about fifty minutes early. Even at 0915 hours in the morning, Vietnam was beginning to get hot and humid. The clouds overhead were starting to roil and build up. So was the bilge in CPT Mark’s stomach. 

He said to CPT Mike2, “I don’t feel so good. I think I am going to be sick.” CPT Mike2 said, “Just don’t get sick in this aircraft. Go back by the tail boom and throw-up if you have to.” CPT Mark unstrapped from his seat and walked quickly to the rear of the aircraft. He was gone about five minutes when the crew chief called out, “Damn. CPT Mark has fallen down!” With that everyone unstrapped and went back to aid CPT Mark. 

On the trailing edge of a UH-1 Iroquois’ horizontal stabilizer there is a sharp metal edge where the stabilizer is held together with a hard metal sleeve. Apparently, when CPT Mark fell forward he was in the perfect spot for the tip of his nose to catch the sharp trailing edge of the Iroquois’ horizontal stabilizer. As he fell forward the sharp edge began peeling back his skin. First the skin on the top of his nose, then his eye brows and forehead skin peeled back. It finally stopped about half way back on the top of his head. The huge piece of skin with eye brows was now flapping in the breeze. CPT Mark was out cold. 

CPT Mike2 got on the radio to our operations and told them what happened. He cranked up the aircraft and dropped CPT Mark off at the nearby Mobile Army Surgical Hospital (MASH) unit’s helipad. I grabbed my helmet, weapon, and flight gear and met CPT Mike2’s aircraft and crew on our parking ramp and replaced CPT Mark on the mission. Thankfully, the VIP passengers were late arriving at the headquarters’ helipad, and we were back there before they arrived. The mission went off without a hitch after that. CPT Mike2 was beside himself on the intercom telling me about CPT Mark’s scalping. He was laughing so hard he gave me the controls of the helicopter. 

He said that surprisingly there was very little blood flow from the scalp wound. Just a small amount of blood oozing from the exposed last layer of skin covering the cranium. The worst part – which means the funniest part – he said were the eye brows that were still attached to the skin flap in the front. This caused Mike2 to belly laugh for another five minutes. None of the three original crew members could look at each other without laughing. CPT Mark probably would not have appreciated their humor. 

Speaking of CPT Mark, he returned to the company area that same afternoon with a head full of sutures and stitches. He looked a little like Frankenstein’s creature around the eye brows. This caused CPT Mike2 to come down with apoplexy once again. We all had a lot of fun out of CPT Mark’s scalping. Of all my hootch mates he is only one of two that I have not been able to find via the internet. He may be laying in wait with a knife and tomahawk somewhere in Vietnam hoping to take revenge on the Iroquois that scalped him forty two years ago. 

The Colonel’s Pilot

The 12th Aviation Group commander was a mean old bastard by all accounts. Most of us line pilots did our best to avoid all contact with Colonel T, and all other full colonels for that matter. Rumor control said COL T. carried a lieutenant colonel with him at all times just in case he felt the urge to relieve some battalion commander on the spot. He had an instant replacement on hand who got to see the sudden removal of his predecessor, and was therefore warned of COL T’s brand of jungle leadership. 

We also felt the wrath of COL T in many 12thAviation Group regulations, policies and Standard Operating Procedures that seemed designed to remove all the fun things you could do with a helicopter in a war zone. Flying low level or nape-of-the-earth, VFR on top, VFR in the clouds, spiraling approaches, and buzzing anything was frowned upon in the 12th Aviation Group aviation line units. Certainly, the purveyor of all this nay saying had to be more of a skin flint than Ebenezer Scrooge ever could be. Most lieutenant colonels, majors, captains, lieutenants, chief warrant officers, and warrant officers would rather have a root canal than deal directly with COL T face-to-face. 

All helicopters flying in Vietnam on anything but a maintenance test flight had to have an Aircraft Commander (AC), designated by a unit commander, on board as a final decision authority for all things related to flight and mission requirements. Aircraft Commanders were usually Vietnam experienced pilots with hundreds or thousands of flight hours. They were responsible and accountable types who kept the crew, passengers, cargo, and aircraft safe while accomplishing their mission requirements. They knew their units’ area of operations (AO) so well that they seldom needed a map to find a destination. They were procedural experts for all administrative and tactical flight conducted by their unit. Most were mature serious people who thrived on responsibility. To be an Aircraft Commander was a badge of honor sought by most of us who flew helicopters over the mean skies of Vietnam.  

In some cases, the Aircraft Commander might be subordinate in military grade to his co-pilot. For example, a chief warrant officer designated as an AC would be “in charge” of the aircraft, crew, and flight mission. He would be held responsible for both success and failure. His co-pilot might be a captain or major who had less flying experience, was new in-country, and was not yet recommended or designated as an AC by his unit commander. The CWO would make all the decision regarding flight operations. Logically, the most skilled and experienced person should be in charge regardless of rank for the very specialized requirements of flying operations and safety. To the uninitiated this military leadership anomaly sounds odd, however, it works quite well in practice in Army Aviation circles.   

This is not to say that it is not a challenge for both parties in the cockpit. Role reversal must always be accompanied by a sense that “I am in charge in the air but, when we get back on the ground at the end of the flight mission the co-pilot will again become my superior officer. “ It behooves each player to be respectful of the other for both mission and unit solidarity. However, every so often there is an arrogant ass that cannot or will not play nice with others. He or she does everyone a disservice and can put the crew, the mission and the unit commander’s career in jeopardy.  

My company commander, MAJ M. was challenged to provide an aircraft commander to fly somewhat regularly with the 12thAviation Group commander aka Mean Old Bastard. Someone gifted with great flying skills, a thorough knowledge of the AO, all Army, I Corps, 23rdInfantry Division, and 12th Aviation Group rules and regulations. An officer blessed with brains enough not to get himself and MAJ M. fired on the first mission. He needed a mature and solid aviator that would represent A Company and the 123rd Aviation Battalion with distinction. He was looking to find someone who could tactfully deal with COL T. 

Why in hell he picked me was anybody’s guess. There were many captains and chief warrant officers in A Company more qualified and more experienced than I was.  I whined and sniveled like a rat eating an onion trying to talk MAJ M. out of this folly. I was already the company XO, the 3rd flight platoon leader, and the occasional stand-in for the company operations officer. I had been flying A Company missions for about six months when MAJ M. signed my AC (in a UH-1H) orders. He and I did fly together on several combat support missions. We got along quite well on the ground and in the cockpit. Truthfully, I was flattered by his confidence in me.  

I was also hoping that COL T. was not the arrogant ass most people thought he was. That night after supper I did receive a mission brief by CPT W. our operations officer on where COL T. wanted to go, what he wanted to do, and the timeline for the mission. That night before our first mission together I hardly slept. I was thinking and rethinking all the rules, policies, and procedures that had to be complied with in order to safely launch a helicopter into the air, conduct a mission, return to Ky Ha heliport in one piece, and not incur the wrath of the 12th Group Commander. I considered one more try to talk MAJ M. out of this bad idea, but thought better of it. 

Our take off time was 1000 hours. The crew chief, door gunner and I were at the revetment at 0800 hours to pre-flight the aircraft, check our mission equipment, and conduct a mission brief among ourselves prior to COL T’s arrival. All of us were a little on edge flying with COL T for the first time. The crew chief said he hoped the T did not stand for Terrible. No one laughed. I think we were all closer to prayer than laughter at this point. COL T showed up at 0900 hours. We conducted another pre-flight. He read the pre-flight check list while I looked at all the flight controls, switches, and mission equipment. I responded with a “checked, set, or ready” to his check list items in order. I back-briefed COL T with the mission as I received it last night as to where we were going, how we would get there, and when we would return end-of-mission at Ky Ha. 

We all strapped in except for the crew chief.  He stood outside the aircraft connected by a long intercom wire so he could watch the start up making sure nothing important fell off and nothing was on fire except the power turbine. Pre-take off cockpit procedures were done by the checklist. COL T was in the left seat reading the check list items. I was in the right seat putting all the switches in the proper position for starting. Most AC’s flew in the left seat of a UH-1. I think this was a carry-over from the old Army Air Corps when the AC or pilot in command flew in the left seat of bombers or transport airplanes. I preferred the right seat in a Huey because that is where the better flight instruments, gauges, and all the switches were readily accessible. Some people thought you could see outside the helicopter better from the left seat.  

I set the throttle set to flight idle, turned the fuel on, hollered CLEAR! The crew chief responded with another CLEAR, and I pulled the starter trigger to the rear. The engine started to whine, the blades moved slowly at first than accelerated to flight idle at 6400 RPM. The crew chief hoped on board and confirmed when he was strapped in. I beeped the throttle forward until the rotors reached full power at 6600 RPM. The crew visually “cleared” the helicopter all around and I pulled enough power to get “light on the skids” and slid forward out of the revetment. Once clear of the revetment I ascended to a three foot hover and taxied to the take off pad. I gave the controls over to COL T while I called flight ops to confirm our departure; then called Ky Ha tower for take-off and departure clearance. 

Well, five minutes into the first mission and I have not been fired yet. I felt pretty happy. As it turned out COL T was a solid pilot, and he insisted on doing his share of the crew duties including refueling the helicopter. I was pretty impressed that a full colonel would stand out in some rotten weather, attach a grounding wire, work the fuel nozzle, and monitor the fuel level for the correct mark. He never grumbled or complained. We switched off flying time as necessary. Some of the landing zones were a little tricky the first time going in or out, however, he caught on fast, and seemed to like the challenge of tactical flying. No one believed me back at A Company that the Group Commander was a good guy to fly with. 

COL T liked to fly low level everywhere we went. Group regulations stated that low level flight would not be conducted in some areas due to enemy activity or hazards to flight. Many of these regulations were old and outdated.  He would ask, “Whose dumb idea was it to prohibit low level flying through here?” Tactfully, I would plead the Fifth Amendment saying “I refuse to answer that questions on grounds I might incriminate myself.” He quickly grasped that it was himself or his predecessor and would start to smile. In the back of the helicopter the crew chief and gunner were laughing, however, they were smart enough not to key their intercom switches. He would say, “I will get these regs changed tonight.” He often did. 

The only time I saw him laugh out loud was at Gia Vuc airstrip. We landed there one day so that COL T could talk with one of the “ground” commanders supported by the 12thAviation Group. Gia Vuc was a very short landing strip on the edge of the jungle about 35 miles South of Ky Ha in Quang Ngai provence. Usually, only short take-off and landing fixed wing aircraft landed there. Helio-courier and helio-porters were common, and an occasional Air Force C-123 Caribou would operate from Gia Vuc. On this day, an Air Force C-130, a large four engine turbo prop, was backed up as far as it could back up on the North end of the runway. Its tail section hung over the stone back blast area of the runway. It had two JATO bottles on each side of the airplane mounted behind the wing. The South end of the runway ended right above a creek with a ten foot drop down to the water. None of us including the crew chief and gunner, who both had been there many times before, had ever seen a C-130 on the Gia Vuc strip before today. We were all certain this one would end up in the creek. There was plenty of room to land our helicopter and park it away from the air strip a safe distance. We were tying the blades down as COL T began calling on the radio to be picked up by the local commander.  

The C-130 was starting its four main engines and getting ready for take-off. It was just about then we noticed a Vietnamese man carrying a long 2 X 6 plank getting ready to trot across the rocky back blast area on the North end of the runway directly behind the C-130. There was no way the C-130 crew could see this man and the engine noise prevented anyone from shouting at him to stay back. Terrible timing got this man right behind the C-130 as the pilot started his take off roll under full power of his engines and all four JATO bottles. A huge cloud of dust and dirt went up engulfing the man carrying the 2 X 6 board. The first thing out of the dust cloud was the 2 x 6. It was about ten feet off the ground doing about 30 knots. The second object out of the cloud of dust was the Vietnamese man flying low.  He was about five feet off the ground and moving fast.  He looked like Superman wearing black pajamas and a straw “koolie” hat tethered around his neck. COL T was laughing so hard he had to hold on to the helicopter door handle to stop from falling down. None of us had seen a man actually flying before.

This poor guy landed in the rocky back blast area and rolled for thirty feet or more. Miraculously, the C-130 took off without incident. Even more miraculously this man survived his first flying experience and a rough belly landing. He even stood up and started to brush himself off. Damn it was funny at the time! The man was pretty beat up from rolling in the stones. An Army field ambulance from the nearby unit drove up and started treating his cuts and bruises. He seemed thankful for the care. I imagine he survived his solo flight, however, his hearing was probably never the same.  

COL T and I flew together about once every week for the next five months. 

Things got so informal that he called me George and I called him Colonel T. 

I learned to respect him greatly. He was a fine aviator and a good commander. I enjoyed my time in the cockpit with him. He was a man of his word which I liked. 

I stayed in Chu Lai an additional day so I could participate in his Change of 

Command ceremony. We had a drink together that evening. Early the next day I boarded the first transport aircraft leaving Chu Lai.  I never saw COL T. again. I will remember him always. 

The Worst Shot in the VC Army 

All I could think was I had less than sixty days left in-country.  I had not yet seen my son, and this little bastard was trying to kill me! It is funny what goes through your mind in the middle of a gun fight. 

It always amazed me how fast a routine mission could go terribly wrong at the worst time. CW2 D and I were assigned to fly to Da Nang and pick-up four passengers at China Beach who had somehow missed the morning courier flight. We were to get there ASAP and bring them down to the 23rd Infantry Division Headquarters helipad at Chu Lai. This mission was like a pick-up game of basketball. The mission was given to our unit in the middle of the day. We had to make up an ad hoc crew from pilots and crew members who happened to be in the company area at the time. The UH-1 we were to fly was just out of a major maintenance inspection and was test flown that morning. The crew chief was battling a cold and the door gunner was brand new to our unit and Vietnam. CW2 D and I were both aircraft commanders so we split the time. I logged AC time going north to Da Nang. He logged AC time coming south back to Chu Lai. His leg of the flight turned out to be a lot more exciting than mine. 

After a quick pre-flight of the Huey, we all pitched in and mounted the M-60 machineguns onto their pedestal mounts, attached the ammunition feeding chutes, and connected linked belts of 500 rounds of 7.62 mm ammo to each gun’s receiver plate.  We cranked up the aircraft, slid out of the revetment, hot re-fueled, and took off to the South to the free fire zone to test fire the machineguns for proper functioning. After successfully checking our weapons, we turned north and flew up the beach toward Da Nang. A Navy battleship was anchored about one-half off Da Nang’s coast. We flew directly over the top of this dreadnaught from end-to-end in case they fired their big guns in-land in support of the Army or Marine units operating in and around Da Nang.  Battleship cannons provide devastating fire from miles away.

When we arrived at China Beach our passengers could not to be found. We were told that they had boarded another helicopter that was headed for Chu Lai. This kind of confusion was not uncommon in Vietnam. We waited one hour and headed back to Ky Ha via Highway 1. About twenty miles south of Da Nang we got a radio call on “guard” frequency from an Army battalion commander on LZ West which was only four or five miles west of Highway 1. He was requesting attack helicopter support and troop insertion support of LZ Siberia which was a U.S. Army out-post approximately one mile west of LZ West. It seemed that LZ Siberia was in danger of being overrun by a company-sized Viet Cong force. Oddly, this attack was taking place in the middle of a sunny afternoon. The VC rarely attacked in broad day light uphill. 

CW2 D turned toward LZ West pushed the nose over to 100 knots as I busied myself with the radio call to our operations requesting gunship support ASAP in vicinity of LZ Siberia. Hopefully, our sister unit B Company Warlords had someone available on standby.  Turns out they did not. The voice on the radio from LZ West said he would have six riflemen with all the ammunition they could carry waiting for us on the landing pad on LA West. He also explained that there was a helipad on the south side of LZ Siberia that was “sort of” away from the main attack. “Sort of” was not much comfort when bullets were flying in close formation. It always amazed me how quickly a milk run mission could change into something dangerous without warning. Such was the life of almost every helicopter crew in Vietnam I leaned later. 

Six or seven minutes later we made the first approach into LZ West to pick-up a short squad of infantry riflemen. CW2 D said he knew where the LZ Siberia helipad was located. We loaded the riflemen. Our crew chief gave them a quick briefing on how to get off the aircraft quickly on LZ Siberia. He assured them they would only have about twenty or thirty seconds to un-ass the helicopter before we pulled pitch and got out of there. I was still on the radio hollering for gunships and tried to watch the loading process of troops in the back of the Huey. CW2 D briefed the gunner and crew chief about rules of engagement with the enemy so close to friendly forces. We told them to shoot only if they were absolutely sure it was a VC or NVA soldier with a weapon. Surprisingly enough with soldiers scurrying across the ground between cover points and running toward each other, it is real hard to tell who-is-who from the air. 

CW2 D dove off the West helipad balls to the wall toward Siberia. We descended into the little saddle between the two landing zones and popped up in a decelerating flare maneuver right onto the LZ Siberia helipad. This was some great flying by Mr. D.  I was duly impressed with his skill. Here is where the first of the most exciting twenty seconds of our lives took place. No sooner had we touched down on Siberia’s helipad when a VC soldier popped out of a “spider hole” about one hundred yards away and began spraying us with automatic weapons fire. He was shooting uphill which is a little different than shooting across flat ground. Luckily he did not seem to know this. They say you cannot see the bullet that kills you, and fortunately I could see these rounds going high past our doors and over the Plexiglas panel over our heads. At least I think I could see them.  Unfortunately, this little bastard was directly in front of our windshield and once on the helipad our crew chief and door gunners could not bring our M-60 machine guns to bear on his position. The machine guns have static stops that prevent someone from shooting into their own cockpit. They will only go so far forward before hitting the static stop. It took about twenty seconds max for our riflemen to jump off our cargo platform and run for cover.  

As soon as we took off from Siberia, CW2 D turned the helicopter hard left to avoid mass small arms fire from the main attack. This also allowed our crew chief sitting on the right side of our helicopter the chance to engage the VC who was shooting at us while we were on Siberia’s helipad. However, the VC was no longer visible. Apparently, he pulled a grass and dirt camouflage cover over his head as soon as we took off and we could no longer see his position. We learned later that he must have re-engaged our aircraft as we went over, because we had several holes in our skids and tail boom when got back to our heliport that afternoon. 

As I remember it, we made three such flights into LZ Siberia from LZ West to bring more American soldiers into the fight and that little bastard VC shot at us on the helipad each time. Miraculously, he never hit our Huey anywhere in the front or any crew member or any Infantryman we delivered to Siberia that afternoon. He definitely had to be the worst shot in the VC Army. 

Whoever wrote our award citations only recorded two such insertions. To tell you the truth, I cannot remember exactly, and whether it was two or three does not matter. It was more excitement, chaos, and terror than I ever needed. Most of this time I was on the radio calling for gunship support and MEDEVAC aircraft to join the fight on LZ Siberia. 

The added firepower we delivered to LZ Siberia along with some strategically placed Claymore mines turned the tide of battle in favor of our friendly forces. As we were leaving, two AH-1G Cobra gunships showed up on station. The enemy force broke contact and slithered back into the jungle to fight another day. A MEDEVAC Huey showed up to extract the wounded from Siberia. We flew back to Key Ha heliport pretty much in silence. Proud of what we had accomplished, scared at what could have happened, and happy to be alive and in one piece. The aircraft had a few holes. I think the A Company maintenance team replaced the skid tubes that night; the sheet metal shop patched the tail boom; the helicopter was given a thorough inspection by the maintenance folks; and I believe it flew again the next morning. I did not fly the next day. I was too busy washing my flight suit. It smelled terrible. 

Epilogue: This mission took place on 30 April 1970. CW2 D’s real name is CW2 Rick Diamond. He is my hero to this day. A great Aircraft Commander with amazing flying skills, cool under fire, and a great decision maker. I would fly with him again today or any day. I ran into him years later in a hotel lobby in Mesa AZ about 1994. We were both visiting the McDonnell Douglas Aircraft Corporation plant on Army business. We only had time to say hello. I have not seen or heard from him since. Hopefully, he will show up at the 2014 VHPA Reunion in Louisville, KY. I plan to be there.