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Ch 8: Stepping into the void

There are those early experiences in every endeavor which indelibly mark one�s memory and it is invariably replaced by an adjustment wherein what was once thrilling becomes mundane. It matters not how high the pucker factor. On the matter of Pf, let me explain the Army Aviator index: 1 = wake me up when it�s time, to 10, which means there is a small hole in the nylon web of the seat where your [bleep] snarfed up a piece of fabric because your brain, operating at Pf-1 put orifice #2 in jeopardy beyond comprehension. In other words, if you can�t drive a greased16 penny nail up your butt with a 5# hammer, it might be a Pf-10. What I�m tying to get across, getting shot at became humdrum and it took something special to stand out in the fabric of time.

I do have a diary that I kept of the first year and will perhaps go review it�or not, as I write this. From where I sit, the highlights suffice, or the odd moment where epiphany was found. With that said, the last distinct memory I have of those early days flying out of Tam Ky led to a party that will be legend long after I�m gone.

Tien Phouc is a small ville northwest of Tam Ky. It is viewable via Google Earth and such and image is below. The ville is not important, but the foreground is�.Burke�s Hill. Not said previously was a cogent explanation of our foe. It was, if memory serves, the 3rd NVA Regiment. The entire span of our AO was a free fire zone and in the area around Tien Phouc the northern extremity of the AO was the river between the hill and the ville. HA! I�m a Suessian Poet! Anyway, it was a troublesome place as previously detailed.

The east west road in the image was a foot path back in the day. The scrub apron just north of the rice paddies is where I got fired up the first day after getting the sign off. The brown patch on the side of the hill center is approximately where the Blues were ambushed that day and this little story began in the scrub area right of the paddies. You will notice after close inspection the terraced paddies in the right edge of the image???? Look close now�there you are, about 20� in the air, just north of the old foot path heading a bit south of southeast across the path about where the sandy looking slash is�.it�s about 100* and the sun�s up enough that it�s not a problem that morning, nothing particularly troublesome going on��



Without warning, all of Minnie�s pearls erupted out of the scrub, little green bees swarming about with a sound like a thousand bullwhip cracks. Bringing with them the dozen or so odd thumps meaning at least some of them had found meat in the LOH and once again I screamed on silent radios as I broke left about 90* and headed for the low draw to the northeast. Now those radios are odd things. They send and they receive. That I heard nothing did not mean I was not transmitting, only that I might not be. The Observer (Oscar) had pitched a red smoke, the guns had seen the tracers and muzzle flashes and rained a little pee on the place, then joined up with me as I scurried back to Tam Ky, only a few klicks to the southeast.

Y�all recall please the beginning of the superstition I created�mentioned it just a bit ago. Well, when I did the belly flop in the rice paddy that day, I had occasion to go look at the LOH later on and saw a hole in the overhead about an inch from where my noodle had been. This is the second part of the legend. Every time I took hits that first year I could measure one or more bullet holes within about 3� from my head. So, the perspective of the Oscars and Gunners I flew with would become thus: Dan did/did not get hit/shot at on this mission. Ergo, option B would happen on the next mission. Option B meant 1) he might/might not get shot in the head and 2) he will/will not die mercifully while we scream all the way to the ground!

On the way to Tam Ky I looked up at the Plexiglas above my head and sure enough there was a hole directly over my head. Now that glass is about an 1� over my noggin because I�m a full sized pilot and the LOH was a little bitty thing that only weighed about 1300# empty. Combat emergency max gross weight was 2400# by the way and our lives were a continuous ongoing emergency�

My friend from Texas, Johnny Sprott was a curious blend of astute poker player and nerveless hooligan. Due more to our pilot shortage than anything else he was dispatched with another team before I even landed. We just did not let sleeping dogs lay, no sir. The short version of his investigation, and it was a short investigation: There were a lot of very unfriendly natives in the area and he had occasion to see a goodly number of bunkers before they fired him up. They did not shoot well that time and as fate would have it, were about to have a personal demonstration as to our sincerity and determination.

It was convenient being so close to MAG 13. We gave them targets; they delivered bombs and were home in time for lunch. Symbiosis at it�s very best. FACs monitored our frequencies routinely for much the same reason. There was nobody like the CAV to provide a target rich environment! Before the Snake lead could dial in the freq. for him, the FAC gave a holler and it was decided we�d have a grand spectacle for the fine citizens of Tien Phouc. Sorry phoucers. (phoucers � n. fook�-ers)

Two F-4s roared off from Chu Lai, probably got the mission brief before they had their wheels up. Their inbound was from over the top of Burke�s Hill with a planned left pull at about 2000� and they were loaded with about 12,000 # of 750# HE Quick each. Nothing fancy, just run of the mill cabbage patch medicine. Lead was flying a bird that had a history of hydraulic squawks though and this day the squawks would be resolved, for as he put the pipper on target at about center of mass for the bunker complex his hydraulic systems failed. Now the emergency procedure for that in a Huey was fairly complex. In an F4 the procedure was very simple�..EJECT! Two wee bodies flew out of the cockpit and before the chutes opened there was an M-A-S-S-I-V-E detonation on the ground, dead center in the bunker complex. Lest you think the Third World minions are insensitive to profound demonstrations of power I want to pass on the fact that both pilots were recovered within yards of the smoking residue that had once held dreams of glory, without a single shot being fired by either side. They were extracted by Johnny and a Corps CH-46 due to the need of a hoist to get to the second pilot. Johnny took advantage of the pilot he retrieved�hoovered down to him and the Oscar unloaded the M-16 and held it down for the guy to grab onto so he could clamber up on the skids.

We were indeed home in time for the floor show which had been scheduled at the MAG 13 O�Club that evening. In fact, we were there in time to drink all of the liquor in the bar before the show started. By that time, all that was left was Mateus and Cold Duck and Beer. I want you to consider the probability of drinking a Marine Corps Bar dry. Ponder that a moment. By the next morning there was a tear in the continuum and the Cav and Corps were One. Some of the Cav slept in the road in front of the Club, some in the dried up lake bed we called home. The Corps, in infinite compassion, drove around those sleeping in the road. I and several others, stout of heart and strong of will, flew off to battle again that morning, plastered beyond comprehension. It would be a good day for comedy!