rotorwash
26-06-07, 03:00
I was feeling persecuted. I had been stuck at LZ Baldy for what seemed like forever. Aircraft came and went, but I stayed. We were operating in the valleys south of LZs Center and West supporting the 196th. The first mission of the day, we flew out to Center, crossed it from west to east and flew down the ridgeline above the heads of some infantry moving off the LZ. We were lead ship and it wasn’t long before we took fire. The other ship was following us at exactly the same altitude and only about a quarter of a mile back. We came up on VHF and told the other aircraft we were taking fire, and to move away from our flight path. Radios that work perfectly at 40 miles sometimes don’t work at 400 feet and all they heard us transmit was static. The next thing we heard them say was that they had taken a round in the transmission and were losing fluid. Without fluid you only have three or four minutes to set the aircraft down before the transmission freezes solid, so they put it down on the resupply pad at LZ Center. The last we saw of the aircraft was when it rode home underneath a Chinook.
My pilot that day was Jim McDaniels, the A/C was Mike Magno, who was a really fun guy. He was the type of guy that never shut up, but his conversation never got dull or boring. In fact, he talked so constantly that if you put a gun to his head and told him not to say another word, he would tell you how to point the gun for the best effect.
The next aircraft that came up to fly with us was commanded by Joe Moys, who often flew with me and was a very good pilot. Joe was senior pilot, so he took over lead. It wasn’t long before we got scrambled to support an infantry unit that had taken casualties, was pinned down in some bomb craters on a ridgeline and was in danger of being overrun.
After a few passes we had pushed the VC back and were contemplating our next move, the pressure was off the infantry, but we were still taking a lot of fire. As we pulled out and gained altitude, my gunner, David Stein, jumped up out of his seat – don’t ask me what happened to his seat belt – but he stood up (actually he bent double at the waist, he was 6’4”) yelling obscenities and started firing out the door. It seems an NVA soldier had stepped out of a tree line, took very deliberate aim at Stein and cut loose. David took it personally.
At about the same time we realized that we could not see Moy’s, so Magno started hollering over the radio. The reply was garbled and unintelligible. Then over the FM radio we heard the infantry cheering like we were the home team. At about the same time we saw Moys flying low and fast, attacking over the infantry into the VC. We dove down on Moys six, Magno talking all the way. The infantry was cheering and talking a mile a minute. It seems that Moys had knocked out a chin bubble on a tree on the ridge. The infantry was very impressed by our close support. Moys had to take his aircraft back to get the chin bubble replaced, so once more we were stuck at Baldy without a wingman.
As a postscript to this story, Jim McDaniels came back to Fort Rucker as an instructor pilot. There he met an infantry captain nicknamed “Bullet.” Bullet had recently come back from Vietnam where he had been a platoon leader in an infantry unit. His nickname resulted from a skirmish they got into one day. He and his platoon were in a pock-marked hilltop LZ that was full of bomb craters. They came into contact with some VC. The GI's were outnumbered and about to be overrun. They sustained several losses and were "getting their butts kicked." Bullet himself was shot three times in the chest, each one exiting his back. His nickname came from those wounds.
Bullet's platoon called for some helicopter gunships, it wasn't long before two arrived, drove off the VC and saved Bullet and his platoon. To celebrate beating back the VC, the lead gunship did a low altitude, high speed pass right by their location, rocking its "wings" as it passed--sort of a Victory Pass. Unfortunately, the pilot did not see the only dead, lonely, scraggly, tree left on the whole hilltop. It was just a scrawny trunk and a few leafless branches. He smashed right into it with the front of the helicopter, breaking out a chin bubble and caving in the front radio compartment cover. The helicopter didn't crash but managed to waddle-on back up in the air and continue its less-than-dignified return to home base. Bullet credited those gunships with saving their lives and making him want to become a helicopter pilot. He applied and was accepted to helicopter flight school when he returned from Vietnam.
When Bullet had finished his story, Jim asked him if the gunships had any unusual markings or paint schemes on them. Bullet replied that they had big red-and-white shark's teeth painted on the front. Jim then told him that he flew in the Sharks and had been flying the second gunship that day (the one that did not hit the tree). Joe took a lot of ribbing from the other pilots over that incident.
Later, after Bullet graduated from flight school, he went back to Vietnam as a helicopter pilot. Jim later heard that midway through his second tour he met his wife in Hawaii for R & R. He then returned to Vietnam where only a week or so later he was shot down and killed. Jim asked me the question, “Now what are the odds that the grunt platoon leader on the ground that we saved that day would later be my student in flight school?”
My pilot that day was Jim McDaniels, the A/C was Mike Magno, who was a really fun guy. He was the type of guy that never shut up, but his conversation never got dull or boring. In fact, he talked so constantly that if you put a gun to his head and told him not to say another word, he would tell you how to point the gun for the best effect.
The next aircraft that came up to fly with us was commanded by Joe Moys, who often flew with me and was a very good pilot. Joe was senior pilot, so he took over lead. It wasn’t long before we got scrambled to support an infantry unit that had taken casualties, was pinned down in some bomb craters on a ridgeline and was in danger of being overrun.
After a few passes we had pushed the VC back and were contemplating our next move, the pressure was off the infantry, but we were still taking a lot of fire. As we pulled out and gained altitude, my gunner, David Stein, jumped up out of his seat – don’t ask me what happened to his seat belt – but he stood up (actually he bent double at the waist, he was 6’4”) yelling obscenities and started firing out the door. It seems an NVA soldier had stepped out of a tree line, took very deliberate aim at Stein and cut loose. David took it personally.
At about the same time we realized that we could not see Moy’s, so Magno started hollering over the radio. The reply was garbled and unintelligible. Then over the FM radio we heard the infantry cheering like we were the home team. At about the same time we saw Moys flying low and fast, attacking over the infantry into the VC. We dove down on Moys six, Magno talking all the way. The infantry was cheering and talking a mile a minute. It seems that Moys had knocked out a chin bubble on a tree on the ridge. The infantry was very impressed by our close support. Moys had to take his aircraft back to get the chin bubble replaced, so once more we were stuck at Baldy without a wingman.
As a postscript to this story, Jim McDaniels came back to Fort Rucker as an instructor pilot. There he met an infantry captain nicknamed “Bullet.” Bullet had recently come back from Vietnam where he had been a platoon leader in an infantry unit. His nickname resulted from a skirmish they got into one day. He and his platoon were in a pock-marked hilltop LZ that was full of bomb craters. They came into contact with some VC. The GI's were outnumbered and about to be overrun. They sustained several losses and were "getting their butts kicked." Bullet himself was shot three times in the chest, each one exiting his back. His nickname came from those wounds.
Bullet's platoon called for some helicopter gunships, it wasn't long before two arrived, drove off the VC and saved Bullet and his platoon. To celebrate beating back the VC, the lead gunship did a low altitude, high speed pass right by their location, rocking its "wings" as it passed--sort of a Victory Pass. Unfortunately, the pilot did not see the only dead, lonely, scraggly, tree left on the whole hilltop. It was just a scrawny trunk and a few leafless branches. He smashed right into it with the front of the helicopter, breaking out a chin bubble and caving in the front radio compartment cover. The helicopter didn't crash but managed to waddle-on back up in the air and continue its less-than-dignified return to home base. Bullet credited those gunships with saving their lives and making him want to become a helicopter pilot. He applied and was accepted to helicopter flight school when he returned from Vietnam.
When Bullet had finished his story, Jim asked him if the gunships had any unusual markings or paint schemes on them. Bullet replied that they had big red-and-white shark's teeth painted on the front. Jim then told him that he flew in the Sharks and had been flying the second gunship that day (the one that did not hit the tree). Joe took a lot of ribbing from the other pilots over that incident.
Later, after Bullet graduated from flight school, he went back to Vietnam as a helicopter pilot. Jim later heard that midway through his second tour he met his wife in Hawaii for R & R. He then returned to Vietnam where only a week or so later he was shot down and killed. Jim asked me the question, “Now what are the odds that the grunt platoon leader on the ground that we saved that day would later be my student in flight school?”