- Joined
- May 31, 2004
- Messages
- 344
- Points
- 53
By the third week of April, 1967, the 1/35 Infantry of the 4th Infantry’s Third Brigade was established at Duc Pho, expanding its influence to make room for the rest of the brigade gradually moving up from LZ English and the Bong Son Plain.
Our company was increasing it’s presence proportionally and we now had about a platoon available along with a semblance of operations and fuel/ammo storage. My aircraft, 863, had been patched up after our fight on 16 April and now looked like a patchwork quilt assembled by a kindly, but blind, old grandmother. The sickly green of zinc chromate patches dotted what would otherwise have been a pristine olive green, although somewhat filthy, aircraft. One new rotor blade, a much lighter color then the other, now graced our flight, making an observer go into a hypnotic trance as the different colored blades spun around. The new one had replaced the one shot so full of holes it made the aircraft sound like an asthmatic harmonica as it flew through the air.
We rotated pilots often, there was a requirement that pilots fly only a certain number of hours in a month, but no such requirement existed for enlisted flight crews, and I could not remember the last drop of soapy water to touch my body. I didn’t know it at the time, but I was well into the longest, smelliest, itchingiest six weeks my body would ever experience. The only fresh air I experienced was when we were airborne.
But the 1/35 loved us, and after April 16, had adopted 863 as the official battalion command and control ship, painting a cactus, part of their battalion crest, on the side and gleefully putting stick figures of VC on the side behind the pilots door representing the enemy we had killed while in their employ. But otherwise 863 was a sad looking specimen. Not even a convenient rainstorm had been available to wash the grime away. Half empty C ration and ammo cases poked out from under the seats and strings from jungle hammocks flapped in the breeze when we flew. Down time was spent wiping, tightening, wiring and fixing along with grabbing quick meals. On one occasion I remember throwing the left over C ration meals in an ammo can, adding water and Tobasco sauce and heating it on a C-4 fire, stirring occasionally with a long handled screwdriver - the same screwdriver I was using to get an oil sample from the tail rotor gearbox.
One problem we had at Duc Pho was lack of artillery. There would not be any available for about a week, so some genius had arranged for the Navy to provide artillery. Sounded good, their ships had guns and were known to be very accurate. One of the artillery observers was dour at the prospects, however, for the simple reason that when the Navy had supported the Marines in the area they had fired a bunch of 5 inch duds that had provided Charley with some much needed booby trap material and we were still reaping the effects.
But the time came when it was decided that some of our infantry had to meet with the Navy and co-ordinate radio traffic and map grids. The Navy told us that the ship that would provide our much needed support was now of the coast and a UH-1 could land on the deck without trouble, so the illustrious battalion staff climbed aboard and off we flew, dirty and bedraggled, looking like we worked for the local ragpicker. Sure enough, there off the coast was a Navy ship, and I will never forget the bow number, 872, because we had an aircraft in our unit with the same number that was a sister ship of 863. But as we circled the ship and established radio contact, we began to wonder if this was the right ship. It was a destroyer with only two gun turrets, each mounting a single 5 inch gun. This was our artillery support????
Assured that they were said support, in fact a little offended that we would have doubts, they gave us permission to land on the ship. On a 35 foot by 20 foot postage stamp just forward of the aft turret. It was called a DASH pad and was designed, if I understood correctly, for a remote control anti-submarine helicopter. Now a UH-1 is fifty feet long and has a 48 foot rotor disc. After quiet discussion, we decided it would be just like landing on a pinnacle with a cliff facing us, the whole thing, all the while, on the move. Piece of cake. Do it every day. If anything went wrong, we could just, well - crash. Over the side into the ocean for a soft landing. The infantry, blissfully unaware, were happily anticipating our meeting with the Navy. They had SO much confidence in us.
A helicopter operates in a phenomena known as “ground effect.” Ground effect extends from ground level upwards to the exact width of the rotor disc, in our case, 48 feet. Within ground effect, the helicopter sits on a cushion of air created by the downward blast from the blades, above ground effect, the aircraft hovers only with brute force exerted by the blades pushing air down. A loaded Huey does not operate well out of ground effect, it tends to vibrate badly and slip right or left as the blades claw air to maintain altitude. Coming in over the fantail of the destroyer, we were out of ground effect, but with difficulty we came in and were able to match our speed with that of the ship and gradually crept forward until the heel of our skids were just barely on the DASH pad. The Navy was obviously nervous, I think half the crew was standing around wearing those weird helmets and life vests looking like they were just waiting for something to go wrong. When we finally set down I think our blades were within four or five feet of the superstructure, not a lot of room to play with. With a tremendous sense of relief, the pilot bottomed collective and rolled off the power. Now came the fun part. With the aircraft barely on the pad, it was not possible for the gunner to tie down the blade which was ordinarily secured to the tail skid or stinger. He climbed down off the pad, went aft and climbed up on the aft five inch turret and tried to reach the stinger but was not high enough. We finally ended up tying the blade down in front.
The infantry and our pilots left to conduct business and shortly, certain Navy types approached our aircraft and looked it over, some venturing to touch it, like it was hot. I was offended, it wasn’t that dirty. Then I noticed that whenever one of them came over to talk to me, he quickly moved to the upwind side. Eventually a petty officer offered us the opportunity to shower, but we turned him down, not having a spare uniform. Our personal gear was in a duffle bag on a truck somewhere between Qhui Nhon and Bong Son and the uniforms we had on would not be replaced until the Army deemed them “unserviceable” meaning that we would not be handed new ones until something equivalent to “the donut dollies are coming and we don’t want them to be offended by what they see, so here, put these on.” With great understanding the Navy offered us cold soft drinks, a complete novelty for us, and apologized because the ice cream maker was inoperative. We were heartbroken, these Navy guys lived such a hard life, it brought tears to my eyes.
Before long our pilots returned followed by a gaggle of sailors. It seems that a shipboard lottery had been conducted and the fortunate winners got to ride in our aircraft for an up close and personal view of Vietnam. They were excited as kids at a carnival. We strapped them in, cranked up and successfully evaded the superstructure as we turned back toward the beach. We flew high and we flew low. We flew around villages and around the rice paddies. At their request we fired a few rounds from the door guns at a paddy dike that was obviously held by the enemy. This excited them to no end, but it was tempered when they spotted a 2,000 lb bomb crater and asked if their guns did that? No, that wasn't their guns, we pointed to a place where the grass had been flattened and told them, their guns did that.
We successfully maneuvered our way back onto the ship without killing anyone and found our infantry guys waiting to go back to Duc Pho. They had taken a shower and their uniforms were washed and dried. Rank has its privileges. The Navy gave us ash trays made from used 5 inch shells properly engraved with the name and number of their ship. I wondered if they could make anything but ash trays. We loaded our own people up and took off, even overloaded as we were with 100 pounds of brass ash trays. On the way back I asked the arty officer how it went and he laughed, “You know those two guns on that ship? Well, the aft one doesn’t work.” Our artillery support. One five inch gun. Thanks Navy. No wonder the Marines were so weird, had to put up with this all day long. Must be the most expensive single shot artillery delivery system in the world.
After we landed, my gunner and I got to talking, did we really smell that bad? Well, there might be some advantages to smelling bad. After all, I never really had to ask where he was, I just knew. Come to think of it, if anyone came up behind me and I didn’t smell them, I better watch out. Satisfied that we were doing alright, I took off my shirt, thumped the salt hardened pocket, stood it up beside the aircraft and began scratching.
Our company was increasing it’s presence proportionally and we now had about a platoon available along with a semblance of operations and fuel/ammo storage. My aircraft, 863, had been patched up after our fight on 16 April and now looked like a patchwork quilt assembled by a kindly, but blind, old grandmother. The sickly green of zinc chromate patches dotted what would otherwise have been a pristine olive green, although somewhat filthy, aircraft. One new rotor blade, a much lighter color then the other, now graced our flight, making an observer go into a hypnotic trance as the different colored blades spun around. The new one had replaced the one shot so full of holes it made the aircraft sound like an asthmatic harmonica as it flew through the air.
We rotated pilots often, there was a requirement that pilots fly only a certain number of hours in a month, but no such requirement existed for enlisted flight crews, and I could not remember the last drop of soapy water to touch my body. I didn’t know it at the time, but I was well into the longest, smelliest, itchingiest six weeks my body would ever experience. The only fresh air I experienced was when we were airborne.
But the 1/35 loved us, and after April 16, had adopted 863 as the official battalion command and control ship, painting a cactus, part of their battalion crest, on the side and gleefully putting stick figures of VC on the side behind the pilots door representing the enemy we had killed while in their employ. But otherwise 863 was a sad looking specimen. Not even a convenient rainstorm had been available to wash the grime away. Half empty C ration and ammo cases poked out from under the seats and strings from jungle hammocks flapped in the breeze when we flew. Down time was spent wiping, tightening, wiring and fixing along with grabbing quick meals. On one occasion I remember throwing the left over C ration meals in an ammo can, adding water and Tobasco sauce and heating it on a C-4 fire, stirring occasionally with a long handled screwdriver - the same screwdriver I was using to get an oil sample from the tail rotor gearbox.
One problem we had at Duc Pho was lack of artillery. There would not be any available for about a week, so some genius had arranged for the Navy to provide artillery. Sounded good, their ships had guns and were known to be very accurate. One of the artillery observers was dour at the prospects, however, for the simple reason that when the Navy had supported the Marines in the area they had fired a bunch of 5 inch duds that had provided Charley with some much needed booby trap material and we were still reaping the effects.
But the time came when it was decided that some of our infantry had to meet with the Navy and co-ordinate radio traffic and map grids. The Navy told us that the ship that would provide our much needed support was now of the coast and a UH-1 could land on the deck without trouble, so the illustrious battalion staff climbed aboard and off we flew, dirty and bedraggled, looking like we worked for the local ragpicker. Sure enough, there off the coast was a Navy ship, and I will never forget the bow number, 872, because we had an aircraft in our unit with the same number that was a sister ship of 863. But as we circled the ship and established radio contact, we began to wonder if this was the right ship. It was a destroyer with only two gun turrets, each mounting a single 5 inch gun. This was our artillery support????
Assured that they were said support, in fact a little offended that we would have doubts, they gave us permission to land on the ship. On a 35 foot by 20 foot postage stamp just forward of the aft turret. It was called a DASH pad and was designed, if I understood correctly, for a remote control anti-submarine helicopter. Now a UH-1 is fifty feet long and has a 48 foot rotor disc. After quiet discussion, we decided it would be just like landing on a pinnacle with a cliff facing us, the whole thing, all the while, on the move. Piece of cake. Do it every day. If anything went wrong, we could just, well - crash. Over the side into the ocean for a soft landing. The infantry, blissfully unaware, were happily anticipating our meeting with the Navy. They had SO much confidence in us.
A helicopter operates in a phenomena known as “ground effect.” Ground effect extends from ground level upwards to the exact width of the rotor disc, in our case, 48 feet. Within ground effect, the helicopter sits on a cushion of air created by the downward blast from the blades, above ground effect, the aircraft hovers only with brute force exerted by the blades pushing air down. A loaded Huey does not operate well out of ground effect, it tends to vibrate badly and slip right or left as the blades claw air to maintain altitude. Coming in over the fantail of the destroyer, we were out of ground effect, but with difficulty we came in and were able to match our speed with that of the ship and gradually crept forward until the heel of our skids were just barely on the DASH pad. The Navy was obviously nervous, I think half the crew was standing around wearing those weird helmets and life vests looking like they were just waiting for something to go wrong. When we finally set down I think our blades were within four or five feet of the superstructure, not a lot of room to play with. With a tremendous sense of relief, the pilot bottomed collective and rolled off the power. Now came the fun part. With the aircraft barely on the pad, it was not possible for the gunner to tie down the blade which was ordinarily secured to the tail skid or stinger. He climbed down off the pad, went aft and climbed up on the aft five inch turret and tried to reach the stinger but was not high enough. We finally ended up tying the blade down in front.
The infantry and our pilots left to conduct business and shortly, certain Navy types approached our aircraft and looked it over, some venturing to touch it, like it was hot. I was offended, it wasn’t that dirty. Then I noticed that whenever one of them came over to talk to me, he quickly moved to the upwind side. Eventually a petty officer offered us the opportunity to shower, but we turned him down, not having a spare uniform. Our personal gear was in a duffle bag on a truck somewhere between Qhui Nhon and Bong Son and the uniforms we had on would not be replaced until the Army deemed them “unserviceable” meaning that we would not be handed new ones until something equivalent to “the donut dollies are coming and we don’t want them to be offended by what they see, so here, put these on.” With great understanding the Navy offered us cold soft drinks, a complete novelty for us, and apologized because the ice cream maker was inoperative. We were heartbroken, these Navy guys lived such a hard life, it brought tears to my eyes.
Before long our pilots returned followed by a gaggle of sailors. It seems that a shipboard lottery had been conducted and the fortunate winners got to ride in our aircraft for an up close and personal view of Vietnam. They were excited as kids at a carnival. We strapped them in, cranked up and successfully evaded the superstructure as we turned back toward the beach. We flew high and we flew low. We flew around villages and around the rice paddies. At their request we fired a few rounds from the door guns at a paddy dike that was obviously held by the enemy. This excited them to no end, but it was tempered when they spotted a 2,000 lb bomb crater and asked if their guns did that? No, that wasn't their guns, we pointed to a place where the grass had been flattened and told them, their guns did that.
We successfully maneuvered our way back onto the ship without killing anyone and found our infantry guys waiting to go back to Duc Pho. They had taken a shower and their uniforms were washed and dried. Rank has its privileges. The Navy gave us ash trays made from used 5 inch shells properly engraved with the name and number of their ship. I wondered if they could make anything but ash trays. We loaded our own people up and took off, even overloaded as we were with 100 pounds of brass ash trays. On the way back I asked the arty officer how it went and he laughed, “You know those two guns on that ship? Well, the aft one doesn’t work.” Our artillery support. One five inch gun. Thanks Navy. No wonder the Marines were so weird, had to put up with this all day long. Must be the most expensive single shot artillery delivery system in the world.
After we landed, my gunner and I got to talking, did we really smell that bad? Well, there might be some advantages to smelling bad. After all, I never really had to ask where he was, I just knew. Come to think of it, if anyone came up behind me and I didn’t smell them, I better watch out. Satisfied that we were doing alright, I took off my shirt, thumped the salt hardened pocket, stood it up beside the aircraft and began scratching.
You talk about the Navy having it easy. We in the medical corps would get the same remarks because we used the stretchers to sleep on and not the hard ground. My philosophy is, anyone can be uncomfortable. If there’s something there to make live easy, then use it. 
