by Matt Jackson
“No, sir, that’s not the plan. If we can’t hold here, we’ll go out through the wire and head out through the jungle towards Dak To or Firebase Five. We’ll stay with the ARVNs for as long as we can. It’s our job,” Salley explained, a resigned look on his face. “I best get outside and check on the ARVN company commander. He’s a pretty tough dude. We lose him, we’ll be in a world of hurt. Oh, if anyone in a green uniform comes running in here, shoot ’em. They all know they do not come in this command bunker except those two. I’m serious. If things start to fall apart, some may panic and think it best to take you prisoner and attempt to surrender with you as the bargaining chip. Understood?”
All three crew members looked at him. Damn, this is some serious shit, Craig thought, again regretting having volunteered.
As Salley left the bunker, Gordon turned and told them to get to the openings and start shooting. Gordon positioned himself at the opening closest to the doorway between the rooms, from where he could observe the entrance to the bunker. He hoped no ARVN came running in.
Combat action remained relatively quiet—relatively being the operative term as small-arms fire continued, but not in a thunderous fashion. Brian returned to the command bunker and explained that the ARVNs were holding their own thanks to the most recent air strike having hit potential reinforcements pretty hard. While he was talking to Gordon, a radio call came in.
“Gambler Four-One, Gambler Six, over.”
“Gambler Six, this is Brave Cannon Four-One. Gambler Four-One is on the perimeter, over.”
“Brave Cannon Four-One, how you holding up? Over.”
“Gambler Six, we’re holding our own. No change to the situation. Over.”
“Okay, Four-One, here’s the plan. I have two Cobra gunships joining up with three choppers to come in with ammo and picking up that crew. They’ll be there in about five minutes. Be ready for them, and try to get those breechblocks on the choppers.”
“Gambler Six, any chance we can get wounded out on those three choppers? Over.”
“Four-One, let’s get that crew out, and if the others get in with the ammo okay, I’ll see if I can get them to come back and get your wounded. Over.”
“Roger, Six, I’ll put out a panel for the birds. Over.”
“Brave Cannon Four-One, good luck. Six out.”
Tossing the hand mike back to the ARVN radio operator, Brian looked up to see all three crew members looking at him.
“Did you guys get that?” Brian asked. All three nodded, but no one said anything. We’re not going to get our wounded out of here, Brian was thinking. I best go brief Sergeant Salley and my guys and let them know what’s going to happen.
The crew returned to the firing ports to watch for approaching NVA and contemplate their immediate future, which at this point wasn’t looking so bright. The common theme with each, though, was confidence that another Chicken-man aircraft would come and get them out of there. Chicken-man crews did not leave people behind. The loss of an aircraft sometimes happened, and it was just their turn to go down. The loss of Reid was also troubling, and they would have to come back and retrieve him in a day or so once this firefight was over.33
Returning to the command bunker, Salley told everyone to get ready as choppers were inbound to get them. The ear popping sound of a UH-1H could be heard above the firebase.
“Gambler Four-One, Gambler Six, over.” Gambler Six was in another UH-1H at three thousand feet above the firebase, coordinating both the fast movers and the flight of three UH-1H aircraft.
“Gambler Six, Four-One, over.”
“Four-One, this is Six. In five mikes, you’ll have two Cobras laying in suppressive fire and will break south. As soon as he clears, a bird will land at your location and pick up that crew. Have them standing by. As the bird is leaving, the other two will come in low and slow and kick out ammo to you. If they don’t take fire, they may be able to land and get your wounded. Be ready.”
With some renewed enthusiasm in his voice, Salley responded, “Gambler Six, I have a good copy and am standing by. The wounded are next to the touchdown point where the crew will be standing by. Over.” Lets get the wounded out and once this fight is over, we’ll load out the dead Salley is thinking.
“Four-One, good copy. Six out.”
Turning to the crew, Salley said, “Okay, time for you guys to go. When those rockets hit, there’s going to be a hell of a concussion, so stay in here next to the door. When that chopper lands, get in fast. Sorry about your pilot, but thanks for trying to help us. I got to brief Dai-uy, good luck.” And out the door he went.
Now there was nothing to do but wait, and not for long. With no warning except a swooshing sound immediately followed by a deafening explosion from impacting 2.75-inch rockets, all three crew members were almost knocked off their feet from the concussion wave that followed instantly behind the explosions. Damn, that was close, Gordon thought.
Slightly dazed, they stood for a minute, shaking their heads, before they found their feet and moved out of the bunker to the sound of a UH-1H Chicken-man chopper. Emblazoned across the chopper’s nose were the Chicken-man symbol and the name “Shakey Chicken.” He was on short final and taking fire from the northeast. As Gordon watched, he realized something wasn’t right. Shakey Chicken flared at the designated touchdown point as intended and landed. Tonjes, Patterson and Gordon didn’t need an invitation before they got on board.
“Let’s go, let’s go,” Gordon screamed out as he dove through the cargo door, but the aircraft wasn’t moving. In fact, the crew was moving rapidly to get out. Then Gordon’s fear was realized—the aircraft had no choice but to land as the engine had been shot out on the approach and the aircraft had in fact autorotated to the touchdown point. Shakey Chicken was going nowhere. Instead of one crew to get out, now two crews were stuck on Firebase Six. And now the other aircraft had no place to land to pick them up.
Chapter 31
Try as You Might
“Chicken-man One-Three, Gambler Six, over,” said the senior ARVN advisor, answering Frank’s call on the FM radio.
“Gambler Six, Chicken-man One-Three, go ahead.”
“Chicken-man One-Three, you have a bird down on Firebase Six. Do you want to attempt to get the crew out?” He failed to inform Frank that there were only three crew members to be extracted.
No shit, Frank was thinking. “Gambler Six, I would, but we’re going to need some gun support to do it.”
“Chicken-man, I have four guns inbound to Dak To that will escort you to the firebase and lay down suppressive fire for you. If they do, we might be able to get your crew as well as the wounded out. Over.”
Frank had to think about this one. I want to get our guys out, and if—if—things are suppressed, take the wounded out, but damn, we’re really going to need some suppressive fire. Four Cobras might be enough to get one bird in, but all three? Maybe…
“Gambler Six, Chicken-man One-Three.”
“Go ahead, Chicken-man.”
“Gambler, with four gunships I’ll see about getting the first aircraft in, but let’s reevaluate the situation after I come out to see about getting the next two on the firebase. Over.”
“Chicken-man One-Three, I copy and concur. How soon can you launch? Guns are two minutes from Dak To. Call sign is Death Dagger Three-One on this push. Over.”
“Roger, we’re waiting to load ammo and then will be off Dak To. I’ll contact Death Dagger Three-One. Break, break, Death Dagger Three-One, Chicken-man One-Three.”
“Chicken-man One-Three, meet me on two three five Uniform Hotel Foxtrot.”
“Roger.” And Frank changed radio frequencies on the UHF radio, keeping the FM 1 radio clear to talk to Gambler Six.
“Death Dagger Three-One, Chicken-man One-Three, over.”
“Chicken-man One-Three, welcome to flying in Two Corps. Understand you have a bird down on Firebase Six. Over.”
“Death Dagger, that is affirmative. Bad guys control the north si
de of the firebase, friendlies on the south side. The last approach by a flight of two was west to east on the south side. I’m going to approach south to north this time. Over.”
“Chicken-man, sounds good. I’ll have two birds on each side ahead of you to clear a path and two slightly behind to cover you on the ground. How copy?”
“Death Dagger Three-One, sounds good. They may want my other two birds to come in as well behind me, but let’s wait until I come out and see what the situation is. Over.”
“Chicken-man One-Three, what is your departure route?”
“Coming out on the same path I came in on. I will not overfly the north side. South in and out appears to be best. Over.”
“Roger, I have you in sight and am taking up positions.”
Frank turned back to the company VHF radio and briefed Bob Zuccardi and Lieutenant Alston Gore,
“Chicken-man flight, Flight Lead, over.”
“Go ahead, Lead,” Bob Zuccardi responded.
“Chicken-man Two-Three go ahead,” Alston answered.
“Okay, Flight, here’s the plan. Chalk Two and Three, you will pick up an ammo load internally, possibly for a low-pass kick-out. I will land, kick out ammo and pick up the crew. You two take up a two-minute separation, but don’t come in until I’m out and give an all clear. If you can, drop the ammo and take some wounded. Once we’re done, we’ll join the Chuck Chuck aircraft and wait to see what they want us to do. Once we’re on approach in, Cobra gunships will be laying down suppressive fire. We’ll stay south on a south approach and departure. Stay away from the other sides as much as you can. How do you copy?”
“Lead, Two-Three here. What’s the frequency for the guns?”
“Death Dagger Three-One are the guns on two three five Uniform Hotel Foxtrot. Any other questions, Flight?”
“Chicken-man Two-Three is good,” Alston indicated.
“Chicken-man One-Eight is good,” Bob Zuccardi said.
“Roger. Here comes the ammo. When you’re loaded, give me a heads-up,” Flight Lead instructed.
A few minutes passed. “Lead, this is Two-Three, we’re up.”
“Roger.”
“One-Eight is up,” Bob Zuccardi announced.
“Roger, Flight, on the go.” Switching FM radios, Frank called the senior advisor in the command-and-control aircraft.
“Gambler Six, Chicken-man One-Three, over.”
Captain Jim Guidone was flying copilot today with Frank and was also an aircraft commander. He was from a small town southwest of Pittsburgh Pennsylvania called Jeannette and had attended Youngstown State University in Ohio. His Dad was a hard working Italian immigrant that had instilled the values of duty, honor and country since Jim was a small child.
“Chicken-man One-Three, Gambler Six. Over.”
“Chicken-man flight of three is on the go with two-minute separation between aircraft. Has Gambler Four-One marked the touchdown point with a panel?”
“Chicken-man One-Three, the touchdown point is marked.”
“Roger, Gambler Six.” As the flight proceeded to Firebase Six, it was obvious where it was located as the intensity of smoke had only increased since Reid had attempted to insert the second load.
“Chicken-man One-Three, Death Dagger Three-One, over.”
“Go ahead, Death Dagger.”
“Death Dagger is in position. Good luck.”
“Roger.” I’m going to need it, Frank thought.
“Jim, get on the controls with me,” Frank instructed Jim in case he was hit. “Okay, guys, we’re going to drop to treetop, so be ready.” As the aircraft pressed forward, small-arms fire was not only seen coming up at them but could be heard hitting the side of the aircraft like small hammer blows.
Shit, we’re a mile out and already taking hits. Someone really doesn’t want us getting in there, do they? “Are you guys okay back there? I don’t hear any gunfire from you,” Frank questioned.
“Sir, we’re holding off until we get past the tree line so we can see them,” Specialist John Jarboe, the crew chief, answered. Private Orlando Carreras said nothing. Rockets began impacting along the perimeter of the firebase as Death Dagger was laying down suppressive fire.
“Well, here comes the tree line, so just start shooting,” Frank growled, and immediately the M60s could be heard above the sound of the declining engine. Frank and Jim both immediately looked at the engine tachometer, which was in a rapid counterclockwise rotation to zero, with the master caution light flashing and the caution panel lighting up like a Christmas tree. Rotor was still in the green, but only because Frank pushed the collective down and raised the nose, decelerating the aircraft, which increased rotor rpm.
“Shit, we’ve lost the engine,” he said to no one and everyone. Jim reached over and turned the fuel flow switch and the battery off, reducing the chances of a fire if they should roll the aircraft up. There was only one place to land, and that was right on the panel that Salley had laid out for them to pick up the downed crew. Frank set up his low-level autorotation and landed almost perfectly on the spot. Immediately, Gordon, Patterson and Tonjes were on the aircraft, eager to leave.
“Let’s go, let’s go,” Gordon shouted. The look on his face said he couldn’t understand why Frank and Jim weren’t pulling pitch and departing. Then he recognized the lack of engine noise. “Oh, shit!”
Jim Guidone was unfastening his harness and seat belt as Frank controlled the decelerating main rotor. Tonjes started assisting the Specialist Jarboe with removing the M60 machine gun on his side of the aircraft, and Patterson had gone to the other side to do the same with Private Carreras. The aircraft had now become a magnet for enemy bullets, so getting far away was on everyone’s minds. Gordon pointed out the command bunker to Frank and Jim while Tonjes and Patterson helped get the rest of the crew into the bunker and moved to the openings, positioning the M60 machine guns now. This added firepower was appreciated. The ARVN soldiers riding along to push out the ammo scampered off into the trench line to meet their buddies.
Close on the crew’s heels was SFC Salley, the last man to enter. “Is everyone okay?”
“All good. I’m Frank Zuccardi, this is Jim Guidone.” No need to state rank as it was evident on each man’s collar.
“Hi, sir, I’m Sergeant First Class Salley, senior advisor here. I would say welcome, but I suspect it would fall on deaf ears. I’ll call Gambler Six and see if we can get another chopper in to get you all.”
“No. We’ve already lost two aircraft here and I don’t want to see another aircraft get knocked down.” Looking around the bunker, Frank asked, “Where’s Reid?”
“He didn’t make it. He’s still in the aircraft,” Gordon answered from the back of the bunker.
“Damn,” Frank said. Jim Guidone just hung his head. This is going to get bad, he thought.
“Sir, I suggest that you just stay here in the command bunker until we can sort things out. Right now they hold the north side and us the south, but they might be regrouping for another attack to take the bunker on the west side.”
“Okay. You’re in command here. Just tell us what you want us to do,” Frank said. With that, Salley was gone.
All around, the sounds of small-arms fire never ceased but flowed in waves of intensity as the day wore on. Then a new sound was heard.
“What’s that noise?” Tonjes asked out loud. He was standing in front of one of the openings on the back of the bunker, facing the enemy. The others were sitting on the floor.
“Whatcha talking about, Tonjes? I don’t hear nothing,” Patterson answered.
SWOOOOOOSH, SWOOOOOOSH.
“That noise,” Tonjes shouted, and everyone was on their feet, looking out, when it became obvious what was causing the noise.
“That’s a damn flamethrower. Can anyone see the guy?” Jarboe asked.
“I have smoke and flame over on the left. I think he just hit that bunker on the west side,” Patterson said, pointing his weapon in that direction through t
he opening.
“All right, everyone stay calm,” said Frank. “Let’s plug these openings with sandbags and everyone stay behind this wall.” Immediately sandbags were grabbed and stuffed into the openings. The interior of the bunker became very dark as the only light was coming through the one door opening. Jim Guidone grabbed the two ARVN radio operators and pulled them behind the wall with everyone else. Pure fear showed in their eyes.
“Everyone just be quiet and stay low,” Frank commanded, and everyone settled down and waited. Their wait was short.
Outside, someone was shouting with an Asian accent. Only the two ARVN soldiers had any idea what was being said, but the fear in their eyes foretold the future as they exchanged looks. Suddenly the interior of the bunker was filled with intense heat and light as a flamethrower fired into the door of the bunker. Two bursts of the fuel mixture were fired into the doorway, then stopped. Shouting, the NVA moved on to the next bunker, thinking everyone was dead in this one. They didn’t realize that there was a dividing wall inside that had saved the crews. Frank was closest to the interior door and motioned everyone to stay quiet while he and Jim inched forward to see if the NVA had moved on. They had, and the small-arms fire intensified to the north when SFC Salley came running into the command bunker.
Chapter 32
Escape and Evade
“Are you all right? Shit, I thought you were fried in here,” Salley said.
“If it wasn’t for that interior wall, we would have been,” Gordon stated.
The two Vietnamese soldiers began speaking rapidly to Salley with sweeping arm gestures. In Vietnamese, Salley calmed them down, and slowly they began to talk to him. Salley’s face changed as the discussion progressed.
He turned to Frank. “They’re telling me that they heard the guys talking outside just before the flamethrower opened up.”