The Last Flight

by Liefer, Gregory P. ; Liefer, G P;

  The copilot had shut off the fuel and electrical switches a split second before they hit. There was no immediate fire, but with one of the fuel tanks ruptured, the threat was imminent. More dangerous was the possibility of being captured. The enemy was nearby and would soon be hunting them.

  Connor’s shoulder throbbed from slamming hard against the door and his thighs ached where the control stick had been wrenched back and forth during the fall. His adrenaline eased some of the pain, encouraging him to look after his crew.

  “Anyone hurt? If not, grab what you can and get the hell out of here!”

  The left door gunner was dead. His neck was broken. The copilot, a kid named Gillant, had a twisted knee and could barely walk. Both of them were on the side where the helicopter took the brunt of impact. Hicks was the least injured and first out of the wreckage.

  Connor and Hicks pulled Gillant through the broken windshield. The path was faster and easier than trying to lift him through the door. Once he was safely clear, they assessed their situation.

  In their mesh survival vests, they each carried a thirty-eight caliber pistol and emergency handheld radio. Additional pockets held flares, a signaling mirror, flashlight, extra ammo, bags of hard candy, and a laminated map.

  The crew chief also had an M1 carbine and bandoleer of extra magazines he kept tucked behind his seat. He always flew with the weapon for just such an emergency.

  “What about Chauncey, sir?” Hicks didn’t want to leave his dead friend.

  Connor understood his concern, but they were out of options. “We can’t take him. He’s gone. We have to get away from here as fast as we can. The VC are already looking for us.”

  “They’ll mutilate his body, sir. You know they will.”

  “No, they won’t. I’m burning the helicopter. Maybe we’ll get lucky and the bastards will think we all died in the crash.”

  Hicks appeared stunned for a moment and then nodded his head in agreement. A cremation was the best they could do.

  A flight helmet was quickly filled with fuel and splashed inside the wreckage. Connor’s Zippo did the rest. In seconds, the interior was ablaze and spreading throughout the wreckage. The remaining fuel and magnesium parts ensured there would be nothing left in a matter of minutes.

  Leaving no obvious signs of their presence, they moved deeper into the jungle. Connor and Hicks supported Gillant from the sides while he placed his arms around their shoulders, allowing him to use his good leg.

  They headed toward the opposite side of the valley, away from the enemy. Their route worked well for a half mile until the terrain slowed them down. They knew they needed to get in position for a rescue as quickly as possible. The chance of capture increased dramatically after the first day. A realistic hope of survival depended on increasing the distance between themselves and the enemy. Being captured was not a consideration. The Viet Cong were notorious for their treatment of prisoners.

  When they stopped to catch their breath, Connor activated his survival radio. He spoke softly so his voice wouldn’t carry.

  A returning flight of F-105 fighter-bombers picked up the first mayday call and diverted in their direction. They easily spotted the smoke from the burning helicopter, and they were flying cover over the valley when Connor’s second call came through. Rescuing downed airmen was a priority in Vietnam. Connor and his crew were no exception.

  Within fifteen minutes, other Air Force jets were on station, keeping the enemy occupied with repeated strafing runs. A rescue helicopter had been notified and was on the way. Connor knew they needed to get to higher ground. He informed the fighters of their intention so they could cover the route, talking on the radio every few minutes.

  Working through the thick jungle was a struggle with the injured copilot. They traveled as fast as they could, stopping only enough to catch their breath and listen for the sound of pursuers. From what they could determine, the enemy was busy hiding from the circling aircraft.

  Connor kept the fighters aware of their position and direction of travel. A small clearing located by one of the planes became their intended pickup point. The site was over a mile away but the closest large enough for extraction. Hopefully, the enemy soldiers were somewhere else. Getting there wasn’t going to be easy.

  After two hours of hard walking and climbing through the undergrowth, they were within a hundred yards of the landing zone. The last rays of sunlight were just settling below the horizon as they neared the top of a curved knoll. Only when they heard the beat of the helicopter in the distance, did they think they were home free. A group of enemy soldiers had a different idea.

  A squad of soldiers was camped below the ridge when Connor and his crew stumbled into them. The surprise was obvious on both sides, but the enemy was slower to respond. They were relaxing under the shaded canopy, safely hidden from the fighter jets, when Connor and his crew unexpectedly appeared. The VC’s weapons were lying on the ground or leaning against trees. Having their weapons out of reach was a disadvantage, one they paid for with their lives.

  Hicks reacted first. Releasing his hold on the copilot and bringing his carbine to his shoulder in a burst of fire, he cut down half of them. Connor raised his revolver and got off a couple shots before grabbing Gillant in a hasty retreat. Half carrying the copilot with Hicks close behind, each of them began firing on the run as the remaining enemy followed.

  The confusion allowed only a brief head start. The firing had alerted other enemy soldiers dispersed around the ridge. Troops hurried over the hill in a hasty attempt to surround the airmen’s escape route, while others followed their trail and were shooting blindly through the underbrush. Several times an enemy soldier materialized ahead, only to be gunned down by Hicks or Connor. More than once, the return fire missed them by inches.

  One of the enemy soldiers froze in disbelief when they almost ran him over. Connor fired point blank into his face, only slowing down long enough to grab the soldier’s Russian-made assault rifle. He tossed his empty revolver aside.

  Still running and talking on the hand-held radio, Connor informed air support of the worsening situation. The enemy was dangerously close and most likely had the landing zone surrounded. They needed immediate suppressive fire.

  Recently arrived gunships began blasting the tree line, adjusting their fire a hundred feet ahead of the airmen and along the perimeter of the clearing. Connor and Hicks ran into the open with Gillant between them.

  The rescue helicopter was already flaring and touched down hard in front of them. Enemy fire immediately opened up from the edge of the jungle. A flight of ground-attack jets rolled in on a strafing run, but before they could release their ordnance, Gillant was hit and went down.

  Connor hesitated, looking at the helicopter then back at the tree line. He lifted the copilot over his shoulder and continued running, yelling at Hicks who was kneeling and firing at the enemy.

  With the gunners in the helicopter spraying fire over their heads, Connor tossed Gillant on the floor. Hicks, who had been at his side a moment before, was missing. Connor turned and saw him twenty feet away, crawling toward them.

  Increasing fire blazed from the edge of the jungle. The helicopter crew screamed at him to get in. Connor ignored them and ran back to his crew chief. Both of Hicks’ legs were hit, and he was bleeding profusely.

  Connor pulled him up and over his shoulder as bullets began peppering the ground. Within seconds they were inside the helicopter and lifting above the dark jungle, the door gunners firing in rapid bursts as more fighter jets rolled in on the ridge.

  The battle was over. Gillant was dead. A bullet ended his life only feet from the helicopter. He had been in the country less than a week. A medic worked on Hicks’ mangled limbs in a spreading pool of blood. He was hemorrhaging profusely, seemingly unaware of the damage and pain. There was a look of resignation on his face. Connor turned away and closed his eyes. He didn’t want to see him die, too.

  The sound of the engine lulled his eyes close
d. He was exhausted, physically and mentally. The warm jungle air made him sleepy. After awhile he opened his eyes and stared out the open door, watching the sun disappear below the horizon.

  A week after the death of Hicks and Gillant, Connor was flying again. The scrapes and bruises from the crash and escape through the jungle had mostly healed. His only other injury was a flesh wound from an enemy bullet creasing his ribs. At the time he never even knew he was hit.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  Thompson’s voice jarred Connor back to the present.

  “The four girls and the woman are loaded. Bril estimates their combined weight at four hundred and fifty pounds. The man on the last litter is three-forty, according to his wife. She isn’t positive, but it’s the weight he told her a month ago. Steiner doubts the accuracy though. He estimates the weight around four hundred with the litter and backboard. Steiner’s weight is two-ten and Bril weighs one-seventy. You think we can carry them all?”

  Connor diverted his attention to the torque gauge. The needle fluctuated with control inputs as the helicopter jostled with the varying air currents. The weight would be close, maybe too close. Under different circumstances he might have tried carrying them all but not here. Not now.

  During Vietnam he faced a similar challenge. The engine was at maximum power with a full load of troops. The helicopter could only get light on the skids and was unable to hover. With a much larger enemy force approaching, the soldiers couldn’t wait. Connor forced the engine past maximum, sliding the helicopter over the rain slick grass until building enough airspeed to lift off. Luckily, the surface was flat and long without obstructions.

  The present situation was different. There were no other options. The altitude was too high and the terrain too uneven. If the helicopter didn’t have enough power for a stabilized hover, they would be forced to lighten the load.

  “No. We can’t carry him. Even at three-forty we’ll be overloaded. Two hundred pounds more is all we can take. The engine can’t handle any more weight.”

  “What if Bril remains behind? He said he’d volunteer if we need the weight.” Thompson didn’t relish leaving him behind, but the option was there.

  Connor knew time was of the essence. “Okay. Get on the radio and tell them to bring the last litter. The man’s wife better be accurate. If he’s over her estimate, we’re still screwed.”

  Thompson trusted Connor’s judgment. Still, he worried about excessive weight causing a loss of power as much as the clouds closing in around them. He radioed Steiner to hurry.

  The expanse over the glacier was already obscured, masking the creviced ice field and canyon walls. Low clouds were already hugging the ridge behind the wreckage, limiting visibility to less than a hundred yards. There was only twenty feet of clearance above the spinning rotors, which worked against them by pulling the cloud vapor closer. They barely had visual references for takeoff.

  Connor saw the visibility decreasing and sensed Thompson’s concern. The anxiety was no different than his. He wanted to take the controls himself but knew his physical condition would make the situation worse. His legs were still shaking and the muscles in his lower back pulsated with burning pain.

  A flash of agony tore at his side as he tried pulling his legs back against the seat. The spasm made him grunt against the door. He bent forward, unable to push himself upright without aggravating the muscles further.

  “Christ, you okay, Gil?” Thompson saw his body lurch forward in obvious discomfort.

  Placing his hands behind him and pushing forcefully against the tension in his back, he managed to ease the pain. His voice tried hiding a feeling of helplessness.

  “Are you comfortable flying us off of here? I can’t manipulate the controls. My back and legs are failing me.”

  There was a moment of hesitation before Thompson responded. His voice sounded confident, in spite of his concerns. “Yeah. I think so. I’ll get us home.”

  The answer made Connor’s decision easier. “Watch the power on takeoff. Lift straight up until you’re clear of the boulders. If you need to, pull an extra inch of torque above redline. The helicopter will handle the load. Keep your nose in the wind and slide sideways until you can accelerate off the pinnacle.”

  “Roger, I understand.” Thompson didn’t comprehend he would be flying alone.

  Connor’s expression didn’t waver. “After you clear the ridge, fly direct toward our last waypoint. From there, track the GPS route we programmed on the way in. You’ll be in the clouds over the glacier. Stay on instruments and don’t descend until you’re clear of the mountains.”

  “Okay, Gil. Everything is set. I’m ready.”

  There was no doubt in Connor’s mind he was. The torch had been passed months ago, but Connor hadn’t realized the fact until now. The same confidence and passion that once framed his own personality was now a part of Thompson’s.

  In the doorway of the plane wreckage, the last litter was being maneuvered into position. The men grunted as they struggled with the weight. Three of them lifted from outside while the other three lifted and stepped one at a time through the opening. Bidwell was in front and Steiner was at the back. Kwapich and Simms were on one side, Bril and Sanders, using his good arm, were on the other. They moved at a slow pace, laboring with the heavy load over the rough ground.

  The wind seemed colder and stronger than before. A chill bit at their exposed necks, sending shivers through their light clothing. The skin on their hands and faces grew numb, but they ignored the sensation and pushed on.

  Seconds later, a strong gust hit them with enough force Sanders almost lost his balance. He estimated the wind was near forty knots. He checked the sky and could tell the clouds were lower than before. The ceiling was dropping rapidly. There was barely enough room for the helicopter to depart.

  Trying to maneuver the cumbersome litter through the narrow opening of boulders was difficult. The men on the sides were pinched between the stretcher and rocks, forcing them to move in unison only a step at a time. The weight strained their endurance, but they were soon through and beside the helicopter.

  “Okay, stop here,” Bril shouted a step away from the helicopter door. “No one move until I tell you.”

  Already briefed on how they would load the patient before leaving the wreckage, Bril explained the plan again, yelling over the engine noise so there would be no misunderstanding.

  “Mister Bidwell will take Sergeant Steiner’s spot on the other end. Once he’s in position, Captain Sanders will let go of the litter and move with Steiner to the opposite side of the helicopter. On my signal they’ll step on the skid to balance the weight while we slide the litter in. No one on my side can step on the skid. Is that clear?”

  They all nodded and moved as directed. As soon as Steiner and Sanders let go, the remaining men strained with the increased load. Each held over a hundred pounds. They waited anxiously with aching arms, silently hoping their strength didn’t fail.

  The obese man remained silent. The medication kept him sedated enough for a temporary silence. Still, he appeared upset after being jostled and almost dropped on the trip to the helicopter. His eyes widened in fear under the swirling wind of the rotor blades. His perceived mistreatment was forgotten as the loud whine of the engine pierced his eardrums.

  Sanders and Steiner were in position in a matter of seconds. Bril motioned for the end of the litter to be set on the floor. As the weight transferred to the helicopter, Sanders stepped on the left skid, equalizing the center of gravity. Steiner waited until the litter could be pushed further inside before doing the same.

  Before the four men could begin sliding the weight across the floor, a shout from the cockpit stopped them. “Stop! The litter’s too heavy. We can’t carry the patient. Pull him back out.”

  Connor watched the torque gauge jump to a needle’s width below redline. He knew immediately the litter was too heavy. Even without Sanders standing on the skid, the weight limit would be exceeded once the p
atient was fully inside. Steiner was right. The man had to be over four hundred pounds. Valuable minutes had been wasted carrying him to the helicopter.

  As soon as Connor yelled, the four men lifted the litter off the floor. They stood on the side, straining with the load, unsure if they should wait, set the patient down, or take him away, when Connor opened his door and began speaking with Steiner.

  The heavy patient didn’t comprehend what Connor yelled to the others. He could hardly move but shouted to be put back into the helicopter. His strained voice, garbled by the medication and wind, was ignored.

  Another figure appeared by the opening in the rocks. Donna couldn’t stand the thought of being left behind and had run from the wreckage in panic. She stopped outside the overhead arc of spinning rotor blades, hesitant about what to do, staring at the men grouped together beside the helicopter.

  Before Donna could make a decision, Susan and Marla ran up to her from behind. They tried grabbing her, but she shook free and rushed forward. Her tousled hair slapped at her tear-stained face as she ran for the helicopter.

  Thompson saw the running woman and shouted a warning over the intercom. Connor had his head turned and didn’t notice her approach. Sanders and Steiner were blocked from seeing what was going on by the open cockpit door and the men on the opposite side could do nothing to stop her.

  Donna was determined. The collision wasn’t deliberate, but in her haste she stumbled and brushed against the open cockpit door, knocking Steiner into Connor’s seat. Sanders saw her at the last moment, barely able to grab her with one hand. He tripped and fell, pulling both of them to the ground.

  Connor recoiled reflexively as Steiner bumped into him. His knee hit the control stick and his foot jarred the left pedal, causing an immediate change in the helicopter’s stability.