Low Level Hell

by Hugh Mills

  “Well,” Rod replied, “do you know that for the last thirty-five seconds that he was rantin' and ravin' I was actually pissin' all over the major's left leg, and he was so fuckin' busy reading me off that the son of a bitch didn't even know it! How do you like that, One Six, for a little piece of low and slow aeroscout response to an enemy action?”

  Willis had unzipped himself during the height of the staff officer's berating diatribe, and surreptitiously urinated all over the major's leg and shoe! I knew it would be only a matter of seconds until the good major realized what had happened. I grabbed Rod, who was still giggling and watching the wet-legged officer across the room. “Let's all get the hell out of here while we can still save our skins!”

  It was so late by then that no jeeps were available to take us from the club back to the troop. But wanting to didi the area with no further delay, we started half-walking, half-staggering back across the centerline runway ramps toward our hootches.

  With the amount of booze we had in our tanks, some celebrators encountered navigational difficulties and didn't make it back to the troop at all. They were discovered the next morning sound asleep in a low spot on the tarmac runway. Thank God Phu Loi didn't have many nighttime flight operations.

  Somehow, and thank goodness, we never heard any more about One Seven's dramatic drenching of the staff major's leg. But Rod was Rod, and he was developing a singular reputation. Since coming to the scouts a few months back, Rod Willis had already become known around the troop for flying with what might be called “a touch of wild abandon.” He routinely returned to the base from scouting missions with sprigs of foliage, whole tree limbs, and sometimes even pieces of livestock impaled or otherwise hanging off his aircraft.

  On at least four occasions, Rod didn't even make it back to Phu Loi in his own aircraft. He had either hit something, or something had hit him, hard enough to bring down his Loach—with Willis and his crew chief always walking away unhurt from the wrecked airplane. I was never quite sure whether Willis was simply a bad pilot, or couldn't see where in the hell he was going, or just didn't give a damn.

  On this particular day, Willis and I were wingmen on the early morning VR of the Thi Tinh River valley from approximately Ben Cat north to the area of the Michelin rubber plantation. There were two hunter-killer teams with Sinor (Three One) and me working VR-1, and Phil “Combat” Carriss (Three Eight) and Rod Willis to relieve us on VR-2.

  At first light both teams took off from Phu Loi and headed directly up to Lai Khe. The VR-2 team would land and shut down at Lai Khe while VR-1 went right on to the mission area; we'd relieve each other about every two hours. After awhile, we'd move the operations base from Lai Khe to Dau Tieng, as our search pattern progressed farther northwest.

  While working one of my patterns near the Ben Cat-Tri Tarn province line, I spotted a foot trail that ran east and west across the river valley. As I dropped down closer on it, I could tell that it had had some recent light foot traffic. Swinging the Loach around, I followed the trail west into the jungle for about seven hundred to eight hundred yards. Just as I stalked around a sharp turn in the path, I saw ten to twelve VC soldiers below me walking in column.

  I banked hard and hollered to Sinor, “I've got dinks! VC on the trail, mark, mark. VC on the trail right below me!”

  Parker opened up on the column and his M-60 immediately dropped four VC out of the middle of the group. The rest scattered into the jungle, trying to escape Parker's red-hot fire.

  I pulled the Loach into another hard right and came around 180 degrees. Parker was still firing out his door as I cut loose with the mini-gun. I kept kicking left and right pedal to spray both sides of the trail with 7.62.

  After making that run, I came back in again and asked Parker to pop a smoke. “It's already out, sir,” he said. “It went out on the first pass.”

  When I saw the red smoke beginning to come up from the jungle floor, I accelerated eastbound back toward the Thi Tinh and came up to Sinor. “OK, Three One, smoke is out. Hit the red smoke now. I'm clear, One Six is clear to the east.”

  I no sooner got the words out of my mouth when Sinor rolled on the smoke and worked his rocks and minigun all the way down the trail.

  Watching him hose down the area almost made me forget that I was getting low on fuel and ammo. So I came up to Sinor again. “When you get a chance, Three One, crank the other team in here and I'll hold for One Seven to brief him on the contact area when he gets here.”

  Willis's Cobra (Carriss), being much faster than the OH-6, got to the scene first and pulled into an orbit behind Sinor. A few minutes later, along came Willis. He was down very low, scraping the landscape as he cruised in leisurely from the west. He had apparently flown up to the contact point right down on the deck, all the way from Dau Tieng. That was Romeo Whiskey for you.

  Once on the scene, Willis pulled up to where I was orbiting at about eight hundred feet, then we both headed back down low again with One Seven tight on my tail. I started briefing Willis as soon as we bottomed out over the area where we first discovered and hit the column. “OK, One Seven,” I said, “you see the east-west trail? It's just on the west side of the Thi Tinh where Thirty-one's rocks have impacted.”

  Willis gave me back two short squelches on his transmit button, so I continued: “OK, you'll want to work in this area east to west along the trail. This is where we hit ten to twelve Victor Charlies westbound on the trail. Door gunner engaged with mike 60.1 engaged with mini-gun, Cobra engaged with rocks. Negative knowledge of results, no return fire.”

  Willis rogered again and then I said, “We're bingo on fuel, One Seven. I'm going to cut a chogie on over to Delta Tango to refuel and rearm, then I'll be back out to join you. See ya.” Sinor elected to stay over the contact area with Carriss since his snake was not low on fuel or ammo.

  Parker and I had just landed at Dau Tieng and taken on some fuel. Parker was out of the airplane getting ammo. As I sat waiting in the idling Loach with radios up, Sinor's voice suddenly popped on UHF. “I'm in hot, One Seven … I'm in hot!”

  Realizing that enemy contact had apparently been reestablished back on the Thi Tinh, I motioned to Parker to haul ass and get back on board ASAP. I asked the tower for clearance and we were on our way.

  As I cleared the Dau Tieng fence and rearmed the minigun, I flipped the radio back to troop Uniform so I could hear all the transmissions from the guys at the Thi Tinh.

  The first thing I heard was Carriss yelling, “Turn left, turn left, One Seven … now straight ahead … straight ahead … there's an open area straight in front of you. Straight ahead of you, One Seven.”

  I immediately switched to Victor and transmitted to Sinor. “Three One, this is One Six. I'm just off Delta Tango. What's happening?”

  “One Six, Three One. Bust your ass, bust your ass back here. One Seven is going down. One Seven's been hit and is going down!”

  I was flying down so low that I couldn't pick up all of the conversations, but I did hear Willis say, “I think I can make it to the open area.” That was the last thing I heard from him.

  I climbed up to about five hundred feet and headed straight for the Cobra, just in time to hear Sinor say, “OK, he's down. The crew's out of the little bird and they both look OK. Looks like they both made it down OK.”

  I needed to get on top of Willis as quickly as I could to cover him. “OK, Three One, One Six is in hot. I'm on the trees. Have you got me in sight?”

  Sinor rogered. “OK, One Six, I've got you coming in from the northwest. Crew looks OK, but I don't know how they're fixed for Victor Charlies.”

  I keyed Parker on the intercom. “Keep your eyes peeled, Jimbo, we've got a crew down. Stormer and Willis are on the ground. Watch your gun so you don't accidentally shoot our friendlies.”

  I made a low pass, turned right, and did a three sixty on top of the crash site. I could see Willis and Stormer lying flat on the ground looking up at me. Willis had his PRC-90 emergency radio in his hand a
nd I cranked in on the emergency Uniform frequency just in time to hear him say, “One Six, this is One Seven. How do you hear me?”

  “OK, One Seven,” I answered. “I've got you loud and clear. Are you OK, buddy?”

  “Yea, man,” he came back, “I'm OK, but the bastards are right over there. They're right over there, man.” Willis pointed to the tree line over to his west. “They shot the hell out of me, Hubie!”

  I hated it when anybody called me Hubie, but I guessed that this wasn't a good time to discuss it with Rod.

  “Are you hurt?” I asked again.

  “Negative,” Willis answered. “Stormer's back hurts, but he's OK. The dinks are real close, One Six. I can hear them. They're real close, I shit you not!”

  I thought for a second. “OK, One Seven, put your head down. I'm going to come around hot and hose down that tree line on your west. You and Stormer keep your heads down.”

  I pulled the Loach around to the west, ran my gun stop to four thousand rounds per minute, and kept kicking right and left pedal, spraying minigun all the way down the tree line.

  As I turned back to make another pass, I told Parker to get out a red smoke and let it fly. Then I came up to Sinor in the Cobra. “Hey, Three One, we've got a covey of bad guys in the tree line on the west side of the downed bird. When you see the red smoke, hit it! Don't worry about me, I'll be clear to the east.”

  “OK, you guys,” I said to Willis, “stay low to the ground and keep your heads down. Rockets are on the way. You copy?” Then I jerked my tail up and accelerated eastbound.

  Both Carriss and Sinor hit the tree line, and I could hear their rockets as I beat it out of the area. After about three gun passes I went back in to check things out. I circled around and hovered directly over Willis, Stormer, and the shot-up bird. At about thirty feet off the ground, I could look right into Willis's face. Normally, no matter what, Willis was always grinning. But there wasn't any grin on his face now. I think, for the first time since I had known him, he was actually scared shitless.

  I could understand why. An aircrew downed in the middle of nowhere, with an enemy firefight going on, is totally out of its element. A scout pilot and gunner are used to having the advantage of height—being able to look down to see and shoot an enemy. They were not prepared to be in the middle of elephant grass over their heads, not able to see more than a couple of feet.

  As I orbited tightly on top of them, I asked Willis, “What's it looking like down there now, One Seven?”

  Rod looked up at me as he spoke back over his emergency radio. “Looks rough, One Six. There are bad guys all around us. I got gook chatter all around, a lot of voices on the west… no … on the east… ah, shit, I don't know … maybe on”the south of us, too. They're shooting the hell out of things. Get us out of here, One Six!”

  I got on Uniform to Sinor. “Hey, Thirty-one, Charlie's throwing everything but the kitchen step stool at One Seven. What's the ETA on the ARPs?”

  “They're loading up now,” Sinor came back. “They were on strip alert for another mission. It'll be another ten to fifteen minutes before they can make it up here.”

  I moved my bird out of the fire zone and thought for a second. “OK, Three One, they're hearing bad people all around them down there. We don't have time to wait. Have we got anybody in the neighborhood who can get in here now and pick up the crew?”

  “Negative,” Sinor came back. “I've been up on Guard, but no response. Nobody but us chickens around until we get the ARPs in here.”

  “OK,” I answered, “why don't you and Three Eight cover us on both flanks, one on the left and one on the right. I'll make my run in between you from north to south. I'm going in and pick up the crew before those guys get blown away.”

  I rolled around and headed in directly toward the downed bird. “One Seven, this is One Six. I'm coming in to get you while the guns try to keep Charlie's head down on the flanks. You need to mark me a place where I can set down.”

  I studied the ground as I steered directly for One Seven's ship. It was fairly open, obviously the site of an old fire base right there near the Thi Tinh River. The high, thick grass would make it hard as hell to see anything at ground level.

  As I reached the area, I arched slightly off to the side of Willis's ship so I could land right beside it. I wanted it to be a short run for Rod and Stormer, so we could get back out of there in a hurry.

  Sinor and Carriss rolled in and put rockets down on both sides of the trees. Willis jumped up out of the grass, holding his CAR-15 in both hands about chest high, parallel to the ground. He was rotating the weapon toward him, signaling me to land.

  I kept my eyes riveted on Rod while Parker watched out the side for any trouble that might be coming from his direction. I got right on top of Willis and decelerated to almost zero at about four feet off the ground.

  My rotor wash blew Rod's hair flat on his head. It also parted the elephant grass around the site and laid it level against the ground, almost like a giant's foot had stomped on it and mashed it down.

  Then, suddenly, as I began to let down the last few feet, to my absolute horror I saw below me what appeared to be about a ten-foot section of rolled-up concertina wire. As if brought to life by my rotor wash, the barbwire roll began to uncoil out of the elephant grass. It was almost like watching a slow-motion movie.

  Like a long, writhing serpent, that damned ugly section of wire unfurled and came right up off the ground. It fluttered up over Willis's head, past the cockpit door, and was sucked right on into my tail and main rotor blades.

  In the instant it took to happen, there was nothing I could do to stop the stuff from choking down my engine. But before it did, the ship spun uncontrollably in two or three violent revolutions before finally slamming down hard into the ground, right beside Willis.

  I immediately chopped the throttle, jerked up the fuel shutoff knob, cut the master battery switch, and rolled out the cabin door. Parker, unhurt in the slam-down, jumped out of his backseat. We both looked up at the grisly strands of barbed concertina wire wound tightly around the Loach's main rotor system. The tail rotor was gone altogether, having separated completely from the aircraft.

  “Ah-h-h SHIT, sir!” Parker spat.

  “Ah-h-h shit isn't the half of it,” I sputtered. “Wait till I get my hands on that goddamned Willis!”

  The enemy soldiers were going crazy with this new development—they now had two Loach crews down in their playpen. Bullets were flying everywhere around us, and I was madder than hell!

  By this time, Willis was back up off the ground where he had thrown himself when he saw me spin in. He jumped into my face and hollered, “You stupid son of a bitch! What the hell are you doing crashing your stupid airplane into the goddamned concertina wire. You're supposed to be rescuing me. Now you break up your aircraft, and here we both are with no way to get our asses out of this mess!”

  I shoved my face right back into his. “You stupid son of a bitch. If you had picked a better landing zone we'd both be out of here by now and not standing around with two busted-up airplanes in the middle of a goddamned firefight!”

  Rod burst out laughing. I started to grin. Then both of us were laughing hysterically over the sheer insanity of the situation.

  Our crew chiefs, however, failed to see the humor. Stormer, with an ugly cut on the side of his head, had set up his M-60 and gone prone on one side of Willis and me. Parker had done the same on the other side. They were ready to chop down anything that moved toward us through the grass.

  Stormer looked around over his shoulder at us. “Jesus Christ, sir, can we get the hell out of here? Come on, Lieutenant Willis, we need to get out of here before Charlie decides to come and get us!”

  That snapped us back to reality. Rod and I hit the prone position and I grabbed Willis's radio. “Hey, Three One,” I yelled, “One Six is now down with One Seven.”

  “So I see, One Six,” Sinor came back. “Are you OK?”

  “Both crews
are OK,” I answered, “but I've got a main and tail rotor strike. We've got to get out of here. Gooks are close by. Keep the ARPs coming. We'll sit tight till they get here. You copy?” He rogered.

  Glued to the ground, we began to notice that hostile fire from the tree lines on both sides of us had stopped. The VC must have figured they had either gotten us or perhaps we had created so damned much fuss and confusion in cracking up two helicopters that Charlie had used the diversion to escape the area.

  It was just a few minutes later that we began to hear the distant whop, whop, whop of Huey rotors. It was the ARPs coming inbound to get us.

  I got on the emergency radio to Wayne McAdoo, who I knew would be in the lead slick. “Watch out, Two Six, we're in an old fire base here. There's an old tank run beside us. Set down on that road, because there's all kinds of crud lying around in the elephant grass. I had a rotor strike from concertina wire in here.”

  He rogered and moments later brought the ARPs flight of four slicks in on the old tank road about twenty yards away from us. The appearance of four more helicopter targets started the unfriendlies firing again, and they promptly drilled several AK-47 holes in McAdoo's tail boom. As we raised our heads, trying to see through the elephant grass, the ARPs off-loaded and made their way over to us, sighting on the downed helicopters. The point man and his backups flared out around us and kept making their way toward the enemy tree line.

  Then Bob Harris, whose headquarters element was always back in the middle of the platoon, came sauntering up. Obviously feeling that the enemy had gone, Four Six had his CAR-15 drooped over his shoulder, his helmet off (as usual), his bright red hair and freckled complexion shining like a mirror in the sun.

  He walked over to Willis's ship and took his time looking over the shot-up bird. “One Seven, what happened to you?”