“Are you okay, Ron?” the CO asked, placing his hand on Ron’s shoulder.
“I will be, sir,” Ron responded. I just stood there.
“What happened?” the major asked.
Still staring at the black bag, Ron started to explain. “We got a call that Sinkey’s bird was down with a transmission chip light. Bob was called to take a look at it. When he heard Sinkey was needed for a lift, Bob volunteered us to take Sinkey’s place. We called Flight Lead, and he told us to take Chalk Three position and said that Flight Lead would meet us at LZ Ann.
Once all six aircraft were assembled at LZ Ann, Yellow One started his mission brief. We had ten sorties, so we would do two turns. These are ARVNs, so we were taking eight grunts in each lift. Formation was staggered left. The bad news was that it was only a three-ship LZ, so we went in with a two-minute separation between Three and Four.” Ron paused and took a deep breath.
“Lobo’s two Cobras were on our flanks. As artillery and door gunner suppression was used, the only aircraft to take fire on the insertion was Yellow One. The operation was moving smoothly for the first lift and the second, Chalk Four and Five. The grunts were fanning out on the LZ. As the first three aircraft on the second turn began to take off, out of the tree line—boom! An RPG rocket streaked toward us, striking the left front side through plexiglass and exploding on the front of transmission wall, blowing the crew chief and door gunner out of the aircraft. Because of our armored seats, Bob and I weren’t seriously hit, although his leg was messed up and some bone fragments hit me.”
Ron raised his arm with a bandage wrapped around his forearm. He went on to explain, “The aircraft dropped five feet as
hydraulic fluid and transmission oil sprayed everyone. Bob immediately reached over and cut off the fuel flow switch. I flipped off the battery switch and we started to get out of the aircraft.” Taking another deep breath, Ron continued.
“Lobo had been in position above the flight to see the round as it was fired and rolled in with rockets, impacting the point of origin. I used the door jettison handle and the door flew open. I literally dove out the door to the ground and low-crawled as fast as I could away from the aircraft and into a bomb crater. Bob jumped out as well. I lost sight of him as I was in the bomb crater. After some time, I found out Bob hadn’t made it but was killed sometime after he left the aircraft. After about thirty minutes, Lieutenant Hicks returned to the LZ and picked us up. That’s about it, sir.”
“Okay, well, you fly back with Cory.” Turning to me, he said, “Dan, take Bob to Phuoc Vinh. You know where the graves registration pad is, don’t you?”
“Yes, sir. I’ve been there a few times over the last six months.”
“When you’ve dropped off Bob, take Ron back to the Chicken Coop.” Taking me aside, away from Ron, he added, “There’s a bottle of scotch in my hooch cabinet. Give him some and stay with him.”
“Yes, sir. Will do.” We all took that one hard, considering that from January of ’69 until the loss of Hanna and YA, we hadn’t lost a crew in combat, and now in the last five months we had lost three crews and had several wounded. Sinkey took it very hard as Bob Young had been his roommate. The NVA were stepping up their game.
Chapter 34
Bombing Runs
Seldom as a slick pilot did you get to really hit back at the enemy unless you were flying Night Hunter Killer. When an opportunity presented itself to do so, you took it. My flight school stickmate, Chief Warrant Officer 2 Bill Michel, had been flying VIPs since joining the division. He hadn’t flown in a combat assault or a log mission or Night Hunter Killer. He’d been flying for the division commander and the assistant division commanders, which didn’t get into the thick of things. Bill wanted to get down with us and fly some combat missions. I went to our CO and asked if it would be okay to take him for a day, and he agreed. With Lovelace in the copilot seat, we flew over to Camp Gorvad and picked Bill up. Lovelace was like a little kid with a new bike. He did not want to get out of the copilot seat when we landed.
“Morning, Bill,” I said and introduced him to the crew. “This morning, we’re going to Song Be and LZ Judy. We’ll be working for First of the Eighth Infantry, doing log resupply and a combat assault in the afternoon as well as anything else they want us to do. You have the aircraft.”
“I have the aircraft,” Bill said and applied the power, heading for Song Be. As we arrived over LZ Judy, I called the TOC.
“Wrangler Six, Chicken-man One-Niner, over.”
“Chicken-man One-Niner, Wrangler Six India, go ahead.”
“Roger, Wrangler Six, we’re en route to your location. Over.”
“Roger, Chicken-man One-Niner. Someone will meet you on our log pad. Shut it down and come up to the TOC. Over.”
“Roger, Wrangler Six, Chicken-man One-Niner standing by.”
To my crew, I said, “Okay, guys, when we get there I’m shutting down and heading up to the TOC. Any questions?” There were none, and we did as instructed.
Bill and I walked up to the TOC and were met by the battalion operations officer. “Mr. Cory, how ya doing?” I had worked for this unit before and found the battalion commander and ops officer to be very outgoing and energetic. The battalion commander had a red bow tied on the back of his helmet. Guess it reminded him of home. Never asked. I introduced Bill to them.
“How do you feel about dropping bombs?” the battalion commander asked.
“Sir?” I asked, not sure if I’d heard him right.
“How do you feel about dropping bombs?” he repeated.
“Sir, we really don’t have the capability to drop bombs.”
“Well, if you did, how would you feel?” He had this smile creeping across his face.