“Clear left.”
“Clear forward.”
And we continued working our way down. Instead of taking two to three minutes, it was another five-to-seven-minute ordeal. Again we were at a hover as the aircraft was carefully unloaded.
“Clear up right.”
“Clear up left.”
“Clear up forward.”
And Grandpa started our upward climb ever so slow and careful. When we cleared the trees, I took the aircraft. Grandpa sat back and started breathing again. We landed at the pad, the aircraft was quickly loaded and I headed back.
“Dog-meat Six, Chicken-man One-Nine, over.”
“Chicken-man One-Niner, Dog-meat Six India, popping smoke.” We knew where the LZ was but still wanted a reference on the wind. As I slid over the top of the hole, the large tree that was causing some of our problems was lying across the bomb crater.
“Dog-meat Six, thanks much, that’s going to help.”
“Roger, Chicken-man.”
“Okay, crew, here we go.”
And the process started all over again. It was a bit easier this time with the large tree down and some fuel burned off, but we still took about five minutes to work our way down. This trip was C-rations and ammo.
Finally Lovelace said, “Another two feet and we’ll be on the tree across the Carter. Clear down, down, down.” And I felt the skid touch. I still had to keep the aircraft light as putting the full weight of the aircraft would bend the skids and cause an accident, but being light at least stabilized us from sliding side to side. Grunts were able to walk on the log and established a human chain, passing empty water cans along to the aircraft. The cargo was tossed out the other side into the crater. At last a grunt climbed in with his gear, smiling and giving me a thumbs-up. He must be going home.
“Chicken-man One-Nine, you are good to go. Thank you much for today.”
“Dog-meat Six, I still have one more run with beer and mail.”
“Chicken-man, you can forget that for tonight. This is not the best PZ.”
“Dog-meat Six, I said I have one more run. You call, Chicken-man hauls. We’ll be back in fifteen mikes.”
Mr. Fairweather made the last run, and it was a repeat of the previous runs. I wanted this last run for the fact that the grunts deserved their mail and beer, and it would give Grandpa more experience at balancing the aircraft on a log in a tight hover hole. As the last mailbag was unloaded along with the last bag of beer and soda, I said to no one and everyone, “Dog-meat Six, Chicken-man One-Niner is out of here. Coming up.”
Grandpa laboriously worked our way back up, turning the tail around branches, sliding the main rotor over limbs, and working upward. Power was more than plentiful now as we were low on fuel and had no cargo, except some empty ammo cans and some trash. As I cleared the treetops, I took the controls.
Lovelace was generally quiet, but this time he came over the intercom. “Mr. Cory, sir, that had to be the worst hover hole I’ve ever been in. We didn’t tell you, but there was a time on the first and second trip in that I couldn’t see sky because of the overhang.”
“Oh, stop bullshitting, Lovelace. It wasn’t that bad,” I said.
“He’s not bullshitting,” Peters added. “Please never take us into another one like that.”
“Guys, you could have just told me we couldn’t do it and I wouldn’t have. You don’t like it, then it’s your fault,” I responded and looked over at Grandpa.
“This shit is going to make me old before my time,” Grandpa joined in.
“Grandpa, you’re already old,” I told him.
“Up yours. Get your own cigarettes.” He glared at me with a grin.
We returned to the log pad and were released for the day, as it was after sunset by the time the aircraft was unloaded. We were tired, and I felt emotionally drained. I didn’t sleep well that night as I was flying this hellhole again.
Chapter 36
Things Change