'Toon Daddy©

Twelve Months in Vietnam as an RLO (commissioned officer) and combat helicopter pilot

As a preface to the following article, when I started my SubStack account, with no subscribers, it began with my first month in Vietnam as an RLO in 1968 and continued monthly for one year. As my subscriber base grew, many missed reading earlier stories helping to tie it all together. Wives of fellow pilots and friends suggested that I consolidate the files. This I have done in ‘Toon Daddy with minimal changes to the original monthly stories.

So, you may have read some of my stories but don’t have the entire historical context chronologically. Consolidated, this is as long as many books. There is an advantage, I am not a professional author, so no charge :-) No one is making you scroll further. Each monthly article can be read as a stand-alone.

I can only hope Taylor Sheridan will read it to pick up another storyline when Yellowstone goes off the air :-) Keven Costner will be out of work, so he could narrate to pick up some additional retirement income :-)

With CGI, a helicopter series now should be pretty cheap to produce. :-) This could be the modern-day version of the Black Sheep Squadron TV series that many of us grew up watching. :-) I only live a few miles from Taylor Sheridan (in Texas), so my consulting fees would be really really cheap :-)

1968 Vietnam as an RLO (March 1968) ©

Consolidated Articles Published June 10, 2023

Joseph P Dougan

Mar 23, 2022

(Real Live Officer i.e., Commissioned Officer)

Introduction:

I am trying to chronicle the most significant year in my life.  By the end, hopefully, you will understand more of how I think and how that year directed the rest of my life.  The acronym RLO stood for Real Live Officer.  It was a term that the Warrant Officers, professional helicopter pilots, gave to the commissioned officers e.g., Lieutenants, Captains, Majors, etc. who also held the command positions in the 187th Assault Helicopter Company.  It is a documentary of a twenty-one-year-old Lieutenant/helicopter pilot, still wet-behind-the-ears, entering the life of a combat leader in 1968 and leaving an old man of twenty-two. I am unsure how this story will piece together, so I will try to do this chronologically.

Originally, I was going to write a few paragraphs about each month; however, the more I wrote the more I remembered.  The yearlong story is as long as many books.  I will break it up by month and start posting it in smaller sections.   

It is not a novel but an amalgam of events.  It covers the heroes and a few (obfuscated) zeros.  There is an awful lot of “I” in the narrative.  Let’s face it; it is literary narcissism.  How else or who else could have written it?  It is my story.

I am dealing with memories that are over fifty years old.  After writing a couple of paragraphs, I’d wake up in the middle of the night with something else to add.  I kept writing.

If there are any 187th unit fact checkers reading, regardless of its accuracy, when something happened, was it in June or July, etc., the events covered did happen.  Except for a couple of documented third-party events, they all happened to me or were on my watch as section leader, assistant platoon leader, platoon leader, or Air Mission Commander. 

I’ve tried to minimize some of the personnel identities because many are still alive.  Some would take issue with my comments or recollections.  Consequently, there are negative events covered where I will obfuscate the names of some of the actual participants. 

The story is not being written for other pilots or Vietnam participants per se, but it is written for the families and friends who missed out on our unbreakable bonds of brotherhood.  There is also a series of six stories on my subStack library that covered my early years prior to combat in Vietnam. 

Each generation has its unique heroes.  In World War I it was the Sopwith Camel pilots dueling with the Red Baron as aviation warfare began. 

In World War II it was the Spitfire crews determining the outcome of the Battle of Britain.  Or as Sir Winston Churchill so eloquently stated, “Never was so much owed by so many to so few.” 

Vietnam, aka The Helicopter War had its heroes too – the 18-20-year-old cowboys of the skies, the flight crews providing protective cover, rescuing the injured, and recovering the dead.

None of the unique fighters from any war considered themselves heroes, but the statistics on what they accomplished, how warfare changed because of them, define their truths. The proudest moments in my life were serving with these men in the two years I served as a combat helicopter pilot in Vietnam.

I hope you enjoy this series.  Please, pass on my subStack link josephdougan.substack.com to others who might want to know why combat helicopter pilots have been nicknamed “God’s Own Lunatics”

I Can Fly

My story begins immediately after completing flight school.  Most of my class had orders for an immediate assignment to Vietnam.  I was assigned to Ft. Rucker’s tactical flight training program in what they called Blackbird status waiting for my transfer to Vietnam.

While in this Limbo status, I got to fly the Huey as a newly trained pilot-in-command.  I was ferrying supplies, people, etc., back and forth from the main base to our tactical training compounds around Ft. Rucker, AL.  In Vietnam, this would be called an Ash-and-Trash mission.

Mostly, it was boring but allowed me to build flight time and become more familiar with the Huey.  It was boring until late one February night.  I was flying through a cold winter mist, and ice started forming on the windshield.  I was barely trained in instrument flying; this wasn’t the time to start learning.

I descended as low as I could, looking for warmer air.  It wasn’t working.  I started navigating by looking out the side window, which I had lowered.  The crew chief put on a harness and traversed the icy skid to clean the windshield.  I couldn’t see much through the gap he made and opted to try and climb out of it. 

Climbing may not make sense to you as climbing to a higher altitude will usually get you to even cooler air, but the mist can turn to pellets instead of rain.  Often there is a temperature inversion due to the weather conditions where the lower air is actually cooler.  For whatever reason, it worked.  The windshield cleared, and we landed safely.

I learned or implemented the first rule of flying – Fly the Aircraft (FTA).  It is a concept pounded into me by one of the tactics instructors, Perry C. Hopkins.  At the time, he was the most decorated aviator in the US Army – he flew in Korea with the Air Force.  As an Army helicopter pilot, he was shot down seven times in Vietnam.  Twice, he was awarded the Distinguished Service Cross, the second highest award our country can give.

No matter how bad it seems, he stressed you have to fly it all-the-way to the ground.  As importantly, knowing your emergency procedures must be second nature.  One doesn’t have time to look in a book during a crisis.  Emergencies must be a conditioned reflex.  Prepare for the worst and hope for the best.  I learned that before I read chapter one in the operators manual, I devoured chapter 7 first, the sections covering that aircraft’s Emergency Procedures.  You will see how this came into play in a later chapter.

Consequently, where many consider me a pessimist, I am not.  I am preparing for the worst and planning my outcome based on all available facts.

Mr. Hopkin’s guidance was foundational.

Chapter One

After a 30-day delay and a couple of weeks of leave, I left Travis AFB for Vietnam on March 23, 1968.

My arrival was delayed by a few days.  Our commercial transport blew a critical hydraulic line on takeoff from Clark AFB in the Philippines.  It was not a normally stocked item, so we had to wait until a replacement hydraulic line could be flown in from a San Francisco support facility.

Arriving in Saigon, I was processed at the 90th replacement center for a couple of days.  I received orders to the 269th Combat Aviation Battalion in Chu Chi, about fifteen miles away.  A Chinook picked me up and dropped me off at the 242nd Aviation Support Company, The Muleskinners.

I was schlepping my overstuffed duffle bag across the flight line, and a familiar face from my OCS class appeared, Doug Keith.  He was not a pilot; he was assigned to the battalion as their Signal Corps communications officer. 

In our brief flight line discussion, Doug told me about the various units in the battalion.  If I got the choice, pick the 187th at Tay Ninh.  Currently, Chu Chi was under their 28th straight day of rocket and mortar attacks.  Tay Ninh never gets attacked.  It was considered a Viet Cong R&R center.

I arrived at the battalion with two warrant officers returning for their second tour in Vietnam.  They had an unusual story. 

Both went to warrant officer flight school together.  Both were assigned to the same unit in Vietnam during their first tour.  Both were assigned to the same training unit as flight instructors on their return to the United States.  Now, they were reassigned to the same Vietnam battalion. 

Though acquainted, they would not be considered as close friends.  Their assignments were coincidental.  They were acquaintances, neither friend nor enemy.

We spent the first night together in a GP-Medium tent surrounded by chest-high sandbags.  It was about 50 to 75 yards away from an 8” artillery emplacement.  The battery was firing through most of the night.  The two experienced CWO’s (Chief Warrant Officers) appeared to be sleeping through all of the outgoing explosions.  I didn’t sleep much that night.  My ears were not tuned to know the difference between incoming and outgoing, though I would learn soon enough.

The following morning the three of us met with the battalion commander.  He said there were three openings in his battalion.  There were two slots in Chu Chi with the 116th Assault Helicopter Company, The Hornets.  One position was at Tay Ninh with the 187th Assault Helicopter Company, The Crusaders.  He allowed us to talk it over as to who went where.

I didn’t give anyone a chance to talk.  Remembering Doug’s comments from the day before, I stated that I wasn’t about to break up such an unusual assignment relationship between these two warrants, “I’ll take Tay Ninh.” 

My helicopter combat career was about to begin.

187th Assault Helicopter Company

The 187th had arrived in Vietnam about a year earlier.  Originally, their moniker was the Blackhawks.  When an old cavalry unit was reassigned to Vietnam, the 187th’s Blackhawk name had to change.  The Cav unit had been named the Blackhawks since the mid-1800’s.  The 187th name was changed to the Crusaders on March 23, my reassignment date.  So, I was the 1st RLO in the 187th who had never been a Blackhawk.  This fact has no significance other than feeding my own humor.  However, there was a particular underlying resentment between the original Blackhawks and Crusaders that still exist today.  It’s ego-driven, and all helicopter pilots have huge egos.

Vietnam has two six-month weather patterns – hot and dry and hot and wet.  I got there at the peak of the dry season.  Tay Ninh is 22’ above sea level, and the soil is more like fine silt.  As I walked across the flight line to the unit orderly room kicking up the dust, my boots were covered to the ankle with each step.  In my one-piece gray baggy flight suit, I must have looked like Pig-Pen from the Peanuts cartoons.

There was no one to escort me around.  Everyone was flying.  I was assigned to be a section leader in the 1st platoon.  Eventually, the 1st platoon leader, Russell Welch (RIP), and I met.  He took me to the officer’s club to give me the general rundown of the unit and its personnel.  They were short of RLO’s, and the ones they did have were due to go home soon.

Calling it the O’club may give you the wrong impression.  It barely qualified as a shack.  We ordered two beers from the drop-dead gorgeous, large-breasted (by Vietnamese standards – not Dolly Parton), green-eyed, Vietnamese/French Eurasian barmaid  --   She opened two rusted cans of HOT Ballentine’s.  The O’club had no refrigeration at the time.  I took one swig and thought I was going to gag.  Ballentine’s is bad enough, but hot was unbearable.  Russ laughed.  He said there would be times in the future when that beer would taste better than champagne.  His prediction came true.

I was introduced to my section members and platoon that evening.  My flying would start the next day with an initial evaluation from the SIP (senior instructor pilot,) Ed Taylor (RIP).  He and I would eventually meet up again in my Dallas National Guard Chinook unit.  Coincidentally, Russ Welch and I would meet up again at UNT while I was enrolled in evening Master’s classes.  Russ was an attorney in Denton, TX, and taught Business Law at UNT.

Mission flying began the following day with the most experienced aircraft commanders (AC’s) in the platoon.  The first day or two of flying was usually the Ash & Trash missions for newbies.  This allowed the new Peter-Pilot (PP) to orient to the geography, but it was just as essential to get the platoon AC’s accurate opinions about the new pilot’s skills and what it would take to bring them up to speed.  I passed.

Apparently, I was fast-tracked.  Though I eventually flew with all of the unit AC’s, I spent more time with two mentors.  Kirk Nivens, was somewhat of a loose cannon, but he was an incredibly skilled pilot.  I learned more about low-level flying, actually nap-of-the-earth, from him than anyone. 

My last flight in a Huey near Logan WV, Nov 2015

Though I loved the adrenaline-pumping feeling of low-leveling between and below the trees, I learned more about the proper pilot techniques from Asa Vest, “If it will hover, it will fly.”

The 187th was in transition.  As aircraft were retired, the replacement D-models had more powerful engines.  Eventually, the unit replacements were H-models with even more powerful engines.  Asa’s assigned aircraft (xx922) was the last L-9 engine, an underpowered D-model.  922’s engine only produced 825 SHP.  An improved D-model had 1100 SHP and the H-model 1400 SHP.  Consequently, 922 could not be manhandled like the abundant horsepower of an H-model, but it was still expected to carry the same combat number of troops!  To mishandle an L-9 would cause extreme pilot difficulty.  922 had to be babied at all times.  Replicating Asa’s smooth movements on the controls was imperative.

An example of what this means:  Aerodynamically, a helicopter uses its most power at a hover.  It is essentially generating a cushion of air below that it rides on.  As one eases the controls forward to gain airspeed, the aircraft goes through a period of moving faster as it leaves the cushion behind and becomes airborne.  This is known as translational lift.

If one tries to achieve this too quickly, the aircraft starts falling through the cushion and requires more power to transition to a streamlined flight.  Under heavy loads in a hot climate, this lack of piloting skill often has the engine losing RPM and power, causing the aircraft to hit the ground.  

Overcontrolling a helicopter is common when the adrenaline is pumping. Whizzing bullets have a way of doing that to a guy.  Losing lift control requires setting the aircraft back down and reacquiring a hover to start a takeoff again.  In a sweltering Vietnam afternoon where the enemy is shooting at you, this is not a desirable position to be in.

Dry rice dikes are 2-3’ high.  Many pilots developed a technique where they would time their falling through (still bad technique) with the rice dike at the end of the rice patty.  If the pilot’s timing was good, the aircraft skids would clip the top of the dike and bounce the helicopter up slightly, allowing the pilot more time to gain airspeed, regain RPM, and begin streamlined flying.  Mis-timed, they could bounce the helicopter too hard which would spread the skids, requiring a skid replacement.

Asa was born to fly.  I’ve only flown with two pilots in my life that had that innate gene.  I am a mechanic of flight who could be taught.  When I got into an aircraft, I strapped in.  When Asa got in a helicopter, he strapped it on.  The helicopter became a part of him.  In all of the times I flew with Asa, we never had to abort a takeoff nor bounce one into the air. 

I’ve only had two skills in my life.  One was acquired, and the other is natural.    I can’t saw a straight line nor hammer a nail correctly, but thanks to the AC’s in the 187th I learned the proper and often lifesaving pilot techniques.  The other is my unnaturally fast reaction times and ability to think clearly under pressure.  Those acquired skills and attributes allowed me to be the luckiest pilot in Vietnam.

The training was intense.  The 187th was short-staffed many pilots, especially RLO’s.  Ideally, RLO’s were expected to lead their platoons on flight operations.  Unfortunately, not all RLO’s are competent (nor warrant officers).  Russell, my original platoon leader, was transferred to the gun platoon aka The Rat Pack.  His replacement was less than competent as a pilot and worse as a leader.  He was my roommate.  He was not disliked as a person; he was quite affable, but none of the aircraft commanders (AC’s) wanted him leading the flight.

Aviation units are structured like the rest of the military, but managing them requires more than an authoritarian style.  Pilots are smarter than the average, and they are opinionated.  The testing to get into military schools is a combination of quasi-IQ’s and aptitude testing.  Commissioned officer schools (OCS) have one standard.  Pilot training has a higher standard.  More surprisingly, air traffic controllers have a higher standard than either commissioned officers or flight training.  In my career, I was fortunate to lead both successfully.  My Crusader platoon was not only smart, but they were also unruly and didn’t mind bucking the system.  More on that later.

By mid-April, I had flown every day.  Contrary to popular belief, we didn’t get shot at every time we flew.  Enemy aggression seemed to come in spurts.  One day someone would report receiving sporadic fire.  The next day others would report activity.  Then one day, all hell would break loose.  That day was April 12th, Good Friday, and the unit had three KIA.  A Rat Pack gunship received 6-7 hits from a 51-caliber anti-aircraft gun. 

My first non-flying assignment was to inventory and prepare the effects for one of the deceased.  It was a thoroughly depressing task.  When deaths occur, the Army doesn’t box the personal effects and ship them to the next of kin.  It is inventoried and censored.  It meant that I had to review every item, look over every stored letter, picture, cassette tape, etc., to determine family suitability.  I had to destroy much of my deceased’s personal belongings as being inappropriate for his next of kin.  I had less than a month in-country, but death and its consequences were beginning to take on a real meaning that I had never experienced.

April ended with me sorting through the decedent’s footlockers.  The time it took also meant that I wasn’t flying. 

1968 Vietnam as an RLO (May68)©

Chapter Two (May) published 04/05/2022

Joseph P Dougan

Apr 5, 2022

1968 Vietnam as an RLO©

(Real Live Officer i.e., Commissioned Officer)

May was uneventful from the perspective of flying.  I continued to record large chunks of flying time while building relationships with my platoon.  Regardless of rank, no officer comes into a unit with a blank check of immediate acceptance and respect.  It must be earned.  Sometimes this happens over a period of time, sometimes never.

I am a difficult person to get to know, so earning others’ respect for me generally takes a long time.  I’ve never been one to “let me be your friend” kind of leader or parent.  I don’t believe I am overly strict.  However, I believe in setting objectives and holding people accountable for their assignments within their capabilities.  When this goal is applied to children, one must add, expect them to act their age.

Sometimes, respect can be earned by being at the right place at the right time or saying the right thing.  This fortunate timing is what happened to me.

Kirk Nivens, my low-level mentor, had a penchant for flying low-level when it wasn’t necessary. (I should add that I did too, and will be covered in future chapters.)  Flying low down the highway, sneaking up on an unassuming tank or APC (Armored Personnel Carrier) convoy was always fun.  Tanks had 40-meter (frequency) radios which required very long vertical whip antennas mounted on the right rear. Often they would fly various flags.  Flying nap-of-the-earth at 100 knots while approaching a convoy from the rear gave us the element of surprise and the ability to snap the tips off a few antennas without anyone being able to copy the helicopter tail number.

Typical target-of-opportunity

However, the large Episcopalian-looking Crusader shield painted on the nose cone gave observers a surprisingly good clue about which unit it was. 

My daughter’s crochet representation of our shield … I needed something to hold the lady readers’ attention.

Our commanding officer (CO) was an old-school military authoritarian.  Formerly, he was also the CO of a Warrant Officer Candidate (WOC) training company at Ft Wolters, TX.  Many, if not all of my section members did not like him.  After a recent low-level complaint, he put out a directive that there would be no more unnecessary low-leveling.  Who determines what’s necessary?  Kirk was the first to get caught.  Kirk was not exactly high on the CO’s Christmas card list, so his punishment would make a prime example.  The CO wanted a Court Marshall for violating a direct order. 

After hearing the CO’s decision, the platoon ACs (aircraft commanders) were going to mutiny, literally.  After talking to the group of ACs, they agreed to see the CO in his quarters to express their disagreement with his punishment. 

Each side had backed itself into an unwinnable corner.  We Quit if there is a Court Marshall.  I proffered a potential solution.

Kirk was in my squad and a short-timer; I would take full responsibility for any further infringements from his behavior.  If he violated any more rules prior to his departure, the CO could issue two Article 15’s, one to me for failure to supervise.  An Article 15 is not a Court Marshall.  It is non-judicial punishment, but fines and loss of rank can be imposed.  My recommendation ameliorated the discourse. 

The CO, ACs, and Kirk accepted my plan.  My offer was not pre-planned or done out of bravado.  To me, this was the most acceptable solution.  Regardless, it had a lasting effect.  Kirk went home with a clean record, and I earned newfound respect from the platoon, a unit I would eventually take over as their platoon leader.

Why a VC R&R Center

Our compound had been void of enemy activity due to a humanitarian event the previous year.  An important Vietnamese prelate, who was reported to be a Cao Dai priest, was dying from some ailment.  A US physician stationed at Tay Ninh saved the head muckity-muck priest’s life. 

Cao Dai is a major Vietnamese religion and represented about a third of the population.  Cao Dai is an amalgam of Buddhism, Christianity, and whatever feels good.  Regardless, Tay Ninh is the center of their activity.  Tay Ninh’s ornate Cao Dai Temple is the Vatican for their religion.  After the priest was cured, he promised a year of peace.  A year and a day later, peace ended, and our real war began.

Towards the end of May, Tay Ninh lost its reputation as a VC R&R center.  On May 20th, there was a full-scale rocket and mortar attack followed by a breach in our firebase perimeter.  Captain Ron Cody, Rat Pack platoon leader, took to the air to stop the onslaught.  In his quest to get into the air as quickly as possible, he didn’t have time to dress appropriately and took off in flip-flop sandals and an old zip-up flight suit.  As green AK-47 tracers could be seen overhead and down the flight line, Ron made single-ship gun runs down the breached section of the perimeter using his mini-guns.

The VC breach was successful; they got inside our perimeter, but their objective was not achieved.  Artillery guns were lowered to the horizontal, and beehive rounds – glorified shotgun shells the size of an eight-inch diameter artillery round -- terminated the onslaught. One shell could destroy virtually anything the width and depth of a football field.

This attack forever changed our days in Tay Ninh.  By the end of my Vietnam tour, other aviation units were sent nightly to help with our firebase defense.  They jokingly tacked up signs around our compound nicknaming us as “Impact Area West.” This was a reference to signs seen on the roads traversing US military bases.  These are No-Go areas where artillery or bullets would be impacted during training.

One Lucky Dude

Towards the end of my sixth-week in-country, I was flying as a Peter-P with Eric Mercer in his aircraft “Old Magnet Ass.”  Whether it was Eric or the ship, the moniker was accurate.  OMA attracted bullets.

We were flying as the second flight of ten helicopters with our sister company, the 116th Assault Helicopter Company.  The LZ was in the pineapple fields southwest of Saigon.  The Pineapples were a notoriously hot (enemy activity) area of operation.  Because the Hornets had inserted troops immediately before us, our gunners were not allowed to fire their weapons on short final or takeoff.  They might inadvertently shoot a friendly troop.  It was the Crusader’s first lift-in, which usually means that the aircraft commander is flying, which Eric was. 

Routinely, most helicopter troop insertions would drop off 60-70 grunts, about half an infantry company.   The flight would return to pick up the remaining company to reinforce on the second insertion.  If it were a typical bad day at Black Rock, the enemy would allow the first flight in before opening fire.  The VC knew we would have to reinforce or return to extract (retreat) the infantry under siege.  Either way, the VC/NVA were going to shoot up a bunch of helicopters.

We were prepared for a hot LZ, so two companies were being used on the first insertion/s instead of the routine round-robin for support.  The second flight would be on a short final as the first flight was departing. The infantry knew they would need a maximum number of soldiers on the ground as soon as possible to gain an advantage. 

When we landed, I observed the tracers whizzing through the LZ.  Tracers are phosphorous-illuminated bullets used to guide the machine gunner’s aim.  They are the fifth round of the gunner’s linked ammunition.  When you witness a stream from a machine gun, know that there are four real bullets between each light trace.

Eric sat calmly at the controls waiting for the helicopter in front of us to drop their troops and take off.  I turned to look out the left cargo door when a pineapple plant rose out of a spider hole on the berm about 20 yards away.  Our gunner that day was a former infantry machine gunner.  Without asking permission, though it was a no-fire area, he squeezed his butterfly trigger while the machine gun was still pointing at the ground.  He walked the rounds up and into the human pineapple plant.  The enemy got off a quick burst of AK-47 before he started dancing around.  His movements looked like the assassination scene of Bonnie and Clyde.  We felt the VC’s bullets hit the aircraft, but we didn’t know where or how badly we were damaged.  Now was not the time to get out and look around.

Eric took off and returned to a safe area to check for damage.  We found that one of the rounds took a large chunk from the yoke behind the large bolt that attached the rotor blade. 

My crew chief, Scotty, working on the rotor head (yoke)

As stated, that was my sixth-week in-country.  It was also the last time that any helicopter I flew in Vietnam [through two different tours] received any combat-induced damage.

Fear:

Honestly, I cannot think of a time when I was worried about combat.  I never thought about it.  However, one of my worst frights happened late one night while I was still a PP (Peter-Pilot.)

Each evening one aviation unit in the brigade area is on call to handle emergency calls (Tac-E’s … Tactical Emergency).  Simply put, being called out on a Tac-E means that your life, crew, and helicopter are expendable, if necessary, for the sake of others.  Most missions are one or two-ship medevac or ammunition resupply missions.  Occasionally, an entire aviation company is called out. 

A second company assigned as Tac-E standby is assigned as a backup but was seldom used.  Most second-company standby pilots and crews go to their clubs, supposedly doing everything in moderation, etc..

A third company is a designated reserve unit with no restrictions on its activities. 

One night, while on third standby, everyone was drinking and carousing in their clubs, which included drinking to excess, a common activity for all flight crews.  Internal company communications with the operations center were done on field phones to each of the clubs.  The phones were seldom used.

One night around eleven, the distinctive chortle-ring from the TA-312 hand-cranked field phone went off in the O’club.  The din in the club immediately went silent.  No one calls that phone, especially at 11:00 PM.  This call could not be good news.

Not only was this a Tac-E call-out, but it was also for our entire company.  A firebase was under siege and possibly being overrun.  Launch immediately.

There was hardly a sober pilot in the unit.  I was flying with my new platoon leader.  He was stone-cold sober due to his religious beliefs.  The problem was, he was one pilot that couldn’t think or fly, at least not simultaneously.   Now that’s scary, daylight or dark.

Flight crews staggered to the flight line and somehow took off without incident.  Night formation flight is hazardous enough sober.  Tonight’s flight would add enormously to our pucker factors.  To add further tension to the event, enemy activity was peaking.  For safety, the flight was ordered to turn off our navigation position lights and refrain from using our landing lights on the final approach.  In daylight, we flew approximately two rotor disks apart, approximately one hundred feet.  This night, all bets were off.

Formation flight in helicopters is generally reported as any two or more helicopters flying at the same altitude, in the same general direction, in the same general vicinity, and going to the same objective.  Fortunately, it was a clear night.  Tonight, however, it was ten helicopters staggering in the same general direction, sometimes at the same altitude (as we were flying through it.)  Our formation could be seen from horizon to horizon.  The lead helicopter could have been in Da Nang and the trailing helicopter in Saigon.  Until …

On the final approach, flight sobriety was immediate as the green and orange tracers started whizzing by.  The flight tightened up to one rotor disk, and we were in and out without incident.

Still, it was the scariest night I had in Vietnam, and they were shooting at us too!

Aircraft Commander:

Becoming an aircraft commander requires orders from the Company Commander, but they are not issued until the existing platoon aircraft commanders vote for approval on the individual.  Our unit usually set the minimum combat time for consideration at three hundred hours of in-country flying (total time over 500 hrs.)  I don’t know if they were that desperate for RLO’s in a leadership position, but I made aircraft commander at 185 hours.  I like to think it was because I was that good, and they were not that desperate.

Some personnel issues had to be resolved before officially taking over as 1st platoon leader.  The existing platoon leader was transferred to battalion headquarters.  The individual was an extremely nice guy but was a below-average pilot with minimal flying skills or cognition to lead a flight of ten helicopters.

Another issue was the other platoon section leader and my roommate, Dan Vogle.  He outranked me by 24 hours.  By his date of rank, he would be the designated 1st platoon replacement.  The solution was to transfer Dan to the gun platoon as an assistant platoon leader, where he wanted to be. 

I inherited a platoon with no RLO section leaders but was heavily staffed with two unique assets.  The experience, competence, maturity, and leadership of the existing AC’s were exceptional.  The second and more critical asset to the future was an overabundance of upcoming ACs with above-average flying skills from my flight school class.  Most of them already knew me and what to expect; those that didn’t know me received immediate G-2 (Intelligence report,) which cut down my leadership transition time. 

I was now twenty-one leading a group of 18-19-year-old kids in combat and making old men out of them before they turned twenty.  Before I left the unit, this intrepid group of men and those from the other platoons would go on to distinguish themselves as true aviation heroes.

Each war has its standouts who made significant changes in warfare.  WWI had the Red Baron dueling the pilots flying their bi-winged Sopwith Camels, and aviation warfare began.  WWII had Spitfire pilots defending Great Britain.  Airplanes made control of the sky imperative to protect those on the ground; boots-on-the-ground still would determine the fight's outcome.  But in Vietnam, it was the helicopter … more specifically, the Huey, its air mobility to mass the troops, and the fearless flight crews.  Survival rates for the injured warriors over previous wars skyrocketed as intrepid flight crews risked it all, ensuring no one was left behind.  However, the casualty rates for helicopter flight crews were some of the highest recorded of the war.

In June, I would begin leading my “Band of Winged-Brothers.”

1968 Vietnam as an RLO© (June 1968)

Posted 04/19/2022

1968 Vietnam as an RLO©

Joseph P Dougan

(Real Live Officer i.e., Commissioned Officer)

Chapter Three (June)

Management Philosophy

I am not sure where I learned my style of management.  I have never been an authoritarian ruler.  But, I find being strict in what I expect is preferable. Strict might not be the best choice of words.  What I mean is, I prefer to tell you exactly what I expect, not how to do it.  I have often said, I am not a perfectionist – I just require it of you.   I will look you in the eye and call you out if necessary.  However, I will listen to your solution and make appropriate decisions.  You will have the opportunity to change my mind.  If your way does not clearly present a better outcome, we are doing it my way.

Due to their nature, teenage combat helicopter pilots have an independent streak that often is in contravention with the “book” or often common sense.  It is the latter that always causes them the most problems.

June was a sweltering and dry month, and we had been flying excessive amounts of hours.  By 1st Aviation Brigade orders, pilots were on a 140-hour-per-month restriction.  If a pilot exceeded 140 hours in a thirty consecutive day flying period, they were not allowed to fly without flight surgeon approval.

We were always short-handed, and the flight surgeon kept a stack of medical release forms available.  Walking without falling asleep and chewing gum simultaneously was about the only medical requirement for proof of stability.  Most warrant officer pilots did not complain about excess flying hours; flying was what we all wanted to do.  I had additional leadership duties to keep me on the ground; I wanted to fly too.  Our thirty-day flying record was posted on our platoon flight assignment board. 

Daily Assignment Board and accumulated flight times.

At one time, I was a low man in the platoon with 170 +/-  hours.  I’ve seen some pilots in our unit with over 210 hours in thirty days.  Any time off for a flight crew was appreciated, but teenagers flying a half-million-dollar helicopter was more fun than a ride at Six Flags.  No one wanted to stay down.

Excess flying was tiring enough for the pilots, but the crew chiefs and gunners not only flew all day with us but had to perform helicopter maintenance when we were not flying.  They were the unsung heroes.  Every twenty-five hours of flight time required a couple of man-hours for routine maintenance.  This was often completed in the dark by flashlight.  Every one hundred flight hours requires extensive maintenance in the maintenance tents using multiple mechanics and technical inspections. 

What To Do When Not Flying

(Hint: Don’t piss off the boss)

One day the infantry unit we were working with uncovered a large cache of enemy supplies buried in an extensive tunnel complex.  Extracting, inventorying, or destroying the cache would take most of the day.  In these extended-stay situations, the infantry battalion commander would release the Crusaders.  The 187th would be reassigned to fly for another unit.  This battalion commander knew how much we had been flying.  Rather than releasing us for additional flying, the colonel told us to land at Chu-Chi; wait to be called out, which was not expected.  He effectively gave us a maintenance stand-down day and a chance to relax.  It was going to be a late morning and early afternoon basking in the sun by ten helicopters lined up tail rotor to rotor.

However, there was maintenance to be completed by the downed crews before any resting.  Frankly, most pilots are worthless for helicopter maintenance, and I lead the pack.  There are still areas where the pilots can help the flight crews, no matter how insignificant.  It might mean using rubbing compound to take the scratches out of the plexiglass, dusting the floors, or tossing the crew chief a quart of oil — everyone pitches in on stand-downs.

After trying to do my part on my helicopter, I walked down the flight line to check on everyone [also, technically, my job.]  When I got to one helicopter, I saw the crew chief balancing on the tail stinger to service the tail rotor gearbox.  The gunner was on top working around the rotor head.  Two pilots were dead-asleep on the cargo floor.

I was immediately furious; this is not the example for officers to set.  I woke both pilots and had them meet me about fifty yards away from the line of parked helicopters undergoing maintenance.  I allowed the pilots to explain their justification for sleeping while everyone else on every other helicopter was working … i.e., enough rope to hang with.  They had no acceptable excuse. 

In language that I knew they would understand, I explained what I expected:  If you see me working, you work.  If you see me going to a hot LZ, you had better be tucked in closely behind me.  And, if you see me fxxxing off, then go fxxk-off.  But, until that time, you’d better be doing something to contribute, or I will be working on your transfer to a Cav unit. 

At the time, flying for the Air Calvary was not a desirable flying mission.  Oh! The CAV gets to wear those cute cowboy hats and ascots, but no one volunteers to join a Cavalry aviation unit unless they have a death wish. 

The errant pilots got the word, and more importantly, those words made the rounds. 

RHIP (Rank Has Its Privilege)

I tried not to abuse that idiom, but sometimes ya just gotta.  😊

My roommate, the 1st platoon leader, was transferred to our battalion headquarters in Chu Chi.  I was promoted to be the 1st platoon leader.  One of my men and flight school friends, Ron Timberlake (RIP), redesignated me and presented me with my new nickname, a cap with “ ‘Toon Daddy” embroidered on the back.  It was a good great feeling to have that acceptance early on.

Coincidentally, the 187th received notifications that we would soon receive the first three shiny and new H-model Hueys, which began our helicopter upgrades to a more powerful machine.  One Huey was assigned to the Company Commander for his C&C (Command & Control) ship.  The other two went to the 1st and 2nd platoons.  There was no reason to listen to my senior aircraft commanders argue over who should have it.  I surely didn’t want to play favorites, so I took it!  😊

UH-1H 67-17558, assigned to the 1st platoon, would need a crew chief, and I designated a young SP-4 whom I had been flying with regularly, Doug Scott aka Scotty.  [originally published as Herman Scott another 187th member]

Specialist 4th class is a rank just above a PFC (Private First Class).  A crew chief is normally an SP-5.  Scotty had not held the SP-4 rank for very long and was technically not due for promotion. 

I checked with his platoon sergeant, and he agreed that Scotty was going to be one of the better crew chiefs, so I put in my request with our CO, which he approved.

Crew Chiefs normally name their helicopter and have the company artist decorate the doors e.g., Old Magnet Ass, Flying Frenchman, The Rebel.  Once again, I broke tradition.  I named 558 as The S💧 A💧 D💧 Mrs💧   The initials are my wife’s, and each period was a painted teardrop.  Admit it!  … it was original and cool.

Scotty on 67-17558

This usurping of tradition may not have been Scotty’s preference, but I made it up to him, though not without my satirical (sadistic?) humor at his expense. 

One day, after receiving Scotty’s promotion orders, I spent excessive time complaining about any nit-picking thing I could find wrong with Scotty’s aircraft.  I told him to come to my room after his post-flight maintenance, so we could “talk about” his performance.

Facts escape me over time, but I believe our platoon sergeant was there too.  When Scotty came in, I gave him a faux dressing down.  I pushed my attempt at humor too far.  Most people don’t understand my humor, and the following is a classic example of why.  Sometimes, I just ain’t funny.

Using trumped-up charges, I complained that the platoon leader deserved a responsible SP-5 as his crew chief when our new aircraft arrived.  I did not need an inexperienced SP-4, especially one who couldn’t pin his rank on his collar correctly.  And, I removed his SP-4 pin from his collar.  Scotty was crestfallen.  I’d overstepped my bounds.

However, though clearly nonplussed, his recovery was quick when I showed him the SP-5 pins pulled from my pocket and pinned them on.  We promoted him months ahead of schedule.

There is a certain irony in all of this, and it has haunted me ever since.

This psychological faux pax was in mid-June.  Scotty flew as my crew chief on 558 from June to October.  He also flew occasionally as my crew chief on SMOKEY when I transferred to the gun platoon.  I’d estimate we have 600 or more hours in the air together. 

I tried to meet up with him a few years ago.  He is a professional engineer in Atlanta.  He doesn’t remember me from Adam….  ☹

PTSD is a strange bedfellow.

Since he doesn’t remember me, do I still owe him an apology? 

Next month’s chapter, July, starts off with a bang. And I started getting in FNG’s (Fxxxing New Guy’s) RLO’s to train. What was your first day flying like? My new section leader, Jim Ray, has a story to tell.

1968 Vietnam as an RLO© (July 1968)

Published May 4, 2022

Joseph P Dougan

1968 Vietnam as an RLO©

(Real Live Officer i.e., Commissioned Officer)

Sometimes, not everything we wrote home was true.  And sometimes those enemy rounds were getting a little too personal.

Chapter Four (July)

Happy Anniversary!

July started off with a “bang” in more ways than one.  I was starting to get the hang of being a flight leader after being made an aircraft commander and had accumulated a large amount of combat time for my brief time in-country.  Our week-long R&R’s were normally taken during the last six months of one’s tour of duty.  Australia, Hong Cong, and Thailand were popular destinations, especially if you were not married.  Hawaii was generally reserved for married men to meet up with their wives.

Though I’d only been in Vietnam since late March, I requested to take my R&R early.  July 1st would be our first wedding anniversary.  The CO granted permission, and I was scheduled to arrive in Hawaii July 2nd – a day late, but close enough.  Sheila planned to get there a day earlier to prepare for my arrival.

My scheduling was based on the Vietnam time zone.  I had forgotten to consider the international dateline.  I arrived on July 1st.  Needless to say, Sheila was not at the airport to greet me.  I went to our hotel and saw that she had checked in a little earlier.  Another surprise was in order.

I stopped at the hotel florist and picked up a dozen roses.  Then I grabbed a bellman to knock on the door to announce that he had a delivery.  The rest is history.  Yes, she was surprised.

We were staying at the Hilton Hawaiian Village.  If you’ve ever watched the old TV series Hawaii 5.0, HHV is that large, pink-tinted building in their opening credit scene.  Our room faced the main street; ocean views were out of the limited budget range of a 1st Lieutenant.  Both of us were exhausted from our long trips.  Mine took about eighteen hours with refueling stops.  Her trip was not as long but emotionally straining -- more on that in another chapter. 

Around 1:00 AM, both of us were sound asleep until an ambulance blaring his siren went barreling down the street.  Sirens at Tay Ninh were used as our advanced notifications that incoming rockets or mortars were detected inbound.    Conditioned reflexes took over as I rolled out of bed to get on the floor.  It was then that she realized that all those “things are hunky-dory” in my Vietnam letters were not based on facts.

Still, the trip was memorable once we got over the emotional hurdles.  Ron Hopkins, a senior 1st platoon member was also on the same R&R.  Though single, he was allowed to take his R&R in Hawaii because he was from Honolulu. 

He guided us through our visit, avoiding the typical tourist traps.  Sure, we went to the Kodak hula show, but that was because Ronnie had a friend who was one of the dancers – and she was not the big’un who looked like she kept a whole ranch of silkworms working overtime for her dresses. 

After I returned to the 187th, I met a new roommate, Jim Ray.  He was assigned to my platoon to fill an open section-leader position.  He was only my roommate for a short time.  I think I moved him to another room in a desperate attempt to get some sleep.  Jim was and is the funniest person I’ve ever met. He would keep me up to all hours reciting stories that were so funny I’d be crying (laughing) myself to sleep.  He’s been a lifetime friend and is a natural entertainer. 

When I asked Jim where he was from, he said Arkadelphia, Arkansas.

 “Arkadelphia?  Where is Arkadelphia?” 

He said, if you haven’t heard of Arkadelphia, then I know you’ve never heard of Gurdon, which is where I am really from. 

Good Morning Vietnam

Jim’s introduction to Tay Ninh was literally a baptism by fire.  He had not taken his in-country check ride, but the infamous Col. Patton’s (General Patton’s son) mechanized infantry unit was under attack and needed emergency CS gas-ship support.  CS is a highly potent non-toxic form of tear gas. The 187th AHC was already on missions elsewhere.

WO John Wilson had recently been promoted to AC and needed a “ballast-body” (sandbag) to hold down the co-pilot’s seat.  Center of gravity limitations normally required two people in the front seats. With all of the available pilots gone, John told Jim, whom he had not officially met, to grab someone’s helmet and start a pre-flight inspection while John received the situation briefing from our Operation Officer.

Jim has recited his first day of flight story at every reunion and gathering for the past 50-plus years, and his version gets funnier every time.  I can’t do it the humorous justice it deserves, but I can at least cover what happened to the two best friends I’ve had for over 50 years.  This story didn’t involve me, but it is too good not to pass on.  It was on my watch.

John, being new as an AC meant he had even less experience dropping CS gas.  Though gas drops are not an uncommon mission, it was not routine, especially for a new aircraft commander.  Jim was an infantry 1st Lieutenant straight out of flight school.  Due to their close-in support requirement, dropping CS gas can be extremely dangerous.  The drop missions were usually low to prevent accidental drops onto friendly troops.

The flight crew ejects the large gas canisters one at a time.  An adjustable timing mechanism on each device detonates them a safe distance from the helicopter, exploding a cloud of CS gas over a large area.  Often, the Peter-P will wear a gas mask in case of a gas leak, or they fly through their own cloud of CS.  Gas mask lenses are not prescription ground optics and distort visual perception, so most AC’s prefer to cry a lot when flying.  😊

Weather variables dictate the flight path, so the gas cloud is not blown back onto the friendly troops.  This often means flying directly over enemy positions.  Consequently, the enemy will not be too happy about what is happening. 

Any flying altitude higher than 1500’ normally is safe from small arms or rifle fire.  However, these CS drops would be at 1000’ or below to ensure accuracy.  One of the first drops John made was much lower than 1000’.  This level is considered to be a dead-man zone.  John’s drop was so low that an enemy RPG (Rocket-Propelled Grenade) was fired at them.  It went through Jim’s windshield across the cockpit striking John in his ballistic helmet and exited out the green-house window above his head.

It struck John with enough force that it dislodged John’s pilot seat from the breakaway latch and left him strapped into his seat but lying horizontally on the rear cargo floor.  His crew pushed him back into a flying position.

Most RPG’s don’t explode instantaneously.  The delay at impact allows the rocket time to penetrate deeper into an earth bunker before the blast, which maximizes damage.  At the speed the RPG travels, this detonation delay through a helicopter’s windows equates to distance.  These few milliseconds were enough of a delay that the rocket detonated after it had exited through the helicopter's roof and blew above the rotor head. 

Jim, obviously flying at this point, looked over at John to see Plexiglas stuck in his face and bleeding from a large hole in the side of his nose.  John’s only comment was to fly faster to get back to Tay Ninh.  Jim was only flying between 30-40 knots. The helicopter couldn’t go any faster without inducing a severe vibration. 

They made it back safely and in post-flight inspection saw significant amounts of damage to the blades and rotor head.  The helicopter should have self-destructed in the air.  Had the rocket struck metal instead of the plexiglass windows, it would have. Divine Intervention saved the day, again.

John left the flight line and started towards the dispensary to get his wounds treated; Jim headed to the barracks.

Huh?  John said, NO!

Go pre-flight another aircraft and get the CS gas transferred.

 “You mean we are going back out?” 

“W e l c o m e  T o  T h e  1 8 7th  C R U S A D E R S!”

By the time John was treated and Jim got the canisters transferred, Jim’s infantry training kicked in.

“You know these fuses can be set with a longer time, so we don’t have to fly so low?”

The delaying fuse adjustments were made. 

I am sure that this is the day that Jim made the commitment to set his sights on the Rat Pack gun platoon.  He preferred being able to exact revenge.  Eventually, he became the Rat Pack platoon leader.

It was not just summer, but in August, things started really started heating up

1968 Vietnam as an RLO© (August 1968)

Published May 20, 2022

1968 Vietnam as an RLO©

Joseph P Dougan

(Real Live Officer i.e., Commissioned Officer)

Chapter Five (August)

As stated in a previous chapter, these stories are from my perspective as I experienced Vietnam.  Others who participated in my reported events have differing views.  We each saw things in a different way. Sometimes our brains only recreate the way we thought or wanted it to be, but it is always nice when there is verification for what we do remember.

One pilot took objection to my original story as published last year on my FaceBook site.  In today’s update to that story, I have a rare treat and vindication.  The last known survivor, Captain Harold Greer was the co-pilot in the following story.  It was a transmission failure in helicopter 65-12869. I tracked Harold down to get his viewpoint on my narrative. His statement is included in the appendix at the end of my August chapter.

Helicopter 65-12869   Aug 30, 1968

Always Trust the Instruments

August turned out to be another noteworthy month illustrating the stresses of combat. 

One hot afternoon, our C&C (Command and Control) ship was being flown by our company commander Major Russell Folta (RIP).  It was a trying day with the flight of ten orbiting excessively while everyone “upstairs” seemed to be oblivious. 

The company flight lead was CWO Joe Gorecki, a hard-core, matter-of-fact, enlisted Marine prior to attending warrant officer flight school.  In our battalion SOP, regardless of rank, the flight lead directed the platoon operations during missions for both slick platoons.  Often this was an experienced warrant officer because there were few qualified commissioned officers in the 187th AHC at that time.  Joe not only was a good pilot, but his previous Marine training made him a natural flight leader.

Joe Goreki

The caterwauling on the platoon radios was becoming more pronounced due to the day-long constant delays and persistent orbiting.  Joe was a man of little patience, and his frustrations were starting to show.  Abruptly, Major Folta made an announcement.  His transmission oil pressure gauge was starting to fluctuate.

Transmission gauges are the few items on a helicopter never ignored.  You can lose a tail rotor control or an engine and still land safely.  A helicopter cannot fly if the transmission and rotor blades are not turning.

In my research for this story, other platoon pilots reported that this aircraft had transmission fluctuation issues for weeks. 

Unfortunately, every maintenance re-inspection had revealed nothing.  Still, one NEVER ignores the transmission for any reason.  Get the helicopter on the ground, and get it on the ground, NOW!

The flight had been working on an extremely long flying day.  We still had troops on board for one final insertion, but we were all starting to run low on fuel.  Pressed to complete the mission, Major Folta elected to “fly it and watch it.”  This statement is a term that maintenance uses in our logbooks to respond to our maintenance write-ups when they could not find a cause for the problem reported. 

Once Major Folta made his commitment to keep flying, the caterwauling became instant radio silence.  One could almost hear every pilot in the flight gasp in disbelief.  Every pilot and crew turned their eyes skyward.

C&C always flew around 2500’ to 3000’.  Within minutes, Major Folta declared an emergency.  His transmission was seizing.  Everyone in the flight watched him nose his helicopter over to the race for the ground.  It was for naught.  We watched as his rotor slowed while the transmission was seizing.  Major Folta’s helicopter then went 90 degrees vertical -- nose down.  The last anyone saw, the blades were barely turning.  One could almost count the blade RPM.  The fuselage rotated approximately three revolutions around its axis during the free fall.

All watched the crash as it impacted a partially filled rice patty.  No one could survive that crash.  The splash was epic and shot water and mud 75’ into the air.  Flight Lead said we needed to drop off the troops and refuel before coming back and securing the crash site.

I objected.  I requested permission to go look but was denied. Joe said,  “Stay with the flight.”   

I was the ranking officer in the flight, but the flight lead was still technically in charge.  I overrode his decision without getting into an argument and declared I was taking charge of the flight.  Though it wasn’t part of my decision process at the time, whether Private or Captain, “the next man up” has been a constant in US warfare training.  My decision to take charge, due to rank, was also stated in our battalion SOP.  It was the right thing to do.  I broke off the last three aircraft in the formation to inspect the crash site.  Joe, to his credit and training, made no more objections.

There was no logical explanation for what I found when I arrived at the crash site other than Divine Intervention.  Sometimes, the “Jesus Nut” (one large nut that affixes the helicopter's rotor) has a significant meaning.  The crashed helicopter was sitting perfectly upright on its skids.  There was smoke coming out of the engine compartment, and their crew chief was using the fire extinguisher to quell the flames. 

Remember, the last anyone saw, C&C was vertical and rotating on its axis.

Fire extinguishers in hand, my three flight crews went to assist in extinguishing the engine fire.  I had the onboard troops deploy for security.  The flight was recalled to bring in reinforcements.  Virtually everyone on board the C&C was ambulatory. 

I can remember watching the three flight crews moving across the rice paddy to help.  And, I remember seeing the infantry deploying to set up the protective perimeter.  I don’t remember if the 187th or Medivacs evacuated the injured.  Due to the obvious back injuries, I would assume Medivacs.  I remember nothing about the rest of the day, how we got home, or anything else that happened that evening.  It is as if that time didn’t exist. To watch the horrific event was disturbing at any level. With time to reflect the unexplainable takes over the brain wondering how was it possible for nine people to survive what appeared to be a half a mile free fall.

Every person on that helicopter lived.  Most had compressed spinal injuries.  This is significant.  If there was any forward motion when a helicopter crashes, it would cause whiplash injuries.  At that height and impact speed, all would have had severed spines.  They had to have landed perfectly vertical only to have compressed spines.  Regardless, there is no conceivable explanation for what happened, which a flight of ten helicopter crews witnessed.

At the end of this chapter, I have included the actual Army accident investigation report, which indicates there was some rotor RPM left to break the fall. Though from what the flight saw, you’d have a hard time convincing anyone there was any significant rotation in the blades.  Divine Intervention.

I met Major Folta at our unit reunion in 1998.  He told me no one on his crew remembers anything other than the initial gauge fluctuation.  Neither of the crew members has been found.  

Major Folta wrote a letter to me after our reunion.  He was thankful to hear “The Rest of the Story” and my intervention but still considered the event a “hard landing.”

  No! Shit!  Sherlock!

Here’s Your Sign

At the end of September, the gunner from that crash tried flying again.  It was payday, and most everyone got paid in cash.  While flying to and fro on a hot afternoon, he had turned 90 degrees to put his feet up on the side seat to catch a nap between troop insertions.  I got a call from an aircraft behind me wanting to know what I was streaming out my right door.

I turned and looked to see my sleeping crew member.  His right pant pocket was flapping in the rotor-disturbed air.  Every time his uniform flapped, another bill peeled off the payroll wad he had stuffed in his pocket.  I think that was the last time he ever flew.

August Psy-warfare:

As I explained in an earlier chapter, rocket and mortar attacks on Tay Ninh started in May. This concluded a year-long moratorium of violence against Tay Ninh. It was a courtesy. Our medical doctors saved the life of a failing Cao Dai priest. 

The frequency of rocket and mortar attacks became so common that visiting units started tacking up signs “Impact Area West” by the time I left Vietnam. Impact Area West are signs used on the roads surrounding the landing (impacting) areas for artillery, bullets, or high explosives on military training bases.

Though not a daily occurrence, rocket and mortar shelling became commonplace.  Unless one heard the high-pitched squeal of the incoming rockets or verified that the thuds from impacting rounds were close, one often didn’t get out of bed to go to a bunker.  Some slept through the attacks, too tired to be aware. 

Tay Ninh base was a very large compound housing artillery, engineering, and aviation units.  Hearing impacting rockets on the far side of the compound seldom got anyone’s attention.  One would listen to see if they would be “walking” the rounds to our area.  If not, go on about what you were doing.

Tay Ninh base camp today facing north, twelve miles from the Cambodian border.  It is approximately one mile in diameter.  The green strip left of the runway was where we parked our helicopters.  The new orange top buildings in the west lower center was our company compound.

By August, all of the barracks had been surrounded with 55-gallon drums of dirt or sandbags to absorb shrapnel.  Many of us had folded our bed frames and slept a few inches off the ground.  The bed level was below the protective barrels.  Unless your hootch took a direct hit, you would be ok. 

Officers filled the protective drums after the moratorium ceased.

[In case you couldn’t tell, I took all of the pictures, so I didn’t have to get dirty … I am much too delicate for manual labor]  😊

The officer’s area took three direct hits while I was there.  The first rocket impacted a few yards in front of the second platoon barracks and directly in front of the officer’s shower.  The concussion destroyed the shower.  Shrapnel went through the front wall and out the backside of the barracks.

Officer’s Shower ... or what was left of it

This was the only rocket landing in the officer’s area that imposed serious injuries.  With no shrapnel barriers at the time, two of the officers were medivac’d to Japan.  One pilot had been sleeping on the top bunk bed.  No one slept on a top bunk after that.

A few months later, the officer’s shower took another direct hit.  Sometimes the gasoline-fueled immersion water heater at the top of the shower’s water tower would expose flame from its chimney if the gas was flowing too freely. The exposed fire made a perfect aiming point for enemy rocket and mortar adjustments.

August brought on a different style of psychological warfare.  Instead of random attacks, the Viet Cong start dropping in a few rockets a day and usually at the top of the hour.  This went on for a couple of weeks before it ceased.  The timing psychology had its effect, however. 

It got to the point that one would look at their watch near the top of the hour.  We’d stroll by the nearest bunker to listen for the squeal of rockets or woosh of mortars.  The louder the rockets got, the quicker the decision to enter a bunker or not.  The thuds would determine which section of Tay Ninh was being shelled.  The first few days of attacks were often laughed off.  After a week or two, these attacks started to take their mental toll.

The shelling finally stopped.  But, not knowing what time it was didn’t.  Most were subconsciously twitchy at the top of the hour.

Flying with the 187th generally started with an early morning breakfast or nothing at all.  My breakfast normally consisted of two Dr Peppers on the way to the flight line.  Lunch was generally cold C-rations.  Supper could be nothing, liquor or beer at the officer’s club, or cooled leftovers from the mess hall.

One day we got lucky early.  After their first insertion, the infantry battalion uncovered a significant tunnel complex and supply cache.  As illustrated before from a previous story, the battalion commander did not have us reassigned to another unit.  He kept us on standby, giving us an unscheduled maintenance stand-down day at Tay Ninh.

This early morning gift allowed the CO to call the mess sergeant to prepare a hot lunch for everyone.  The cooks fixed a feast of fried chicken, mashed potatoes, gravy, and yellow corn.  Except for Thanksgiving or Christmas, the unit seldom got to eat a hot lunch at our mess hall.

…………….

Clarification … You need to understand the following narrative for the rest of my story to make sense.

To help analyze jet engine performance, Air Force tower operators are trained to describe the exhaust flames from accelerating jets.  I don’t know how true that is.  I think it is another Air Force joke to allow jet jockeys to cowboy around the countryside and make helicopter pilots jealous.

Occasionally, the passing jet jokers would ask permission to “boom” the tower.  This was a jet jockey Six Flags Over Saigon thrill ride which was not allowed at Tân Son Nhât AFB in Saigon.  I think the noise scared the MACV colonels and general teeing off at the TSN golf course.  YES, there was one!

The fighter jet would rapidly descend and roar down the runway completing a low pass.  After the Zoomies passed the tower, the JJ’s would kick in their afterburners, shooting out a huge flame as they rocketed towards the sky.  As they turn skyward, the explosion of their afterburner rocks the ground reverberating off the runway  -- Totally Impressive … Awesome.

………………………………………………..

INCOMING!

Everyone sat down to their fried chicken dinner, and the conversations and laughter became louder and more animated.  Then, at almost the same time, everyone went coldly silent as each started to pick up the faint incoming rocket-sounding whines.  It sounded like the beginning of a significant rocket attack.  The shrieks became exceptionally loud -- louder than any conventional rocket attacks we had experienced.  Frankly, it was frightening.  Louder and L O U D E R! – it sounded like we were taking a direct hit on the mess hall.

WHOOM!  WHOOM! 

When that explosive concussion hit the mess hall, tables and chairs went flying.  Everyone in the room dove for the floor as dust and dirt fell from the ceiling and windows.  There was chicken, mashed potatoes, and gravy spread everywhere.  I can remember looking across the room at our company commander.  He was righting his table.  While getting up, he was wiping the gravy and contrasting yellow corn from his OD green uniform. 

Two F-4 Phantom jets had dropped their air-brakes on the dive to the Tay Ninh runway, which caused the excessive high-pitched squeals.  Their afterburners reverberating off the concrete runway when they turned skyward did the rest. 

Once everyone realized what had happened, there was no laughter.  I can still remember watching some of the disgusted (depressed?) crews continue to sit on the floor.  It was almost pathetic.  They were going to finish eating their chicken or anything from lunch they could salvage.

Fifty years ago, this was NOT funny. 

Now, it is one of my fonder memories.

August Appendix: 

FYI: I think it is interesting after reading the following report that no one I know who flew this day remembers being interviewed by the accident investigation team.  I certainly was not.  The gunner, RA Huff is not listed on our 187th AHC unit roster and the crew chief Dugan (same name but different spelling) has not been found either.

Fortunately, after an extensive search, I made contact with Harold Greer the co-pilot on 65-12669.  His synopsis and corroboration are at the end. 

Helicopter or incident 65-12869

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---

Accident Investigation Report:

Information on U.S. Army helicopter UH-1D tail number 65-12869
The Army purchased this helicopter 0966
Total flight hours at this point: 00001749
Date: 08/30/1968
Accident case number: 680830081 Total loss or fatality Accident
Unit: 187 AHC
The station for this helicopter was Tay Ninh in South Vietnam
UTM grid coordinates: XT748163
Number killed in accident = 0 . . Injured = 8 . . Passengers = 5
costing 228554
Original source(s) and document(s) from which the incident was created or updated: Defense Intelligence Agency Helicopter Loss database. Army Aviation Safety Center database. Also: OPERA (Operations Report. )
Loss to Inventory

Crew Members:
AC MAJ RJ FOLTA
P CPT HE GREER
CE DUGAN
G E4 RA HUFF

Passengers and/or other participants:
LTC E KEESLING, PAX, D
MAJ TF SCHATZMAN, PAX, D
CPT W KELLY, PAX, D
1LT JG COAN, PAX, D
E9 TW DAVIS, PAX, D

Accident Summary:

The aircraft was engaged in a command and control mission. The mission started on 30 Aug 68 at 0600 hours, and at approximately 1500 hours, the crew changed aircraft at Cu Chi because of an oil leak in the generator; taking the alternate command and control ship. After refueling at Cu Chi and taking off with it's flight at approximately 1715 hours, the command and control ship proceeded to XT 501194, in the vicinity of Trang Bang. There the slicks went in to pick up troops on the ground while the command and control ship orbited for about 10 minutes. The flight then proceeded down route 1 toward Camp Cu Chi to intercept route 8A. At 1500 feet on the southeast corner of Camp Cu Chi, the transmission pressure warning light came on, and the aircraft commander announced over the intercom that their transmission oil pressure had dropped to zero. The aircraft commander asked the crew chief if the gages had shown any malfunction in the past to which the crew chief replied in the negative. The pilot then asked the aircraft commander if they should not go into Cu Chi, as they were on a downwind for landing at the staging area. The aircraft commander elected not to land at Cu Chi but to continue on with the mission, monitoring the transmission temperature gage. The flight continued on at approximately 1300 feet along route 8A to the landing zone. The pilot was monitoring his altitude closely and staying close to route 8A in case of a forced landing. The command and control ship arrived east of the LZ and Fire Support Base Crocket and had turned to a northerly direction to watch the insertion of the troops to their left (west). At this point a loud noise was heard in the transmission, the aircraft turned left and the nose pitched up, dissipating forward airspeed and rotor RPM. The pilot and aircraft commander put the aircraft in autorotation while the aircraft commander called a may day. The aircraft continued to spin to the left, sinking at a rapid rate. The aircraft commander was able to level the aircraft and pull in little remaining pitch just prior to impact in a rice paddy. The impact caused momentary unconsciousness to the aircraft commander and pilot. The crew chief noticed that the engine was still running so pulled the main fuel and start fuel switches to off, and turned off the battery.

This record was last updated on 04/17/1997

Harold Greer’s narrative:

“We had been flying as I recall 12 plus hours by then.  When that transmission light came on, we both caught it.  I had controls as C&C command and Maj Fulda [Fulta] were managing the final insertion. I brought the altitude down from 2500 ft to 1500. When the aircraft suddenly jarred sideways, it took both our total efforts to control it.  And as quickly the transmission locked, it again broke free.   How the rotor blades just didn’t shear off is by the grace of god. As Gorecki taught me, it was left pedal and dive and as the rice paddy came at us like a roller coaster hitting bottom it was all safety reaction and we pulled remaining collective.  The Gorecki trained dive and the rice paddy splash saved our lives and you guys did the rest as we always did for each other.   I remember you coming after us and telling us you were breaking formation. It was too easy to just fall out the open door sides as the crew chief yelled fire. But none of us as could raise up as we all had compression joint fractures.  I remember the troops you were carrying setting up a security perimeter.  And your crew chiefs dragging each of us away from the aircraft to safety while also grabbing cryptic books.  You all had to leave us but Chu Chi based Medivac was quick to recover us. Next day, Maj Gaffney was immediate to see us and I remember vividly his facial expression as my body went back into shock.  That was the last occasion I saw anyone from our unit.  But I quickly learned we were the lucky one of so many badly wounded or dying in the Camp Zara Japan General Hospital.  While recovering in Japan, I asked to return to the 187th thinking recovery was near term. We were a unit of brothers that risked our lives daily for each other and all those young soldiers we supported.  We grew up wat to fast and saw the horrors of war.  Never to see any unit brothers again until Springfield, IL gathering, I understood why all are absolutely great Americans that joined, served, left the Army and prospered as American professionals.

. . . And thanks for coming and getting me. You saved our lives.”

FYI: Harold recovered and spent a career in the Army. He was medically retired after three major back surgeries and ended his service as a Lieutenant Colonel.

Thanks again Harold for adding valuable information to this story

Pat

1968 Vietnam as an RLO © (Sept 1968)

(September 1968)

Joseph P Dougan

Published Jun 8, 2022

September was a forgettable month … or, maybe I should say in my drug-induced state because I don’t remember much about it. 😊  Heroin/Marijuana laced drugs didn’t make their official appearance to me until my second Vietnam tour in 70-71, so this absence of memory was all prescription-induced.  I spent much of September sick because I developed pneumonia.  Tay Ninh is 22’ above sea level, and the dirt is fine silt.  Lung infections can get out of hand quickly.  My infection became a bad case because I waited too long to have it checked out.  We were short pilots which contributed to my poor judgment and not seeking treatment sooner. 

The flight surgeon grounded me for about ten days.  I spent virtually all of my recovery time sitting in the hot sun on the dispensary patio.  Following the doctor’s orders, I drank massive quantities of orange juice and took meds accompanied by a lot of vodka.  I am not sure the vodka was on the original Rx. 😊 For that matter, I don’t remember much about that month, so who knows what the doctor really said.

Pneumonia Recovery … who said codeine and alcohol don’t mix?

While convalescing, turtles started arriving.  I am not sure how that term was coined; turtles were our newbie replacements.  Perhaps it was because when you first get to Vietnam you keep your head tucked below your shoulders, waiting for something bad to happen.  Usually, the really bad things happened when they had their heads stuffed up in their rectal cavity, but I digress. Four or five RLO’s showed up at about the same time.  One of these RLO’s would have to be my platoon’s replacement Crusader 16.  The Warrant Officer pilots would become platoon members.

From Slicks to Guns

There was a certain mystique being in the Rat Pack, the moniker of our gun platoon.  I had not been allowed to transfer there because of the Date of Rank issue that I mentioned in a previous chapter.  Dan Vogle, the gun platoon leader, had twenty-four hours date of rank over me, and the CO, Major Gaffney, was concerned there could be a conflict.

I like being in charge, and he knew it too well.  😊

The Rat Pack was going to lose its core of experienced fire team leaders as many team leaders would be leaving Vietnam within thirty days of each other in November and December. 

The fire team leader in the gun platoon often became an adjunct C&C directing the flights, especially on short-final (approaches) to the LZ’s.  The remaining Rat Pack pilots were neither experienced enough with company flight operations nor had the situational awareness to be promoted to a team lead position.  That is no reflection of their flying abilities; it was an experience and judgment issue.  They would develop in time, but they weren’t ready yet.

It was determined that the DOR between Dan and I would not be a problem, and it became for me a priority to get into the Rat Pack to train before the experienced team leaders went home.  My transition started by sharing time between the two platoons.  I learned the armament systems in one and worked with the new RLO’s leading the flights in the other.

When I officially moved, Dan and I became roommates again.

There was never a conflict. 

Fire Mission, Over

October through November would become an intense flying period for me.  In addition to making immediate assessments of the new RLO’s for a possible platoon, section leader, and flight lead assignment, I had to start my gunship transition, now.

C-Model (Charlie models) Hueys look similar to the H-Model slicks to the uninitiated, but they differ significantly in their construction and flight characteristics.  H-Models are designed for maximum lifting and interior space for infantry carrying capacity.  The C-Model has a uniquely different rotor system designed for maximum maneuverability, and the cargo area is small.  If you are familiar with horses, the differences in flight would be like transitioning from a Tennessee Walker to a fully trained cutting horse.  Or, if you prefer cars, a four-door sedan to a sports car.

The H-model Huey is designed for lifting -- a C-model, not so much 😊.  The excess weight from the external armament systems and ammunition often made C-models challenging to get off the ground, especially after taking on a full load of fuel.  Regardless, “If it will hover, it will fly.”

However, most gunship pilots never believed you could have too much ammunition, so takeoff weight and hovering were always issues.  Pilot technique played a key role in safe Charlie model operations.  Once airborne and streamlined, gun teams became the cowboys racing their steeds around at treetop levels dodging trees, often lead arrows, looking for the “Indians” while reconnoitering an area.  Leading the flight of slicks into an LZ would require us to be back at altitude providing suppressive fires.

The indigenous native’s area of operation (Indian-Country) 😊 had another name, a “Free-Fire Zone.”  Our situation maps outlined these areas which were updated daily for known enemy activity.  Any Vietnamese seen in a free-fire zone were targets, not people.  There would be no friendly forces in the area i.e., shoot anyone on sight; they are the enemy.  I’ll rehash my first exposure to a free-fire zone, covered in another story from earlier this year.

While learning the armament systems, a crew chief had me help bore sight a Rat Pack rocket ship.  Bore sighting is a static alignment done on the ground. This version of the Charlie model had two outboard racks of rocket pods, one on each side.  Each pod carried nineteen rockets with a 17-pound warhead (TNT or composition B. explosive.)  Each rocket’s total weight is about 24 lbs.  Each of the two rocket pods had to be aligned with the helicopter’s onboard optical sighting mechanism.  Once the pods were aligned (bore sighting), we had to go out and verify the accuracy by firing a few pairs of rockets.  These test firings would be done in free-fire zones.  Based on actual observations from the impacts, the crew chief would make incremental sighting adjustments on each pod.

Avon Calling

After the bore sighting, I called artillery control to get the latest coordinates for a Free-Fire Zone.  They gave me a grid coordinate about two kilometers (Klicks) from the Cambodian border. 

We were flying in a single ship with no one to back us up since this was a maintenance flight and not a combat operation.  I lined up for a rocket run, started my dive, aimed at a prominent point in the free-fire zone, and fired a couple of pair of rockets.  As I made my break to turn around and climb for another pass, the return tracers lit up the sky around us, confirming there were no friendlies in the area.  The bore sighting was accurate, but I made my verification second pass at a considerably higher altitude which met with the same return fire results.  I decided against a third pass, but I was not finished.  I was pissed.  Those bastards were trying to kill me.

I was a Signal Corps officer – you know,  da-dit-da-dit da-da-dit-da – and only had limited training on OCS (Officer Candidate School) directing artillery adjustments.  Even with exact grid coordinates, the artillery still had to be visually adjusted.  I would radio back to tell fire control how far off target the individual marking rounds were impacting.  Once the single round adjustments were made, “Fire For Effect!”  All the artillery pieces in the battery would open up and blanket the area with high explosives.

 “Tay Ninh Arty, Fire Mission, Over!”  As luck would have it, they already had an 8” artillery battery pointed our way.  The 8” artillery round is considerably more destructive than the 2.75” folding-fin rockets that I had available and were much more accurate.

Our company commander was an artillery officer and swore that the 8” artillery cannon was so accurate that the Army developed a wood round to save money.  When an enemy bunker was discovered, they would fire one round at the bunker door from 10-15 miles away – Knock! -- then one more – Knock!  After the second wood round knocked, and the VC opened their door to see who was there, the third round would hit with the high explosive warhead.  😊

Tay Ninh Arty and I figured it out.  I didn’t receive any more return fire on my final rocket run. 

The 8” artillery barrage ensured that my original aiming point was nowhere to be found.

Ash-n-Trash Recovery

Still weakened from pneumonia, my combat flying was restricted.  I took the time to fly with the new crop of pilots.  The Army had ramped up its pilot graduations to meet the Vietnam pilot shortages by lowering their expectations.  Graduating from flight school might mean one could hover, but it didn’t ensure a pilot could fly and think at the same time.  We received a few aviators that fell into that category.

I took one of the newly assigned Warrant Officer pilots on an orientation ash-n-trash mission for an initial evaluation.  No one could believe that he graduated from flight school.  His official records were stamped not certified for night flight!  No one had ever seen that restriction before.  Our SIP (standards instructor pilot) was perplexed.  Surely this was a mistake.

[I have multiple stories of pilots that, for whatever reason, in my opinion, should not have graduated from flight school.  I have been unsure how to record these stories.  Many are still alive and have families that think their dad is a hero, so I will make an amalgam pseudo pilot to save anyone the embarrassment and me the lawsuit.  😊  As I stated in an earlier document, my memories might confuse the date or where something happened, but the fact is, the events happened.  This is one of them.  I’ll inject a few more infamous examples in later chapters.]

Dealing with underperforming pilots did teach me one thing that I used when I became a flight commander at Ft. Wolters, TX.  I had a policy that I would never send any student back to another flight for retraining.  If my instructors couldn’t fix ‘em, no one else could either.  I would file for approval to get the additional flight time necessary to bring the student up to flight standards.  I had two gifted instructor pilots, Eddie Andrews and Bill O’Connor, who could teach orangutans to fly.  Consequently, I only had to expel one student from the flight program [one of the hardest days of my life.]  However, I am not sure these two IP’s would have been successful with my newest 187th AHC in-country acquisition.   

We were assigned an early morning ash-n-trash mission northeast of Saigon.  It was a long flight from Tay Ninh, but it would be a good in-country orientation.  Unfortunately, the further north and east of Saigon we flew, the denser the fog became over the jungle canopy.  We took up the standard IFR flight pattern i.e., I-Follow-Roads. I took over the controls as the fog thickened and flew just above the treetops. 

Everyone was keeping their head on a swivel to avoid other aircraft caught in the same predicament. As I turned my head to look outside the door, the hot ash from a Marlboro cigarette dangling from my lips blew directly into my eyes.  I was instantly blinded. The pain was intense.

I froze the control to keep from climbing into the clouds and told the co-pilot to take over. “You’ve got it!”  With my burning eyes closed, I kept waiting to hear the “I’ve got it” reply and feel the Peter-P’s control movements after taking over.  I heard nothing.  I felt nothing. 

“GD it!  Take the controls!  You’ve got it!   I can’t see!”

I still felt nothing.  Squinting my burning eyes while still yelling for this SOB to take over, I looked over and saw a lifeless, glazed-over blank stare looking back at me – a deer in the headlights.  There was no effort to take the controls. There was no communication.  His body was frozen.  The crew chief or gunner finally bopped him on the head to snap him back to reality, and he finally took control.

We needed to turn around and get me to the Long Bien hospital.  Needless to say, he didn’t have a clue how to get back there and didn’t appear all that sure about how to turn around.  My crew chief guided him back.  By the time we got to the hospital pad, he was afraid he couldn’t land because the pad was so small. It wasn’t.  I’d squinted enough by then to be able to ride through his control movements to get us on the ground.

The medics flushed my eyes, observed me for a couple of hours, then cleared me for a one-time flight back to Tay Ninh. This was probably the shortest time any pilot spent with the 187th.  We transferred him to a cav unit just as fast as we could get his paperwork approved.

I am not sure what the cav did with him, but I found out last year that he survived, so apparently, he flew a desk for the rest of his tour of duty, maybe even at night.

October and November chapters are next up.  They were the two hardest months to write about and re-live.  But, they happened, and are a part of our history.

1968 Vietnam as an RLO© (October 1968)

Published June 22, 2022

Joseph P Dougan

1968 Vietnam as an RLO© (October 1968)

(Real Live Officer i.e., Commissioned Officer)

Chapter Eight (October)

September gets us (me) to the halfway point of my first Vietnam tour of duty.  It has been fun to this point.  Counting flight school, I had accumulated almost 900 hours of flight time and learned more every day.  However, things are starting to get real as the maturation and training are merging.  October will be harder to write about for multiple reasons as you will understand by its conclusion.

If you have followed this series since the beginning, you know that these stories are rewritten extracts from a book that I wrote for my daughters last year, “The Ups and Downs of a Helicopter Dad.” 

October begins a transition over the next few months that will illustrate that you don’t have to feel the pain of a bullet or heat from the shrapnel to become a casualty of war.  Through my stories, I’ve tried to peel back the onion of who this family was stuck with for a father.  I am sure there are similarities in my stories that other families can identify with.  Some of my recollections are rough to read or write about, but they happened, and they affected me.  No, they changed me.  Once considered the class jokester and goof-off, the days of fun and games left and have never returned.

I was encouraged by my daughter to censor some of the following, but history is exactly that.  I don’t believe in revisionism.  I asked, did it happen, yes or no?  Were my emotions at the time accurate, yes or no?  Was it fundamental in what I am trying to accomplish with my stories for others, yes or no?

If your dad or grandpa was in combat, they did or saw things that they were not proud of and generally don’t talk about.  Things happened that changed their life. The results can’t be ignored.  I am not trying to write war stories for other veterans to appreciate. There are plenty of novels and historical pieces that do just that.  I am trying to explain to the people who weren’t in combat things that most outsiders never consider … the stories and personal emotions behind the war.  Combat changes people--permanently.  It makes no difference if you were on the pulling end of a trigger or just in the environment.  The stresses and strains from being in a combat zone were always there.  Even the computer operators in Saigon thought about involuntarily filling their diapers a few times--Think TET of 1968.

Insert Korea, Iraq, Afghanistan or any other armed conflict where you see the word Vietnam

Death is Final

Last month’s artillery adjustment story was a fun experience for me. The enemy and I had a distant relationship.  I never saw anyone, but they quit trying to kill me, so at its conclusion I considered them exterminated or at least deaf.  😊  Death and destruction were at a distance.  However, the killing wasn’t always that way.

My first encounter with the ability to grant or deny life was flying with Dan Vogle, my platoon leader/roommate.  Our dawn mission was to cap the battle damage around a fire base southwest of Tay Ninh which had been under a severe siege the night before.  The base was a klick or two from a major egress for the NVA from Cambodia to Vietnam.

The Viet Cong, as opposed to the NVA (North Vietnamese Army), were friendly villagers by day and armed enemies by night.  One never knew who the good guys were because they wore their same black peasant pajamas and coolie hat day or night.

We encountered one unarmed man walking on a rice dike.  He was moving from a forested area towards the village at O-Early-Thirty.  He made a bad judgment call.  He should have gone home sooner.  Night fishing or sports hunting is not a regular Vietnamese activity.

Our normal procedure, especially after the night siege in a free-fire zone, was to detain the suspect for questioning.  Our crew chief fired a couple of warning bursts of machine-gun fire in front of him to make him stop.  Anyone with common sense who was being fired on by a machine gun from a helicopter would hold up and think about it, at least for a little bit. 

Once detained, we would have a slick land to pick him up and return him to headquarters for interrogation.  This Vietnamese conflict had been going on since the early 50’s; he knew the drill.  Unfortunately, he took off running to the village where he would be absorbed into the population.  That was the last bad judgment call of his life.  My anxiety was peaking watching him trying to get away.  What was he thinking?  We received approval to take him out.  DRT (Dead Right There ... gallows humor is fundamental in combat.)  The crew chief terminated his retreat with a couple of bursts from his M-60 machine gun.

This extermination was routine for someone experienced in the Rat Pack gun team, but it was my first in participating in someone’s termination –  I will never forget the vision of his body bouncing and turning lifeless from 500’ above. If you saw the last scenes from the movie Bonnie and Clyde, it was much the same. 

It was more pronounced and graphic than the narrative from the pineapple fields addressed in my May chapter.  That story was completely different.  Someone a few feet away was an immediate threat and was trying to kill us; call it self-defense.  Approved by the command authority at the 25th Infantry Division, his death sentence was administered. 

I didn’t like it, but I don’t feel guilt.  There was no way of knowing how many US soldiers he tried killing the previous night in the siege of the firebase.  We were doing our job, as he was his; however, the remorse and visions from that day have never left me.  This incident severely augmented my desire for the mystique of being a gunship pilot.  Over the next few months, I participated in many other gunship missions as a fire team leader.  It was what I was trained to do, and I tried to do it well.  The grunts depended on us to keep them safe.  Fortunately, I did find a more enjoyable gunship mission and my favorite during my year of flying in the 187th AHC – more about that in later chapters.

When today’s joy-stick warriors encounter those shadowy images on their enhanced night vision radar screens, do the Apache pilots on scene or drone operators sitting in the air-conditioned control rooms at Creech AFB in Nevada get the same emotional exhaustion after they perform their duty?  Or, is it just another version of “Fortnite” or “Call of Duty” to them?

You Can’t Fix Stupid

As promised in the last month’s narrative, I will inject stories of the not-so-competent pilots who came to our unit. The stories are re-creations of events that happened after I obfuscate the names and dates. 

Incompetence at the flight controls once again met with disastrous consequences.  Two inexperienced helicopter pilots, Lieutenant Imma Dufas and newbie WO Willie Gohome were flying in the same aircraft.  I was not flying this day; my story is third-party but witnessed by many and talked about by everyone.  I verified my description with the Rat Pack team leader in charge that day.  The results of this catastrophe outraged many of us.

Every few weeks the 187th was assigned to work with the US Navy.  The Navy used gunboats (PBR’s – Patrol Boat River) on the main river channels to the coastline.  It was usually a fun mission because we got to eat really fresh food – eggs (not powdered,) potatoes (not frozen from a sack,) steak, (not water buffalo ) fruit (whole, not out of a can ) – all prepared in a Navy mess hall by great chefs (Ok, not Julia Childs or Emeril Lagasse)  – but, THE BEST!

The Rat Pack would work to supplement the Seawolves, the Navy’s helicopter compliment for their Riverine Force who patrolled the various rivers and streams in lower III Corps and IV Corps.  One or two slicks would also perform ash-n-trash missions for the Riverine unit.  One slick was assigned to pick up a Navy command team from their floating landing dock, a modified LCM (Landing Craft Mechanized)

Riverine Landing Pad with a guide on the deck. (ACT-111-9)

The flight deck is not much larger than the Huey’s skids.  Hovering for someone with limited helicopter flight time is hard enough.  Landing on a tiny floating pad requires more power and precision.  The helicopter will not have a stable flight cushion of air at a hover and there is no visual landing reference.  One has to follow the hand gestures of the landing guide onboard the dock as you can see from the picture.  Touchdown can be tricky at best and can be dangerous at the worst.  The worst is about to happen.

The senior ash-n-trash pilot, Lt. Dufas, a former fixed-wing aviator, has limited combat helicopter experience.  AC’s, including myself, who have flown with him report he over controls every normal maneuver.  His junior co-pilot, straight out of flight school, already has three times the senior pilot’s helicopter flight time. 

FYI: fixed-wing (airplane) experience has limited value at a hover.  I generally explain to those unfamiliar with helicopters vs. airplanes, the only similarities between flying airplanes and helicopters is what the ground looks like from 2000’.

The Peter-Pilot is usually an extremely junior ranking pilot (new Warrant Officer or 1st Lieutenant).  The PP’s are in their first few days of in-country orientation.  The intimidation factor of flying with someone new and the co-pilot’s lack of experience will make them ineffective advisors.

It was worse than the blind leading the blind when approaching the Riverine LSM (on this day it was ACT 111-9).  The boat captain (not a rank .. his rank was BP2) was acting as the landing guide. He was using high visibility paddles attempting to direct the slick’s approach and touchdown.  Watching the guide is important when negotiating the tiny landing area.  Not only does the helicopter perform differently over the water, but there are limited visual references for knowing where the skids are over the landing pad. Landing when your head is up your ass only adds to the nightmare.

After the Lt. Dufas staggered in with an imprecise approach, he was having extreme difficulty getting the landing gear on the floating undulating dock.  Losing his perspective, he started oscillating over and around the dock’s touchdown point.  At this time the landing guide is generally observed by looking through the helicopter’s chin bubble. In these tight quarters, the over controlled helicopter dance clipped the Ensign with the skids and knocked him into the river. 

He was wearing his combat helmet and combat gear including the M-16 strapped to his back.  Even with his Navy training, swimming with full combat attire is difficult.  Attempting to correct his mistake, the pilot left the landing dock and hovered over the river and the struggling crewman.  Apparently, his goal was to get low enough for the Ensign to grab onto the skid to be lifted out.  Heroic as this might seem to you, it is the first thing helicopter pilots learn not to do.  It is fundamental training in what not to do in over water operations. 

Even the smallest helicopter presents a significant rotor down wash that prevents swimming.  A loaded Huey over water can develop a down wash between 35-50 knots.  It will blow the swimmer down so hard, that they cannot tread water.  Even the strongest swimmers won’t be able to tread water for long before they run out of energy.

When the fire team capping the area saw what was happening, they made desperate radio calls for the slick to get away. 

There are four radio frequencies that are always on while flying.  FM, UHF, VHF, and the universal On-Guard emergency frequency.  Plus, there is the internal intercom and AM reception.  AM is for navigation though used more for en-route listening entertainment.  Each pilot and crew member has an audio control console allowing them to turn the sound off for any or all frequencies.  The cacophony when all radios are active at the same time can be confusing.  Lieutenant Dufas kept all of his audio switches turned off except for the frequency he was using to coordinate the Navy’s landing instructions.  The fire team leader made desperate calls on the gun team’s assigned frequency and emergency On-Guard frequency to no avail. 

In trying to confirm the sequence of events there is a minor conflict in the description from the pilots trying to get the slick pilot’s attention.  One crew reported that a mini-gun was fired in the river in front of the hovering helicopter.  Another said it was a gunner’s machine gun.  Regardless of the means of getting Lt Dufas’ attention, he finally moved away.  By that time, it was too late.  The Ensign had drowned.

I don’t remember if this command pilot ever flew in that capacity again without a competent co-pilot or AC.  Additionally, I am unaware that any disciplinary action was taken because he continued to fly in our unit.  In my opinion, this was an accident, but it was due primarily to incompetence and lack of training.

Play it Again, Sam (Len)

Towards the end of the month, there was an unexpected occurrence.  An extra R&R to Hong Kong became available to our unit.  We had too many new people assigned, making them ineligible to go.  Those who might want to take it were too close to going home (past their PCOD) or had just come back from R&R.  “Use it or lose it” is how the Army works.  It was my birthday month, so I elected to take it.  This departure would require extra time to get to the R&R center in Cam Rahn Bay which was up the coast, about 500 miles away. 

When I arrived at the center, I met John Lynch (RIP), a flight school friend assigned to the 1st CAV.  He and his wife Pat were also newlyweds when we were going through flight school.  As couples, we partied together after flight training.  John was on the way to Hawaii for his first R&R.  The return dates for each destination were the same day.  Time away from Vietnam was the Army’s only concern.  The R&R center had space available for me to return to Hawaii, so I changed my destination.  This change of destination looks good on paper, but this was a catastrophic mistake.

I called my wife from our 1st refueling stop at Guam and told her to catch the next flight to Honolulu.  When I arrived on Oahu the next day, I called my mother-in-law to get Sheila’s flight arrival information.  I did not talk to my mother-in-law.  I talked to my wife.  She was not coming!

What would go through any rational person's mind?  Here is a husband and wife, who have already flown to Hawaii, separated for months by 10,000 miles, and now she doesn’t want to be with her husband.  When you are jamming quarters into a pay telephone booth at the Anderson AFB terminal, it doesn’t give you much time during the refueling stop to think let alone have a cognizant conversation.  What conclusion would a normal person draw about what is transpiring?  

There were more hours flying to Hawaii to think about it and envision the worst.  The writing was on the wall.  Expensive long-distance phone calls from the hotel (they were not free back then) were having no effect.  Crying was next to useless.  I spent the next five days on a major road to alcoholism closing down a local piano bar nightly with Len, the Irish piano player, and crooner from Dublin.

Her only excuse:  she was afraid of flying.  That was a cop-out that made zero sense to me.  She had already been to Hawaii once with no complaints.  She had flown to NYC with her cousin as a young girl in a DC-7.  While I was in primary helicopter flight training she took a helicopter flight for the wives’ at Ft. Wolters.  She mentioned that it was a little scary when he demonstrated an unannounced autorotation, but there was no mention of anxiety.   Fear of flying?   BULLSHIT!

As a platoon leader, I dealt with similar emotional issues when counseling others from my platoon.  I use the term counseling loosely.  The Army doesn’t spend any time teaching young Lieutenants psychology.  “Suck it up Buttercup, if the Army wanted you to have a wife they would have issued you one.” 

Counseling with no training is often putting your arm around someone’s shoulder, handing him a beer, and letting him talk or cry it out.  Dear John letters were common in Vietnam.  Now, it was my turn with no beer or shoulder to cry on.

No matter what we say, I’ve stressed to my family that in life, everything we do sends a message.  How that message is interpreted is the issue.  It was clear to me:  the message Sheila was sending was that our marriage was over. 

This week-long series of events carved a gaping hole in my heart.  I was convinced Sheila’s Dear John letter or legal paperwork was soon to follow.  Combat and distance provide no way to solidify rocky marriage.  Vietnam was not a place to build relationships.

I didn’t believe in divorce, but I was afraid the paperwork was coming.  I grew up with that Midwestern Christian tradition that marriage is “for better or for worse.”  It was more than a slogan. Nine years of parochial schools did ingrain in me an unexplainable responsibility that was now in conflict and no means to correct the situation.

Fortunately, Sheila eventually found a train or cab to make the ocean trip and arrived in Hawaii at the last minute.  We had a day and a half or two before my return flight to Vietnam.  B U T, the emotional and psychological damage was fait accompli. 

I wanted to go back to Vietnam.

…………………………………

Though the last section was gut-wrenching for me to live through or write about, it happened.  I don’t believe in revisionist history.  Obviously, my wife and I figured this one out and most other life-building conflicts.  Like Lynn Anderson sang, “I beg your pardon, I never promised you a rose garden.”

Sheila was afraid of flying and is your classic “white-knuckle” passenger with her death grip on the armrests.  For years, her fear of flying was never mentioned … how could you tell your husband, a combat helicopter pilot, the paralyzing nature of her problem?

Living with me, there were a lot of Ups and Downs of a Helicopter Dad; however, July 1, 2023, will be our 56th anniversary.  So, for all my family and relatives who bet on how long this marriage would last—YOU LOST!

Truth be known, in the “for better or worse category,” Sheila definitely got the worst end of the vows—and, no escape clause. 

To the ladies that hung in there with your boyfriends and husbands, I am sure there is going to be a special place in Heaven for you.  I am not sure I would have had the moral courage or patience.

Though my birthday is in October (I’ve never had a memorable one,) it has never been my favorite month.  Novembers are even worse.

1968 Vietnam as an RLO (November 1968)©

And, A Day of Infamy

Joseph P Dougan

Published Jul 7, 2022

1968 Vietnam as an RLO©

(November 1968)

(Real Live Officer i.e., Commissioned Officer)

November is always a particularly difficult month for me.  I’ve published multiple accounts of what happened on Nov 27th, the day before Thanksgiving.  There are many new readers who didn’t see my original publications on my Facebook page, so I am going to consolidate two stories that I have rewritten for this subStack account.  Each story is intertwined about what happened in November 1968.  Just as last month’s was difficult to write, this story was not only difficult to rewrite, but its story has left me with a lifelong impact.

Except for Allison’s birth, my second daughter, I am not sure that anything good has ever happened in November.  November of 1968 set the stage.  I try not to live in the past, but every time I try to break out of the November blah’s, something happens to put me back in it.

 The first part of 1968 November wasn’t so bad.  I was busy in my flight transition and could put the October setbacks behind me.  November brought back a lot of fun and memories because there was a lot of flying with some of my old mentors from the flight platoons.  They had transitioned earlier to the Rat Pack and became fire team leaders.  Asa Vest (“if it will hover, it will fly,”) Hulaboy Ronnie Hopkins, and Jim Souders were all former slick platoon aircraft commanders and helped train me when I first arrived in Vietnam.  Dan Vogle, my old roommate, and I were also reunited as roommates

Though we were always in the same company and attended the same officer’s club, there is a unique esprit de corps within each platoon.  Associations center on platoon unity and a healthy “we are the best,” regardless of the platoon.  In a military company,  it is the best section, best pilots, best platoon.  Outside of the unit the best company or battalion, etc....  It is all healthy competition and camaraderie.  Now, my old group was training me again to become the best fire team leader in the best platoon in the best company. 😊  The learning tensions were gone, however; I was no longer a new guy.  I had earned my position and enjoyed the new freestyle flying of gunships.

Leading a flight of slicks requires more thought and mechanics than one would imagine.  Flying flight lead is more than being the first one in a formation.  When flying in helicopters two rotor disks or less apart, every turn, climb, or descent must be precise and expected.  A sudden adverse movement from the lead ship is magnified by each subsequent aircraft trying to hold its position within the formation.  By the time the last ship in the flight has a chance to adjust to the flight lead’s maneuver, the trail aircraft's control movements to maintain position can be severe.  Sudden movements by flight lead (or any other aircraft) can be hazardous on a final approach to an LZ. 

By the time I finished flying in the 1st platoon, four of the platoon aircraft commanders had been together since flight school.  We may not have known what the other guy was thinking, but we knew from hours of observation the nuances of their flight characteristics and what to expect.  One could always tell, without asking, whether it was their Peter-Pilot or AC on the controls.  We might not have been the Blue Angels, but our platoon flew as one unit.

Slicks Formation Flight Two Rotor Disks Apart

Though the Rat Pack gun teams flew formation, it was not two rotor disks apart like the slick platoon.  One always flew at a distance and off to the side to cover their partner.  This may not have been a Tom Cruise Top Gun high-speed coverage, but the concept of protection is the same. 

However, one Rat Pack mission didn’t require the precision of keeping a flight together or flying as a wingman.  This mission was single-ship and virtually unarmed.  It required coordinated flying skills to maneuver a helicopter at high speed a foot or two off the ground or on the treetops – SMOKEY!

SMOKEY was a gunship outfitted with an onboard 400-gallon oil and chemical-filled bladder.  This mixture would be pumped through a nozzle system surrounding the exhaust of the turbine engine.  A turbine engine's exhaust gas temperature (EGT) is between 550-650 degrees Celsius.  When the aspirated oil and chemical mixture is sprayed into the EGT outlet, it bursts into a billowy cloud of white smoke.

Smoke nozzle mounted on turbine exhaust

SMOKEY would fly in advance of a landing flight spewing a smoke cloud.  The helicopter was flying so low that the crew chief and gunner could not fire their free-floating machine guns.  The machine gunners were the only defense SMOKEY had.  Each M-60 machine gun was suspended from an elastic cord for support.  There are no mechanical stops on their weapons like the fixed-mounted machine guns on an H-model slick.  Fixed mechanical stops prevent the gunners from shooting parts of the aircraft.  Rat Pack gun crews were highly trained and needed the freedom of a loose machine gun to hang out (literally) by a safety harness to provide covering fire while the Charlie models rolled into their unprotected turns and climbed out. Often the crew would be outside of the aircraft standing on a skid to protect the rear.

I will try to illustrate what I mean when attempting to use a machine gun freehanded in a helicopter:  While reading this, hold your arms out horizontally at shoulder level; they represent the position and overhang of the rotor blades.  The free machine guns are mounted on your torso sides and pointing to the horizon under your outstretched arms.  If you are shooting in this position, your bullets are safely under the arc of the rotor blade (your arms).

With your arms still extended, tilt your torso down to your side 45 to 90 degrees.  Keep your torso-mounted weapon pointed to the horizon with your arms still extended.  Now, your rotor is directly in the line of the gunfire.  The machine gun’s firing cannot be synchronized with the turning rotor system.  The SMOKEY crew would be too likely to shoot holes in the blades or skids if firing during the helicopter’s high-speed acrobatic maneuvering only two feet above the ground.  They were not allowed to fire until the helicopter gained altitude and they could direct their firing down.

SMOKEY --  H-Model version

Laying a smokescreen not only denies the enemy an aiming opportunity, but was a distinct psychological advantage for the slick crews.  Most assault helicopter company smoke ships were modified H-model Huey’s.  There are more H-model slicks available in an aviation company than Charlie models.  An assault helicopter gun platoon only had eight C-model gunships assigned; there were eighteen H-model slicks.  Unfortunately, slicks are not suited to the acrobatic nature required for a successful smoke mission, especially performing high-speed turns.  For that matter, no Huey was certified acrobatic.

Aerobatic helicopters aren’t a concept that came until years after the Vietnam war.  Virtually every maneuver done on a smoke run was outside of the prescribed Huey flight envelope.  If these maneuvers were performed stateside, it would have been a court-martial offense.  So, what is the difference between an H-model and a C-model on a smoke run?

If you have ever driven a rear-wheel-drive car too fast on a curve, the rear end loses traction and starts skipping out (skidding), requiring a reduction in power, speed, and turn radius to maintain control.  That is similar to the feeling you get from an H-model highspeed turn. 

The Charlie model was designed for maneuverability.  When executing a high speed turn, by applying power, the feeling is similar to a front-wheel-drive car being pulled around the turn.  It is like being on the end of a rope tied to a pole.  This stress can produce excessive strains on the tail boom, which is only held in place by four bolts.  Post-flight inspections could reveal stress fractures, sheet metal wrinkles, or popped rivets on the tail boom.  These defects were not uncommon.  Flying a properly trimmed aircraft during the turns is critical to prevent damage which would keep SMOKEY from being mission ready. 

At the time I flew SMOKEY, the 187th had an off-the-books C-model in our inventory (total of nine.)  Our maintenance unit had rebuilt a Charlie model, which had previously been written off the official Army inventory due to combat damage.  It made an ideal smoke ship.

The smoke cloud lays best when applied as close to the ground as possible.  For a slick to fly low enough to let the cloud adhere to the ground, H-models would have to make their smoke run at a slower speed and had difficulty making the rapid tree-dodging moves.  This makes an extremely low pass almost impossible.  Laying the smoke too far above the ground allows it to dissipate, whereas applying smoke on the ground helps hold it in place longer.  Smoke placed too high doesn’t conceal and gets blown away by the landing flight’s rotor wash or surface winds.  To be effective, one has to be below the trees.  Smoking the treetops is a virtual waste of time and exposes the SMOKEY crew unnecessarily.  Flying at treetop height makes SMOKEY an arcade target.  The difference is, that those shooting at this moving target aren’t using weapons with bent sights like the carnival carnies hand you.

A slow-flying smoke ship is a kiss of death for any minimally armed aircraft regardless of where the smoke goes.  Knowing what will follow a smoke run, SMOKEY is the first aircraft an enemy tries to eliminate.

I loved the mission.  Smoke pilots were all voluntary and the mission was autonomous.  I didn’t have to worry about anyone behind me, nor did I have to cover someone in front of me.  The decisions and consequences were mine and mine alone.  This feeling of autonomy carried me forward into civilian life and drove me to seek out my own businesses where I was always the one in charge.

SMOKEY was my favorite mission more than any other flying mission from either of my two Vietnam tours.  Other SMOKEY mission stories will be highlighted in a later chapter illustrating some inherent dangers that didn’t involve the enemy. 

Life Has a Rude Awakening

I wasn’t flying SMOKEY on November 27th.  It was my final day as gun team PIC.  I was being checked out as a Rat Pack fireteam leader.  I started the day with Jim Souders (RIP).  He had to quit midday from a non-combat-related medical condition.  Ronnie Hopkins, another short-timer, took his place.  Both had less than thirty days in-country before they returned home.

I flew my longest one-day flight that day; I logged 15 hours and 45 minutes between two pilots and three different gunships.  The statistics about those killed and wounded made this the worst day in 187th history.

The worst day in Vietnam was a seminal day in my life.  It was the day before Thanksgiving.  Counting the infantry unit we were supporting, more than 30 were KIA and almost 60 WIA.  The mission was a disaster.  The Crusaders and 4th Battalion 9th Infantry from the 25th Infantry Division, aka The Manchu’s, had been lured into a well-designed and executed ambush. 

The initial insertion landed in the middle of a “crack” NVA anti-aircraft company.  Crack?  The 51 caliber anti-aircraft gunners were all women, and they decimated the 187th and their infantry passengers.  The female battalion concentrated severely accurate fire into the slicks and landing infantry platoons.  I don’t believe any of the multiple gunships received combat damage that day.  The NVA bunkers were well hidden and fortified.  They could barely be seen from the air.  Muzzle flashes were our only indication of where to place return fire. 

By the next morning, there were only three flyable helicopters in the 187th.  We took one to fly to the hospital in Saigon to check on the wounded and dying.

From that day forward, my life’s meaning changed.  Gone were my jovial disk jockey days stirring up conflicts between the girl’s dormitories at CMSU.  From this day forward, everything in life was serious.  From this day forward, humor was rare, and laughter was often forced.

WHAT HAPPENED?

The following story is from an article that I made available on Facebook in 2019.  2019 was the last year when the dates and Thanksgiving aligned with November 1968.

November 27, 1968, is my Day of Infamy©

By

Joseph P Dougan

Revised: 07/02/2022

The following is an extract from a statement that I wrote in 2003 with additional clarifying information from Tom Tesmar, flight lead; Ron Hopkins, aircraft commander/check pilot; and Jim Gaffney, Crusader Six, the company commander for the 187th Assault Helicopter Company and Air Mission Commander.

The picture is from the oil painting commissioned by Vietnam Magazine for their cover of the Dec-Jan 1996 edition.  The painting was done by aviation artist and former Huey crew chief Joe Kline.  It was produced to highlight Tom Pienta’s feature article “Trial by Fire.”  I purchased the original artwork from Joe and donated it to the Army Aviation Museum in 2015.  It is on display in Ft. Rucker, AL. [renamed Ft Novosel]

November 27, 1968, A Day of Infamy.

 It was the day before Thanksgiving in 1968.  On that day I flew 15 hours and 45 minutes.  I was being checked out as a new fire team leader for the Rat Pack, our gun platoon for the 187th Assault Helicopter Company based in Tay Ninh, Vietnam.  I was recently assigned as the assistant platoon leader (Rat Pack 5), but as most know, rank has no privilege in the air.  You have to earn your position.  In a gun platoon, the fireteam leader directs his team and helps direct the slick platoon flight into the LZ.  Most of our experienced fire team leaders were due to rotate back to the states in December; their yearlong tour was almost over.  I was being “expedited” to take over a fire team leader position.  I had been flying flight lead for many months, so understanding the concept of operations was not difficult.  It was about learning a different aircraft from a different perspective.

That day, as a fire team leader flying a C-model gunship, I flew out to meet the flight of nine troop-carrying slicks and lead them into the landing zone (LZ).  I was approximately half a mile in front of the flight with my crew streaming yellow smoke grenades.  The crew chief and gunner would toss the grenades to mark the flight’s touchdown position in the LZ.  After my crew tossed the markers, I made a hard break to the left to take up my racetrack position with the other two gunships of a heavy fire team.  We would provide suppressive fire during the flight’s landing and debarking.  The LZ was heavily prepped with artillery and six 500-pound high explosive bombs before I led the flight in.  Our timing was good.  I was less than a quarter-mile out on my approach when the last 8” artillery rounds impacted.  I received no hostile fire.  It appeared that this would be a cold insertion.

Rotating flying duties, I turned the aircraft over to my co-pilot / check-pilot, CW2 Jim Souders, to get prepared for our first rocket run. We carried thirty-eight rockets and no mini-guns, so all I could do was observe.   I had only been in the gun platoon for a few weeks and my attention was out my right door watching the flight --  in particular, the last grouping of aircraft.  It was the 1st platoon. 

I had been their section leader and then platoon leader for the last seven months.  After months of flying together, the 1st platoon aircraft commanders had grown close.  As a flight team, we prided ourselves on flying tight formations that moved as one.  Bob Trezona (RIP) was the aircraft commander on the trail ship.  I was watching him especially.  I loved flying with Bob.  He was an outstanding “pilot’s pilot.”  He was training a new lieutenant and section leader, Tom Pienta.  In formation flight, new pilots were generally placed to the rear of the formations to allow them to make mistakes and not jeopardize the company formation.  Bob’s aircraft was not as close to the formation as it should have been.  They were significantly behind the company’s formation which put them in an extremely vulnerable position – they were a sitting duck.  I remember thinking “tuck it up, Bob.” They were a distant last.

While the flight was on short final, all hell broke loose.  The LZ lit up hot with semi-automatic, machine guns, and anti-aircraft fire.  SMOKEY was not available that day and enemy visibility was not impaired. The radios erupted from formation pilots announcing, “receiving fire!” It was a shooting gallery with incoming enemy fire from all directions.  As Souders was ready to nose over and start his rocket run, Trezona was still on short final to a hot LZ and approximately 100 feet off the ground   The lead helicopter, Tom Tesmar, had already dropped his load and was departing. 

From my vantage point, I saw a slowly staggering helicopter in descent.  In the next second, it exploded into a huge orange ball of flames encasing the troop-loaded helicopter.  “Trail” was hit in the fuel cell by an RPG (rocket-propelled grenade).  The aircraft was completely engulfed in flames and started falling out of the sky.

As reported later from unclassified after-action reports, we had landed in the middle of a meticulously planned ambush from North Vietnamese Army (NVA) Regulars.

A common adage, but religiously adhered to by the 187th  is “nobody is left behind.”  Someone had to extract the wounded.  This rescue took on a greater and immediate obligation because some of the casualties were our own.

CWO Ron Timberlake, Bob Trezona’s roommate, received permission from Maj Gaffney to attempt a recovery.  Landing under withering enemy fire, Ron picked up the remaining crew and a couple of wounded infantry.  They were now the sole focus of the enemy fire.  The crew chief, James Brady, was killed immediately from the initial explosion.  Timberlake, my friend since flight school,  was shot down on the recovery take-off but landed in a field far enough away from the enemy action for others to land and complete their safe extraction.

Ron received the Silver Star for his heroism.  Trezona and Pienta’s day was over; my day and the rest of the crew’s had just begun. 

By mid-afternoon, CW2 Souders had to return to base for non-combat related medical reasons and was replaced by CW2 Ron Hopkins, also a “short-timer”.  For maintenance reasons only, we would go through two more gunships before we called it a day.  Flying in three aircraft, we never took an enemy hit.

For the rest of the day, we continued to provide covering fire for additional troop reinforcement landings and suppressive fire for the troops already on the ground.  Each insertion or wounded extraction was “hot.”  Late in the evening, one of our ships was loaded with thirty parachute flares to provide night illumination for the reinforcing ground troops.  The flares were stacked horizontally across the cargo floorboard.  The cargo area is directly above the helicopter’s fuel cell.  Due to combat injuries, the 187th was short crews, and the most experienced flare ship pilot, Tom Tesmar, was flying flight lead that day.  Allen Duneman, Tesmar’s roommate and best friend, would be the flare ship aircraft commander.  His co-pilot, Lt. August Ritzau, a new platoon section leader, returned to fly after being treated for shrapnel wounds to his hand received during the initial insertion. 

In a combat situation, though everyone says they would not want to be involved when the emergency bell rang, it was usually a dog fight to see who got to fly.  This day may have changed that desire forever.  The enlisted crew who volunteered to fly and dispense the flares had limited to no flare training and most were not flight crews.  This was the worst time for OJT (On the Job Training.)

After refueling and rearming, I departed Tay Ninh and heard a desperation call from Duneman dropping flares over the LZ.  A flare had gone off on his stack.  Each flare illuminates with the intensity of two million candle power.  Flares are magnesium-based and generate their own oxygen; they cannot be extinguished once lit.  The light intensity is so great that it is physically impossible to see anything.  This includes the flight instruments.  An ignited flare in the helicopter would be like trying to fly through the sun

From 15 kilometers away, I could see their glow falling like a huge shooting star against a coal-black sky.

Diving to the ground, Allen was screaming over the radio for help.  Duneman needed audible flight direction, altitude, airspeed or anything that could be of help. He was making his emergency descent before the flares burned through to his fuel cell

Finally, I heard Allen call out, “Someone give me my altitude!”

There was nothing anyone could do.  Diving at 145 knots from 3500 feet, it was over in a matter of seconds.

Someone, I believe it was Peter Davis, a 2nd platoon AC,  yelled over the radio “400 feet! .. pull up .. PULL UP!” 

They impacted at a 45 degree angle killing all on board. 

The radio silence afterward was surreal.  Finally someone uttered, “Fuck this shit!” and all radios remained eerily dead.  Everyone was in a state of shock.  Life as we knew it was sucked out of us that day.

A few minutes later, the lifeless radio silence was broken by Hawk Six, the 1st Aviation Brigade commander.  The general had flown up from Long Binh when told of what had been happening with the Manchu’s and 187th.  Breaking protocol,  Hawk Six called our flight lead directly,  “Crusader lead, take them home; you are done for tonight.”

Of the two key players that day, Tesmar had just seen his roommate killed; Timberlake saw his roommate burned beyond recognition.  Everyone was ready to go home … all the way home.

At midnight, the beginning of Thanksgiving, Crusader Six, Major Jim Gaffney, called me while we were in our revetments shutting down.  He had been directing the company flight operations all day.  Though I can’t remember the exact words, it was something like this, “Those were the worst 16 hours in my life.”  I acknowledged with, “And 15:45 for me.” 

I had gone through three aircraft and two co-pilots.  Virtually every ship in the unit was damaged or flown beyond its maintenance limits.  Six crew members were killed; more than twenty were wounded.  Our company commander lost the combat effectiveness of his aviation company.  There were only three aircraft certified flyable for the next day, not to mention the lack of crew availability.  The 187th Crusaders did not fly missions for three days.  Worse yet, the modification work order (MWO) giving instructions on how to affix a container of flares to the outside of a helicopter was still unread in the maintenance office inbox.  This quick release modification would have allowed the jettison of all flares.

The infantry unit we inserted was decimated.  According to the unclassified After Action report, they sustained 27 KIA and almost 60 wounded.  The fire teams flew all day providing cover for our own aircraft who were making additional infantry insertions and medical extractions as unarmed Medevacs were not allowed to land in a hot LZ.

“No one left behind” -- someone had to do it.

On Thanksgiving Day, the company commander, Ron Timberlake, Tom Tesmar, the platoon sergeants, and I flew one of the remaining helicopters to the evacuation hospital in Saigon. We went to check on the two burned pilots, gunner, and various wounded.  [Maj Gaffney to this day does not remember the trip, and he flew the helicopter]  By the time we got there, the post-burn edema for the three had already started.  The swelling was so severe that their throats were closing and they were on respirators.  It was grotesque.

Bob, who was always thin as a rail was swollen to three times his normal size.  He looked like a Black Diamond watermelon at harvest.  Both pilots had 3rd-degree burns over 50% of their bodies and would suffer greatly over the ensuing months and years.    Neither was expected to live.  Both did survive; however, each was tremendously scarred both physically and emotionally.

Their story can be found listed as a link at the end of my narrative, “Trial By Fire,” by Tom Pienta.  His story was the feature article and cover story in the December 1996 issue of Vietnam Magazine. 

Everybody that I knew in Vietnam, some that I loved as my brothers, and many that I had personally trained were either wounded or killed that day.  Though I flew all day long and covered virtually every insertion, extraction, and medical recovery, my aircraft was never hit by hostile fire. The NVA were so fortified, that the gun teams never saw them. 

To be completely incapable of assisting while watching friends and troops die is one of the most helpless, frustrating, and anger-inducing feelings that one can experience. It might have been easier to deal with had the enemy been focused on the gun teams as they usually did.  Their intent that day was to execute mayhem on the ground troops and landing helicopters.  It was as if the gun team was never there. 

After fifty-four years, I still deal with this memory daily.  There were many more combat events during my two Vietnam tours of duty and almost 2000 combat hours of flying.  But, no other event compares to what transpired on Thanksgiving 1968.

A person is never really gone until no one remembers them anymore; I will never forget.

Below are some supporting links and a book giving other people’s perspectives from this day.  Everyone remembers things differently, especially in crisis situations. No one is lying; it is a matter of perspective and maybe what they want to remember or the way they wanted it to be.

At a reunion in 1997, three of us from the gun team were sitting around a table with my wife as an innocent bystander.  To my wife, what was discussed at that table sounded like three different stories from three different events leaving us all thinking, “Was I even there?”.

Jim Gaffney, Crusader 6

http://www.187thahc.net/Stories/blackwednesday.htm

John Broome, my crew chief that day

http://www.187thahc.net/Stories/thanksgiving1968.htm

Shannon Tilton (son of a Manchu) third party account

http://www.187thahc.net/Stories/Manchu_thanks_68.htm

Tom Tesmar, flight lead, his book  on the day and follow up

Crusader 23, I’d Rather Be Lucky Than Good” at www.blurb.com

Tom Pienta, co-pilot

http://www.187thahc.net/stories/trialbyfirestory.htm

1968 Vietnam as an RLO© (December 1968)

Published August 10, 2022

Joseph P Dougan

1968 Vietnam as an RLO©

(December 1968)

(Real Live Officer i.e., Commissioned Officer)

Air Mission Commander

Major Gaffney was promoted to Company Commander of the 187th AHC after Major Folta crashed in late August.  The CO and XO (Executive Officer) represented two-thirds of the AMC mission crew.  Each would fly one day, and a substitute AMC would be pulled from either the Operations staff or from the Rat Pack.  Once Major Gaffney was promoted from his Executive Officer position to Company Commander, he was assigned a new Major to take over the number two company position as his XO.   His new XO had been a former Caribou cargo airplane pilot with no helicopter experience. 

The Caribou was reassigned to the Air Force and the Major was sent to a helicopter transition course at Ft. Rucker, AL.  This transition program was between 25-50 flying hours.  In my opinion, that is just enough time to make anyone certifiably dangerous.  As stated in an earlier chapter, the only similarity between a fixed-wing aircraft and a helicopter is what the ground looks like from 2000 feet.

Remember, to make aircraft commander, one needed 300 hours of in-country flight time.  This is in addition to the 210 hours that a normal helicopter pilot received from nine months of flight school training -- though normal and helicopter pilot seem to be mutually exclusive terms. 😊 But, as they say, even fighter pilots need someone to look up to.  😊  Additionally, the new XO was totally unfamiliar with assault helicopter company operations.    It would take a long time to prepare this transitioning helicopter pilot for AMC duties.

The C&C aircraft had six radio frequencies and two intercom systems operating simultaneously.  The AMC must listen continuously and sort through the cacophony to know what was going on – infantry on the ground, artillery barrages including the direction for the various GT (Gun Target Lines,) FAC (Forward Air Controller – Air Force,) 187th unit flight activities, etc.. 

These six radios and intercoms operating at the same time can be taxing and uniquely stressful for many pilots.  It is best to keep all radios active at the same time, but many AMC pilots would turn their audio switches off and concentrate on only the frequency needed at the time. 

I easily adapted to listening to all the channels simultaneously.  Prior to joining the Army, I had spent a couple of years as the dispatcher for WDAF-TV in Kansas City.  This was a time before there were radio frequency scanners.  Our engineering staff installed separate radio receivers and speakers on a central panel surrounding my dispatch desk. The news was broadcast from the newsroom, so I was on TV every night – but my screen time was usually of the back of my head 😊 – a face for radio 😊 I would listen for newsworthy activities from the surrounding community police, fire, and emergency services.  If I heard something significant, I would dispatch a news or camera crew to the event location and coordinate any further activity.  On either side of my console were the two primary news writers, Jim Lovelace and Jerry Hansen [after almost 60 years, I hope I remembered their names correctly.] They tried to teach me the basics of unbiased news writing – now, a lost art.

There were approximately twenty-five different receivers in use at any one time.  All were especially active during peak drive times.  Each major surrounding community, e.g., Independence, Overland Park, Kansas City Kansas, had police, fire, and ambulance services.  After months of listening at the dispatch console, my ears became attuned.  I didn’t have to be confined to the desk; I could get up and walk around the room while selectively listening.  I knew which receiver was calling by the sound of their operator’s voice, volume level, or unique background noise.  Having to monitor only six radios in a helicopter was a piece of cake.

Due to our XO’s inexperience, Maj Gaffney started tapping me to fly Air Mission Commander/C&C more often.  By December, I had flown and led in every major position within a combat helicopter company, and though “tact” has never been my friend, I got along well with most senior infantry officers, the battalion commanders.  C&C missions made for long boring days, but flying AMC kept the XO behind his desk.  AMC is not OJT friendly as illustrated in a previous chapter.

Initially, flying C&C was three-day rotation.  On days I wasn’t AMC, I spent flying in the Rat Pack.  Given my preference, I flew SMOKEY.  I liked the autonomy of cruising the sky (goofing off), flying formation off the fixed-wing Forward Air Controller, or jokingly darting in front of the FAC to “smoke” his cockpit. 😊

Celebrating a good day of flying, our flight of ten frequently made a high overhead formation approach to the airfield circling the 187th compound.  I’d be the last aircraft in the formation.  Reenacting every World War II movie that we grew up with, one-by-one, from an echelon formation, each helicopter made its timing break-off to make their sweeping 360-degree turn descending to a trail formation down Tay Ninh’s runway.  During my break, I’d drop pitch and corkscrew straight down making a curlicue while trailing smoke. I would be the first one on the ground laying a smoke trail down the runway for them to fly through.

Not Everyone Had My Luck

Our battalion had a requirement to use the smoke ship on most missions if one was available.  Availability was always an issue due to the smoke ship's excessive flying stresses and susceptibility to combat damage.

Combat damage is self-explanatory.  Mechanical could be anything from chin-bubbles being broken out by clipping an unforgiving and unseen bamboo shoot or blade strikes while trying to dodge trees. 

The smoke mission was “Cowboy” all the way.  Pilots who flew it were generally doing it for the thrill of high-speed flying inches off the ground.  By definition, the mission was inherently dangerous.  It was the only mission that, by battalion SOP, could be denied by the SMOKEY AC.  I know of no crew that rejected any SMOKEY mission regardless of enemy activity.

There were multiple AC’s that were smoke ship trained, but I was one of the few that preferred flying SMOKEY and almost made it my exclusive assignment.  I was convinced (and still am) that the only way to fly the mission properly, i.e., safely, required someone dedicated to the mission rather than occasional thrill-seekers.  I flew SMOKEY routinely from late October through mid-March.  During that time, I never broke a chin-bubble, had a blade strike, stretched a tail boom, and more importantly, never took a hit from enemy fire.  However, it seemed like every time I didn’t fly SMOKEY, the smokeship sustained major damage or total loss. 

ANOTHER R&R?

Early in December, I received an official invitation from the Commander of the USS Ranger to visit during Christmas week.  My brother was part of the Ranger’s permanent crew, the Blue Water Navy.  Major Gaffney approved my absence.  It was a fantastic visit and an actual reintroduction to my brother (RIP) who joined the Navy when he was 17.  He was almost twelve years older than me. 

We were in a holding pattern during the combat recovery of their flight.

The Ship Captain sent an invitation to all the blood relatives of the ship’s crew who were stationed in Vietnam.  Thirteen came, but I was the only officer.  I was offered accommodations in the officer’s billets,  but I requested to stay with my brother in the Chief Petty Officer’s (CPO) quarters (senior ranking enlisted personnel).  Bunks stacked on bunks wasn’t exactly the Waldorf-Astoria, but it was a good decision.  Each morning and afternoon a different CPO would take me on a tour of their area of responsibility.  From the forecastle to the fantail, it takes a lot of planning to keep a floating city and airport running smoothly.  The enormity of the ship was overwhelming.

My brother illustrated the size of one chain link of one of the multiple anchors

My brother instructed nuclear weapons at the defense school in Albuquerque for seven years and was the CPO in charge of the Ranger’s nuclear weapons section, W-Division.  The last I checked, we hadn’t used any nukes since 1945, so all I got to see of his section was the Marine guarding their entrance, coffee pots, cribbage boards, poker chips, and closet of feather dusters 😊 

Hi-Yo, Silver!  The Ranger’s mascot is secured near the fantail

On Christmas, the Navy mess served whole turkeys all day. These were not the hot turkey loaves that would be served by the Army.  The Ranger chefs served for 23 hours, and I ate multiple turkey dinners that day. 

Alcohol is forbidden on US Navy ships, so wine was not served with dinner.  Any liquid celebrations had to be confined to the Chief’s quarters where my brother lived for his three years of sea duty.  Hopefully, I am not exposing an unwritten CPO super double-secret secret, because there were two floor-to-ceiling double-wide wall lockers housing a better liquor stock than a Del Frisco’s bar. 😊

BACK TO REALITY

When I returned to the Crusaders on December 27th, I was due to fly SMOKEY the next day.  The evening before, Rat Pack pilot Roger Howell came to my room and wanted to know if he could fly SMOKEY instead of me.  I was getting close to the end of my Vietnam tour and had less than ninety days left.  Under 100 day was nervously known as the double-digit-fidgets.  I didn’t have short-timers fear, but an extra day of not flying didn’t bother me either, so I let him take the mission. 

SMOKEY was shot down on the 28th and rolled into a ball.  Roger and the gunner survived.  The Peter-Pilot, WO1 Gerald Markland, and the crew chief, SP4 Stephen C Ponty, Jr., were killed.

I stated in an earlier chapter that I don’t remember having any abnormal fears from being in combat; however, I need to amend that statement.

Each evening there was one gun team assigned to be on emergency standby.  Preflight procedures were done, and the startup procedure was completed up to the point of pulling the engine start trigger.  The crews would spend their night either on the aircraft or on the cots in the standby hootch adjacent to the flight line.  Having returned from a mini vacation in the Gulf of Tonkin, I volunteered to be the fire team leader on New Year’s Eve allowing others to celebrate.

Normally, these standby evenings were uneventful.  NYE started that way until the stroke of midnight,

Tay Ninh was a large base camp.  If memory serves me correctly, the firebase was surrounded by approximately sixty large sandbag bunkers.  There were machine guns every third or fourth bunker, though the 187th bunkers would have multiple machine guns at each of our bunkers.  They were the crew-served weapons taken from our aircraft.  It would not be the ideal place to try and breach the perimeter. The rest of the bunker line had AR-16’s, small arms, and a few shoulder-fired recoilless rockets, etc.  Of special note was the Filipino engineering battalion protecting the northeast corner of Tay Ninh.  All their bunkers were concrete reinforced.  Each bunker had a minimum of one 50-caliber machine gun and an unlimited supply of San Miguel, a great Filipino beer.  Tay Ninh was at the end of the supply chain only a few klicks from the Cambodian border.  We were lucky to get Carling Black Label or Schlitz in rusted cans.

At midnight the bunker line exploded with an unauthorized July 4th display encircling our base camp as weapons from each bunker were pointed skyward and discharged continuously.  What goes up must come down.  To my knowledge, no one was injured that night but hearing the spent ordinance plinking on the tin roofs and PSP (perforated steel planking) used for flight lines and runways was more than a little disturbing.  It’s a matter of perspective.  A 50-caliber tracer round from the gunner’s position looks like a bright orange July 4th bottle rocket going up.  Looking from the top down, a 50-caliber tracer round looks like an orange 55-gallon oil drum coming up.  I know; I’ve seen both.  ☹  Consequently, there is no appreciation of fireworks at my house.  Some things you just don’t get over….

November and December provided a depressing end to a long, eventful, and life-changing year taking me from a happy-go-lucky, what-me-worry aviation student to a crusty old man and seasoned combat veteran. 

81-days and a wakeup … what else could go right, or wrong?

1968 Vietnam as an RLO (January 1969)©

Chapter Eleven (January 69) published 08/25/2022

Joseph P Dougan

1968 Vietnam as an RLO©

(Real Live Officer i.e., Commissioned Officer)

January was an almost uneventful month.  Everyone was preparing for what was expected to be another TET of 68.  It didn’t happen.  I spent my time either at altitude flying C&C or skids down low-flying SMOKEY.

I Guess I Wasn’t a Good Roommate

I said earlier that I never received a hit from enemy fire while flying SMOKEY.  That does not mean I never received any “combat-related” damage.

One of my characteristic flight patterns when laying smoke was “hooking” the flight in front of the LZ formation.  The Rat Pack would provide suppressive fire down one side of the landing flight, and I would smoke the opposite.  I’d make a high-speed ninety-degree turn at the end if there were room.  Doing so required giving the gun team advanced notice to stop the suppressive fire until I cleared the area.  “SMOKEY, BREAKING RIGHT!” 

Jim Ray, my old roommate, had just pulled his gunship to a nose-high attitude to kill off his airspeed before starting his power-dive towards the target. A nose-high attitude positions the windshield directly looking toward the sky.  This temporarily hides the pilot’s view of the ground surrounding the LZ.  Nosing the gunship back over would start the dive beginning their rocket run suppression.  

Jim did not hear my breaking right radio call. 

I was flying in the left seat trailing smoke a few feet off the ground and started executing my hooking turn. As I made my clearing call, I looked out the copilot's window and saw Jim nose his gunship over and launch a pair of 2.75” rockets.  This is not going to end well.

I immediately pulled in all available power and started a radical cyclic climb – converting airspeed for an immediate gain in altitude.  The missiles travel faster (3200 FPS) than a rifle bullet but are large (4’ long) and ominously visible.  The last visual on those rockets looked like they would be coming through my right cargo door. 

They exploded directly below SMOKEY.  Surprisingly, there was no shrapnel damage.  However, the concussions were strong enough to crack the protective glass on six engine gauges. 

Jim denied any culpability because he said he wouldn't have missed if he were trying to kill me.  😊  He tried to convince everyone that he thought the instrument damage was from the sound of my butt-hole slamming shut. 😊

Still best friends after 50+ years ... John Wilson, Jim Ray, Me

Alexander the Great Was In His Twenties Too

Flying as AMC does not generally put one in a situation for achieving any special awards.  It is routine to orbit at high altitudes assisting the infantry battalion commanders in supporting their troops on the ground.  Surprisingly, flying AMC put me in a position to receive one of the nicer implied compliments for my tour of duty.

Commanding a battalion in combat is a major step on the Army promotions ladder.  Since Korea, there had been no combat operation. All the Vietnam Lt Colonels were scrambling to get a battalion combat assignment.  The airmobile operation was a concept too new to be taught at the Command and General Staff College, which was required schooling for anyone to be promoted to full colonel or higher.

Consequently, each new battalion commander was effectively OJT (on-the-job training) for their first few weeks.  Though their staff flew with them to advise, they took their initial direction from the AMC.  Most new commanders assumed they were being flown by the aviation company commander, a Major, or at least another Field Grade Officer (Major or higher.)  Though pilots wore our rank on our uniform collars, our collars turned up to protect our necks in case of fire. [see the November chapter] Plus, insignias or any other identifiers were covered by our armor plate chest protector and flak-vests while flying.

No reference to rank when flying.  It is covered by flight gear.

[FYI: I had just turned 22 so I was a little “fuzzy” then too.]

Battalion commanders usually rotated out every five to six months and training of a new LTC began.  In January, I landed at a firebase and met a new colonel on his first day in charge of his battalion operation.  After getting in and familiarizing himself with the helicopter and communication gear, he showed me his map and the objectives for the day. 

I took him to the objective to let him see it from the air and what he needed to look for in picking the correct LZs, future PZs, and general geography.  Invariably, the infantry commanders usually took the AMC’s advice.

Often the Bn Cmdr’s instructions to me were to do what I thought best.  After a week or two, the OJT LTCs would get the hang of it and oversee the operation with little discussion from the AMC. 

This new colonel was the first inexperienced Black Lieutenant Colonel I had worked with; all others had various levels of experience.  Due to shortages in our staff, I got to fly with him a lot in January. 

Handsome and affable, he was a fun person to work for, and he looked like he had just stepped off an Army recruiting poster.  I thought he would make General one day.  I could have a bias because many of my compliments for him were that he allowed me to do virtually anything I thought necessary to complete the mission successfully.

After a week or two of adjusting to his new command role, his infantry battalion discovered a large tunnel complex and cache of supplies that would have to be evaluated before moving to another LZ.  There was no reason to bore holes all day during the inventory.  Consequently, he invited my crew and me back to his firebase for lunch and coffee.  No pilot ever turned down hot chow over canned C-rations for lunch.

After landing at the firebase, he got out and waited a few feet away soaking up the last cool breeze from our forty-eight-foot fan.  We were doing our two-minute engine cool down before pulling the plug.  When I got out, my back was to him as I took off my flak jacket and chicken plate.  I turned my collar down and put on my 1st Lieutenant baseball cap.  I turned and started walking to his waiting entourage. 

As I got closer, his entire demeanor changed.  I swear, he was turning white.

In a loud booming voice highlighted with laughter, he said,

 “A LIEUTENANT!  YOU are a LIEUTENANT?  I’VE BEEN LETTING A LIEUTENANT RUN MY BATTALION FOR THE PAST COUPLE OF WEEKS?” 

Everyone had a good laugh at that comment.  I laughed because it was funny.  His entourage laughed because they had to.  😊  😊 😊

He looked much more relieved by the end of the month.  I was promoted to Captain on the 26th and was sporting my new Captain’s bars.

……………..

As a personal note, when I was pinned with my first set of Captain’s bars, they were my dad’s from the Korean War. Though a Combat Engineer, he got his Air Medal as a volunteer photographer on B-17s in WWII.  He never once mentioned it or his volunteer missions. The family did not know until we uncovered his citations after his funeral.  It explained why he only watched the first three minutes of The Memphis Belle with me before asking to turn it off. Still, aviation was in our blood.

1968 Vietnam as an RLO (February 69)©

Published September 8, 2022

Joseph P Dougan

1968 Vietnam as an RLO (February 69)©

(Real Live Officer i.e., Commissioned Officer)

Friendly Fire Can Kill You Too

February was packed full of items that should have contributed to getting a major case of the double-digit fidgets.  My second combat-related narrow escape directly resulted from a C&C screw-up. 

Potentially hot LZ’s were usually prepped extensively with artillery and, often, Air Force support.  The arty battery would pound the LZ with 10-30 minutes of shelling.  The Air Force would follow up with additional sorties of bombs to take out the well-fortified deeper targets. 

Flight leads would try to time their landings close to the “last rounds out” or “last bombs away” call from the AMC.  We needed to land while the enemy’s heads were still down and ears ringing.  The closer they could time it, the safer the landing flight would be.  This precision required SMOKEY to be even closer to the last rounds to provide protective concealment. 

Not everyone who flew as AMC was good.  Sometimes they were flying AMC because they were unsuitable for flight or fire team leaders.  Consequently, there was a lot of “playing it by ear” within the various platoons – remember from a previous story where flight lead, John Wilson, hovered a flight of ten helicopters at 3000’ 😊 to avoid making another 360-degree formation flight turn. They had already made too many that day from AMC mismanagement.

One day C&C was making it particularly difficult for everyone.  It had been a goat-fxck all day long.  Timings were off, coordination was non-existent, and the flights were orbiting excessively.  We were attempting an insertion in the Iron Triangle area south-southeast of Dau Tieng, a notoriously hostile area near the Michelin Rubber Plantations.  The LZ was adjacent to a riverbed on the Saigon River.

 After the artillery and bombing, the Rat Pack would suppress on one side of the river; I would provide smoke down the tree line just off the bank on the opposite side.  The flight route down the river was obvious.  Approaching helicopters would be seen for miles away.

 As if the artillery wasn’t a dead giveaway, the multiple attempts to land, only to be called off by C&C to re-orbit made this lift more than ominous.  Timing would be critical.  I elected to make my tree-top approach to the LZ at a 45-degree angle to minimize my exposure time and minimize my engine and rotor noise.  An extended flight down the riverbed and getting shot at from both banks was not a risk I was willing to take. 

My tree-top approach to the LZ allowed me to see the Air Force F-100 salvo his load as I got the call “last bombs out.”  When I saw the explosions, I nosed over to pick up additional airspeed to start my smoke run.  Diving down below the trees and lower than the riverbank, I started my turn down the river.  As I started my run, I got the panicked “ABORT!  ABORT!” call from C&C. 

I looked out the door and saw another jet release two 250 lbs. bombs.

Initially, the bombs fall away from the wings nose first as the fighter makes his break away from the explosion.  Once again, I grabbed every bit of climb power available.  Midway down, I watched the bomb’s spoilers deploy.  The spoiler slows their descent which makes them seem to dance delicately in slow motion.  Cue in the Nutcracker Suite.

Yet the bombs are still streaming hundreds of miles an hour towards my 90-knot escape.  This adrenalin-induced s  l  o  w   m  o  t  i  o  n  vision is one I have replayed a million times for the past 50+ years. 

At the hour and thirty-eight-minute point in the movie We Were Soldiers, they show a fighter dropping his two pickles of Napalm.  Napalm bombs are what they term “area weapons.” Their damage is expected to be widespread.  This movie’s CGI is what my bombs looked like falling away from the wings and were headed directly towards me.

Aerodynamic spoilers used on high explosive bombs dance their way to provide accurate pinpoint targeting.  The spoiler’s slow descent allows the fighter time to turn away, kick in their afterburners, and avoid shrapnel damage from the explosions. 

From my perspective, in those split seconds after the bombs dropped, it looked like they were slowly waving at me on the way down.  “Bye-Bye, nice knowing ya.”  I didn’t have time to wave back.  I was too busy pulling the guts out of the jet engine for every bit of horsepower I could find.

Rather than exploding below me like Jim Ray’s rockets from last month’s chapter, the bombs went off in front of my climb out.  There were no broken engine gauges this time.  The bombs exploded on the riverbank throwing up a huge dark cloud of mud and water.  I couldn’t avoid it and flew through the middle of the muck.  This mess completely covered the windshield with a thick coating of mud.  It is still a mystery why the debris didn’t clog the engine inlet filter and cause an engine failure.  I ended up flying sideways to the Dian firebase POL to shut down and assess the damage.

Needless to say, I was pissed, especially at the individual flying as AMC.  En route to the airfield, Blackjack 6, the General commanding the aviation brigade had been in the area to monitor our operation.  He made a call to our C&C that he wanted an immediate status report on the crew and aircraft when we were safely on the ground. 

After landing and inspecting, I became more upset when we found no aircraft damage.  The crew chief was pissed when he could not find anything wrong that a good dousing with a water hose couldn’t fix.  Frustrated, he took his screwdriver and pounded a few holes down the tail boom, so we’d have battle damage to report to the General.

Training and God’s Help Can Keep You Alive

Flying helicopters is inherently dangerous, and it doesn’t take bullets to make life interesting.  Flying C&C is the safest mission in an assault helicopter company.  It is point-A to point-B flying, usually at 2500’ or higher, flying hundreds of circles in a day guiding the infantry commander and staff around their area of operation (AO).  A large and heavy console of radios is mounted in the C&C aircraft to support the communication required for the infantry unit.  To have room for the passengers, the console (ASC-10) is mounted forward of the center balance point on the Huey helicopter.  This makes the helicopter nose-heavy.   Flying with my enlisted flight crew, the infantry entourage, and the heavy radio console, the C&C helicopter is usually operating at its maximum cargo capacity and is more sluggish in its control responses.  This is especially true immediately after taking on a full load of fuel with a heavy cargo. 

“If will hover, it will fly.”  It just takes a little more finesse.

ASC-10 console minus the additional heavy radios

However, if the engine quits, the helicopter no longer hovers and quits flying very quickly.  Most helicopters can safely land by autorotation, given the appropriate amount of airspeed and time (height above the ground).  There is enough inertia stored in the free-turning blades to make one controlled pitch-pull (power) at the bottom of the free-fall to slow the aircraft to a safe landing or at least a controlled crash.  We were taught autorotation procedures daily at flight school.  But the ideal conditions of terminating on a concrete runway are seldom encountered.

Early one morning after a successful initial operation, the flight and I landed at Tay Ninh POL (Petroleum, Oil, Lubricants) to refuel.  I had the full infantry contingent onboard which included their military paraphernalia, the Bn Cmdr, Company Cmdr, Operations Officer, Forward Observer (artillery), and senior enlisted man.  We were operating at the limits of the gross weight capacity for a UH-H. 

My UH-1H was an upgraded version of a UH-1D.  The new engine had more shaft horsepower than the D-model to increase its cargo-carrying capacity.  The issue is, when you cease lifting because an engine quits,  the Huey falls like a homesick rock.  It is now merely an overloaded UH-1D.  This makes the final pitch pull at the bottom of an autorotation critical.  There is NO second chance.

After topping off with JP-4, I picked the aircraft up to a hover and eased it forward to initiate my take-off, a maneuver I had done a thousand times before.  Slowly we picked up speed and started our climb-out then turned for a crosswind departure.  I was about 200-300 feet above the ground in a left turn when the engine quit.  Turbines don’t sputter and quit like an automobile.  The loud high-pitched whirring of the turbine blades spinning becomes deathly silent.  The pilot can almost hear their heart beating.

Adrenaline is a fantastic hormone, especially when you get a massive dose instantaneously.  We were over a grove of trees at the end of the runway.  There was nothing in front of us but trees.  The only open field was behind us, requiring a 135-degree or more turn to our right.  Crashing into the trees is never an option. 

Emergency reaction time is critical and was stressed by one of my flight school instructors.  Successful recoveries from an emergency must be managed as a conditioned reflex.  Conscious thinking cannot be part of the process.  There is no time to read the emergency procedures from the operator’s manual.

The Huey’s engine operates at 6600 RPM.  As soon as mine quit, the autorotation procedure was instantaneous.   I bottomed my pitch (collective control) to save the rotor RPM for the final deceleration pitch pull.  The dual gauge tachometer splits as the failed engine RPM is declining and the rotor RPM starts to overspeed; the wind flow during the helicopter’s descent is forcibly turning the blades.  Remember those pin-wheel toys that we use to get at the circus or fairs?  Rotors turning during an autorotation is the same effect you saw as you ran or waved the toy blades through the air.

I started my steep turn towards the only available open area.  This automatically started an intense cross-check of my instruments plus getting out the MAYDAY call.  My emergency call was automatic but not necessary.  The entire flight, gun team, and control tower operators were watching in disbelief.  Jim Ray told me later while watching me sink below the tree line that he didn’t think my outcome would be favorable and was waiting to see the billowing cloud of black smoke.

To add further angst to this event, in the middle of my turn my crew chief, Dave “Doc” Brown, called out, “… we’re going down in flames.” 

This was not exactly what I needed to hear at this point in my life, especially with 1400 lbs. of jet fuel on board.  [He did tell me later that that is not what he said, but he can write his own documentary.  That is what I remember.]  😊

In ultra-stop-action-slow-motion, my first cross-scan of the engine gauges the tachometer read 6200 RPM as it was spinning down.  Due to the excess aircraft weight, my rotor RPM was climbing, which needed to be controlled.  Still looking for a touchdown point, a few extra RPM at the bottom would not go to waste.

The next scan was 6000 RPM, but my turn was not complete.  The ground was coming up fast – one more MAYDAY.

I was not able to complete my turn but had to line up properly for a straight-in landing.  The skids must align with the direction of travel at touchdown.  If there is any forward movement against the side of a skid on a landing, especially in the dirt, you risk flipping the aircraft over.  This has a tendency to ruin your whole day.

At 5600 RPM, I had to start my deceleration while in the middle of the turn to kill off all forward airspeed.  I continued my speed deceleration flare in the turn.  I lined up the skids at the last possible second and executed my deceleration pitch pull. 

We touched down in an open field away from the trees with no forward airspeed, a dead stick landing -- just like we were taught in flight school.  I looked at my gauges one last time – 4800 RPM as the engine was still spooling down. 

Remember, the last thing I heard was going down in flames.  I wasn’t waiting around.  I killed the battery switch and started reaching for the emergency door release.  As I was reaching for the emergency door release handle which would drop the door to the ground, my crew opened my door and slid my protective armor plate back like it was another day at the office. 

For you helicopter technophobes, the reported fire was the sparks created when the stator vanes on the engine’s compressor stages came apart and were being ejected through the exhaust stack.  Fire to me must have looked like the 4th of July to the guys still in POL refueling.

Later that morning, the helicopter was lifted onto a flatbed truck, driven a few hundred yards back to Crusader maintenance, and refitted with a new engine.  There was zero damage to the helicopter.  C&C was back mission ready that afternoon. 

The only complaint I got that day was from Dave, because I left him in the middle of “No Man’s Land” with his aircraft, though he could probably see his hootch from the top of the Huey.  A recovery truck with security from Tay Ninh’s main gate arrived almost before the slow turning blades had stopped. 

I had to go change my underwear 😊

A few days later, I got an AttaBoy letter (commendation letter) from our 269th Aviation Battalion Commander.  According to the BC, mine was the first autorotation in battalion history with zero damage to the aircraft.  An FM whip antenna on the tail boom usually flexes and is cut off by the tail rotor on a hard landing creating reportable damage.  Mine was intact.

 “He stated in the writeup that I saved the lives of….”  Bla Bla Bla.  I folded the letter in half and wrote on the back, “…saved their lives, hell!  They were just along for the ride” and sent it to my wife.  😊

Though this all might seem melodramatic, what happened defies all logic.  At the back of the UH-1 operators manual is a series of graphs and charts defining aircraft performance at various heights, airspeeds, etc.  These charts highlight the “dead man’s zone.” If something happens when you are flying through that red arc, the chances of a successful landing are improbable.

Whether I was at 200’ or 300’, my maneuver, according to the charts, was impossible, regardless of my airspeed.  Once again, there was another case of Divine Intervention.  Pilot skills had nothing to do with it; it was obvious to me that Someone was holding on to that Jesus Nut.  I spent the entire year in Vietnam with the philosophy that if the bullet had your name on it, God wrote it.  I haven’t changed my mind.

Brotherly Love

As if almost getting blown out of the sky or losing an engine under impossible conditions wasn’t enough excitement for the shortest month, one evening there was a knock at my door.  When I opened it, there stood my brother Jerry grinning like the Cheshire Cat. 

“What the fxxk are you doing here?  Have you lost your fxxking mind!” 

I don’t know how, but he managed to talk his ship’s Captain into reciprocating my Christmas visit, so he came to see me before I returned to the States.  Keep this in mind; he was no ordinary sailor on holiday.  Jerry was a senior chief petty officer and one of those responsible for the USS Ranger’s nuclear weapons section.  He had also been a nuclear weapons instructor for seven years at the Defense nuclear weapons training school in New Mexico.  He held virtually every top-level security clearance one could obtain and would have been a prime captive for the communists. 

It didn’t take Jerry long to realize that this primitive life compared to cruising on an air-conditioned aircraft carrier was not desirable.  If he did have any second thoughts about continuing his new familial adventure, they were changed almost immediately. 

The Filipino engineers had recently completed a rocket-proof bunker for the 187th AHC officer’s area.  As bunkers go, it was an amazing structure with six-foot thick dirt-filled walls and a triple-layer rocket-shielded roof.  Tay Ninh deservedly earned its moniker of “Impact Area West.” The officer’s quarters had already received two direct hits since my arrival.  Our security was paramount, and this new bunker could hold all of us if necessary.  Of course, getting all in would take better early warning notifications.  I am sure the new bunker would have survived a direct hit.  It almost got a chance to prove my estimate.  The bunker was centered a few feet outside of our four hootches. 

We moved a bed and mattress for Jerry into this secure area.  I required my brother to sleep in the bunker.  That night, or the next [old age memory farts], the largest enemy rocket ever fired in III Corps (240 mm) made a solo direct hit on our aviation fire truck.  The foam spraying truck was parked about fifty yards from my hootch.  The bunker was directly between the two. 

The explosion obliterated the vehicle and rendered it unrecognizable.  What was left of it was a mass of twisted red metal.  What wasn’t left at the impact site was shrapnel embedded in the surrounding sleeping quarters and the virtual destruction of our tech-supply warehouse.

Aviation Fire Truck after 240mm rocket direct hit

Shrapnel from the rocket and fire truck impaled anything within the blast radius.  A large chunk of the firetruck was buried in the wall of my old barracks.  Fortunately, no one was seriously injured.  

Shrapnel into officer’s scheduling board

The real damage was not the firetruck or the tech-supply building.  The major damage: it destroyed almost two pallets of our first good beer (not Ballantine) stored next to the officer’s club.  😊  Tay Ninh was at the end of the supply line.  It would take weeks to get it replaced.  This was a catastrophe.  😊

Tech Supply collateral damage from the concussion.

Getting Jerry back on the first ash and trash ship away from Tay Ninh and back to the USS Ranger didn't take any convincing.  We could try this reunion thing again back in the States -- if I should live that long. 😊  February wasn’t over yet and there were still three weeks of March to go. 

My war wasn’t over yet.

1968 Vietnam as an RLO (March 1969)©

Published Sep 22, 2022

Joseph P Dougan

(Real Live Officer i.e., Commissioned Officer)

Short timer:

Even when short on pilots, we tried to hold down the flying times or dangerous mission assignments for those crews during their last thirty days.  We tried to limit their combat exposure and assign them to ash and trash missions if they had to fly.  When someone went home with a tan from our unit, it was because they got to sit out in the sun for a few weeks before they left.  There wasn’t much sunbathing in flight gloves, helmets, and sleeves rolled down while flying ten-hour days for eleven months.

FLY’n the Bunker with Dave Smith (RIP) during his last 30 days.

I wasn’t afforded that luxury though I only had three weeks left.  The Crusaders had a new company commander with limited experience running an assault helicopter company.  There was increased pressure to have the operations officer, 2nd platoon leader, and myself rotating AMC duties.  C&C was a relatively safe flying assignment except for unexpected transmission or engine failures.  😊 I didn’t have much choice.  It was going to take time until the new CO was comfortable.

I missed out on two Attaboy awards that month.  One I knew about at the time, and one I didn’t. 

We had started working with the ARVN (Army Republic of Vietnam) Marine Red-Caps on a routine basis.  This brigade was one of the South Vietnamese premier combat units.  The Crusaders were assigned to them and would be responsible for moving the entire brigade (900 + men) to a new location.  With the distance involved, it would be an agonizing day ferrying troops.  Their brigade commander, a General, coordinated this massive move from my aircraft.

We were in a perpetual orbit between the PZ and secure LZ.  I was more than bored.  I noticed a couple of Chinooks dropping off their external loads near our pickup zone and returning empty.  I got on the radio to see what their mission was and if they could help.  One Chinook could jam more of the tinier ARVN’s onboard than our flight of ten slicks could carry.  Multiple Chinooks would make this an easy day.  The Chinook drivers agreed to load the ARVN’s as they were making their empty backhauls.  Our arduous all-day mission was completed before noon.

I didn’t think much of it, but the General’s staff called to get my personal details a couple of days later.  The General had submitted my information for a prestigious Vietnamese award [I don’t remember exactly what it was.] It would have been a pretty, but meaningless, feather in my cap, but I hadn’t done anything special other than making a couple of radio calls.  Rather than get an award for something so insignificant, I contacted the General’s aide to see if he would amend his order to a recognition given to all who participated.  He happily agreed.  I should have kept my mouth shut.

By the time our 269th Battalion Commander heard about it, he wanted to be included as an award recipient though he was never involved with the operation.  He wasn’t even flying that day.  This pissed off the ARVN General.  Eventually, the whole Attaboy fiasco was dropped due to the politics involved.

Blackouts are Common for Veterans

The second event happened on Mar 9th.  The following is from information provided to me by my C&C crew chief, Dave Brown, as I had no recollection until he prompted my memory.

We had dropped off the infantry commander and staff when a call came out on a universal emergency radio frequency.  A Huey Cobra gunship was shot down.  The call came from the fire team’s wingman.  They had expended their ammunition, keeping the enemy away from the downed crew hiding somewhere in the vicinity of the downed helicopter.  The enemy was coming out of the tree line searching for the crew.  The wingman had resorted to making faux gun runs.  The downed crew would be killed or captured if a rescue didn't come soon.

I expedited our trip to the announced area and communicated with the Cobra crew still making low-level passes over the enemy-held tree line.  Obviously, this was going to be a hot LZ.  Getting in and out quickly was paramount. 

A long slow approach over open rice paddies would have ensured our getting shot up.  I spotted the downed aircraft and elected to make a radical high overhead approach.  Rather than long and slow, this approach started directly above the downed bird.  Mine would be a considerably more severe maneuver than anything taught in flight school.  Without going through the aviation mechanics of the process, in lay terms, it is a controlled, high-speed, power-on free-fall, while making extremely tight 360-degree turns.  Exposure time is minimized, and the free-fall makes it a difficult target to hit.

The Cobra made more passes as I made my approach.  Armed with only our crew’s M-60 machine guns, we hovered around looking for the crew.  The two were hiding in a bomb crater and only had their 38 caliber revolvers for protection.  When they finally made it to our helicopter we made a high-speed low-level departure.  No one was injured.

I left Vietnam a couple of weeks later and didn’t know that I had been written up for a Distinguished Flying Cross (DFC).  Thirty-four years later I got a call from Dave … he’s also the one who declared we were “going down in flames” after our engine failure I recorded in my story from last month.  Dave wanted to know if I got my DFC.  He had just received his award for the Air Medal w/V (Valor).  Department of the Army had lost the original paperwork and Dave had copies of the original paperwork and resubmitted it.

However, I didn’t know what he was talking about.  I had NO recollection of the rescue event.  Dave recited the details, but that still did not ring a bell.  It wasn’t until he described the high overhead approach that memories resurfaced. 

I was in a blackout fog.  I am sure if we had been shot down this story would have been on the forefront, but no one remembers everything that happens to them.  The trivial is easily forgotten or blacked out.  This was another ordinary day of flight in recorded memory for many helicopter crews.  After logging over 1200 hours that year, what might have seemed heroic to some was just another day at the office to most of us. 

Dave left Vietnam and went to flight school.  He retired after twenty years as an Army helicopter pilot.  He said, to this day, the most scared he’s ever been in a helicopter was on my high-overhead approach to the downed crew.  He doesn’t like Six Flags either. 😊

Dave resubmitted his AM/V paperwork again to the DA and to my congressional representative, Sam Johnson, to recognize our crew.  Congressman Johnson was a six-and-a-half-year POW in the Hanoi Hilton.  With nothing but Dave’s thirty-year-old paperwork, DA issued AM/V’s to the entire crew.    

Congressman Johnson had a February routine where he would go to the various elementary schools in his district and collect handmade Valentine cards from children.  He would pass them out on Valentine’s Day to the patients at the North Texas VA Health Care facilities.  His aide was going to have the presentation in front of one of the classes.  However, when the superintendent heard about the presentation, they made a big deal out of it. 

Sam presented me with my AM/V at an Allen, TX  grade school ceremony with 900 mini-people sitting on the gymnasium floor, from various grade schools in the ISD. It was elementary school kids singing patriotic songs, but there were also quite a few local dignitaries and many of my friends present too.  The story made all the local news services and on one or more national TV stations.

Congressman Johnson and the school district entourage

OK, so I am a little too proud  😊

I eventually got my Distinguished Flying Cross, but that was during my second tour flying Chinooks.  And again, it was for another mission during Lam Son 719 that I have no memories of performing.  😊 How does a Chinook Driver get a DFC anyhow?  😊  Another story for another time 😊

Short-Timer (really short)

Shortly after the rescue event, I was due to fly C&C again.  I had less than two weeks to go.  Dr. Jim Soileau (RIP) was our flight surgeon and wanted to know why I was still flying.  He didn’t accept my answer and said that my Vietnam flying days were over.  Daily, he medically grounded me to keep me out of the air.  A doctor’s medical grounding is a restriction that can be overturned, but no commander in their right mind would consider it in a non-critical situation.  I did not complain.

Dr. Soileau missed one day’s flight restriction, however.  My last flight from Tay Ninh to the replacement center in Saigon was on our ash and trash bird.  A PIC (pilot in command) was flying the courier helicopter.  His co-pilot was a newbie getting their in-country orientation.  RHIP (rank has its privilege) for a no-nonsense Captain (a distinct change from that diddly-bopping 1st Lieutenant from a year ago) who has an intimidating way with words.  I ordered the newbie to give me his helmet and get in the back.  Though all were perplexed, no one argued with me.

I flew my last fifty miles in Vietnam nap-of-the-earth (very low level) from Tay Ninh to Saigon.

Will this war ever end?

One last exhilarating flight under the departing aircraft at Tân Son Nhút AFB and we land at the repo-depot for out-processing.  I arrived in the early morning and don’t remember anything about what I did that day.  I am assuming it was spent sleeping off the horrendous hangover from the night before. 😊

I got my manifest assignment for a departure from Biên Hóa AFB at 10:00 PM.  This would require an unarmed bus ride through the various hamlets after dark – not my idea of fun.  This became more anxiety-ridden as Biên Hóa came under siege that night from a perimeter attack accompanied by rockets and mortars.

Tân Son Nhút to Biên Hóa

Fortunately, the bus ride was uneventful, but this was not going to be a routine Vietnam exit.  Once we got to the airfield I could see multiple teams of Cobra gunships working out on the far perimeter.  Rather than stage us inside the terminal we were ordered to wait outside near the bunkers.  No flights were allowed to land.  Being outside allowed us to watch our transport aircraft with the newbie replacements aboard circle overhead waiting for a break in the fighting below.  Our 10:00 PM departure was going to be on an extended delay. 

We all waited -- and waited -- and waited as our anxiety continued to build.

Finally, around 2:30 AM, there was a break in the attacks.  Normally, arriving flights would land and offload the new troops.  The cabin crews would clean up for the departing passengers while the plane was refueled.  That would not be the procedure this morning.

We were told that as soon as the last new arrival deplaned we would start an expeditious boarding.  Excuse the mess, they would clean and refuel the aircraft at Clark AFB in the Philippines.  The plane was getting low on fuel reserves and if this landing at Biên Hóa could not be made, we’d have to wait for another day.

We watched as three gun teams of Cobras laid down suppressive fire while the airplane was on short final.  As soon as the pilot pulled onto the apron, he shut down the two engines on the debarking side and left the other two engines engaged.  The doors were opened and the traumatized FNG’s (Fxxking New Guys) scurried across the tarmac apprehensive about what the next twelve months had in store for them.  It didn’t take any prompting to get our stampede of returning veterans moving to board.

No one cared about RHIP seating.  Colonels to privates were grabbing the first available seat and strapping in.  The doors closed and the two engines restarted as we headed to the taxiway.  Anyone who has ever flown commercial flights has experienced that slow-walk-taxi to the end of the runway.  When the pilots get to the end of that 180-degree turn to the active, the pilot lines up for takeoff and goes through that final takeoff checklist. Checklist complete, the engines start to whine as they are spooling up.  Once they develop their calibrated takeoff power, the pilot releases the brakes for that slow-rolling takeoff building speed down a long runway.  Towards the end of the concrete, the nose of the aircraft eases up for an extended smooth climb out – Not Today.

The plane was a fully loaded stretch DC-8.  Considering that it wasn’t refueled, it was substantially lighter than normal.  The taxi to the end of the runway was not normal either.  Rather than a slow walk, I’d estimate that at times the plane was doing 60-70 mph before he braked and started the turn onto the active runway.  The requisite stop, checklist, spool the engines up, etc. was also abandoned.  Jet engines don’t develop their power instantaneously like you experience when one floorboards the car’s accelerator.  There is a significant response delay.

As the stretch-8 got to the turnaround, the engines were already spooling up to full power.  About a quarter of the way into the turn they were starting to roar as I’d never heard from a commercial aircraft.  By the time the pilots were three-quarters of the way through the turn to the active runway, you could feel and hear the wheels skipping sideways in the turn while the excess thrust was applied.  When I didn’t think the engine squeal could get any louder, they gave it more thrust, and we were racing down the runway roaring like a Don Garlits dragster. 

We were airborne before we were halfway down the runway.  Once the wheels were stowed, the pilots cocked the aircraft skyward.  It felt like being in a zero-gravity chair at full recline.  We were going up like a rocket.  I am not sure how high we were before we crossed the departure end of the runway, but I can guarantee that we were out of 50-caliber anti-aircraft range.  And yes, everyone let out a huge cheer.

This portion of my war is over, but I am not home yet.  I’ll wrap things up in an Afterward in a few weeks with some vignettes of some of the key players during my year of service.

And for Covering My Six:

Thank You, Asa.  Thank You, Bob.  Thank You, John.  Thank You, Kirk.  Thank You, Larry.  Thank You, Ron.  – Too Many More Friends To Mention – And, though I might not have been your ideal choice, Thank You Jim Gaffney for trusting in me and giving me this incredible opportunity.  Most importantly, I thank All of the Crusader flight crews and support staff for defining my life and giving me a direction. 

This was the most rewarding year of my life – one that can never be duplicated, but one I’d do again with you 100 times over.

1968-69 Vietnam as an RLO ©

Tying the Bow, a Wrap Up

Joseph P Dougan

Oct 12, 2022

1968 Vietnam as an RLO©

(Real Live Officer i.e., Commissioned Officer)

Tying the Bow:

I am not sure how to wrap this series up, because I have many more stories about which I could write.  I did not want to omit anything, but some of the stories, people, or my philosophy were not worthy of a separate chapter.  I have included them in this summation. Some readers had asked for more pictures so I decided to experiment with SubStack and added a couple of YouTube videos and songs to highlight various sections. The video at the end is a 30-minute tour around the 187th and some low-level flying footage. Super-8 was all we had at the time. The film came in twenty-five-foot cassette reels and was expensive to develop. There is no sound and the flying pictures are bouncy. Doubling the film speed would have cut down on the bounce but would have made the reproductions cost-prohibitive for the time.

I watched “We Were Soldiers, Once and Young” for the umpteenth time while collecting my thoughts.  The movie is authentic despite the director’s liberties, especially with the depiction of the aircraft implementations.  I also read WWS a couple of times.  Thanks to my friend John Wilson, I have a personalized copy from Joe Galloway.  It is the only book that has made me openly cry while reading.  The personal loss of lives so young is still hard to accept.

Additionally, I recently finished reading the autobiography of Ulysses S. Grant.  To read about what happened in the Civil War and the sacrifices that everyone had to make (on both North and South sides) makes my Vietnam tour look like a walk in the park.  I am not sure I would have had the grit that it took to fight and withstand the horrors of the Civil War. 

The devotion that Grant’s men had for him was inspiring.  He highlighted some of his men in his closing chapter.  He also included comments about a few people he did not favor.  Writing this series has been difficult for me.  I have promoted the good people as best as I could.  I avoided naming negative people who had no clue what they were doing.  I have read novels and historical analysis books, but I had not seen any that tried to represent the day-in, day-out activities, our stories behind the story.  I wanted to give the wives, families, and historians a different picture to consider.

This inspiration came about due to a family reunion when I returned from my first Vietnam tour.  One day it seemed like everyone came by – aunts, uncles, cousins, godparents, etc. to verify I still had ten fingers and toes.  Of course, everyone said they wanted to hear of my exploits.  After a few healthy bourbons, with the addition of my liquid courage, I detailed a couple of my events.  It didn’t take me long after watching their jaws hit the floor to realize they did not want to know that side of my experiences -- TMI.  They were being thoughtful.  I was being truthful. 

Don’t ask me something if you don’t want to know my answer!  Still, it wasn’t a fair trade.  So, I bottled up my war stories and never talked about them again, at least to civilians.  Consequently, the RLO series has little to do with the horrors of war but are vignettes of the “day in the life of” a commissioned officer in an assault helicopter company. 

Commissioned officers are seldom celebrated, and I acknowledge that I was not everyone’s favorite RLO.  I was not there to win a popularity contest, but it would have been nice if I did.  Unfortunately, I am not a U.S. Grant.  As honest as I have tried to be, I have been criticized by a few.   After reading about an event where they too were a participant, some didn’t remember it the way I depicted it.  The events covered did happen and were corroborated.  However, I may have changed the dates or timing due to my literary license or plain old-age memory issues.

It is important to know that everyone who went to Vietnam was representing their country.   Whether draftee or volunteer, a clerk typist in Saigon or a LRRP sniper (Long Range Reconnaissance Patrol), they signed a blank check “up to and including their life,” for you.

My opinion of what I thought of a few people is not important.  I can assure you that the people included in my stories have been instrumental in my life, though they likely do not hold the same high opinion of me as I do of them. 

Good, bad, or indifferent, many of these people are still alive, and just as important, so are their families and descendants.  Dad/grandpa/uncle is a Vietnam hero to them.  He shall always remain that way.

U.S. Grant pointed out problem officers.  I will not do that.  I will make an accounting for some of the men I have cited in the past chapters.  My list is not all-inclusive.  I am sure I will leave out someone important in my development; I apologize to those that might feel slighted.

Exclusions:

I did not write many personal stories about the enlisted men in my unit.  Except for my 1st Platoon Crew Chief, Scotty (who still doesn’t remember me from Adam) and Doc Brown, I was aloof to the enlisted men in my unit.  I only knew a few personally; it was by design.

I delegated the EM supervision to their platoon sergeants.  I might have been naive initially, but I have never been stupid.  The things that might have been [were] going on in the enlisted men’s barracks (or on their roofs) 😊 would have put me in a position of having to “follow the rules.”  I’ve never believed in fraternization and made no effort to be one of the guys.

I have never tried any illegal substance, especially the weakened marijuana that was available in 1968.  I have never approved of it in any form and still don’t.  At the time, I did not consider MJ a safety threat. 

Marijuana, by the book, was a Court Martial offense.  It is now considered a gateway drug; I agree.  Unfortunately, by my 2nd Vietnam tour in 1970-71, weed was being laced with 95% pure heroin.  That is a gate you don’t want to go through.  I would leave the EM supervision up to their peers though I maintained a watchful eye. 

As previously demonstrated, my unabashed lack of tact does not play well in a structured environment.  I testified at a Court Martial against my company commander in 1971.  He had conducted an illegal search and seizure of marijuana from one of my EM platoon members, an air traffic controller.  Though the marijuana found in the unlocked footlocker was surely his, the method for discovering it was a greater violation of rights.  However, not backing your boss never goes over well in any top-down management setting.  Between my lack of tact and not taking one for the team captain, my long-term Army career would effectively be over.  I have never believed in the principle of “go along to get along.” 

Boys to Men:

Keep in mind these men/boys were as young as eighteen graduating from flight school.  I have tried to find pictures from that time illustrating who these “trained killers” were and the leaders they became; most are pillars in their communities. 

You can recognize these men today by their beer bellies, grey hair or none, beards, and moustaches.  You can see them walking through Costco or Walmart, proudly wearing their Vietnam Veteran hat.  They frequently can be seen walking with a gimp, a cane, or occasionally are wheelchair-bound.  The less fortunate are shuttled by their wives who have selflessly catered to the veteran’s war-induced infirmities for decades.  Often the veteran can be seen staring off into the distance oblivious to the people around them.  It is as if they do not know anyone else is around, or they are remembering those who are no longer with us.

I didn’t write this series to become famous or rich; my stories are free to anyone with an interest.  I wrote my series to celebrate those who made me who I am.  Each chapter was written to stand alone, but my story is best understood when read from the beginning.  I wrote the series to show another side of the kid warrior that is often misunderstood by their families and friends.

They called this the Helicopter War.   There are over 58,000 names on The Wall.  Over 4900 are helicopter flight crews.  More than 8% -- this is one of the highest percentage casualty rates by specialty. 

You will read where I cite PTSD often.  Why is it that Vietnam veterans and PTSD are so closely tied?  PTSD symptoms have been documented since Homer’s Illiad.  I found a couple of statistics that make it glaringly obvious why the Vietnam veteran might be more prone to the effects of PTSD. 

Fact: The average infantry soldier in the South Pacific during World War II saw about 40 days of combat in four years.  The average infantry soldier in Vietnam saw about 240 days of combat in one year thanks to the mobility of the helicopter. 

Of the 8000 officers and warrant officers killed in the war, more than 28% (2200) were helicopter pilots.  That day-in and day-out combat stress will take its psychological toll. 

I love the people that I served with and wrote my series to thank all of them.  They have been a lifetime inspiration to me and need to be recognized.

Kirk Nivens:

What can I say?  This kid taught me how to fly 2’ off the ground at 115 miles per hour.  More importantly, he inadvertently made my career.  

After narrowly avoiding incarceration in the Long Biên Jail, 😊  Kirk matriculated to the Citadel and became a professional engineer.  He was a professional consultant to twenty-five municipalities for water and wastewater management.  Kirk holds four patents for wastewater treatment, building materials, and flow measurement devices.

Asa Vest:

Asa (RIP) is the tall one.  He did more to improve my pilot technique and confidence than anyone aside from my flight instructor, CWO Perry C Hopkins, the most decorated aviator in the US Army, 1968. 

Asa was a farmer/rancher in Kentucky and worked for the state as a workforce rehabilitation counselor for the disabled.  I guess I was partly responsible for inspiring his career.  😊 

On his right is Bob Icard, a crew chief in the 187th AHC.  He lives locally (DFW) and was a Project and Programming Manager for many years with EDS.  He said he wasn’t an executive, but we all know H.Ross Perot would have never made it without him.  😊 Bob lives a few miles from me, and we have become friends though I am pretty sure I was not his favorite RLO in Vietnam. 😊 He has that “go fxxk yourself stare” that is hard to forget.  😊

John Wilson:

Johnnie T Wilson (on the left), and I grew up in KCMO though we did not know each other at the time.  He went to Northeast, and I went to Ruskin High School.  We went through Ft. Rucker flight school and Vietnam together.  He went on to excel in criminal forensic analysis and was the chief chemist for the KCMO Police Department Regional Crime Lab.  He spends his retirement making fools of prosecutors as an expert trial witness.  John is also the flight lead who stood a flight of ten helicopters at a 3000’ hover until the AMC could get his shit in order.

In the center is Dan Vogle, my roommate (twice,) and was the officer that outranked me by twenty-four hours.  Dan owned and operated a heavy construction company in Idaho.

Dewey McCollum (RIP), aka Lightning, is to his left – a great guy – highlighted by the fact that his mother used to send him the most incredible tasting pound cakes for which I would still kill.  😊  I do not know how she kept them so moist after a week in the Army mail, but it would be an embarrassment to even think of washing her cakes down with any liquid.  The cake bites dissolved on your tongue.

Ron Timberlake:

Ron Timberlake (RIP) was the youngest guy in the 1st platoon.  He graduated from my flight school class after reaching the minimum age.  In 1968 he was appointed our Voting Officer responsible for soliciting and collecting the absentee ballots because he was too young to vote.  A close friend, he was awarded two Silver Stars during two tours in Vietnam.  He took a direct commission and retired from the Army as a Major before entering civilian life.

BTW, what do you do with old unserviceable rotor blades?  We made a metal trampoline out of one of ours which is why Ron appears suspended in mid-air.  The rest we built up on sandbag mounts and used as sidewalks during the monsoon season. 

Another adrenalin junkie, Ron was killed in a T-bone motorcycle accident when a lady ran a stop sign.

On his left is Eric Mercer, one of my original training ACs and the last person I flew with during my two Vietnam tours where our aircraft (Olé Magnet Ass) was damaged by hostile fire.  He spent his career as an airline pilot and professional motorcycle racer.

Bob Trezona:

Bob (RIP) was one of the purist pilots with whom I have ever flown.  When I flew, I strapped into the helicopter.  When Bob flew, he strapped the helicopter on; the aircraft became a part of him.  One of my favorite stories about Bob was in the first few days of his arrival. 

While stateside, refueling, etc. was conducted with all the safety protocols applied.  The engine was off, the ground wire hooked, and no one was in the helicopter while the trained refueler topped it off. 

In a combat environment, the engine stayed running, and everyone stayed in the aircraft while the crew chief or gunner refueled the hot-turning helicopter.  This meant you could go for many hours without getting out of the pilot’s seat.  Those continuous flight hours equated to full bladders.  Bob finally had to lighten his load.  

There are no porta-potties in the middle of a combat zone.  Get out, do your thing, and get back in.  Bob did, and being the modest guy that he was, stood next to the tail with his waist under the tail boom behind the engine exhaust.  No one had bothered to tell him about the burbling wind effect under the boom with the engine running and blades turning.  Being that his waist was under the boom, he was not watching what was going on.  When finished, he turned to get back in and found out that both legs of his uniform were completely saturated like he had been standing in front of a firehose – lesson learned.  😊  We laughed about that for years, mainly because I would never let him forget it.  😊

It was Bob and the crew that took the RPG to the fuel cell on November 27th and went down in a ball of flames.  With third-degree burns over more than 50% of his body, he eventually had sixty-three reconstructive surgeries.  He technically died during the last surgery and had to be resuscitated.  He later told me that was when he decided he would remain u-g-l-y for the rest of his life.  I have a story that I will revise and publish in November about the first time we met during one of his early reconstructive recovery periods.  I promise it is a tear-jerker.

Bob became a hunting guide in Montana and a nationally sought-after saddle maker, Bitterroot Saddle Co. in Hamilton, MT.  We became very close in his final years, and he gave me the script, his personal story, of all that happened on November 27, 1968.

Platoon ACs:

Dave Smith (RIP) top of the bunker was a senior AC when I arrived in Vietnam.  L-R -- Larry Lagasse and Ron Timberlake were my flight school members at Ft. Rucker, AL.  Larry was the “Steady Eddie” of the platoon.  He was an outstanding pilot and mentor and was our platoon standards pilot.  He received his baptism by fire on his first day as aircraft commander when his helicopter was shot down in the LZ.

Dick Parthemeuller (RIP) was next to Ron.  He was transferred to the 187th AHC to help fill our severe shortage of experienced pilots.  Finally, on the right, is “Rail,” Jim Ray one of my oldest friends and still the funniest man alive.

Jim worked for the State of Arkansas as Supervisor and Social Security Claims Adjudicator.

Jerry Dougan:

Jerry (RIP) was the brother that I almost never knew.  He was nearly twelve years my senior and left for a career in the Navy when I was eight.  I had virtually no contact with him until 1968 when I went to visit him on the USS Ranger.  In February of 1969 he came to visit me.  On his first night in Vietnam a 240mm rocket made a direct hit on our aviation firetruck. 

Jerry retired and eventually became the night manager at the Del Coronado Hotel in San Diego.  He had a stroke on the stairwell of the hotel but was not found until it was too late to administer the TPA (Tissue Plasminogen Activator) clot buster IV.  This forced him into permanent disability retirement.  

Later in his life, he had a heart attack and multiple strokes.  He was denied VA benefits because he was classified as “Blue Water Navy,” i.e., he was never in a combat zone and was not eligible for benefits.  Heart attacks and strokes are a direct by-product of Agent Orange.  III-Corps, where we were located, was one of the highest concentrations for its use.  I had personally air-sprayed Agent Orange around Tay Ninh’s perimeter to clear the overgrowth.

I relocated him to Dallas after his last stroke and refiled for his VA benefits.  This picture and a couple of testamentary letters from members of the 187th proved he was in a combat zone and VA benefits with back pay were issued.  The last few years of his life were spent bedridden with no use of his legs and hands.  The sad part is he was totally cognizant and understood everything but could not communicate back.  Often I would talk and his only response was interpreted by looking into his eyes.  ☹

Toon Daddy:

Does this pic really need a further narrative?  😊 Yesterday this guy was in daycare; today he is a peealot.  We were all too young.  Ya, I had hair once 😊

Postscript:

As I have said, 1968-69 was the best year of my life.  More happened towards my growth and development than in any other year.  I entered a twenty-one year-old carefree newlywed and came out an old man of twenty-two.  My life (our lives) had changed forever.  Rediscovering each other would present a lifetime of challenges and emotional ups and downs of a helicopter pilot. [Sounds like the title for a book] 😊

I was not sure of my actual arrival time back in the USA, so no plans could be made.  When I got off the plane at Travis AFB, I took a quick shower and put on a clean dress uniform folded in the top of my duffle bag.  After the cleanup, I went to out processing.  By March 1969, the anti-war movement was in full swing.  The processing personnel advised everyone that when traveling in San Francisco to always stay in groups.  Cab fare was expensive from Travis to SFO and they advised us to take the bus.  There was a flight to Tulsa leaving that morning, but I could not make it if I used mass transit, so I paid for the cab.  I had no problem with the antiwar crowd at the airport because I was dropped off directly at the ticket counter.  Other veterans weren’t so fortunate. 

After securing my ticket, I called Sheila with the arrival instructions.  She grabbed her overnight bag, split without telling anyone I was home and met me at the airport.  She’s not sure whether she told her school principal that she would not be in to teach for the next couple of days or not.  We had some marital items to repair before meeting with the rest of the family. 

I have tried to corroborate my stories with the people involved, but surprisingly we both have no memories of the reunion.  I remember getting off the plane in Tulsa and walking the gangway, but I do not remember anything else for two or more days.  We both know we went to a motel; neither of us remember where it was, what it was named, or how long we stayed – a total blackout. 

I do remember one thing. 😊 When we got to the motel, though I had showered a few hours earlier, Sheila with her olfactory nerves that would put a bloodhound to shame, informed me I needed another.  I still smelled like a Vietnamese outhouse. 😊  Wemenz, everything’s gotta be just right. 😊

It took a week of showers before that stench went away.

Who Really Came Home:

I never noticed my physical changes during that year, but I still will never forget my mother-in-law’s comment after arriving back at the house.  “If Sheila hadn’t said it was you, I would not have recognized you.”  She was sincere. My facial characteristics had changed that much, plus I had lost forty-five pounds. 

I know my German Shepherd, Tammy, did not recognize me and was putting up an almost violent protest.  She had been faithfully protecting my wife for a year and had to be restrained when I sat down on the couch next to Sheila.  Finally, with Sheila holding her collar, the dog leaned across Sheila’s lap to get another sniff and growl in.  I calmly bent over and asked the dog, “What’s the matter, Tammy?”   She cocked her head sideways and gave me the “dog pose” before she administered one cautious lick across my cheek.  Her display after that would rival any coming home dog video you’ve seen on the Internet.  Everyone teared up as the T-dog started baying and crying.  She jumped onto my lap, rolled on the floor, ran around the living room, to the kitchen, into the dining room, and back to my lap with more kisses.  Daddy was home.  My war was over.

……………………………………………………….

By nature, I am an analyst.  I observe and calculate everything.  Math, however, is never in the equation; I suck at math.  😊  Consequently, I have learned that everything has a meaning.  Every action has a consequence.  While everything we do or say sends a message, it is still subject to another’s interpretation.  Be sure you know how your message is being interpreted.   

It is one of the reasons I decided to make this memoir, chronicle, autobiography subset … I am not sure what to call it.  Regardless, though cathartic for me, the stories are for you. Hopefully, it will help you have a better insight into what at least one soldier was thinking at the time. 

The following paragraphs are more statements than a continuous flow wrapping up my previous stories.  As incongruous as they are, they all have meaning to me.

Life Guidance … Analysis Paralysis:

The sensitivities that one develops from combat and flying make me hear things and feel things that others ignore.  I joke that I can feel fingerprints.  My hyper-sensitivities can feel, hear, or see things, whether it is a different beat of a rotor blade, a 100 RPM pitch change in a turbine engine, or a needle width fluctuation of a transmission gauge.  When lying on my side at night, I can accurately count the beats of my heart.     

Being aware of my surroundings, what people are doing, and how they act or react is a hyper-vigilance that has never gone away.  The shrinks say it is PTSD.  My hyper-awareness is impossible to ignore, even the mundane doesn’t escape notice.  If they do an autopsy, they will find that my adrenal glands are huge.  When they start pumping adrenalin, I get a massive jolt.  The CAT scans for my cancer confirm their large size.  I would be willing to bet most helicopter pilots have enlarged adrenal glands.  We are adrenaline junkies, and most of us spent our lives looking for that next thrill.

I completed my year in Vietnam as one of the luckiest pilots I know.  Whether leading a flight, providing suppression as a fireteam leader, and especially flying SMOKEY … others were shot up, shot down, or killed.  Yet, I was unscathed.  The closest I came to a Purple Heart was looking for a bandage after biting too close on a hangnail.  I often wonder if it was random luck or due to my decisions and flight skills that allowed me to escape injury or death.  I still hold to the religious truth that if the bullet had your name on it, God wrote it there.  Someone may have pulled the trigger but God is sending His message.  No one gets out of here alive.

To accent my pondering, I present this fact.  No aircraft that I have flown as an aircraft commander has ever taken an enemy bullet, nor enemy incurred damage.  This empirical truth includes my second Vietnam tour.  Those hours were flying Chinooks during Lam Son 719, the largest aviation event of the war.  This additional flight time completed a combined total of 1960 combat flight hours.  The last enemy round to enter an aircraft that I was piloting happened during my sixth-week in Vietnam as a Peter-Pilot.  I was flying in a helicopter appropriately named Olé Magnet Ass.  Every unit had a helicopter that attracted bullets.

A further narcissistic feather in my hat, no one has ever been killed in either Vietnam tour when I oversaw the mission.  Correlation yes, causation no.  Still, if you were in my unit and had the choice, wouldn’t you want me leading your flight?

The relationships built and the experiences as an RLO in combat leadership were elements in my life that cannot be duplicated.  Except for the obvious humor in my passages, everything in these twelve chapters happened.  There is no exaggeration; there doesn’t have to be.  If anything, I obfuscated or eliminated details to protect the reputations of others.

Other RLO’s have their stories, but each of my historical experiences was unique to me.  These stories are my foundation.  These fundamentals are from things I learned as an RLO in an assault helicopter company.  

After reading stories or books and listening to conversations at the reunion bars, not many held my attention.  Too many recreations pegged my bullshit meter.  When the “my boys” get together, we only tell lighthearted stories, because the traumas have haunted all of us.  These traumas are not unique to a Vietnam veteran.  Everyone with combat experience has similar issues.

The important issue is people with desire, intent, and dedication will rise to the occasion if given the opportunity.  They will do whatever it takes to accomplish the mission.  Alexander the Great and Alexander Hamilton were under thirty.  LaFayette was still a teenager when he joined the Continental Army.  Where else could this twenty-two-year-old kid-Lieutenant be allowed to lead an Assault Helicopter Company or direct an Infantry Battalion?

Learning from my role as a leader allowed me to develop our family's foundational adage, “Treat them like adults, and expect them to act their age.”  It applies from ages 1-99.  I am sure it was more challenging being one of my children, but I can see the results.  Yes, mistakes were made, but the end results prove we did it the right way – two girls with advanced professional degrees (one with a Master’s in Education the other is a Nurse Practitioner,) no illicit drugs, and no tattoos that I am aware of.  😊  As Vietnam Veteran parents, we didn’t suffer the adverse life choices fostered in the “time-out” generation.

Vietnam taught me to give subordinates and children opportunities to succeed regardless of age.  I give directions only when asked or needed.  A lot of people are visual learners, but experience is the best teacher.  I try to temper my input unless the decisions might be catastrophic (“don’t touch that hot stove.”)  Quitting was seldom an option; just as importantly, I allowed them to fail.  It is how we learn.  It has often been said that good judgment is based on experience, and experience is often a result of bad judgment.

No Do-Overs, but…:

If I had to do it all over again, there are two things I would change. 

One, knowing what happened to me (PTSD) and the impact it made on Sheila and my family, I would have waited to get married.  That was my father-in-law’s preference.  He was a Merchant Marine in WWII and had a better understanding of what might be ahead for me. 

We were too young to understand the consequences.  She was twenty-two and I was twenty.  Both were religious conservatives but hormonal, 😊 so waiting was not an option.  😊 Unfortunately, the person who came home from Vietnam was not the person Sheila married.  “For better or worse” … she should have had an escape clause in the vow.

Sheila Dougan:

Unquestionably, the best mom ever -- but she deserved better.

56 years later (as of July 1, 2023)

Two, I could have tried harder to build relationships up and down the spectrum.  By design, I am a hard person to get to know.  Even at twenty-one, I was set in my ways.  I was never afraid to tell you what I thought, regardless of your rank or position.  If you want my opinion, be prepared for an honest answer.  My flaw back then -- you didn’t have to ask me.  TACT has never been my friend as Major Gaffney, our company commander, and most superiors from the military or civilian will attest.  Tact still is not a concept I subscribe to, but now my lack of decorum is written off because, “He’s just a grumpy old man.”

When faced with difficult life decisions affecting others, distance is my friend.  It makes no difference whether you are in the military, working for a corporation, or running your own business.  It is easier to be objective when personalities are not involved.  I try to remain aloof.  Consequently, I have a limited sphere of friends who understand me and only a couple I would still kill for and help them bury the body.  😊

Blood Oath:

Being a veteran does not buy my friendship, but it does buy my loyalty.  There are many from Vietnam with whom I do not care to have a drink, nor they with me.  BUT there were none that I served with that I would not have died for.  Combat was an experience anyone on the outside could never duplicate or understand.

 “A Band of Brothers” is more than a figure of speech. 

The Bow:

I sincerely appreciate the kind comments that many of you have written, but this was not a singular accomplishment.  Most authors have help.

U.S. Grant put his pen down and gave his 800-page autobiography to Mark Twain (S.L. Clemens) to edit.  I don’t have a Mark Twain.  I have someone better. 

If anyone thinks I actually wrote this series by myself, you would be sadly mistaken.  Mrs. McCreary, my high school English teacher always thought I had it in me, but I was too busy screwing off to pursue any latent talent she was encouraging me to develop.  On top of that, I take umbrage with anyone (editors) who object to my irreverent way of taking liberties with the English language, grammar, and punctuation.  I try to write like people think and talk.  Now that I have a Texas accent, getting my ideas on paper is more difficult.  The phonics learned in grade school does not help with the spelling either when sounding out the words with a heavy southern drawl.  😊 Why can’t you have three vowels in a row?  😊

Fortunately, with my style of composition, you do not need a brain trust to understand my stories.  One does not need to read between the lines to find a hidden meaning.  There are no allegories.  What I say is what I mean.  I did start using those emoji’s because too many did not understand when my tongue was firmly planted in my cheek.

Fortunately, my daughter Amy (Master’s in Education), didn’t want her dad looking like an illiterate jerk – bad for her image too, I guess.  😊  She has a way of getting into my head and takes the unstructured stream of conscious prose that I blitz into the word processor and sends it back to me in paragraphs that most people will understand. 

I  could  not  have  done  this  series  without  her.

Editing is stressful work 😊

Terminal Thought:

There is one thing that bothers me when making this final chapter, however.  When U.S. Grant put his pen down, his detailed autobiography stopped at the end of the Civil War.  The rest of his life, especially as President, was written by historians.  No one knew what U.S. Grant really thought after the Civil War. He had much more that he could have written.

He died eight days later from cancer. 

I’ve got more, a lot more, that I can write about, but with my metastatic tumor and heart conditions, I’ll constantly be looking over my shoulder at the calendar. Do I dare start another?

…………………………………………………………..

The following note is from my editor:

  I guess I have an answer :-)

I wonder if Hemmingway’s kids talked to him like that  😊 😊 😊

………………………………………………………..

Appendix:

English to Dad ... Dad to English

A Glossary

There are many who joined subStack in recent months, articles I have revised and republished from extracts of “Ups and Downs of a Helicopter Dad,” personal stories for my family. If you are coming in late to my party, you missed a lot of my acronym explanations that my family grew up hearing. Most new subscribers do not have a familiarity with helicopters, aviation, or the military jargon.  I would encourage you to go back to the beginning stories. 

I try to write each story as a stand-alone narrative, but at the behest of my daughters (editor advisors,) they suggested that I create a glossary so I don’t have to keep adding parenthetical statements to explain each acronym on every new story. 

So, here goes … as I find or create my own new terminology, I’ll update this list without any further notification.

Stop!   Stop!   Stop! Stop! Stop!

If you are easily offended by words, this glossary and my accompanying stories are definitely not for you.  The soldier’s vernacular is usually laced with words like Fuck and Shit, not Fxxx and Sxxx  Propriety is generally ignored during combat operations or when dealing with fellow soldiers.  There are no atheists in a foxhole.

As General Patton so infamously stated, “You can’t run an army without profanity, and it has to be eloquent profanity. An army without profanity couldn’t fight its way out of a piss-soaked paper bag.

AC .. Aircraft Commander

Acting-Jacks .. temporarily acting in a rank higher than actual with no real responsibility or authority.  Is is stricty for training purposes

AMC .. Air Mission Commander, responsible for directing the aviation company assets and assisting the infantry battalion commander

APC .. Armored Personnel Carrier

Article 15 .. UCMJ non-judicial punishment, not a Court Marshall, but it is more than a slap on the wrist.

ARVN .. Army of the Republic of Vietnam

CAV .. calvary.  When using with capital “C” usually refers to the 1st Calvary Division i.e., CAV.  All other calvary outfits usually are referred to with a little “c”  It’s an intraservice rivalry similar to the interservice rivalry between the Navy vs Marines

Chinooks .. CH-47 medium-lift helicopter

Chuck, Charles, VC .. various names for the Vietnamese enemy

CWO .. Chief Warrant Officer, any Warrant Officer above the rank of the Warrant Officer’s initial grade, which is lower than whale shit in the Marianas Trench — approaching 2nd Lieutenant status. It should be noted that not all Warrant Officers are pilots.  Those that aren’t are considered gods.

Fixed Wing .. Airplanes

Fuck, Fxxx, Fxxk .. does it have to be explained?  A term that spans love to hate depending on how it is used and its inflection when used in a sentence.  Chances are if there is a military acronym with an “F” in it, it means fuck.  FUBAR=fucked up beyond all recognition.  SNAFU=situation normal, all fucked up

Grunt .. slang for infantry

HUEY .. Uh-1 helicopter (all versions,) the workhorse of the Vietnam war

Klick .. kilometer

Lam Son 719 .. LS 719, ARVN incursion into Laos to break the Ho Chi Minh Trail, the largest US aviation commitment of the war … and boy did it suck!

LZ, or Lima Zulu ..  Landing Zone

Mean Green Maturity School .. joining the Army, growing up

NDB .. Non-Directional Beacon, directional radio signal for pilots to follow

NVA .. North Vietnamese Army, highly trained regular soldiers.

ROTC .. Reserve Officer Training Corps, officers training at the college level, awarding the rank of 2nd Lieutenant

OCS .. Officers Candidate School, officer training awarding the rank of 2nd Lieutenant

O-Early-Thirty .. very early in the morning, dawn

O-Dark-Thirty .. Night

Peter-P .. Peter Pilot, PP’s, a co-pilot

PBR .. Patrol Boat River, Navy gunboats patrolling the rivers

PZ, or Papa Zulu .. Pickup Zone

Riverine .. Navy river operations, Brown Water Navy

RLO .. Real Live Officer, a term in jest given to commissioned officers (Lieutenant, Captain, Major, etc.) by the Warrant Officer Pilots

SLICK .. troop-carrying version Huey helicopter, UH-1D or UH-1H

UCMJ .. Uniform Code of Military Justice, military law

WOC .. Warrant Officer Candidate, flight training to Warrant Officer

VC .. Viet Cong .. peasant soldiers, farmers by day, and militia by night.

…………………………………..

30-Minute YouTube video: 

This is an unedited video.  Most of the pictures were taken in my first few months in Vietnam.  I did not take the risks of shooting film as an aircraft commander.  Too much can go wrong too quickly to have a camera in the way.

Didn’t understand some of the language or acronyms … there is a glossary that is updated weekly.  “Dad to English .. English to Dad.”

If you like my historical narratives, please pass on my link to others.  And, let me know how I am doing.

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October 1968 Addendum Update: A few weeks ago Pat Haggerty was touring the Vietnam helicopter museum in Mineral Wells, Tx. He was a Navy Riverine Officer. In a conversation with Bobby Bateman, the docent, Pat told them they used to work with the Crusaders as they came up river around Tay Ninh, but unfortunately one of their men was drowned by one of the 187th pilots. Bobby said, “I know that story!”

Fortunately, Bobby exchanged my contact information with Pat. As luck would have it, Pat only lives a few miles from me and we spent an afternoon going over all of the lost technical details which I used to update the accuracy of my story. Pat confirmed the story was already spot-on accurate; he was there as the OIC (Officer In Charge.) He gave me the name of the deceased individual who was from Oklahoma City. He will remain nameless in my story as the names and dates were intentionally obfuscated. He will NOT be forgotten.

Pat also presented me with their Riverine reunion shirt. It doesn’t have the Crusader bullseye but will still be cherished.