Page 8 - DFCS News Magazine Summer 2012

Funny machines, helicopters. Helicopters don’t look like they should fly. And yet, helicopters are often seen in a flying state. And with a bulbous cabin suspended from a spin- ning rotor blade, helicopters can carry large loads and land in small spaces. Once the Army figured it out, thousands were built for Vietnam. We called them Hueys.
In 1968 I was the crewchief of a Huey belonging to the TopTigers of the 68th Assault Helicopter Company. Based at Bien Hoa northeast of Saigon,
our mission was to ferry troops into battle. We would load ten helicopters (called slicks) with sixty infantrymen, fly out into the badlands and deposit the troops into a clearing (the landing zone or LZ) hoping to catch the bad guys by surprise. But the enemy would often hear us coming, congregate in the trees alongside the LZ and shoot the slicks as they landed. So to protect the slicks, the TopTigers constructed a very special Huey called “Smokey.”
The plan was for Smokey to precede the slicks into the LZ and fly low and slow in front of the treeline where the enemy was thought to be. Next, an apparatus sprayed oil into Smokey’s tur- bine exhaust and the result was a three-story high curtain of heavy, greasy smoke directly in front of the enemy positions. The smoke curtain was intended to protect the slicks but everyone knew that the enemy would likely shoot at Smokey instead. For that reason, the smoke mission was assigned to our oldest heli- copter and its nineteen year old rookie crewchief. Me.
The smoke mission proved as dangerous as expected. Within weeks, I lost two Hueys and a pilot to enemy action and a crash. The root cause was that the smoke screen was only effective if Smokey flew no faster than fifty-five knots and as close to the enemy gunners as possible. Fifty feet. Or less. At this range, Smokey’s only chance for survival was two M60 machine guns mounted on each side of the cabin. One for me on the left, and one for the gunner on the right. Depending on which side the enemy was on, one of us would “suppress” the treeline throughout the smoke run. Capable of 450 rounds per minute, the M60s were our lifeline. And on May 16 1968, the line snapped.
The pilot that day was 28-year old West Point graduate and com- pany XO, Major Richard Daum. The co-pilot was an LTC from Bat- talion headquarters who needed air time to collect his flight pay. Behind the pilots, we’d bolstered firepower by adding a third crewmember manning a Browning 50 Cal. Thus configured, Smokey smoked a treeline near Saigon as the TopTigers inserted sixty infantrymen who were immediately greeted by a battalion of North Vietnamese Regulars. A fierce firefight ensued and the TopTigers returned with reinforcements. Smokey smoked the LZ a second time and I suppressed the treeline with my M60. But unbeknownst to me, troops from the first insertion were already amongst the trees. With hostile fire from the front and friendly fire from the rear, the ground commander sternly ordered that future smoke runs be made with Smokey’s M60s locked down. This was bad news. With a hot LZ and our defenses disabled, our smoke runs would be riskier than ever.
By Frans VandenBroek
We circled the LZ until the TopTigers returned with more troops. As we headed for the treeline for the third time, I made myself small behind my M60 and prepared for a shoot-out with our pro- tection effectively disarmed. A lone enemy gunner opened fire and I had him in my sights. But I held off. Although the lives of Smokey’s crew was in my hands, shooting a friendly, even uninten- tionally would haunt me forever. Shaken but unharmed we re- treated to Bien Hoa to refuel. Our orders were to return to the LZ ASAP.
Upon dismounting at Bien Hoa the Battalion guest pilot discovered a bullet hole in the cabin just behind his head. He suddenly re- membered a prior commitment and left. His replacement was Warrant Officer Charles VanAllen, twenty, a new pilot who had yet to fly his first mission.
Once back in the air, Major Daum briefed Mr. VanAllen and the young WO was terrified. In the cabin, the two gunners and I silent- ly echoed the sentiment. Below us, the battle was raging and with the TopTiger flight on final approach into the LZ, the rookie pilot pleaded for guidance. Major Daum quietly told Mr. VanAllen to put his fate in the hands of a higher power and let whatever happens, happen. Then, without hesitation, he dove for the treeline where the enemy was waiting. Predictable path. Predictable speed. No defenses offered. We were sitting ducks.
The trees were quiet at first. And like a boy with a wooden rifle, I pointed my M60 and whispered: “Bang, bang, bang”. Then, sud- denly, flickering lights in the trees! And in perfect harmony with the flickering came waves of staccato thunderclaps, from a tree, a
bush, a rock. The sound was as suffo- cating as the smoke we were leaving behind. Trapped between panic and adrenaline, I tracked the flickering lights with my M60 and
screamed: “BANG! BANG! BANG!”
ger could make it sing. But I held my fire and Major Daum grimly kept Smokey on course. Smokey crews NEVER quit. And neither did the thunderclaps. An enemy round bored into Mr. VanAllen’s chest and in agony, he began kicking the tail rotor pedals and near- ly caused Major Daum to lose control.
I unbuckled my belt, scrambled towards the stricken pilot and grabbed his thighs to hold him still. But the shifting of my body weight upset Smokey’s fragile CG. The nose dropped and the skids carved parallel furrows in Vietnamese soil. Somehow, Major Daum kept the bucking Huey on track until the treeline was finally drowning in smoke. Only then did he pull pitch, and as Smokey’s rotor blades found traction in the air we moved out of there fast. But by then, Mr. VanAllen was not moving at all.
We dropped Mr. VanAllen’s body off in Saigon and soon landed at Bien Hoa, grateful the nightmare was over. But it wasn’t. Orders came to return to the LZ immediately. The two distraught gunners turned on their heels and walked away. Major Daum turned to me and quietly asked: “How about you?”
(Continued on page 9)
A pound and a half on the trig-
Summer 2012 Issue Page 8