Page 39 - DFCS NEWS MAGAZINE 2018-2

Today I was armed with 52 rockets carried in four pods on stubby wings on each side of the aircraft. Each rocket was tipped with a 17-pound high-explosive warhead equivalent to a 105mm Howitzer cannon round in killing power. We also had a swiveling turret under the nose with an Emerson Electric six-barreled Gatling gun that fired 2,000 rounds of 7.62mm bullets per minute. And mounted along-side the Gatling gun was a 40mm grenade launcher capable of firing up to 300 grenades per minute. We were loaded for bear.
We flew low past Firebase Bastogne at an altitude less than 100 feet to avoid their artillery gunfire and continued out towards Firebase Blaze enroute to our objective, a small valley to the south at the base of a ridgeline, where we hoped to establish contact with the beleaguered team. We squeezed under some low clouds settling on the higher ridges and arrived at our destination a few minutes later.
“Coca Cola, Coca Cola, this is Assault 23,” I called on our fox- mike (FM) radio that was on the same frequency that the team was operating. Mark was listening in from his Huey as we circled in the punch bowl of the valley with the surrounding mountains obscured by mist and clouds.
“Coca Cola, Coca Cola, Assault 23,” I called again as we strained to hear any word from the team.
My Cobra had been topped off with fuel and loaded with rockets, minigun ammo and grenades ready to defend Mark and rescue our comrades. The problem was, I was so heavy that I had to fly in continuous circles because if I let my airspeed drop below 30 miles per hour, my over-loaded gunship would merely run out of power and settle to the ground, and maybe not in one piece! So around and around the punch bowl we flew in low, lazy circles, trying to make contact with the LRRPs.
“Coco Cola, Coca Cola, this is Assault 23,” I tried again and again. After about 15 minutes, Mark called over to me. “23 this is 43, let me try flying up these ravines that are surrounding us and see if I can make contact with the team. I’ll take it nice and slow and keep you posted.”
Man, that was definitely a dangerous idea! Flying up into those blind canyons, into the clouds, no altitude to speak of and little airspeed too in bad-guy country was a recipe for disaster. But Mark was right, we didn’t have a choice; the weather was closing in and darkness would soon be upon us.
“Roger that. I’ll wait down here in the valley for you,” was all I could say.
Mark started up the first ravine and disappeared into the clouds within seconds. “Coco Cola, Coca Cola this is Assault 43,” he called. No answer. “Coca Cola, Coca Cola, this is Assault 43.” Again, no answer.
“I’m coming back down. You should see me in a minute,” Mark said as he slowly appeared out of the mist and continued descending into the valley.
“I’ll try that ridge line further to the west to see if they might be up there,” he radioed and spun off in that direction as I continued circling.
“Coca Cola, Coca Cola, this is Assault 43,” I heard Mark transmitting as he disappeared in the distance.
All of a sudden, we heard; “Assault 43, this is Coca Cola.” It was an urgent whisper but sounded like a scream in our headsets. “We’re in bad trouble here and need immediate extraction!” You could almost taste the terror in that voice.
I heard Mark’s unusually calm reply; ”Coca Cola, Assault 43, can you give me your location and number of souls over?”
“Assault 43, Coca Cola, there’s five of us and we are on top of a ridgeline; we don’t know our exact location”, the strained voice replied. “We need to be extracted immediately, we’re out of ammo and still in contact.”
40 / DFCS News Magazine / WINTER 2018