Hugh Mills - Low Level Hell

Doc quickly checked all the vital signs, then looked up at me. “I’m sorry, sir, he’s dead.”

It took a moment for the realization to sink in. “OK, then, let’s go back. We’ve still got a pilot in there.”

I knew Ameigh had to be on the right side of the aircraft, which was still against the ground. “Everybody!” I yelled. “I need everybody over here to turn this bird over.” In seconds a dozen or more soldiers were lifting and pushing.

As the aircraft moved, a hand fell out the pilot’s cabin door. I let go of the aircraft and grabbed the hand to search for a pulse. My heart nearly jumped into my throat. I felt a pulse—a strong but irregular beating against my trembling fingertips. “This man’s alive,” I screamed. “Push this thing up… get the airplane up… and be careful as hell!”

Ameigh was still strapped in, but sideways in his seat. The aircraft had rolled over on him. Doc was at my side again as I reached for Ameigh’s seat belt and shoulder harness release. When I popped it, he fell loose into our arms and free of the aircraft.

As Doc and the others started working over Ameigh, I ran back over to Cheek, who was still hovering precariously over the fallen tree limbs of the LZ. I leaned in the cabin door, plugged in my helmet, and hit the intercom button. “Three Five, this is One Six. We’ve got the charlie echo kilo [crew chief-engineer dead]. Charlie echo is kilo. One Five is still alive. Let’s get a Dustoff. Scramble a Dustoff. We’ve got Ameigh still alive down here. Get Dustoff over here as fast as you can.” I rushed back over to Ameigh. “How’s he doing?”

The medic looked up at me. “I don’t know… it’s touch and go.”

I told him I had called Dustoff, but that maybe both Doc and Ameigh could get into the back of my Loach for the short lift over to Doctor Delta (Lai Khe hospital).

Doc quickly turned down my offer. “Negative. I want him in a litter. I don’t want to curl him up—he’s had massive internal injuries.”

“Can you keep him alive?” I pleaded.

“I think I can if we can get a Dustoff in here and not waste any time getting him over to the hospital.”

Doc and another one of the soldiers strapped what looked like a tourniquet around Ameigh’s lower body, then hooked up an IV. Ameigh was a really handsome guy with black wavy hair. Standing there looking into his ashen face, I just couldn’t believe that he had been on my wing one second, then gone without a trace. Now this!

I went back to the hovering Loach and got on the radio just in time to hear Mike Woods say, “One Six, Dustoff is coming off Doctor Delta right now. I need to get your Loach out of there and get Dustoff down in your lima zulu. Will the Huey fit?”

Looking around me, I said, “Yeah, it’s big enough for a Huey, if he’s good. Dustoff can make it in here, but it’ll be tight as hell.”

Then I turned to Cheek. “Dwight, I’m going to go with Ameigh in Dustoff. Can you get this bird out of here, then get up on Three Five’s wing and take this ship home?”

“Sure. Roger. Do you need any help?”

“No, I just need room down here for Dustoff. Get up on Mike’s tail and stay with him. Do what he tells you and you’ll have no problem.”

I backed away and watched the OH-6 climb up into the night. Seconds later, Dustoff arrived and started descending into the jungle hole just vacated by Cheek. Then its light came on, illuminating the whole area in a blinding white glare.

As the ship floated down, the jungle began to rumble and roar. The rotor wash of that Huey blew things all over the place. Soldiers grabbed for their hats and other gear. I saw Doc lean down over Ameigh to protect him from the fury.

The air ambulance couldn’t set down on that pile of torn-up forest any better than we could. So the ship hovered, and a medic jumped out and helped Doc work over Ameigh for three or four minutes. Then Ameigh was lifted onto a Stokes litter and we carried him over to Dustoff.

The crew chief turned to me. “What about your dead?” he asked.

“No time… let’s take care of the living. We’ll come back for Slater.”

He signaled the pilot to get going, and we lifted up into the night. Lai Khe was only a couple of minutes away. We were no more than up when Dustoff s light came on again and we settled down onto the Doctor Delta pad, with a huge red cross painted in the middle of it.

Waiting at the medical pad were five or six hospital people with a gurney. A wooden ramp went directly from the pad over to a Quonset hut with double doors.

The instant Dustoff touched down, Ameigh was transferred to the gurney and a doctor bent down over him with a stethoscope. I followed behind the gurney as it moved toward the double doors. The medical people were all in their gleaming hospital whites; I was still in flight gear with helmet, chicken plate, survival vest, and gun belt.

When they kicked open the double doors, we were suddenly in an operating room with emergency medical equipment all over the place. Still nobody told me what to do, so I stepped aside and watched the flurry of activity. As they lifted Ameigh off the gurney and onto an operating table, I whispered, “God, please save him.”

The team worked feverishly. Then, suddenly, CPR was ordered. I began to feel very nervous, light-headed, and almost nauseous. I steadied myself against the wall. My God, I thought, Ameigh’s not going to make it.

For eight to ten minutes more, the medical team worked over Ameigh. Then, as suddenly as they had begun their lifesaving efforts, they stopped. I heard the lead doctor say quietly to his associates, “OK, that’s it.”

The doctor had apparently noticed me standing nearby. He pulled off his face mask and rubber gloves, and stood motionless over Ameigh for a moment. Then he walked over to me. “I’m sorry, we’ve lost him. There’s nothing more we can do.”

I nodded and looked past the doctor at Ameigh lying there on the table. I felt totally lost. With my flight helmet still in my hands, I turned and walked out the door of the emergency room. There was a bench there, and I sank down on it.

For what seemed like an eternity, I sat there listening to the muffled blasts of artillery shooting into the night out of Lai Khe. I could see flares bursting over the Iron Triangle. I could hear the cracks of small-arms fire in the direction of Ben Cat. Then my world went silent.

For the first time since the ordeal had begun, I realized that my body was drained. All my energy was gone. My senses were dull. I was dead tired.

I don’t know how long I sat there on that bench outside the emergency room before one of the Dustoff pilots walked up and snapped me back to reality. He told me that the hospital had received an FM radio message that Darkhorse was sending its C and C Huey to take me back to the troop.

I thanked him and continued to sit there staring. I smoked a cigarette and thought about what had happened. I still couldn’t believe that one second Ameigh and I were flying and talking together, and the next second he was gone. Irretrievably gone. I just couldn’t believe it!

About fifteen minutes later, the troop C and C landed, and just behind that ship came Dustoff returning from its second trip to the crash scene with Jim Slater’s body. Realizing that there was nothing more for me to do at the hospital, I climbed aboard the C and C ship for the trip back to Phu Loi.

Wayne McAdoo (Two Six) and Bob Holmes (Two Nine) were the pilots, and they wasted no time asking me, “How’s Ameigh? Is he OK?”

“No,” I mumbled. “Ameigh’s dead… Slater’s dead… they’re both dead.”

There was a long pause while my announcement sank in. Then McAdoo turned to me. “What should we do?”