Hugh Mills - Low Level Hell

I didn’t ask them. I just told them that we had no choice and that we were going to give it a try. Nonetheless, it felt good when I got their instant replies almost in unison. “OK, Lieutenant, let’s do it.”

In the minute or two that it took us to get to the waiting Dustoff, I made plans with my crew chief. “OK, Downing, just as soon as we touch down, you jump out and get the blood from the Huey. Then when we get back over the crater, you’re going to drop it to Doc. You got that?”

“Yes, sir, Lieutenant, I understand,” Downing answered.

I gave Bruton his instructions. “Now Jim, I know that this whole experience may be a little new to you, but with you aboard, and no minigun, you’re the only cover I’ll have. Downing will have the blood kits and probably won’t be able to use his M-60. You better poke that M-16 of yours out the door and be ready to shoot at anything that gives us a bad time.”

When I told Koranda in the Cobra what I was going to do, he didn’t mince words: “You’re crazy, One Six!”

By that time, we were at the ARVN base camp. I landed right beside the idling Dustoff, waited while Downing ran over to pick up the blood, and then lifted off again.

I had never seen blood kits before, and had no idea that they came packed in a box the size of a milk crate. Downing sat in the back with that big box balanced on his lap.

I came in on the treetops and did tight, fast three sixties over the area while I checked out the situation in the crater. There was some ground fire but it didn’t seem directed at us this time. Charlie must have felt we couldn’t do anything to them anyway, so why waste ammo on such a little bird.

Watching below me I could see that the ARPs were not able to get their heads up over the rim of the crater without drawing instant fire. So they were lobbing grenades when they could and sticking their weapons over the top edge of the shell hole to snap off a few quick rounds.

As I slowed and came around for the third time, I felt the ship’s center of gravity shift dramatically. A quick glimpse over my right shoulder told me that Downing had eased himself completely out of the airplane and was centering the box of blood kits on the right skid. Bruton was sitting right beside me with his M-16 pointed out his door. He was sure getting a hell of an indoctrination.

Suddenly my intercom roared at me. It was Downing’s voice straining to be heard over the wild rush of wind that was hitting his helmet mike. “Forward… forward… a little more. Now right… right, sir… a hair more to the right,” he said, directing me into position over the crater.

Looking between my feet through the OH-6’s chin bubble, I could see Bob Harris lying face up in the shell hole. He was also talking to me on FM: “OK, One Six, straight ahead… straighter… now right. That’s it… now hold it… hold it right there.”

At that exact moment, hovering twenty to thirty feet off the ground, with Downing hanging outside the ship ready to drop the box, I glanced out the door toward my right front. About thirty feet away from me was a section of trench line cut into the jungle floor, which apparently connected some of the enemy bunkers. As my eye fleetingly traced the length of the trough, I was suddenly electrified to see a VC in a dark blue uniform rise up out of the middle of the trench. He was holding an AK-47 and was looking straight at me.

His eyes met mine for an instant. Then he raised his assault rifle and aimed it at my head. I was sure that my heart actually stopped beating as I waited for him to pull the trigger.

There was nothing I could do. I was hovering a 2,160-pound aircraft just inches above a shell hole full of our own people. Downing was hanging out of the airplane waiting to drop the blood. Bruton was looking out the other side of the ship completely oblivious to what was happening on my side. I felt my lips move as I repeated to myself, “God, don’t let him shoot… don’t let him shoot!”

We stared eye to eye for a moment that seemed an eternity long. He didn’t appear to have a weapon malfunction. Nobody seemed to be shooting at him. He had me dead to rights, but he hesitated. He didn’t pull the trigger. Only God knows why.

The moment of horror was suddenly interrupted by the intercom. Downing shouted, “That’s it, Lieutenant, they’ve got the box. Let’s didi this place!”

Feeling the hot beads of sweat on my forehead, I broke my fixation with the muzzle of the assault rifle. I yanked the collective stick all the way to stop and shoved the cyclic forward. The agile little bird responded instantly. It jumped for height and forward speed so positively that it pinned my backside solidly against the armored pilot’s seat. Then the VC in the trench opened up with several quick bursts from his AK.

While I was in a hover, he had me cold in his sights long enough to blow my head off. But, for some reason, he waited until we began to clear the crater before cutting loose. When he finally shot, his aim wasn’t bad either. I heard the thumps of three or four solid hits aft of the back cabin in the engine area.

I keyed the FM to Harris. “I’m out, Four Six. That’s all I can do for you right now. I’m hit. I’m going home for another bird, but I’ll be back.”

“Roger, One Six. I see smoke from your engine compartment. We’ve got the blood kits and Doc’s working on Hamilton. Thank you, One Six. I’ll see you later.”

I then radioed Koranda in the Cobra and told him that he better get another scout team up there right away because I was heading back to Phu Loi with a sick bird.

The shot-up OH-6 made it back to base, but just barely. I had taken two rounds right through the compressor section, and the engine was trashed.

Next followed an almost unbelievable blur of events. As I was coming back into Phu Loi with my crippled ship, I passed Rod Willis (One Seven) and his Cobra (Dean Sinor, Three One), who were scrambling northwest to replace me over the contact area.

I wasn’t able to wait around to brief Willis before I had to pull out, but as we passed in the air, I radioed him. “OK, One Seven, do you understand what you’re getting into out there?”

“Roger, One Six,” he responded. “I’ve been in the ops bunker listening to the radios. I’m up on the action.”

“OK, Rod, you’ll find the ARPs northwest of the tree line in the shell hole about thirty to forty meters into the jungle. They’re mostly pinned in the crater and Charlie is shooting at anything that moves. For God’s sake, don’t slow down. Whatever you do, keep your speed up. Don’t slow down over the contact area. You got it?”

Rod came back with a simple acknowledgment. “Right… don’t slow down. I copy, One Six. On my way.”

As soon as I got on the ground at Phu Loi, I grabbed my gear and headed for a replacement Loach. Jim Downing and I started to climb in when the executive officer, Joe Perkins (Darkhorse Five), ran up. “Hey, Mills, I’m going with you. I’m replacing your crew chief.”

“What?”

“Downing can stay here. I’m going with you,” he repeated.

Anxious to get off, I agreed. “OK, Five, you’re the exec. Climb in back.”

I nodded to Downing. “Jim, you stay here with Mr. Bruton. Get the platoon sergeant, and you three take over to get every aircraft that we have ready for combat. Get ‘em all out, ready to go, all with plenty of ammo and topped off with fuel.”

Perkins and I cleared with the tower and lifted off. As we passed over the base fence I switched the minigun to “fire normal” and told Perkins to arm his M-60.1 poured the coal to the Loach. We were about six minutes from the contact area if I stayed low and didn’t waste time going to altitude.

With armament systems activated, I next switched tower frequency to troop Uniform to catch up on what was happening with the ARPs in the crater. I no more than came up on the push when I was shocked to hear Willis’s voice.