Hugh Mills - Low Level Hell

As soon as the LRRPs ran into trouble, they hit the radio for immediate backup and extraction. Their mission had been compromised, they had people hit, and they had to get out of Dodge before getting wiped out entirely. Their call for help immediately scrambled the ARPs out of Phu Loi, along with the Scramble 1 scout team, Joe Vad (Nine), and his crew chief, Al Farrar.

When Harris and his riflemen were inserted about a kilometer away from the LRRPs, they also were hit by the enemy, pinned down in the LZ with two men killed. Scout Joe Vad moved in over the contact area, trying to locate enemy positions. His low, slow flying, however, immediately alerted Charlie to his presence, and Vad’s bird began to take heavy ground fire.

There were NVA soldiers in dark green uniforms moving in all directions around the aeroriflemen and the LRRP unit. Farrar’s M-60 blasted away at the host of targets while Vad twisted and turned the Loach to avoid taking vulnerable hits.

But to no avail. Ground fire ripped into the ship, causing an engine failure. There was nothing Vad could do. The bird plowed down into the far edge of the LZ where the ARPs had been put down just minutes before.

Amazingly, Joe Vad was not badly hurt when his Loach went in. Farrar was not so lucky. His knee and leg were twisted in the wreckage and he was in pain. Joe managed to help Al out of the aircraft, however, and they began to make their way toward the ARPs.

Back at Phu Loi, I was on alert as Scramble 2, with Jim Parker as my crew chief and Dean Sinor as my gun pilot. Receiving the call that Scramble 1 was down, we lifted off and started a fast run to the con- * tact area to assume air control of the situation.

Behind us, the entire troop—including every other available scout bird, gunship, and slick—was scrambled to move up to the strip at Dau Tieng to provide immediate support from that nearby base.

While Sinor and I were inbound to the contact area, I got VHF traffic and learned that the supporting scouts from Phu Loi were closing on Dau Tieng and wanted further instructions. I radioed back, saying, “Wait ten minutes and then send me One Seven [Willis]; ten minutes after that, give me One Three [Davis].”

Since I was just approaching the scene, I didn’t know the extent of the situation. I only knew that there was heavy enemy contact, that the LRRPs were isolated and pinned down with casualties, that the ARPs had been hit and had taken casualties in the LZ, and now we had the aeroscout down with at least one crewman hurt.

Arriving at the scene, I made one fast pass to try to get everybody’s position on the ground. I saw Four Six (Bob Harris) and his medic working desperately over a couple of their downed soldiers. Here we go again, I thought.

As we made eye contact, Bob began making hand signals. He pointed to the northeast, touched his index and middle fingers to his eyes, then pointed again off to the northeast. That told me he saw the enemy in that direction.

When I moved off on the heading Harris had indicated, I saw the wreckage of Niner’s OH-6. The aircraft was on its side, with a crumpled tail boom and all four blades gone. It was smoking but hadn’t burned on impact.

As I made one circle over the crash, I saw Vad with his pistol drawn, half dragging and half carrying Farrar. Al was still hanging onto his M-60 and had a very long belt of ammunition dragging along behind him. It took more than a crash and twisted leg to separate a crew chief from his machine gun!

Wanting to make sure that they made it to cover, I stayed over Vad and Farrar until I saw a couple of ARP point men move out to escort them back into the middle of the ARP formation. Satisfied that the scout crew would be taken care of, I headed off in the direction that Four Six had indicated.

Hitting about sixty knots and flying about ten feet off the trees, I crossed over a tree line not far from the LZ. Immediately I began to draw heavy automatic weapons fire from all directions. The rounds coming up at me were from both .30- and .50-caliber enemy weapons, probably positioned in bunkers. My airspeed, and the fact that the gunners weren’t leading me enough, kept me from taking any hits, however.

Parker opened up with his M-60, spraying the general area. I didn’t ask him to check his fire, but I did remind him to be very careful, since we had a lot of friendlies down there.

After about three orbits, we spotted the LRRP unit huddled together at the base of a large tree. It looked as if three of the men had been hit. There was a small open area nearby, but it wasn’t big enough for a rescue aircraft.

One of the soldiers had a radio in his hand but was apparently talking on a frequency I didn’t have. I got off a quick call to Sinor, asking him to find out the FM push that the LRRP team was using. He was back to me right away, and I immediately called them.

“Ranger, Ranger, this is Darkhorse One Six. How do you hear?”

Normally those LRRP guys were pretty cool and collected over the radio, but this soldier was fairly screaming. “Roger, roger, Darkhorse! I’ve got you. I see you. Can you see the enemy? They’re everywhere! They’re all around us. You gotta get us out of here fast!”

“OK, Ranger, sit tight. I’ve got an infantry platoon on the ground about eight hundred yards to your southwest and they’re moving toward you.”

“Negative! Negative!” he shouted. “There are more enemy troops in here than that. They’re company force… company plus. It’s gonna take more than a platoon. Do you copy?”

“I roger that, Ranger, but you’ve got more than just any platoon to help you out. You’ve got the Darkhorse ARPs. Do you copy?”

Everybody in the 1 st Division knew and respected the aerorifle platoon. It was made up of select infantrymen from all over the division who had distinguished themselves in combat and had volunteered for the ARPs. This multiskilled, multifaceted group of twenty-eight young men really knew their business.

The LRRP leader immediately understood that I wasn’t just bullshitting him. “I copy, Darkhorse ARP platoon. So get us the hell out of here. We’ve got wounded. We need a doc for our wounded.”

I rogered, “There’s a medic on the ground. Sit tight where you are. The ARPs are moving toward you from your sierra whiskey, so control your fire to the southwest. Now give me a target for the gunships to hit.”

“That’s a roger, Darkhorse,” he answered, “controlling fire to sierra whiskey. Can you see my cardinal direction for the ground fire… in this direction fifty to seventy-five meters? We’re taking heavy .30-and .50-caliber machine-gun fire from bunkers. Can you get on them?”

“OK, Ranger. Can you give me a smoke?”

“Roger, Darkhorse… stand by.”

A second later I saw the flash of the grenade fuse going off, then a puff of purple smoke. “OK, Darkhorse, smoke’s out. Do you identify?”

I answered, “That’s affirmative… I’ve got grape.”

“Roger, Darkhorse, grape smoke is out. Enemy target from the smoke is fifty meters my direction… enemy bunkers. Give ‘em hell!”

By this time, we had three Cobras over the contact area: Sinor (Three One), Koranda (Three Nine), and Carriss (Three Eight).

“OK, guys,” I came up to the guns. “LRRPs are pinned down by bunker fire. Grape smoke is out just north of the LRRP position. In trail, make your runs east to west with a south break… a left break. LRRPs are going to be danger close… watch your rocks and keep impact twenty to thirty meters north of smoke.”

Sinor acknowledged for the Cobras, “Roger, One Six. East to west run with south break. You cover the ARPs while we get busy. Inbound hot… now!”

The Cobras made three firing passes, expending about twenty rockets. They put their rocks right on the money, and probably not more than forty to fifty feet to the LRRPs’ front.