Hugh Mills - Low Level Hell

“Fuck you, too,” Kauffman said, but at least he chuckled.

I keyed the UHF to Fishman. “Three Four, we aren’t gonna make it. The way it looks, you’re going to get in here about the same time as the bad guys. I’m going to swing around to the north and try to work on the dinks with the M-60 and my minigun. Maybe I can persuade some of the little folks that they don’t want to come down on our crew.”

“OK, One Six,” Fishman acknowledged. “I’m pulling max power.”

“I won’t be able to hold ‘em long with my firepower, so just as soon as you can see our general area, holler and I’ll throw out some smoke. I’ll put out two smokes and I’ll want you to lay rocks in between the two markers for protective fire to the crew.” I knew that he’d be on the scene as fast as he could. He was probably pulling 130 to 140 knots in a fully loaded heavy hog.

I continued to fly right-hand orbits over the downed Cobra. Every second or third circle, I swept out north where I could hear the sound of ground fire over the whine and chop of my Loach engine. Each time I came around over the enemy, Parker opened up with his M-60, and a couple of bad guys would drop. I couldn’t line up a minigun shot because I couldn’t be quite as selective with that weapon and there were too many friendlies down there.

Those 25th Division guys must have wondered just who that little scout ship was and why it kept swooping in, killing a few enemy troops and then swooping out again. They probably still didn’t realize that a downed Cobra with a grounded crew was out there just to their immediate front.

As I looked down, though, it was evident that the VC were falling back fast. They may not have known either that a Cobra was down. Other than throwing a few potshots up at me, they were obviously most concerned with covering their own asses from behind. The U.S. troops were hot on their heels.

This is it, I thought as I watched the firefight below. No way will the ARPs get here in time to cover Sinor and Kauffman before the dinks are down on them.

I keyed the intercom. “We’re out of time, Jimbo. I’m going to swing around to land and pick up the crew.”

Without a sign of reluctance, Parker came right back. “OK, Lieutenant, I’m set, but it’s going to overload the hell out of us. We haven’t used up much ammo or fuel.”

Parker was right. Every time we took a scout bird off the ground, we were at or over max gross weight because of all the fuel and ammo we crammed aboard. We never knew what we would be flying into, so we wanted to be able to scout and fight as long as possible.

“I know,” I answered Parker. “We’ll be putting another four hundred pounds in here with those two guys plus their weapons and body armor. We’ll just have to dump everything out the door that we can get along without, and then hope to hell that the Loach will get us up out of there!”

Just as I was pulling around to go back and land, my radio snapped to life. “All right, One Six, this is Three Four. I’m just coming up on being able to observe your general area. Get your smoke out so I can shoot.”

I touched my radio transmit button twice to let Paul know that I acknowledged. Then I pulled the Loach around in a sweeping right-hand turn. I keyed Parker again. “Get me a red… correction, get me two red smokes ready. We’re going to mark the limits for Three Four’s rocks.”

Parker pulled two red smoke grenades off the bulkhead in front of him, pulled the pin on both, and held them straight out the cabin door. He threw one straight down on my command. “Now!” I shouted again, and he threw the second grenade straight down, marking each edge of a north-south corridor where I wanted Three Four to aim his rockets.

With the second smoke out, I broke right, then another hard right in order to cross back over the enemy-occupied corridor. Fishman’s Cobra was still nowhere in sight, so I went back up on UHF. “Three Four, One Six. Smoke’s out. It’s right on top of the enemy. Give me rocks between the two red smokes. South edge of the corridor is the little clearing where the crew is down. You’ll be danger close to them. Shoot between the smokes on your approach out of the north as soon as you can.”

Three Four rogered and I circled back south to take up an orbit just beyond Sinor and Kauffman. Just on the horizon was Fishman’s Cobra, a single snake with puffs of smoke beginning to erupt from the rocket pods beneath its wings. Pairs of Three Four’s rocks slammed down right between the two red smokes and into the men withdrawing down the corridor.

Fishman broke out of his run, and I quickly circled back over the corridor to see if his 2.75s had slowed Charlie down. As the smoke and debris cleared, I saw that Three Four’s rockets had killed about half of the enemy force. A few of the survivors looked dazed, but the rest were running in a frenzy toward the crew.

Just then my Guard frequency came back alive with Kauffman’s shouts: “Here they come, One Six! We can see ‘em… we can see the little bastards coming! We’re going to get the hell out of here while we can!”

“Negative… negative… stand by, Three One,” I shot back. “I’m coming in to get you. Be ready to jump on board… I’m coming in.”

Then I let Fishman know my plan. “Your rocks were good, Three Four, but we’re in deep shit down here. The Indians are closing in. I’m going to get the crew. I’ve got no choice… I’m going in to pick ‘em up.”

“OK, One Six,” Paul came back. “I got you covered. How are you going in?”

“From east to west,” I answered as I pulled the OH-6 around, “and I’ll make a south break after I take the crew aboard. Keep Charlie occupied by putting a few more rocks in his way. Put ‘em same place as last time, only come on down south about forty meters. Don’t give us a haircut. We’ll be danger close, danger close!”

Fishman swept around to set up another run on the corridor as I decelerated and started to put down. “Are you ready, Jimbo?”

“Ready, sir,” he came back in his steady, impassive voice.

I picked my spot and began to settle down right beside Sinor and Kauffman’s Cobra. As I was nearing touchdown, I heard Fishman’s second round of rockets impacting about thirty to forty meters away. Then came the sound of shrapnel zinging through the air all around my ship. Fortunately, none of it caught us or the crew, who by then were crouched down, waiting to jump aboard.

My skids reached the ground and I waved to the two pilots. Big smiles slashed across their faces as they sprang toward the Loach and piled in—Sinor in the back with Parker, Kauffman squeezing over the mini-gun and into the front left seat.

As the two jumped aboard, I felt the ship sag. They were both two-hundred-pound guys with their chicken plate on, and the little OH-6 groaned under the new weight. I really didn’t appreciate just how much we were over max gross weight until I felt the bird begin to settle.

I looked out my door at the landing gear and my gut tightened into a square knot as I watched the Loach’s skids spread and slowly sink about a foot down into the soft, marshy ground.

“Son of a bitch!” I cursed. Everybody aboard looked at me as if to say, Well, what the hell do we do now? Good thing Fishman’s second rocket pass had slowed the VC or they would have been all over us by that time.

I pulled up hard on the collective, knowing that I’d need a surge of power to get off the ground. To my horror, nothing happened. The Loach seemed stuck solid in a foot of mud.

“Come on, baby,” I coaxed. “Get us out of here. Please get us out of here!”

I pulled on more power. The rotors thundered. The ship vibrated. The engine tachometer climbed rapidly to 103… 104… then through 105 to near 107 percent. She was at max power, but the bird still didn’t move… not a damned inch.