Earlier in the morning, we�d inserted five ships'-worth of Ruff-Puffs into a warm LZ (scattered, inaccurate ground fire) about fifteen klicks west of Bac Lieu in the �way-south part of the Delta; we�d refueled, opened our cans of breakfast and were now enroute for the extraction, listening to Christmas carols on AFVN-AM (the nice thing about your ADF nav radio is that it will pick up commercial radio stations). I was flying Chalk Two, which tucked me right next to Lead.
Late December is two months after the last of the monsoons, so the paddies were still thigh-deep in water, the treelines were thick with fresh understory growth and the indigenous bad guys had their minds more on growing enough food to stash for the dry season than on mounting any decent-sized offensives. And besides, the Annual Christmas Truce (�Don�t shoot back unless they�re getting really, really accurate�) was in effect. At least it was in effect on our side -- the VC were either Buddhists or good little Fraternal Socialist Peaceloving Anti-Imperialists and couldn�t care less, a fact which seemed to have passed over the heads of the galaxies in Saigon (�I dunno, sir, maybe MACV figgers they�re all Presbyterians �er sumpthin���)
So, the local 21st ARVN Advisor had decided it was the perfect opportunity to give his attached (and newly-minted) Puffs some training in real, live Enemy Territory, searching for food and weapons cached in the area. The theory was that the Puffs�d be on the qui-vive on patrol due to the possibility of contact and in sufficient numbers to take out whatever stragglers were foolish enough to initiate contact.
Good training.
In theory.
Three miles out, fifteen hundred feet up, not a sign of the Puffs, who should have been assembling in the PZ (the former LZ) after completing their patrols -- the PZ was a large paddy sandwiched between a shallow river to the south with a dozen wooded islands in it and a good-sized patch of jungle to the north. I flipped the nav monitor toggle switch off in the middle of �Deck the Halls� so I could listen for any radio calls from the ground. We were on short final to the PZ before one of the gunners spotted them forming up in the treeline.
�Little People at nine o�clock, sir -- along with a zillion chickens.�
Oh, Balzac. They�d been foraging instead of patrolling. I remember hoping that they�d found at least one weapons cache and blown it�
�They�re taking their own sweet time about catching the bus -- cripes! They went fishing, too!?!�
Sure enough, the Puffs who weren�t loaded down with scraggly chickens were loaded down with the local version of catfish. I shrugged and flipped the nav monitor toggle switch on.
Siiiiilent Night, Hoooooly whumf
Mud-dirt-smoke a hundred yards south. The Ruff-Puffs started trotting toward the ships.
�Hey, Copperheads, Lead -- are you guys popping rockets to suppress?�
�Negative. We�re just orbiting about three klicks north.�
Allll is calm, allll is whooompf!
Mud-dirt-smoke fifty yards north. The Puffs are now pelting for the ships, fish flapping, chickens thrashing, purple helmet liners bobbing.
�Hey, Lead, Chalk Four -- Flight�s taking mortars in the PZ.�
�Yeah, looks like they�ve got a really decent bracket on us, too.�
"Hey, they broke the truce!"
"Why are you surprised?"
"'Cuz it's supposed to be *our* turn to break it!"
�Round yon viiiiirgi BAAMPF!!
Mud-dirt-smoke-flying debris-pting-zizzz! right through my door. The Puffs pile inside, to the accompaniment of the Copperheads flashing overhead, screaming south to look for the mortar team.
�Lead, Two -- they�ve got the range. Next round�s gonna land in my lap.�
�Lead, Five. Flight�s up.� Good. Everybody�s on board and it�s Time To Git Outta Dodge.
Five Hueys come unstuck and nose over to gain speed as multiple mud-dirt-smokes erupt from where we had just been.
Sleeeeep in heav-- I flick the nav toggle off.
Seven hours later, in the 'way-north part of the Delta (which is nonetheless still the 'way-south portion of Vietnam), we were proceeding inbound to pick up an ambush patrol from Moc Hoa. Just as I reached down to flip the nav toggle switch off,
Siiiiilent Night, Hoooooly pok! pok-pok!
Green tracers everywhere, coming from about thirty muzzle flashes right out my door.
Allll is calm, allll is pok!pok!pok!
�Chalk Three�s goin� down. Our engine's gone.�
�Chalk Five�s right behind you. Don�t forget to grab the radios and shoot the battery when you leave.�
�Hey, sir, there�s fluid on the deck. I think it�s oil, but it might be tranny fluid. It�s too dark to tell for sure.�
Oh, joy to the world.
pok!pok!pok!pok!pok!
�Lead, Two�s got fluid on the deck. My gauges are still normal, but I don�t think that�ll be the case in a couple of minutes.�
�Roj. Break off and head for Moc Hoa. Four, you hang with me and we�ll cover Five when he lifts off and pick up Two if he goes down enroute.�
I made it to Moc Hoa, barely. Oh, yeah -- it was tranny fluid.
Thirty-odd years later.
�What did you get for Christmas in Vietnam, Bill?�
�Shot down. For the *first* time.�
Heh. I still flick the radio off when "Silent Night" comes on�
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