The Time: 1500 on an evening roughly three months prior to the post that started this saga.
The Place: The Plain of Reeds, northwest of Moc Hoa, RVN.
Either the pace man had miscounted the number of streams they’d crossed or the compass man had oriented the map by placing it on the engine cover of the Ford tractor. Miscounting streams in the Plain of Reeds was excusable, especially during the interval between the end of the monsoon and the middle of the dry season – every stream, like everything else, was under two or three feet of water and a streambed was just another deep spot in a 10,000 square-kilometer marsh. Placing a map and compass on a ton of metal and believing you’d get a reliable course was inexcusable…
“Hey, One-Five, Three-Four – you won’t believe what I found!”
“Today, I’ll believe anything – I saw a pink rhinoceros this morning.”
“Are you still hung over?”
“Nope. The rhino was rolling in the red clay by Cai Cai and he came out pink. What’d you find?”
“I got fifty NVA marching along a dike, with a flag and a tractor towing a 106mm reckless rifle.”
“Whoooo! Where are they and where are you?”
“They just walked across the border, between BTT and Moc Hoa. We’re orbiting a couple of klicks south of them.”
“Okay, I see them. Geez, it’s a parade! Keep orbiting – they’ve either got the world’s ballsiest Lieutenant, or they think they’re still in Cambodia.” [break] “Reed Control, Vulture One-Five squawking 0533. What’s my exact location, Sugar Bear?”
“Hi, One-Five, you’re tracking one kay south of Never-Never Land, parallel to the border and the No-Fly Zone, eight klicks northwest of my house.”
“Give me a grid on my mark, okay?”
“You got it.”
I turned south for several klicks, then began a slow turn northward. I wanted to approach the parade from the south, which would lull them into thinking I had crossed the border to investigate them. They knew we couldn’t touch them if they were in Cambodia and I intended to convince them they were still inviolate. Until I was ready, anyway…
“Sugar Bear, One-Five – on my mark, five…four…three…two…one…mark!” I broke right over them at 500 feet – they’d had me in sight for at least a minute; because I wasn’t behaving in a threatening manner, they weren’t concerned. Half of them even flipped me the bird. I began a slow, right orbit at 500 feet, just being a stupid, curious helicopter pilot who didn’t want to cause an international incident.
The remainder of the segment gets somewhat dark, so I put it in Flash Traffic. No, it's *not* the final installment...
“One-Five, ready to copy your grid?”
“Affirm. Send it, Reed.”
He did. I quick-checked my tac-map; the parade was almost a klick south of the border.
“You went and got professional on me, Sir, and I see you’re orbiting. If you’ve got something, I’d appreciate a play-by-play.”
“Would you believe – fifty NVA, with flag, with tractor, with one-owe-six.”
“Geez, we’re being invaded…”
“Three-Four, One-Five, got me in sight?”
“Yep.”
“Honk it over and drag your skids in the weeds. Orient on me and you’ll blast past them on your right. Then break right and we’ll pretend we’re the Indians and they’re the settlers.” Having two Charlie-Model gunships suddenly appear at eye level would make them start to reconsider their inviolability, and I wanted them to make the first move, considering how close we were to the border. Didn’t need any REMF at Group screaming for my guts on a spit because I’d created an international incident…
The two gunships flashed past at 140 knots then broke right over them. The tractor driver bailed and the tractor lurched to a stop. Half the troops in the column ducked and the other half dodged sideways.
“Taking fire!" The troops who had ducked had done so to unsling their weapons and were now firing -- inaccurately -- at all three of us.
“Bust ‘em!” Three-Four and playmate did cyclic climbs to altitude followed by wingovers to roll into a rocket run.
“Full right suppression to cover the gunships – hit those idiots around the tractor!”
The troops who had dodged now had their weapons out but were confused about which of us to shoot – the gunships turning to dive on them, or the Huey actively firing on them. In the end, it didn’t really matter. And the end came in seconds. Ten-pound warheads and multiple minigun bursts are very effective at eliminating a linear target...
Three-Four slowed after rolling into a right turn and approached the kill zone.
“Three-Four, what the %$#@! are you doing hovering down there?”
“I’ve got three guys trying to unlimber the one-owe-six. I don’t believe this – they’re trying to use it as an antiaircraft gun!”
Sure enough, I watched as Three-Four slowly slid past, keeping just ahead of the muzzle as the impromptu flak crew sighted and *traverse-traverse-traverse-thunk* and hit the stops. They picked up the trails, swung the gun ninety degrees and *traverse-traverse-traverse-thunk* and hit the stops. They picked up the trails again, swung the gun another ninety degrees and *traverse-traverse-traverse-thunk* and hit the stops. Three-Four’s wingman stopped the farce with a burst from his miniguns.
I dropped to six feet and flew slowly past, looking for movement -- if we found any wounded, we’d pull them aboard and evacuate them to the hospital at Binh Thuy. We found none. But as I flew past the Ford tractor, I saw a stencil on the engine cover.
In English.
“A gift to the [bullet hole]ple of the Democr[bullet hole]c Republic of Vietnam from the Americ[bullet hole]riends Service Commi[bullet hole].”
Great, I thought. Some peacenik group is shipping prime movers to the enemy and we can’t even get our own government to send us toilet paper without wood chips in it…
To be continued…
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