I smacked Real Life on the snoot and it hasn't come to -- yet.
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Số mười, GI. And this one was definitely a Number 10 for the ground participants:
As you recall, the mission was a combat assault.
And if you don't recall, well, it was *still* a combat assault.
The Plan called for a five-ship insertion into the southeastern green quadrangle after the morning monsoon ended and, after the troops began moving westward into this neck of the U Minh, a second five-ship insertion would make an insertion into the quadrangle just west of the WR0 line. Those troops would move into the U Minh and take up blocking positions along the trail bordering the Rach Xen Bau canal -- when they were in position, the troops from the first insertion would re-orient and sweep towards them through the jungle, driving any VC they'd flushed toward the blockers. A heavy fire team of Copperheads would be patrolling between the shoreline and the trees on left flank security detail. After the action was over, everybody was supposed to procede to the western quadrangle for extraction. Sounds like a plan, right? But did I mention the jungle was the U Minh Forest?
Nasty place.
The morning monsoon ceased right on time (you could set your watch by the rainshowers if you didn't mind being maybe ten minutes off every couple of days) and there were still some broken clouds layered at about 2,500 and 7,000 feet. I was flying C&C, enroute at two grand to scope out the LZs; the Copperheads would do the close-in recon, and they were trailing me at about a mile, staying on the treetops. If there was anybody home to hear the noise, they'd associate it with me until the guns appeared. We'd left the flight at Ca Mau, about ten minutes away; they'd crank in another five minutes and bring in the first lift, because I'd have a decent LZ brief by then. We figured that if it took you more than five minutes to formulate the approach path, approach type, enemy situation and obstacle warning, touchdown point, egress route and suppression instructions, you were snoozing -- these days, they spend *hours* on "The Mission Plan: Actions Approaching the LZ" "...Actions In the LZ" et cetera -- usually with the same results that we got in five minutes.
*shrug*
The aircraft are six times as expensive, so I guess you've gotta spend six times longer on The Plan.
Visibility beneath and between cloud decks was great -- I identified the LZs when I was still a good seven miles to the southeast (the lower right corner of the map, ry) and, when I got closer, I could see something else.
Four guys un-camouflaging something.
"Hey, Three-One, One-Five on Uniform -- I've got people on our side of the north-south blue just short of--"
A 12.7mm Soviet heavy anti-aircraft machinegun. Aka, a .51 cal. See the red circle on the map?
"Owwww! Fifty-one! Fifty-one! Fifty-one! Break south -- One-five is going for the clouds!"
When concealment is closer than cover, opt for concealment. I'd already figured if I turned to run or dove, they had an excellent chance at nailing me, but I could climb 500 feet and be inside the scud before they could get a shot off. I yanked the cyclic back and the collective up, and went from straight-and-level at 100 knots to climbing in bat-outta-hell mode with zero knots forward airspeed.
Yours Truly to pilot: "Keep your eyes on that .51 -- lemme know when they start elevating it."
Pilot to YT: "Like they're doing now?"
*jink left, right pedal turn 90 degrees, keep climbing -- they don't have radar, and the jink 'n' pedal turn will skew his lead angle -- I hope*
Into the clouds. Six seconds later, out of the clouds.
"Hey, One-Five, Three-One, Uniform -- you sure you don't want company up there?"
"No, you'll just -- waitaminnit. Head south for three more minutes, then frag off one of the guns to Ca Mau for fuel -- have him tell the flight to hang loose and monitor Victor. Then you and your wingman head west to the Gulf, then turn north along the shore until you're over the PZ. Fly a long orbit and make noise, but keep the trees between you and the .51."
"Roger that. I sent Three-Three back. Don't get a nosebleed way up there."
YT: "Okay, how do you figure we're gonna get those guys?"
Pilot: "By that, I take it that we're not going to do something sensible, like go away from something designed to shoot down friggin' Messerschmitts?"
YT: "What's sensible got to do with it? I didn't get up at 0430 just to enjoy cold C-rats at Ca Mau at sunrise. Think."
Pilot: "Well, using the guns would be stupid -- they'd get killed before they got the first rocket off. Ummm -- you planning on dropping stuff on them?"
YT: "In a manner of speaking. Where were we yesterday?"
Pilot: "At that Marine Tiger Team fort. The one with the -- ooooh, artillery!"
Continued in Flash Traffic, so I don't blow all kat's Monday/Tuesday stuff through the bottom of the blog...
YT: "Yup. That .51 is right on the canal junction -- I can send a ten-digit grid. And the Marines are right on the north-south canal, so that's our gun-target line (if you haven't memorized the map yet, look for the magenta line. What, you thought I'd use *red*?). They've got one-seven-fives, and they fire a shell heavier than *I* am with a hundred-meter bursting radius -- and even if we only get close, the concussion will flatten them and the mud from the burst will bury 'em."
Yep. A 100-meter bursting radius and, at the range we were going to adjust, a normal dispersion of about a grid square (that's an old artillery joke)...
Long-story-short.
The clouds were drifting east and broken enough to give me a decent view of the target area from about 3,000 feet up while I was flying along the blue ellipsoid on the map. The first few rounds were on line and within 500 meters of the target, then they started to wander so far to the right (using the GT line) that they were hitting in the U Minh Swamp. Between exploding thirty feet deep in the the muck and the smoke dispersing through the foliage, I couldn't adjust for squat.
And, to make life even more exciting, whenever I strayed too far from the clouds, the VC gun crew would scramble to put a quick burst in my direction. Because I was being sneaky by flying out-of-trim, they'd miss by a mile. Copperhead 31 also had me in sight and razzed me every time he heard me make another adjustment, which just added to my determination to kill something before the day was over. Snarky UH-1C pilots included.
Back to square One.
YT to USMCFA: "Change adjustment. Mark Center of Sector, one round, Willie Pete, over."
Gyrene Guns: "Roj-oh, mark Center of Sector with one round of Willie Peter, out."
*pop into the clouds*
GG: "Shot, over."
YT: "Shot, out."
*pop out of the clouds to observe the burst*
GG: "Splash, over."
YT: "Splash, out."
...four, three, two -- looking out along the canal line for the football-field-sized white phosphorus--
!!! AIRBURST RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME !!!
Into the cloud. Six seconds later, out of the cloud. However, due to the aerodynamic peculiarities of the UH-1H, we'd already sucked a Huey-sized gulp of white phosphorus smoke into the cockpit and cabin, which, also due to the aerodynamic peculiarities of the UH-1H, proceded to leach out into the slipstream in as pretty a smoke trail as a stunt plane's at an airshow. Three-One hadn't seen the burst, but he *did* see me pop from behind a cloud.
Trailing a *lot* of white smoke.
Whereupon he keyed the mike and said, "Hey, One-Five -- uhh, ya do know yer on fire, don't ya?"
My reply was not suitable for your tender sensibilities, dear readers.
And, needless to say, I do not adhere to the old aviation dictum about ignoring ground fire -- "Big sky, little bullet."
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Epilogue: After I decided Somebody didn't want me to verbally abuse the Marines any more, a Black Pony popped up on Guard (243.0 UHF, for the grognards) and asked if he could play with us. Oh, yessss!
I gave the artillery End Of Mission, AA Gun Crew Terrified, gave the OV-10 driver the location of the .51 and told him to have at it. He climbed up to 6,000 feet, did a wingover and came straight. down. at. the. gun. About 3,000 feet ( I was 'way off to the southeast, watching from behind a cloud), he launched a pair of 5-inch Zuni rockets, peeled left, and climbed back above me.
One of the rockets hit the canal junction and the other hit the .51. We felt the double *thwumpk* before we heard it -- my crewchief swore he watched the tripod fly a hundred feet across the canal before it disappeared into a paddy.
"Three-One, One-Five on Uniform -- tell Three-Three to follow the flight out here." *click* "All Vultures, One-Five on Victor -- go ahead and launch, give me a call when you're five minutes from the LZ."
YT: "Whoever's been watching from the woodline is gonna have a heart attack in about fifteen minutes."
Pilot: "Good. I had one when the Willie Pete went off, so that'll even things out..."
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