“We were actually hoping to inspire Bill to a TINS....” said John.
Typically, encounters between helicopters and fifty-ones always ended badly, usually for helicopters, and almost always for the fifty-one. On 19 May, 1970, I watched a college classmate I’d known since 1964 fly into a multiple-gun ambush a klick from where I was operating.
Lanny was the one who convinced the six of us in the Flight Program to buy beer mugs in the college bookstore and have “The Flight Crew” stenciled on them.
His wingman called in an artillery strike. They killed the crews that killed him.
I (personally) know of only two daylight helicopter vs. fifty-one encounters where the helicopter came off best -- I’ve already written about the first one -- and I’m about to tell you of the second one.
Bear in mind that I flew Hueys -- H-model Slicks (only modified for Nighthawk missions when we had the actual mission) and Charlie-model Guns. Cobra pilots could take advantage of their faster speed, better dive characteristics, and narrow profile to actually attack fifty-ones from altitudes of 5,000 feet and higher
We didn’t have that advantage. But we had one big advantage over a Cobra.
We had doorgunners. Cobras didn’t.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Gunner-Soldier Tang An Thanh removed the tin pot containing his noon meal of rice and fish parts from the small charcoal fire he’d been cooking it on while he listened to the sounds of the firefight to his east. The Brothers had left the base camp an hour after dawn to strike the new contingent of government soldiers guarding the fortified village at the canal junction. The undoubtedly-successful strike would prove to the villagers that the government troops could not protect them – it would also provide captured weapons, ammunition, and food to re-stock the dwindling cache in the bunker beneath the commander’s hut. The commander’s hut, with its radio and field-built antenna, was the only permanent building in the camp, and was in the trees to the north side of the thirty-meter clearing that was the staging and rehearsal area. Everything else was hidden beneath the trees.
Gunner-Soldier Thanh reflected on his cooling meal. He’d need his strength for re-stocking the cache.
Everything else except the heavy machinegun that was the camp’s counter-air protection, located in the center of the clearing, camouflaged and shaded by a net suspended on four long poles.
The machinegun was the reason Gunner-Soldier Thanh was not on the assault. The gun was his – Thanh had been trained in its use and had proven himself proficient. He had been awarded a metal belt buckle with a red, enameled star in the center after he had shot down his third helicopter.
Gunner-Soldier Tang An Thanh began to eat from the tin pot containing his noon meal of rice and fish parts. The sounds of the firefight to his east had changed while he was cooking. He now heard helicopters, and the popping of small arms fire was being replaced by the heavy *brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr* of the miniguns some of the American helicopters carried.
Nói thầm chết.
Muttering Death.
He could hear explosions that were too heavy to be from the RPG the Brothers carried. He was too far away to hear the screams, but he knew there were screams.
Gunner-Soldier Thanh continued to eat. He’d need his strength for the burial detail.
The explosions and weapons firing ceased, and all he could hear was the muffled muttering of the helicopters’ blades.
He hoped the gunships had left enough of the Brothers alive to help with the digging.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
“One-Five, this is Three-Two. I count fifteen KBA in the weeds west of the blue squiggly, but there’s a bunch of blood trails and drag marks going into the woods, all pointing due west. Three-Seven thinks it’s worth a look that way for a camp.”
“Okay, Three-Two, but don’t play Loach with only Three-Seven for cover. If you go down, I’ll be righteously p*ssed at having to go into a hot LZ with the World's Worst Shot covering me.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
I had been working northwest of Ca Mau with the light fireteam of Copperheads -- Three-Two and Three-Seven -- doing an aerial recon for a sensor drop. Normally, map-spotting was good enough, but an Arc Light the day before had rearranged the topography somewhat. We were in the right place at the right time (for the good guys), because as we zipped around a bend in the canal I’d been weaving over, we popped out just in time to catch a VC platoon in mid-assault.
We knew they were VC rather than local Ruff-Puffs because they all oriented on *us* when we showed up.
The only thing that looks like a muzzle flash in the middle of a rice paddy is a muzzle flash in the middle of a rice paddy, and the only way to see a muzzle flash in the daytime is if the muzzle is pointed directly at *you*. That said, you can also see green tracers against a background of green foliage…
Duel.
On one side, thirty men with automatic weapons and an RPG, standing in an open field and using massed fire from point weapons.
Two hundred meters away, on the other side, twelve men with automatic weapons and rockets with 17-pound warheads, fifty feet up and closing with the first side at two-hundred-feet per second using massed fire from area weapons.
Place your bets.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
“One-Five, this is Three-Two, got us in sight?”
“Yup, I’m at your five, a hundred meters. Find something?”
“Maybe. I have what looks like a wire at my three – it’s up on poles sticking just above the trees, running from my position off to the west. I’m coming up on what looks like a clear – oh, holy sh*t, you ain’t gonna believe this!”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Gunner-Soldier Thanh continued his meal. The sound of the helicopters had been muffled by the trees enough for him to know that they had moved, but he had no idea in which direction. He had just convinced himself that they were probably moving north towards the airport at Rach Gia when the first one flew over his head and banked hard to the right to circle him.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
“One-Five, I’ve got a guy in the open, sitting right next to a %$#@! fifty-one, and he’s just sitting there, eatin’ lunch!”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
As the helicopter circled the clearing, Thanh considered his options. He could jump up and run for the nearest bunker, then down into the tunnel complex, but the nearest bunker was fifteen meters away. If he made it, his commander would kill him for abandoning the gun. If he didn’t make it, the helicopter would kill him.
It would be a crime to waste the food. Brothers had died to bring it to the cache. Thanh scooped up the last grains of rice from the tin, then licked his fingers.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
“Three-Seven, I can see bunkers through the trees – keep an eye on the woods for movement and Two, tell Four to look outside on *his* side – I can see both of you staring at that guy from way over here, on your nine.”
“He’s finishing his chop. I think the crazy bastard believes he can shoot me before I kill him.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Gunner-Soldier Thanh placed his meal tin carefully on the ground, stood, stretched, and turned toward his gun. The gun he had used to shoot down three helicopters. The gun which he had cleaned and loaded with new ammunition only that morning. He took two steps forward, glanced over his shoulder to the spot where the helicopter would be in two seconds, placed one hand on the spade grip and
Duel.
Typically, encounters between helicopters and fifty-ones always ended badly, usually for helicopters, and almost always for the fifty-one. On 19 May, 1970, I watched a college classmate I’d known since 1964 fly into a multiple-gun ambush a klick from where I was operating.
Lanny was the one who convinced the six of us in the Flight Program to buy beer mugs in the college bookstore and have “The Flight Crew” stenciled on them.
His wingman called in an artillery strike. They killed the crews that killed him.
I (personally) know of only two daylight helicopter vs. fifty-one encounters where the helicopter came off best -- I’ve already written about the first one -- and I’m about to tell you of the second one.
Bear in mind that I flew Hueys -- H-model Slicks (only modified for Nighthawk missions when we had the actual mission) and Charlie-model Guns. Cobra pilots could take advantage of their faster speed, better dive characteristics, and narrow profile to actually attack fifty-ones from altitudes of 5,000 feet and higher
We didn’t have that advantage. But we had one big advantage over a Cobra.
We had doorgunners. Cobras didn’t.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Gunner-Soldier Tang An Thanh removed the tin pot containing his noon meal of rice and fish parts from the small charcoal fire he’d been cooking it on while he listened to the sounds of the firefight to his east. The Brothers had left the base camp an hour after dawn to strike the new contingent of government soldiers guarding the fortified village at the canal junction. The undoubtedly-successful strike would prove to the villagers that the government troops could not protect them – it would also provide captured weapons, ammunition, and food to re-stock the dwindling cache in the bunker beneath the commander’s hut. The commander’s hut, with its radio and field-built antenna, was the only permanent building in the camp, and was in the trees to the north side of the thirty-meter clearing that was the staging and rehearsal area. Everything else was hidden beneath the trees.
Gunner-Soldier Thanh reflected on his cooling meal. He’d need his strength for re-stocking the cache.
Everything else except the heavy machinegun that was the camp’s counter-air protection, located in the center of the clearing, camouflaged and shaded by a net suspended on four long poles.
The machinegun was the reason Gunner-Soldier Thanh was not on the assault. The gun was his – Thanh had been trained in its use and had proven himself proficient. He had been awarded a metal belt buckle with a red, enameled star in the center after he had shot down his third helicopter.
Gunner-Soldier Tang An Thanh began to eat from the tin pot containing his noon meal of rice and fish parts. The sounds of the firefight to his east had changed while he was cooking. He now heard helicopters, and the popping of small arms fire was being replaced by the heavy *brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr* of the miniguns some of the American helicopters carried.
Nói thầm chết.
Muttering Death.
He could hear explosions that were too heavy to be from the RPG the Brothers carried. He was too far away to hear the screams, but he knew there were screams.
Gunner-Soldier Thanh continued to eat. He’d need his strength for the burial detail.
The explosions and weapons firing ceased, and all he could hear was the muffled muttering of the helicopters’ blades.
He hoped the gunships had left enough of the Brothers alive to help with the digging.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
“One-Five, this is Three-Two. I count fifteen KBA in the weeds west of the blue squiggly, but there’s a bunch of blood trails and drag marks going into the woods, all pointing due west. Three-Seven thinks it’s worth a look that way for a camp.”
“Okay, Three-Two, but don’t play Loach with only Three-Seven for cover. If you go down, I’ll be righteously p*ssed at having to go into a hot LZ with the World's Worst Shot covering me.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
I had been working northwest of Ca Mau with the light fireteam of Copperheads -- Three-Two and Three-Seven -- doing an aerial recon for a sensor drop. Normally, map-spotting was good enough, but an Arc Light the day before had rearranged the topography somewhat. We were in the right place at the right time (for the good guys), because as we zipped around a bend in the canal I’d been weaving over, we popped out just in time to catch a VC platoon in mid-assault.
We knew they were VC rather than local Ruff-Puffs because they all oriented on *us* when we showed up.
The only thing that looks like a muzzle flash in the middle of a rice paddy is a muzzle flash in the middle of a rice paddy, and the only way to see a muzzle flash in the daytime is if the muzzle is pointed directly at *you*. That said, you can also see green tracers against a background of green foliage…
Duel.
On one side, thirty men with automatic weapons and an RPG, standing in an open field and using massed fire from point weapons.
Two hundred meters away, on the other side, twelve men with automatic weapons and rockets with 17-pound warheads, fifty feet up and closing with the first side at two-hundred-feet per second using massed fire from area weapons.
Place your bets.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
“One-Five, this is Three-Two, got us in sight?”
“Yup, I’m at your five, a hundred meters. Find something?”
“Maybe. I have what looks like a wire at my three – it’s up on poles sticking just above the trees, running from my position off to the west. I’m coming up on what looks like a clear – oh, holy sh*t, you ain’t gonna believe this!”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Gunner-Soldier Thanh continued his meal. The sound of the helicopters had been muffled by the trees enough for him to know that they had moved, but he had no idea in which direction. He had just convinced himself that they were probably moving north towards the airport at Rach Gia when the first one flew over his head and banked hard to the right to circle him.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
“One-Five, I’ve got a guy in the open, sitting right next to a %$#@! fifty-one, and he’s just sitting there, eatin’ lunch!”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
As the helicopter circled the clearing, Thanh considered his options. He could jump up and run for the nearest bunker, then down into the tunnel complex, but the nearest bunker was fifteen meters away. If he made it, his commander would kill him for abandoning the gun. If he didn’t make it, the helicopter would kill him.
It would be a crime to waste the food. Brothers had died to bring it to the cache. Thanh scooped up the last grains of rice from the tin, then licked his fingers.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
“Three-Seven, I can see bunkers through the trees – keep an eye on the woods for movement and Two, tell Four to look outside on *his* side – I can see both of you staring at that guy from way over here, on your nine.”
“He’s finishing his chop. I think the crazy bastard believes he can shoot me before I kill him.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Gunner-Soldier Thanh placed his meal tin carefully on the ground, stood, stretched, and turned toward his gun. The gun he had used to shoot down three helicopters. The gun which he had cleaned and loaded with new ammunition only that morning. He took two steps forward, glanced over his shoulder to the spot where the helicopter would be in two seconds, placed one hand on the spade grip and
Duel.
Ah. Success.
Great story. Sad pic, though.
I was wondering how it garnered nine comments so fast...
Thanks,
SFC Walter M. Clark, ret
confiscatedstolen by the REMFs at 90th REPL Depot in 1970 -- along with my jungle boots and everything else they could think would make good souvenirs which is the reason I seldom put *exact* dates on the stories. I only do it when I can independently verify them, or they happened on a date that was significant -- or their occurrence made the date significant.I'm a bit leery of guys who claim they can remember exactly what happened on any given date in their tour. I know *one* guy who has an amazing memory for the details, and even *he* is hazy about some of the dates.
Bill, you a member of VHPA?
Life member of the Agent Orange Club, too, but the dues are killin' me...
"Tang" is a common Vietnamese surname, and "An" and "Thanh" are common men's names. I confess to a bit of puckishness picking names, though -- one translation of Thanh An is "peaceful clear sky"...
I mind the old meta-story of old soldier with grandchild on lap, finishing scary bloody war story, and the kid saying "What happened then, Grandpa?" Grandpa answers, "Why, I was killed, of course."