Chapter 11

My first unit in Vietnam was B troop, 3/17^th Air Cav. We were the Stogies. This was not my favorite unit I was ever in. It was commanded by a man named Wally Napier. I am sure he was a fine officer, despite the fact that he was a National Guard type. The trouble, as you shall see, is that we ended up bitter enemies.

Upon arriving at Dian, on the Saigon River, I began my in country training. After a short time, I became the C.O.’s pilot. This means I flew a UH-1D as command and control. In this way, I built up lots of hours in a hurry.

Along with flying the C & C ship, I, like all other lieutenants in such a unit, had several “additional duties” which took up all my “spare” time. One such was “motor officer“. Another was something called “awards and decorations” officer. It was this latter job that got me in trouble.

One night after we had flown all day (boring holes in the sky), we had all gathered in our makeshift officer’s club to relax over a few beers. I didn’t have to fly the next day, so I planned to sleep in. Just about when I had gotten so relaxed I was about to fall asleep, Major Napier came in the door.

He came over to the table where I was sitting and stated;

“ I want to have an awards ceremony in the morning”.

At this, he turned and left the room. He was shaped approximately like a coke bottle, and always walked like he had a cob up his butt. As I watched the coke bottle walk stiffly out of the room, I tried to put what he said into some form my now slightly inebriated brain could understand. Hmm, let’s see; “awards ceremony”. I vaguely remembered seeing a board covered with medals that seemed ready to be taken off and presented to awardees. I assumed that the awards NCO would get it out the next morning and take it to the morning formation. No sweat.

OOPS! Big mistake! I should never have assumed anything. The next morning at about 5:30, I woke up to the sight of a green coke bottle leaning over my cot. To say he was hot under his stiffly pressed collar is a gross understatement.

“Lieutenant Pryor! Get up!” he screamed in my ear. “What are you doing?” I figured it would do no good to tell him I had, only seconds before, been dreaming of another place and another time, so I mumbled something and jumped out of bed.

Everyone was in formation waiting for the sleepy eyed Awards and Decorations Officer (unshaven and disheveled) to appear. The good Major had no choice except to reschedule the ceremony. From that day forward, we were bitter enemies.

Now, having a bitter enemy as one’s commanding officer is not conducive to career advancement. He couldn’t stand the sight of me, so he dreamed up a brilliant strategy. He would make me a Liaison Officer.

We were a non-divisional support unit, so we supported whomever we were assigned to temporarily. The support we provided was twofold; we used our hunter-killer teams to gather intelligence, and we screened around our supported troops. We also occasionally helped in combat assaults (that is; we carried troops into battle in our Hueys)

The unit we were supporting was the First Brigade of the 9^th Infantry Division. They were based at the time at FSB Moore, out in the Iron Triangle of western South Vietnam. That meant we had to provide an officer at the fire support base to coordinate support. This job usually went to either a captain or a very strack first lieutenant. I was neither, but, like I said, he wanted me out of his sight.

We loaded my gear and the gear of my radio operator and NCO into a Huey and we boogied on out to Moore. Upon landing, we met two of the most memorable men I was to meet in Vietnam.

The first of these was the First Brigade commander. He Col. John Geraci. His call sign was “Mal Hombre”, and that described him to a “t”. He was a rather large man, with an expansive girth and big chest. He had a voice that was more akin to a foghorn than anything else. He was given to standing in front of meetings and booming;

“Kill more dinks!!”.

When anyone from a battalion or support organization would brief him, his first question was always;

“How many dinks did you kill today?”

Actually, he was well liked by his troops, and usually got good results. He had been in Vietnam continuously for 4 years. His wife had finally sued him for divorce, so he left to deal with her shortly after I arrived at Moore.

The second man was Ltc. David Hackworth. He was a battalion commander. Like Geraci, he was a big man, but with a much more gentle voice. He likes to say he was the most decorated man in U.S. Army history. He isn’t, but that doesn’t matter to the story.

He was a legend even then, having served well in WW11, Korea, and Vietnam. His battalion (nicknamed Hardcore) was a cutting edge outfit, with an almost unmatched record in battle. I would come to know him better as the month wore on.

Shortly after Mal Hombre left for the states, a temporary brigade commander took his place. The new guy was totally inexperienced and went strictly by the book. This inexperience was about to get some men killed.

One evening about 2300 hrs (11:00 PM), my radio crackled to life. It was John “Beetle” Bailey (Stogie 23);

“Stogie 3 Alpha, this is Stogie 23, over”.

“23 this 3 Alpha, over”

“3 Alpha, we have a situation out here”. Beetle was a Cobra gunship pilot. In fact, he was the best ever. He was on a mission out near the Cambodian border in support of Hackworth’s battalion.

The day before; March 7 1969, The new brigade commander had taken it upon himself to send a small Long Range Reconnaissance Patrol into an area just inside the Cambodian border. Its purpose was to scout for enemy incursions into Vietnam. The problem was that (aside from the fact that their battalion commander was dead set against the mission) they were brand new in country and under trained.

Anyway, the small force (about 6 men) found itself in a pitched battle with hardened NVA troops. Hardcore 6 (LTC Hackworth) got into his loach and flew out to see what he could do. Upon arriving at the scene, he told his pilot to land. When his pilot refused (it looked too hot), he took out his .45 and ordered him to land under the threat of death.

As they approached the proposed landing zone, the pilots fears were borne out. They took several rounds of small arms fire, which forced them to the ground. They hopped out and ran for cover, leaving the crashed helicopter. At that point, they became infantry and found themselves in a pitched battle.

Because we were supporting them, and one of our Hueys had inserted the LRRPs to begin with, Hardcore 6 (Hackworth) called on his FM radio for assistance using our frequency. That is where Beetle Bailey came in, resulting in the radio call to the Tactical Operations Center related above.

“3 Alpha, hardcore 6 has been shot down and is currently fighting a battle with just his LRRPs. The nearest Hueys are at least an hour out. Do you have a Huey at Moore?”

“Yeah, I’ve got a Huey but no co-pilot”

“I’ll let you have my sandbag”

“Who is it?”

“Marx”

“Oh well, he’s better than nothing”

What Beetle was talking about was his front seat man (called a sandbag by the cobra pilots). Their main job in a Cobra was to fire the guns from the front seat. Marx had been in country for over 6 months, but had never made Aircraft Commander in any aircraft. He was just too shaky. It didn’t really matter in this case, of course, as the reason for a co-pilot in a Huey was in case the pilot (AC) was shot and the co-pilot could take over the controls.

Beetle landed 5 minutes later as I was running up the Huey and getting 9 infantry soldiers on board. As soon as Marx had climbed in, we took off and headed west. Toward the Cambodian border. 15 minutes later, we were at the site of the battle.

Beetle began giving me my situation briefing. He wouldn’t be able to prep The LZ in advance because friendlies were too close, so I would have to go in cold. I wouldn’t be able to use my landing light because of the danger. The only way I would know where to land would be that Hackworth would use his flashlight to guide me in. He would have to shield it from the side using his helmet, so I would have to maintain an exact line and glide slope in order to see his light.

I flew west until I saw the tiny pin prick of light. I began my approach immediately. Just as quickly, enemy gunners began zeroing in on us. I was pretty busy, but saw the tracers go whizzing by my cockpit. I bottomed the collective and we began a freefall toward the darkness below.

I heard a scream coming from the co-pilot’s seat. I glanced over and saw Marx; his head was in his lap. He was curled up in a fetal position and crying like a baby. Oh hell; so much for getting on the controls.

I yelled over the intercom; “Snap out of it”!

I heard him scream; “We’re gonna die!”

About 100 feet or so from the ground, the bullets started hitting the aircraft. The infantry troops were real veterans, and did the smart thing; making themselves as flat as possible on the floor.

As we cleared the treetops, I first saw the crashed helicopter. It was sitting on a rice paddy dike, lying on its side. I was left with only enough room to put one skid on the dike, with the other hanging out over the edge. I could feel the thud of bullets hitting the light magnesium of the chopper. I pulled pitch and the Huey came to a shuddering stop. I wasn’t even stopped yet when the troops cleared the chopper.

For what seemed an eternity (actually only a coupe of minutes), they loaded their wounded. As soon as they were ready, I pulled all the pitch I had and executed an emergency takeoff (basically almost straight up). Those Hueys were tough. It was still running well.

Just as we left the area, I could see a flight of Hueys approaching from the east They were the 3^rd of the 5^th out of Chu Lai. They would handle it from there. We landed at FSB Moore and I shut down. As I waited for the wounded to be unloaded, I began to survey the damage. It didn’t look too serious in the darkness, but the light of the next day showed 26 bullet holes in the skin.

In just a few days, I would be up north with the banshees. I never spoke to Marx again. I also never got to discuss the incident with Hackworth until many years later.