Chapter 2

On the trail.

There was a Little stream leaking out of the mountains into the Song Thien watershed west of FB professional. The little stream was no more than 3 or 4 feet across, but it flowed rapidly; dropping more than a thousand feet in it's twenty mile trip into a Song Thien tributary. The little stream was innocuous, but would prove to be the key to uncovering a major NVA base.

I was a scout. You know what a scout is if you watched westerns as a kid. Scouts rode ahead of the army, smoking out the enemy and keeping the soldiers apprised of the situation. I was the Scout platoon leader in B Troop, 2/17^th Cavalry. Only we used helicopters instead of horses. My particular helicopter was even named after a horse; the Cayuse. It was called a loach by everyone because it was slang for LOH, or Light Observation Helicopter. It was the Porsche of helicopters. It was nimble and fast, and if it crashed, every thing came off and was demolished except the crew compartment, which was shaped like an egg.

The other helicopter in the team was the Cobra. It was one mean mother. It carried up to 18-2 ¾” diameter rockets; a 4000 round per minute minigun; and a 40 millimeter grenade launcher (called a blooper, for the sound it made leaving it’s tube). The Cobra was flown in an orbit 1500 feet in the air. If the Loach found something to fire on (or received fire), it would respond with appropriate anger.

Sgt. Davis was the Scout platoon Sergeant. He was a tall graceful black man with a quiet demeanor who inspired maximum respect from his little platoon of observers and crew chiefs. He always kept the prerogative of flying with his platoon leader. Bruce Carroll was young and very intelligent. His aircraft was 16-398; The platoon leaders loach. Bruce could handle his M-60 machine gun with the best of them, and was my favorite crew chief/gunner.

On the 12th of July, 1969, I had Sgt. Davis and Bruce Carroll with me when we went up the little stream looking for the remains of the 2nd NVA Regiment. The first brigade had kept them on the run since their encounter with the regiment in pitched battle back on June 2.

We had slowed to a hover, looking for tracks on the stream bank. Sgt. Davis excitedly called my attention to his side of the a/c.

“Hey, look over here; there’s some tracks”

I moved the aircraft over and saw many tracks coming up the bank. It looked like about 8-10 people moving east. Sgt. Davis called in to Bill Allen and Bill Russell in the Cobra and gave them a spot report.

“Banshee 36, this is 16. We’ve got a trail coming out of the water. It looks like about 8 or 10 sets of tracks” I said excitedly. “We’re gonna follow them a ways”

The little trail led quickly into the dense undergrowth, but remained visible. It was obvious the tracks were only about an hour old. We hovered up the trail, even as we disappeared under the triple canopy. We got a very nervous call from Bill Russell in the Cobra.

“Hey little buddy, you’d better come outa there, I can’t see you anymore“.

I was too interested in the trail to pay much attention to him. We were continually climbing up a fairly steep slope. The light and shadows played their games of hide and seek on the ground. Sometimes we could see where we were going, and, at other times, could barely make out the ground.

We traveled this slow journey for about 15 minutes. Banshee 36 (the Cobra) kept reminding us we couldn't be seen. I was getting excited; the tracks were getting fresher the further we went. Sgt. Davis described what we were seeing in great detail, and his calmness seemed to mollify Bill.

“The tracks are real fresh, and they are wearing boots.” The latter was pretty significant, because the presence of boots meant they were first line North Vietnamese Army troops, and not Viet Cong.

When I first saw them, it took a couple of seconds to register. There were 8 nattily dressed NVA soldiers leaning against trees in a circle; their rifles leaning beside them. They seemed as surprised to see the helicopter as we were to see them. One can't imagine why; they had to have heard the a/c approaching. It just shows how dense the jungle was.

The next few seconds (minutes?) became a blur. I immediately began reporting to Banshee 36.

“Hey, I got 8 men in tan uniforms down here; any friendlies in the area?”

“Nope, they gotta be bad guys“, was Bill’s answer

While I was talking to 36, I swung the aircraft around so Bruce could get a shot. I began hearing the bark of the 60 behind me, while, at the same time, I could hear the unmistakable sound of AK-47s on full automatic. At first, their panic caused their shots to go wide, but it didn't take long for one of them to zero in on the Loach.

“Takin’ fire!!”

The words escaped out of my mouth and cracked like a whip in the earpieces of the Cobra pilots. Just then, I could feel the rounds hit the airframe, and smoke began to billow from the rear of the a/c.

“Goin’ down!!”

I could feel the life go out of the engine as it began bleeding it's fluids. I pulled pitch in an effort to get some distance between us and the NVA. I managed to pop up about 50 feet before the engine quit completely. I immediately dove toward the west and away from the NVA. The Loach chopped it's way through the small pepper trees in it's path. We made about 100 yards or so before we came to a halt. We were still upright, but everything on the Loach was torn off.

“Let’s get outa here!!” It was Sgt Davis.

We immediately unassed the Loach. Sgt Davis was carrying his CAR-15 (a short M-16), and Bruce had his M-60 machine gun. I was stuck with a .38, and felt pretty naked. As we ran further to the west, Sgt Davis stopped and lobbed a white phosphorous grenade back into the chopper. It almost immediately exploded . At about 300 yards, we made it to a big teak log, from which we could make a stand. We then took stock. Besides the weapons mentioned before, we had the box of grenades Davis had managed to grab. In it we had smoke, WP (white phosphorous), and HE (high explosive). We had about 500 hundred rounds of 7.62mm ammo for the 60, and several clips for the CAR-15.

Oh yes; and everyone was okay, with only a few minor bumps or bruises. I took the Day-Glo blanket out of my survival vest and spread it behind us. There was an opening in the trees above, but I didn't dare pop smoke so close to the enemy. I could talk on guard frequency (an emergency radio communication channel) with my survival radio, and soon was in contact with 36.

“Banshee 36, this is Banshee 16 on Guard. We are down, but we are all okay.” I tried to sound normal but I felt pretty panicked.

“16, this is 36.” It was now the Louisiana drawl of Bill Allen on the radio. “We see your marker. What’s your position from there?”

“36, uh, we’re to it’s east about 10 yards. The bad guys are about 300 yards further”

“Keep your heads down”

In a very few seconds, the unmistakable and very loud sound of 2 ¾” rockets exploding to our front signaled that the cobra was finding it’s mark. The jungle ahead of us began coming apart. Large trees were uprooted, and dirt filled the air.

Bruce had the 60 going by now, with Sgt Davis feeding the ammo into the machine gun. He couldn’t see anything in the direction of the enemy, but the intent was to hold them off.

I heard the FAC talking on guard.

“Banshee 5, this is Night Train, What ya got?”

Banshee 5 was Captain Livingstone, the Troop executive Officer. He was flying the Huey Command and Control aircraft that day, and was the onsite commander.

“I’ve got a loach down. The crew is out of the aircraft and is okay. They’re right in the middle of a bunch of bunkers. They have bad guys to the east of the marker about 300 yards.”

I knew there would soon be bombers on station. Sure enough, in about two minutes, I saw two Marine F4s circling my position. The first one began his run from south to north, and didn’t dump his load until he was almost on top of the bunkers. 500 pounders began hitting the ground. The sound was deafening. The earth shook.

After about 15 minutes or so of this, Dave came on guard and said the Blues were coming to get us. The Blues were the Aerorifle Platoon; infantrymen who were the ready reaction force of the troop. They landed a bit to our west, and soon were at our position. We were on board Fernando's bird and out of there before we had time to get worried. Bruce, Sgt Davis, and I were safely back in Tam Ky when the results of our search came to fruition.

Johnny Sprott went on station for what amounted to a bomb damage assessment. The air strike had torn up a lot of jungle, and exposed several tunnel entrances. It turns out that the ones who shot us down were getting ready to go underground. They never made it. All 8 of them were killed.

Blues left our LZ after we were evacuated out and advanced on the bunker complex, which turned out to be a hospital and resupply encampment. In exploring the now abandoned hospital, they came across one patient. It was a black American. He was obviously being treated for a head injury. An attempt was to be made to rescue him. Bob Bohler volunteered to bring him out on a McGuire rig. When he was brought out, he was taken immediately to Tam Ky North, where he died shortly thereafter.

It turns out he had been a POW with PFC Garwood and WO Frank Anton. They were being transported toward Laos and the Ho Chi Minh trail and, ultimately, to North Vietnam. Frank was released in '73, and wrote his story in a moving book. Garwood escaped in 1979, and was charged with several crimes, including treason. He also wrote a book about his harrowing experiences and his seeming treachery.