“Understand, Panther. Please hurry back. Situation here not good. Need you to cover. Let us get away.”
“Roger, Ballsy. Will come back as soon as we can. Your A-1s should be on their way.”
We headed to Ben Het. As we crossed the last ridgeline, the entire valley before us was filled with smoke. Tracers streamed outward from the defensive positions inside the camp. Enemy tracers replied from outside. Two jet fighters bombed next to the camp. NVA artillery, rockets, and mortars exploded in the camp. Enemy tanks breeched the perimeter. One, inside and partway up the hill, looked like it had been killed already. I couldn’t be sure. An Air Force AC-130 Spectre gunship was leaving. He’d worked the area over with 20-mm Vulcan Gatling guns and 40-mm cannons, probably hitting the tank. Enemy infantry moved through openings in the jungle canopy. I could see groups assembling to join the attack.
Ben Het, another old Special Forces camp, sat on a hill. The command post bunker was near the top, a small helipad nestled next to it and ammunition bunker positioned nearby. Several other bunkers and a number of now destroyed buildings were scattered across the camp. The defensive fighting positions had been reinforced over the weeks that the NVA offensive had raged through the highlands.
Two American advisors remained on the ground at Ben Het. Neither Capt. Bob Sparks, advising the 71st Border Ranger Battalion, nor Capt. Mark Truhan, advising the 95th, had asked to be evacuated. Both ranger battalions were filled with Montagnards but had ethnic Vietnamese officers. There had been dissatisfaction and a near mutiny by one unit the day before, but today they were pulling together, fighting ferociously against their common enemy.
“Sundance Rocket 88, this is Panther Three Six, inbound.”
“Panther Three Six, this is Rocket 88 Nutcracker. Glad to see you guys! We’re in some deep shit here.”
“Roger. I am on station with two Pink Panther Cobras and one Hawk’s Claw UH-1 with antitank capability. We have a visual on a number of tanks and will engage.”
“Roger, Panther. Several tanks already dead. Spectre did a job for us.2 Go after any still in action. Also have NVA in the tree lines. Hit those heavy with rockets if you would.”
“Roger. Will have Hawk’s Claw work with you directly on your push. We’ll cover them and hit your targets.”
We flew two thousand feet above the ground, what should have been a safe altitude. Near the camp, we could see .51-caliber tracers arching below us. I saw streams of much more threatening fire from ZPU 14.5-mm and ZU 23-mm antiaircraft weapons, a threat even at two thousand feet. I’d seen them in Laos, but never inside South Vietnam until two weeks before at Tan Canh/Dak To.
I radioed, “Take care, guys. I’ve got ZPU tracers and some zoo twenty-three airbursts. Watch out. That’s some nasty shit.”
Hawk’s Claw fired on a number of the tanks. After he expended his missiles, we began shooting at enemy soldiers along the tree line and into the jungle. After we fired all our rockets and most of the 40-mm grenades from our turrets, I radioed, “Nutcracker, we’re breaking station and returning to Kontum for rearm and refuel. Will be back as soon as we can.”
As we turned, I saw several big white airbursts explode close to Hawk’s Claw.
37-millimeter! Fuck me! A 37-mm blew my Mohawk out of the sky my first tour.
“Hey guys, that big stuff you see coming up is thirty-seven mike mike antiaircraft. It can eat your lunch. We’re outta here.”
We returned to Kontum. Once our rearm/refuel was complete, we took off, airborne again as a flight. We headed back to the fight and met Hawk’s Claw en route.
On our way back to Ben Het, we could see the battle continuing at Polei Kleng. Vietnamese Air Force A-1 Skyraiders dove, dropping bombs. We passed close enough to see one as it trailed smoke and flame and went into the ground in an awful explosion. I saw a parachute, and a mayday call came over the emergency frequency on the radio. I called headquarters to tell them I was diverting for a few minutes to help recover the downed VNAF pilot. “Negative, Panther Three Six. Permission denied. Proceed direct to Ben Het. Out.”
I tried again. Same result. Assholes!
As we got closer to Ben Het, the weather deteriorated. Under a solid overcast of darkening clouds, we flew right up against the bottom of the stuff at a thousand feet. Bad altitude. We were prime targets for every weapon at the enemy’s disposal, especially .51-calibers.
I got a call on the radio. “Panther flight this is Rocket Four-Four, over.”
Who the hell is Rocket Four-Four? I wondered. I keyed my mike, “Rocket Four-Four, this is Panther Three Six, go.”
“Roger, Panther Three Six. I’ve got a Huey load of small arms and antitank ammo for the guys at Ben Het. They need this badly. Can you cover us going in? Over.”
“Roger that. Standby.”
I came up with a plan. “Rocket Four-Four, weather is getting worse and pushing us down under a thousand feet. There is significant triple-A threat, twenty-three and thirty-seven mike mike. Suggest we go in on the deck, same as we do across the border. Right on the trees. Come in from the east and depart in a different direction, to the south.”
“Roger. Sounds good. Over.”
“There is so much crap out here that I don’t want to spend time in our usual racetrack. You guys lead in. We’ll cover you. Kick off your shit, and we’ll cover you out. How’s that sound?”
“Sounds good, over.”
“OK, let’s get this done.”
I smashed my cigarette out in the ashtray, sat up straighter in my seat, adjusted my chicken plate, and keyed my mike again. “Hawk’s Claw, hold well to the east, at altitude. We’ll pick you up after we run this resupply and help you get some more tanks.”
I spotted Rocket 44’s Huey inbound and maneuvered my fire team to his rear. Flame kept a little behind me and slightly to the left. The Huey dropped down, speeding toward Ben Het from the southeast, hugging the treetops. We stayed right with him, suppressing enemy fire along both sides of his flight path.
Tim called out enemy positions and weapons firing as he saw them, using the minigun and chunker as he talked. I fired pairs of rockets just in front and alongside the Huey. My wingman did the same. Tracers and antiaircraft airbursts appeared everywhere. We had jabbed a stick into a big angry hornet’s nest.
The Huey came to a low hover near the command bunker. The crew kicked out the ammo boxes. The helicopter did a left hovering turn and took off. I began a sharp left turn so I could continue shooting suppressive fire for him. The enemy opened up on our two Cobras with everything they had. My view left, right, above, and below was filled with tracers.
Tim fired continuously on those firing at us. We took large-caliber hits all over the aircraft (.51- and 14.5-mm ZPU). Rounds came through the cockpit. Hits from small arms always felt something like Jiffy Pop popcorn popping against its tinfoil cover. These seemed like a jackhammer slamming into the aircraft, beginning in the rear, working up the side and then into the cockpit.
The tail rotor was shot off and the engine was shot up. Every system on the helicopter was damaged in some way. Without the tail rotor, the aircraft began to spin. Fuel lines ruptured and we were burning. I keyed the microphone. “This is Three Six taking fire from four o’clock. Taking fire, everywhere. Taking fire, taking hits, going down. Panther going down.”
The engine quit. The rotor rpm caution light flashed. The audio warning sounded, announcing that my rotor blades were turning dangerously slowly. I slammed the collective down hard to autorotate. Under optimal conditions, this is a controlled emergency descent. Under these conditions, I could only hope to lessen the severity of the crash. We corkscrewed down in flames. As I wrestled the aircraft, I radioed my wingman,