“Tac-E! Tac-E! Third platoon, launch!” Someone running through the company area yelled.
I raced back to my hooch, drying as I ran. I pulled on my underwear, T-shirt, and socks. I dragged on my flight-suit pants and stepped into my boots and tied them. I threw on my shirt and grabbed my hat and CAR-15 automatic carbine, snatching two bandoliers of ammo as I bolted through the door, still wet from the shower.
Tim and I met WO1 Steve Allen in front of operations. “Flame” Allen was one of my best pilots. He exuded enthusiasm about most everything in life, this morning being no exception. Steve was going home in two weeks. I had taken him off the flight schedule, but I was short of pilots. Apologetically, I asked if he’d mind taking one more mission.
“Sure, PL. No problem.” I was glad that Steve would be flying my wing. We scrambled with no idea yet what the mission was, but we knew it couldn’t be anything good. The enemy had been clawing into the highlands for several weeks now, almost at will.
The pilot I’d scheduled to fly Flame’s front seat had not yet gotten to the flight line, but Capt. Bob Gamber, commander of 2nd Platoon, had arrived. He wanted to know if his guys would be needed to launch behind mine. They would be arriving shortly. Gamber was not in the schedule himself. He was available.
“Bob! Would you mind flying front seat with Flame this morning? I’m short a pilot.”
“No sweat. Got my stuff right here.”
Inside, John Mayes, our operations officer, was contemplating his ceiling fan, leaning back in his chair with his cowboy boots on top of the desk. A bank of radios sat on a shelf behind his head. Ops was the source of all knowledge and controller of all missions. John, an Oklahoman, engendered calmness and confidence that made you feel all was unfolding in a reasonable manner that could be sensibly tackled. Things made sense even in the midst of utter chaos. He was the perfect operations officer.
“Tanks in the wire at Polei Kleng. Launch now and call me en route for their radio freq. Hawk’s Claw will get up later. You’ll be covering him too. You have tail numbers 053 and 682. Go!”
I stuffed a small emergency radio into one of the pockets of my survival vest. No time to perform the normal check on the radio. I ran to my aircraft with Tim. My regular bird was down for maintenance. This one didn’t have a 20-mm cannon. I stowed my carbine and ammo behind the pilot’s seat, climbed in, dropped into my seat, flipped a few switches, and cranked the engine while Tim was strapping in. Canopy hatches closed and radio calls made, I hovered out and took off. Steve and Bob came up on my wing, tucked in close in tight formation. The Cobra was heavy with fuel and ammo, but it climbed well in the cool morning air. Once airborne, I turned the controls over to Tim and fastened my own seat belt and shoulder harness. I lit my first cigarette of the day before calling operations for an update and the radio frequencies and call signs we’d need when we got to Polei Kleng.
About ten miles from Polei Kleng, I initiated a call. “Ballsy Butler, Panther Three Six.”
No response.
“Ballsy Butler, this is Panther Three Six.”
Still nothing. Two Vietnamese army battalions defended Polei Kleng, a Montagnard border ranger battalion and the ARVN 22nd Ranger Battalion, which had been sent as reinforcement. Someone should be on the radio.
One more try, “Ballsy Butler, this is Panther Three Six, over.”
A broken, accented voice reminded me there were no longer American advisors on the ground at Polei Kleng. “Panther, this Ballsy Butler, over.”
“Roger, Ballsy. This is Panther Three Six. I have a fire team of two armed AH-1G Cobras inbound to offer assistance.”
“Good, Panther. Thank you. We need help. NVA attack with tanks and beaucoup infantry. We withdraw to south. Please hit all over camp and toward tree line to south for cover for us. Do not hit trees. We south of camp in jungle.”
“Wilco, Ballsy. Can you give me a current enemy sitrep? How many forces? What kind? Doing what? From what directions?”
He spoke rapidly, “Roger, Panther. Beaucoup infantry, many tanks. Many thousand NVA. I think regiment. Maybe ten tanks. They attack from north and west.”
“Roger, Ballsy. We’ll be there in a few minutes.”
Thick dust and smoke hung over Polei Kleng, evidence of the hard-fought predawn battle. I could see enemy infantry running all over the camp. A couple of NVA tanks sat between the northern tree line and the camp’s concertina wire, not firing. Some of the South Vietnamese rangers continued fighting from the southern tree line outside the camp.
We dodged .51-caliber tracers on every gun run we made. We took no hits. We shot our entire load of rockets. Tim fired the minigun and 40-mm grenades from the turret. We departed for Kontum, twenty minutes away, to rearm and refuel.
“Thank you, Panther. Big help. Please come back?”
“Roger. Need more fuel and ammo. Will be back soon.”
We did a rapid turnaround at Kontum, hot refueling and loading our own ordnance. I peed, with one hand devoted to that and the other gripping the fuel nozzle, pumping gas into the aircraft. Tim had to hold the controls during fueling. He relieved himself at the rearm point. Back in the air, I got a call on the radio.
“Panther Lead, this is Hawk’s Claw.”
Hawk’s Claw, a classified prototype system, was kept under wraps in a guarded hangar at Camp Holloway except when conducting missions. The aircraft was an old UH-1B model Huey that had been upgraded and specially modified to test a new wire-guided missile system. It could acquire, fire, and hit targets more than a mile away with an armor-piercing antitank missile.1
“Roger, Hawk’s Claw. This is Panther Three Six. Go ahead.”
“Hey Panther Three Six, this is Hawk’s Claw. Was told you’ll be covering us.”
“Roger that. Where are you?”
“Passing 200 degrees off Kontum at about twelve miles, just north of Plei Mrong. On the way to Polei Kleng. Understand they’ve got some tanks there.”
“Sure do. We were there earlier. We’re coming back out from Kontum. Will join on you en route.”
“Roger.”
Hawk’s Claw did not fly, even on training runs, unless it had Cobra gun cover, and today we were it. This would be their first engagement against the enemy.
“Hawk’s Claw, Panther Three Six. Have you in sight. Will catch up before we get to Polei Kleng.”
“Roger that. Let’s go get some tanks!”
When we got to Polei Kleng, we were surprised to find it quiet. The NVA infantry had occupied defensive positions within the camp. I couldn’t see any tanks at all.
“Ballsy Butler, this is Panther Three Six back with you. Don’t see any tanks. Can you give me a situation update?”
“Panther, this Ballsy Butler. Infantry occupy on Polei Kleng camp. Tanks pull back to jungle. We still fight from here and cover withdraw. We go Kontum. VNAF A-1s coming. Please fire on enemy in camp.”
Since no tanks could be seen, Hawk’s Claw remained high to one side. We Cobras fired rockets on the NVA positions in the camp. After one run, Hawk’s Claw called us on the VHF radio. The guys on the ground could not hear our VHF transmissions. They only had FM radios.
“Panther Three Six, Hawk’s Claw. Have a report of tanks in the wire at Ben Het. Situation sounds pretty bad. Two Americans still on the ground