The Viet-Nam and Military Art of Ben M. Kennedy

top of my ammo can, and saw a Vietnamese guy looking at me as if he was seeing a ghost.  His bullet had hit my armored chest protector, which we called our “chicken plate.”  In the headset built into the helmet, the pilots wanted to know if everyone was back on board.  I gave them “Clear left,” meaning we could leave and then, I noticed the spider holes all over the place.  We had landed right on top of the North Vietnamese Army that our guys had wanted to ambush.  I fired at the guy who had tried to kill me, and shot at some other spider holes as all of us in the “A Flight” got off of the top of that hill.  It took less time for all this to happen, than it takes to read what I have written so far.

My helicopter was shaking like a washing machine out-of-balance, and it seemed as though it would come apart in the air.  I can’t remember for sure, but I think all three of our helicopters were trailing smoke.  Mine was, and we were also losing fuel.  “Bravo One” (B-1), the lead helicopter in the second “V” of three, flew right over the top of the hill, following us.  They didn’t land, of course, but being the only thing the enemy gunners could see at that time, they got shot up just as badly as we had in the “A Flight.”  The Huey in the B-2 position broke left, and B-3 broke right, none of them flying over the L.Z.   “C Flight” was far enough back that C-1 was able to take over formation lead, and took the rest of the helicopters out of the area.  We made it back as close to L.Z. Baldy as we could get, before ditching all four helicopters in a flooded rice paddy (water up to our waists.)  From there, we carried the wounded to L.Z. Baldy.  Once in the aid station there, I saw many, many wounded, some looked worse than others, but I didn’t hear of any of our guys being killed.  The crew chief in the helicopter across from mine had caught a bullet between his head and his helmet.  He was medically grounded for a few days to recover, and said it had given him a splitting headache.  Our helicopters were recovered from the rice paddy within a couple of days, and returned to our company based at Chu-Lai, however, battle damage was so extensive that the Hueys were shipped back to the states for re-build (or so they told us.)  I had to “crew” a float helicopter until the Army could issue me another one.  Float helicopters were spares that no one wanted.  In cases like ours (our company lost four in one day), a float helicopter would be delivered for use until another could be assigned, then the float was returned to the pool.

One thing is typical of all combat assaults, and that is the adrenalin rush.  No matter how large or small the C.A., your pulse always raced and the high level of readiness, looking for any sign of the enemy, being instant in your reflexes, was all a common denominator in the combat assault.

A second very large combat assault took place again, before the year was out on November 20, 1968.  I was transferred to Duc-Pho, to fly with the 174^th Assault Helicopter Company, near the end of my first tour in ‘Nam.  This was a “DEROS Shuffle” designed to keep one unit from losing all of its experienced people at one time, due to the fact that everyone served just a year, then went back to the States.  The way the “Build-up” went, a lot of units were scheduled to have all new replacements, except for the DEROS shuffles that nulled that out.  Over a dozen of us from the 176^th went to the 174^th at this time.  I was assigned to the First Flight Platoon.  Duc-Pho had a reputation as a place too close to the enemy.  It was a small L.Z. (in fact, it was a fire-support base), much smaller than Chu-Lai, and probably no bigger than L.Z. Baldy.  Within a few days, not far from Duc-Pho, an F-4 Phantom had been flying low-level through a valley west of there, “Scudd Running” (going under the clouds to avoid poor weather, not in reference to the Iraqi “scuds” of twenty years later, which were missiles.)  The F-4 was shot down, and the pilots ejected.  The fighter was near the ground when he was shot down, so it was believed that the pilots would be somewhere near the wreckage.   A crew chief in our platoon, from New Mexico, was the crew chief on the helicopter that was sent into that valley to look for the missing F-4 crew.  His aircraft commander was Warrant Officer O’Sullivan.  Mr. O’Sullivan, incidentally, was the most highly decorated Army helicopter pilot of the entire Viet Nam War.  He was a gutsy pilot, if I may use that expression.  On the 18^th of November, 1968, Mr. O’Sullivan and his crew entered the valley to search for the downed crewmen.  They got caught in heavy enemy gunfire, and the crew chief was hit twice in the torso, both bullets missing his armor plate.