==========================
A Vietnam Retrospective
PART 8
Click on the blue cube to go back to Part 7
==========================
The Army frowned on fraternization between
officers and enlisted men, and I knew all the chain-of-command reasons. In Vietnam, those
cast-in-stone rules were somewhat ignored as we virtually lived together. What the Army didn't
account for in this policy was the enlisted guy's wonderful resignation to do the great job
they did, put up with the officer's downright rudeness, and maintain a smile.
Considering this was an extremely dangerous job and extremely dangerous place to perform this
job,
I was constantly in awe of these young (and older) men's almost cheerful, daily attitudes.
In spite of even the sourest of tasks, these guys could and did have a good time. Among my
other favorite crew gentlemen(?) were Tom Taggert, Scott Sparks, Bill Wilder, Ralph Carty,
Gary Munson, Ray Earvin, John Moore, Pat Wade, Bob Millus, Danny Neagle, Yogi Reeves, Mark
McEvoy, and Lee Fairchild. Every one of them evokes a story and, especially, a smile.
 
Top left: Tom Taggart. Top right (l-r): Holder, Browne, Scott Sparks,
Ralph Carty, Eddie Nichols, Skelly and E7 2nd Platoon Sergeant (?).
Top left: Bill Wilder. Top right:
Ralph Carty
 
Top left: Gary Munson. Top right:
John Moore.
 
Top left: Pat Wade. Top right: Bob Millus.
Top left: Yogi Reeves. Top right: Mark McEvoy.
 
Above left: Lee Fairchild. Above right: Ray Earven
Among my greatest friends there was Bob Jansen (Photo below). Bob was the only guy I classified as being as clinically crazy as Ray Earvin. Every one of these psychos had one thing in common: "What in hell would possess them to jump in the back of one of these whirling death traps with a junior-flip like myself at the controls?" It made absolutely no sense to me at all then, or to this day. I think Bob Jansen liked me because I'm not sure if he ever met anyone from Southern California before. He came from a big Missouri family and I don't think anything before or since has ever scared this guy. If he ever was scared, he sure as shit never showed it. He could laugh or crack a joke at the scariest of times and in doing so, keep the whole crew loose. I was just a closet crazy compared to him. My favorite stories involving him will be along later.
Anyway, when I was flying with the slicks, a hot evening absent a floor show could be spent playing poker or 'spades' in the Officers Club (an air conditioned barn) and getting drunk. We'd listen to the standard fare of soft rock and country music that the first crews back in that day would throw on the reel-to-reel. Or occasionally, some tapes of the "Three Majors and a Minor" (High Priced Help), an all pilot singing group of original 174th'ers, that had been left behind for our listening enjoyment. They sang of combat assaults, the Sharks and Vietnamese beer. It made for a great atmosphere to drink to and I still do today, thanks to my relationship with retired Colonel Marty Heuer.
The Shark crews would do the same type of drinking, but one of their favorite games was to roll up a Stars and Stripes newspaper, dip it into lighter fluid, ignite it and blow flames out the end as you chased a similarly armed opponent throughout the hootch. Greg Manuel and Dennis McCabe raised this form of delinquency to an art. This made our section leader, Lt. Bob Hackett, nuts. We'd act like fools and Bob would get his 'heels locked' by Ackerman for allowing us to set a bad example.
I began ruining my teeth during this period by brushing them with Coca Cola, which I'd become addicted to. I drank it for breakfast like others drink orange juice. It was readily available, more so than the water, which smelled and tasted of the JP-4 blivets that it came from. The mess hall milk would spoil before it would get cold and I generally ate better out of my mail than I did via the open mess. Gourmet meals would be created by the more imaginative of our group using C-Rats.
When I was still flying with the first platoon, one of our crew guys dropped a deer in some brush, while out on a resupply. We landed and hauled that thing back to Duc Ph (See the photo below). We ate off that guy for almost a week. It sure beat the 'mystery meat' or water buffalo we were getting from Chu Lai.
One favorite eating spot away from Duc Pho was the MACV pad at Quang Ngai. It was also referred to as the Tropo Pad and just a short walk from it was a hamburger stand that featured cheeseburgers. No flight past the area was complete without a stop there. The only problem was that it was a small one-ship pad. In early September an ARVN birddog balled up his fixed wing trying to set it down there. I have a picture of Bob Chipley posing and laughing in front of the VNAF failed attempt.
This is WO Bob Chipley admiring a VNAF pilots attempt to land in
an area
about half the size of a football field (the Tropo Pad at Quang Ngai...
also known as the MACV compound or pad).
Speaking of some ARVN pilots; they could cause fear and panic at any time. Most had extremely
limited experience with the English language and concepts such as position of their aircraft
were difficult at best for them to communicate. They would come up on an airfield's tower
frequency and simply state: "We land now!" The tower operator's heads would spin as they
desperately tried to locate the aircraft visually to clear other aircraft. Thankfully, the
tower guys were so good that many a near collision was averted by their warnings:
"Use caution,
VNAF aircraft somewhere in the area."
My first flight with the Sharks was with Jeff Zavales on November 9, 1970 and with him I
experienced the absolute joy of low leveling. In the slicks, we low-leveled but it was fast.
The slicks were always in a hurry to get somewhere. In the guns, it was slow. Kinda like
just cruising. "You can't see shit if you're going that fast Mr. Thompson," the crews would
inform me.
I recall low-leveling all over the A.O. that first day until in the early afternoon we got
scrambled up to Hill 411 because a deuce-and-half had been blown up by a command detonated
500 pound mine, on an access road up to the hill. I wasn't prepared for the view or what
damage a 500-pound bomb could do. In the center of the road was a large, deep crater.
Off to the side was the bent, still burning hulk of the truck. It was nearly blown in half.
For fifty meters around, lay the bodies of ten G.I.s that had been passengers in the open bed,
rear of that truck. Being the first on the scene, we landed and used the aircraft fire
extinguishers to put out the dead soldiers burning clothing. A Dust Off pilot by the name
of "Hap" Holden, out of Chu Lai, performed the evacuation of the remains. I met "Hap" nearly
twenty five years later. That sight and the smell of their deaths will forever haunt us.
In the days to follow, we would do first and last light V.R.s (visual recons), looking for
charlie's campfires in the jungle foothills of the mountains. Whiffs of smoke, rising up
through the trees could signal an instant confrontation. After a large combat assault out
of Gia Vuc (see the two photos below. They are prior to the Assault), we had a heavy team of three gunships heading back for fuel. As we crossed a
series of mountain ridges into a small mountain valley, we happened across a group of uniformed
regulars (soldiers) tending a mountain rice paddy. We were able to open up on them as they
scrambled for their weapons and were aiming up at us. It was the clearest, visual head-to-head
contact I had actually seen transpire and participate in. And to my relief, it was all over
in what couldn't have been more than twenty seconds.
------------------------
End of Part 8 of 20 Parts.
Click on the beacon to go to Part 9
|
Return to top of the Biography Page.
