[MOD]
Anti-piracy Officer
Somewhere in south-central England.
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Search and Rescue
I got up early, packed my bag quietly, so as not to wake the girl. I felt like a rat, but I knew if I stayed I wouldn’t ever get away. And I had my duty.
I wrote a note to her, a love letter really, but it was a goodbye letter too. I don’t know if I can ever come back. I took one last look at her peaceful face, framed by her shiny black, bobbed hair. I could smell her warm body, so I sneaked out before I changed my mind. The room was already billed to my card.
It took a whole day to get back. I was wrecked by the end of it. First a cab to the East River, then I had to walk across the border and catch the bus to LAX. A three hour flight up the coast to SeaTac, got processed through the military channel and I was back in service. The next flight, long-haul, cost me nothing, in fact I was being paid to take it, but the food was pretty bad.
We touched down in Saigon in the early morning. My time zones were completely screwed up. I had hardly slept on the flight. The only good thing was that my base is tucked away in a corner of this airport, so I got driven over by an enlisted airman.
Home, for the meanwhile. A set of Nissen huts for dorms, behind the hangars. An admin building. A shower and latrines block. A ready room for the crews who are waiting to scramble. A canteen where food is delivered by truck from the main kitchens four times a day. The rest of the time it’s used as a rec room.
We’ve got TV and air conditioning. That’s part of why the grunts out in the field call us pogues, or worse, REMFs. You know the war’s got to a bad place when your own side might beat you up on furlough because they don’t like your arm of service. It’s not as though I have an easy job. I get shot at just as much as gunship pilots. It’s called Combat Search and Rescue.
I checked in with the boss, Major Dannat.
“Lieutenant Comulada reporting for duty, sir.” He returned my salute.
“Sit down, Mike. How was it, back in the World?”
That’s what we call the US, out here in the ‘Nam.
“Fine, sir.”
“Did you have fun?”
“I saw my folks. I went dancing, met a girl.”
“That’s great. So you’re tired but relaxed. Okay, I need to fill you in on recent developments but first, go get yourself fed and washed, and get your head down for the day. You’re going to be on the flight line tonight. Report back at…” he glanced at his watch, “18 hundred.”
I went straight to the canteen, where breakfast was still being served. I said hi to the guys I knew, but none of my own crew were around. I bolted the food down pretty fast. The quality was good, but sleep was more important. I went to my quarters, got a towel, and headed for the showers. When I had washed and shaved I just racked out for the rest of the day.
I woke after 17 hundred and dressed in my flight gear, including the survival pack, and the big Colt pistol. I was hungry, but there wasn’t time to drive over to the PX. I went to the canteen to see if anyone was around. Gary Harman was there, my co-pilot. He’s a 2nd Lt, junior to me.
We shook hands and back-slapped each other enthusiastically. He proceeded to pump me for info about my furlough. I gave him the polite version. I mean, everyone knows you aim to get some sex on furlough, but I don’t like to boast about it. Especially as she was a proper lady.
Gary filled me in on the happenings in the unit over the week I was away. No losses, which was good, but the NVA had started to deploy heavier AA weapons, 14.5mm machine-guns, Chinese made copies of a Soviet design. They were nasty.
“But we’ve got a new gun too, Mike. 7.62mm mini-gun, it’s mounted on the ramp. I took the ship out for some practice shooting. Charlie loves it, says it’ll fire up to 100 rounds a second.”
Charlie was our tail gunner, who we always called that, though Kubota was his real name. The other two men in my crew were Hardee, who was the winchman, and Murphy, our medic. They both handled a door-gun too. The door-guns were M2 0.5-inch MGs.
It was time for me to go and see the Major. Dannat welcomed me and sat me down.
“How are you feeling now, Mike?”
“A lot better. Hungry though, I missed lunch.”
“You can eat at the ready room. I need to brief you about recent operational developments.”
“I heard about the new AA from Harman.”
“Here’s a poop sheet about it. Here’s another one about the new mini-gun. I don’t know how we can handle this. If you’re hovering for a winch operation, those 14.5mm guns are going to chew you up in a minute.”
“Surely they can’t have a lot of them deployed? Too heavy for infantry to carry.”
“Yeah, so let’s hope not. On the plus side, we’ve got more air support assigned. Two Spads to accompany every ship on every sortie.”
Spads were what we called the big single-engine Skyraider propellor planes. They looked like something out of the Second World War, but they packed a major punch with cannons, rockets and other munitions. I had a lot of respect for Spads.
I figured we had to hope the NVA gunners would have bad fire discipline. If they opened up early, the Spads could zero in and strafe them. Otherwise, we would have to rely on our own defensive guns. The new minigun could be crucial. If we had to use the winch, Hardee and Murphy would be busy operating it, rather than shooting.
Dismissed, I went to the ready room, taking the poop sheets with me. I picked up the weather report, the daily radio frequencies and flare codes, and all that, from admin on the way. There was some food; sandwiches and coffee. I took advantage.
The rest of my crew arrived pretty soon. We shook hands and exchanged banter. Although the cargo bay crew are enlisted men, we’re tight. We all rely on each other to do our jobs right. If someone feths up, we’re all going down together.
Gary and I went to inspect the ship. A huge Sikorsky CH-53, painted in a mottled camouflage pattern of tan brown, forest green and dark green. Our pin-up girl on the sides of the nose, a blue-eyed blonde, busty and leggy, in a short, tight nurse costume, with angel wings. The name, ‘Life From Above.’
The new minigun was a monster. A cluster of six barrels driven by electric motor, with a huge ammo hopper full of shiny brass, and a bin where the spent cartridges would heap up. I could see why Charlie liked it. I liked the idea of that firepower defending our tail.
We went back and sat down to wait. The smells of the airfield drifted on the warm air, sharp kerosene and burnt fumes, someone’s cigarette, Old Spice from Gary. It was his lucky charm.
I read all the pre-flight info, and the weapon poop sheets. The new enemy gun had a range of 2 klicks. It would go through any of the armour on our ship. She can fly over 2 klicks high easily, but to rescue people you need to get close to the ground.
We got bored and played poker for sticks of chewing gum. Hardee won the most. He was motivated. He loves the stuff.
The call came just before 21 hundred. A Navy A6 Intruder medium bomber, hit by AA while flying an interdiction sortie over the Ho Chi Minh trail. It went down in the Central Highlands. The crew of two had ejected, and were somewhere in the forest needing pick-up. We had a rough location, about 45 minutes flight away, so we ran to the ship and started her up.
We lifted in under three minutes and began to climb to altitude. Gary got on the radio to fill in the details about the retrieval, and arrange the rendezvous with our Spads. I set a course of 345 degrees and cruised. The lights of Saigon fell away behind. When we were far enough from the city, I ordered the guns to be test fired. I could see the tracers from the starboard and port door guns, and hear the whine and buzz of Charlie’s mini-gun through his intercom. The crew reported all guns operational.
I poured on the power. There was a tanker on station if we got dry. Flying at 170 knots we reached the target area in another 30 minutes. I cut the engines to a very slow cruise. We began our search pattern. It was pretty dark. The full moon helped a lot. I switched on the infra-red camera. The TV showed a sea of luminous mottled green. The forest looks like that during the day, too. Sometimes you see birds flying, wreaths of mist, monkeys.
The crash site was easily visible. The wreckage was still burning. The crew had ejected further north. Gary worked out the flight path. We flew along it as near as we could. Our two Spads had joined up. They were orbiting in a wide circle above us, because of their high stall speed.
The downed pilots had short range radios and flares to help us locate them. The forest canopy was dense, though. It didn’t help the signal strength at all. I heard from an army guy, an artilleryman, that even a 105mm shell won’t get through it. That’s why they’ve got 155mm howitzers in the firebases now.
Hardee reported a flare. The color matched today’s code, so I turned towards it. Following our non-standard SOP, Hardee switched on the reel-to-reel. Music began to pound the night air from the sponson mounted speakers. Fontella Bass sang;
Come on and rescue me
Come on, baby, and rescue me
Come on, baby, and rescue me
Cause I need you by my side
Can't you see that I'm lonely
Rescue me
I knew the guys in the back would be bopping. I ordered them to stay cool. All we had so far was a flare. Sometimes the NVA or VC try to set an ambush with flares, once they see the color of the day.
Gary was tuned into the rescue freak. He got a signal.
“El-tee, it’s the Navy boys.”
“Tell them to light off two red flares and one white.”
I advanced slowly and looked for the flares. They popped, bright in a clearing. The Navy boys had followed their training to find a place we could land in. It’s safer than the winch.
I dialled up the Spads. Gave them the sitrep. Asked for a fly-by, to try and flush out any enemy AA. One by one they buzzed the forest, firing their cannons at random. There was no return fire. They went back to their waiting pattern.
“Okay, Gary, we’re going in.”
I angled the nose down and increased speed. The clearing looked long enough for a rolling landing, but the ground was rough. I planned to go in fast, flare out and hover, then land vertically.
The flak started as we approached the southern edge of the clearing. Two guns, medium calibre, in two different places on our starboard. Hardee fired back with his MG.
The incoming tracers floated towards us in curving ropes. It was like a net closing around the ship. Suddenly I remembered the girl’s warning.
“Mike. I had a vision. I saw your helicopter get hit by bullets.”
“Did you see me crash?”
“No. You were working the controls. You were trying to save everyone.”
“Then maybe I save the ship. I don’t believe in fate. I believe we’ve always got a chance to change the world.”
And the next morning I sneaked away from her.
Bullets are hitting the fuselage.
Hardee’s swearing and firing back.
I reduce the cyclic.
The ship drops abruptly.
The tracers follow.
More incoming fire hits the engine.
We get a red warning on no.2.
I put the nose down and our speed increases.
We get below the treetops.
The enemy fire is blocked, for now.
I begin to flare and look for a piece of flat ground.
I deploy the wheels.
We touch down.
The two Navy boys are waving and running.
Hardy is swearing.
Charlie is swearing.
Murphy is praying.
Gary is on the line to the Spads.
“El-tee, they’re gonna strafe. Light up the night.”
I look up to see the Spads zip by.
They fire cannons and drop napalm tanks.
Huge fireballs erupt.
I check the engine readout.
No.1 is in the green. No.2 is running ragged and hot.
We need her for take off.
Hardy reports POB. No-one hurt.
“Pilot to crew. We’re going now.”
I push both throttles to the limit, lift off.
I angle the nose down and we begin to move forwards.
500 yards of free space is enough.
We achieve level flight speed.
I begin to climb out.
Another machine-gun starts up.
Near one of the still burning napalm splashes.
The tracers are getting close.
I turn the ship away, to show them the sting in our tail.
“Charlie, that one’s for you.”
“Woohoo!”
I hear the noise of the mini-gun firing at maximum speed. 100 bullets a second.
The enemy gun stops. Charlie stops.
“You got to bring some to get some!” He shouts in glee.
I think about the dead men. Vaporised by a howling rain of bullets.
I turn back to the flashing red lights of my hurt engine.
THE END
© 2020 Starship Captain 88
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