War Stories 13

Patrol Base Kotrc (see After Action Report 60) had been a source for enemy contact for sometime. According to The Vietnam Veterans Memorial Fund web site, Patrol Base Kotrc was named in honor of Major James Carl Kotrc, who died on 29 July 1969. It was "A tiny fort near the Cambodian border built in August 1969, with two purposes, to draw enemy attacks as a means of fixing and destroying enemy forces, and disrupt the enemy communications route passing through the area."

On September 5, 1969 there was a lot of action going on. The base had been under attack and in need of supplies. Late in the afternoon John Driscoll, from the Little Bears, got the call for an ammo run. Hey, who wants to run low on ammo after it turns dark. John knew this and said so. So he had the ammo depot boys load his Huey to the gills with small arms ammo, mortars, the works. I mean you couldn't see the crew chief or gunner. And it was heavy. This might be their last ammo supply until the next day. Well every time he tried to sneak into Kotrc to off load, and the skids were about to touch down, the bad guys would mortar the place. It would take a few minutes to unload and you can't sit there, waiting to get hit. So he'd lumber out, dragging the skids in the mud, and the mortaring would stop. He was the target and the bad guys wanted his aircraft. Over your right shoulder you could see trees explode from incoming, look over your left shoulder and see our guys running around, mud flying up from the impacts of incoming and wonder how come they had not been hit. Get in, in get, out and stay alive. Come back in and the same thing would happen. I know he made at least three attempts, maybe more before the crew was able to off load the boxes of munitions. I know all this because I had the second best seat in the house; I was sitting next to him watching this incredible show. This guy was so cool I don't think anything jacked up John's heart rate. Had we been hit, September the 5th would have looked like the 4th of July. But John knew the troops needed this load badly, and did well. He also knew what the down side could be. Months earlier he had been shot through the legs and was evacuated to Japan to recover. Then, lucky for us, they shipped him back-to our unit.

apply the good qualities we saw in an aircraft commander, while remembering and discarding poor techniques that we were exposed to and can get you into trouble. One dark night I had an aircraft commander doing a high overhead approach to a remote landing zone. We were so far over on our side, it was the only time I didn't know which way was up or down. For those who do not fly, the high overhead approach is used to keep you in close to your landing zone. You fly over your spot, bank the aircraft on its side and circle down, flaring at the bottom. It is not a good idea to have the aircraft on its side on a dark night when you are more likely to be killed by the accident, than by the enemy. You will be heard but not seem. Still, you may get shot at. Fortunately there were enough good pilots to lead the way. That brings up:

Over the long haul I probably learned more good qualities flying with John Mistretta than any other. Maybe it was because I flew with him as much as I did. His fine techniques served me well in my flying career. John had a smooth thought process and the control touch to go with it, in addition to being a good guy. Whether it was making an approach to a landing zone in the woods on a pitch-black night in stormy weather with really strong winds, and the only light source marking the landing spot was a strobe light inside a helmet or maybe even a flashlight - or low leveling in heavy rain, or spending hours on end doing re-supply, my time flying with John was some of the best.

An honorable mention should go to Diamond Head pilot Mike Finnegan. On August 12, 1969, I ended up with some ground troops, and from a groundhogs point of view, I watched Mike earn a Silver Star by repeatedly flying a Huey smoke ship between us and bad guys, laying down columns of dense smoke so that an assault helicopter company could land troops behind it and not get hosed down. He must have been flying over those guys. He was good, and lucky that day, but I think he took some hits. We were close enough that I thought I was going to get scalped that day. Shrapnel from 500-pound bombs, and napalm that was dropped from our F-100's and A-4's was screaming overhead and splashing in the water around us. I was sure I was going to get it in the forehead. I remember thinking; wow, I can feel the heat of the napalm the instant I can see the orange flames. A Lt. Colonel took a round from small arms standing about 10 feet from me. Those were the good old days.

Mr. Nobriga, the Flyin’ Hawaiian, was extraordinary to the point of becoming a legend. He was always calm, cool and collected. Soft spoken and deliberate in all he did. A true gentleman. He liked to wear leather flight gloves when he flew and wore clean, well-tailored uniforms. The most extraordinary occasion I can recall while flying with Mr. Nobriga was capturing a fleeing Viet Cong. When the VC broke across the rice paddy, Mr. Nobriga gave us strict orders not to fire a shot. We came in low and hot, banking so severely I thought our rotor blades where going into the ground. The nearly vertical rotor plane cut right in front of Charlie who was now backpedaling as fast as he could in the mud of the rice paddy. After getting solid footing, he took off in another direction, and Mr. Nobriga gave it full cyclic forward, swooping down for another pass. The ground was so close I found myself pushing back, as if that would give us more room between the tip of the rotor plane and the rice paddy. We may have made another 4 or 5 passes in the same manner…all of us hanging on for dear life as Mr. Nobriga deftly guided 440 through more swooping turns and banks, as a maestro would play a Stradivarius in Carnegie Hall. The now panting figure in black pajamas finally stopped, threw up both arms and remained still. Tropic Lightening ground troops who had lined up on the dikes of the rice paddy to watch this amazing performance, rose to their feet to give us (Mr. Nobriga) a standing ovation.

After my year in Viet Nam, I was assigned to an Air Cav outfit in Ansbach, Germany. On one of our flights close to the Czech boarder, I bumped into Mr. Nobriga again at some obscure airfield. We were both surprised to see one another, but before I could say “how ya been”, Mr. Nobriga grabbed me by the arm and took me into the pilots lounge and presented me to the group. “O.K. Frye, tell them about how we rounded up that VC”. Evidently this “story” had preceded Mr. Nobriga, and all of the pilots in the room were skeptical that such an event ever happened. I recanted my recollection as Mr. Nobriga took it all in…arms folded and eyes flashing as we all re-lived that incredible event.

I was there after you left, as I didn't arrive at D Troop from B Company until late June 1969. I was WIA in mid-September, so I wasn't there very long. My platoon leader was "Buddah Tom" Sinclair, who took over the platoon from someone else, whose name escapes me (Odam?), who got shot down in flames (and survived). At least that's the story I recall, after 30+ years. We also had an Aussie pilot, John (can't remember his last name, I think it was Evans) who flew "the Iron Butterfly" (LOH) and was shot down three times in LOH alley, before they refused to give him another helicopter to fly. My crew was Steve Snoddy, crewchief, and Rocky Rhodes, gunner. Rocky started to fly us out when I got hit down south of Cu Chi on a last light mission. I've never had the guts to find them or contact them. Something about survivor guilt, I guess, although neither of them are on "the wall".

I have been in the National Guard for over twenty years, currently pushing Shithooks around for the past ten years. Since they can't find any "kids" who want to fly, they keep us old guys around (probably for laughs). There was a guy in our Guard unit who was a D Troop Blue, having transferred from the Little Bears. His name is Jack Orr, an American Indian. I didn't find him in your 1968 picture, so he must have been there before you were.

He was with the Little Bears when "Spooky" the Asian Brown Bear mascot was just a cub. Jack has retired from the Guard and is now a Native American Shaman in Reno, NV. He and I used to talk about the old days in the Troop, when he wasn't getting drunk and telling me that, as an Indian, he would have to kill me when the fighting started again between the whites and the Indians. He really was a great guy. Let me know if you know of him.

Anyway my name is Gary A. Jones, and I was a 22 year old (old fart) LOH pilot who was transfered from B Company, 25th Aviation Bn, 25th Inf Div, on June 25th, 1969. The story I was told that D Troop was down aircraft (LOH) and pilots due to combat losses, but my feeling was they transferred me because I was a pain in the ass, and didn't like taking orders, especially stupid orders. So I and my LOH, and I think a crew chief, ended up coming over to the Centaurs. They even loaned me the B Co. CO's jeep to drag my shit over to the Troop just to make sure there wasn't any delay.

There were two slick pilots already with the Troop, who were classmates of mine in flight school: Randy Meade and "Sandy" Sandmeyer. I did OK in the Troop although my first body count was an ARVN who was in a patrol along a river to the west of Cu Chi. We didn't know the patrol was down there, and as we flew over they popped smoke, I saw the flash, thought it was a muzzle flash and told my crew to open up. Shortly after that we did take fire from the ARVN patrol, but who could blame them? On 12 September 1969, I volunteered to take a last light mission for my platoon leader, who had been flying all day, and his crew hadn't had a chance to eat. Also, last light was a good time for body count, and I think Bob (Fortier?) and I were tied for highest body count that month. We were working an area south of Cu Chi, south of the highway, in an open rice paddy area with a small stream and one large, dead tree. As we flew by the tree we saw a naked guy (he had been taking a bath in the stream) trying to pretend he was part of the tree. We opened fire on him and I think Steve even threw a grenade at him, wounding him. I then violated the LOH pilot's rule of never staying in one place too long.

As I flew around the tree for about the third time, one of the guy's buddies jumped up out of a hole, stuck an AK47 in my door and pulled the trigger. I don't think he actually stuck it in the door, but it felt like it, and my CE Steve later told me the guy was "really close". Most of the burst went by, but one bullet him me in the leg, bounced off my chicken plate, and went through my right bicep, before exiting out the bubble over my head. I guess I was lucky it didn't bounce the other way, into my head. Anyway, it blew me off the controls, and Steve yelled at Rocky to take the controls and Rocky grabbed the sawed off broomstick we had for the gunners cyclic, pulled a hand full of pitch, and away we went. The higher we climbed the better target we became, and by this time the rest of the NVA company had come up out of their holes, and feeling they had nothing left to lose, started hosing us down pretty good. It looked like the 4th of July with all the red, white and green tracers. I grabbed the controls and put us back in the rice paddy a couple of hundred meters from where we had first been hit.

Steve and Rocky got out with their M-60s and started shooting while the Cobra was making runs overhead trying to keep us from getting killed. There was blood (mine) all over the cockpit but I didn't seem to have any broken bones and I knew if we stayed there we were either going to be dead meat or POWs, neither of which really appealed to me at the time. So I got the guys back in the LOH and we started to low level out to the west. The Cobra said it looked like we were leaking fuel, we had been belly deep in the flooded rice paddy and water was draining out of the bottom of the LOH, but I didn't know that at the time. Also, I was starting to go into shock, and was saying really stupid things on the radio, I saw a dirt road ahead, and slid the LOH in on it. I shut the aircraft down just as a Little Bear C&C slick was landing, probably called in by the Cobra. After I shut the helicopter down, I walked (stupid macho shit) to the slick and got in. A Sergeant ajor handed me a gauze bandage from the first aid kit (like what am I supposed to do with this?) and off we went to 12th Evac. I was operated on there and then medivacced to Japan a few days later for more surgery and eventually went home via Air Force medivac, to the San Diego Naval Hospital for unbelievably good food and really painful physical therapy. After convalescent leave, I was reassigned to Ft. Ord, Fritzche Army Airfield, where I remained (with a really bad attitude) until I ETSed on 31 March 1971. I returned to school and graduated from UC Riverside in 1972, got a job as a juvenile probation officer for Riverside County, got married, and "settled down" as much as any of us ever did. In 1975 I transferred to the El Dorado County Probation Department in South Lake Tahoe, joined the Nevada National Guard in 1977, had a daughter, Erin, in 1980, transfered to the District Attorney's Office as a DA investigator in 1981, and will retire from almost 30 years of law enforcement on the 4th of July, this year. (That is one long, run on sentence).

Well that's about it in a nutshell, so I'd better get this off to you and to the others, if I can remember how to send a cc. If I don't remember, please forward it on to someone who gives a shit, or can at least get my basic info on the website. Keep me advised of unit activities, as now that I'm going to be an old retired guy, I need something to keep me occupied. Thanks for taking the time to respond, and as caustic as I have been this letter, I do believe we have all formed a bond by our service in RVN, that transcends time and place. So, welcome home my friend, and thank you for a job well done.

Some events in life are so traumatic that you can't speak of them…or can't quit talking about them. The one I'm about to relate falls under the former. In an instant, the many participants are melted into a single unit. The bound is so strong, it can never be broken. A component of that unit is Jack Mosley, the best gunner I had the privilege of flying with. You knew the ship's guns were going to work every time. You knew whatever happened, Jack would be holding up his end. He was simply rock solid. I only hope he trusted me half as much.

I've made hundreds of gun runs but none like this one. Both M-60s were blazing away. The mini-gun stream was broken only by the salvos of rockets. The NVA didn't need nav lights to see us now. We literally expended all our ammo in one run. Our rounds were right on target. They were ricocheting into the night sky. It was speculated that the gun was in Cambodia since the emplacement seemed to be concrete. I don't know for sure but I suspect Lead was following us down that stairway of lead.

The ground is coming up fast. I've unbuckled my monkey strap. I decided long ago that should a crash look inevitable, I would bail before being balled up with the burning scrap metal. I'm not sure how far I was from making that decision when she leveled out a few feet (3 to 5) above the rice paddies. We were so low you could see the rice stalks in the pale moonlight. Jack and I looked over at each other and reached across and shook hands.

Jack and I have discussed this many times but not to others. We decided I would write the story for Ron. I sent it several months ago and received his reply. I later asked him about the story. He had no recollection of receiving it. I told sure you did; you answered me back. I couldn't find evidence of sending it or even writing it or his reply. I suppose I only dreamed it. I'm saving this copy right now!

But in OZ these things no longer exist especially the flushing toilets. In OZ when you go you walk up to a small wooden building, open the door and step into the past. There you find a wooden bench with several evenly spaced holes, which you are to place your posterior over. I was lucky enough to be assigned to a unit that had scrounged up some “Back in the World” style wooden seats. Ass you place your posterior upon the seat and pick up the latest copy of Stars & Stripes, you may be alone or all the holes may be full. Partitions or stalls you ask? Huh? A waste of wood!

Now as you may be aware in normal old fashioned outhouses they usually sat over a hole in the ground, but No!, here is OZ they sit up off the ground with ½ of a 55 gallon drum placed directly center under each hole. Now this is odd you say to yourself. But the next morning you find out the systematic reasoning behind and under this amazing structure. For in formation the 1st Sgt. Calls out your name and says “Shit Burning Detail”. Everyone glances over at you the newbie and grins.

Now comes the good part? You pour approximately 2 gallons of premium military issue diesel fuel into each drum, add a generous splash of JP-4, add a smidgen of MO-gas, then you step back a goodly distance and toss in a burning piece of C-rat box. Now if you know what you are doing and have the drums placed in the appropriate position and are smart enough to be on the up wind side you can actually get up to 8 drums lit at once.

I was commander of the 341st Airfield Operations Detachment at Cu Chi from 16 Feb 97-14Feb 68. I built the East POL across the road from the Muleskinners. The four 500 barrel JP4 storage tanks, the refueling facility with the 4" line across the field with 24 nozzles, the three or four helipads of East Resupply with two nozzles each to fuel CH 47s, and the single point refueling pad for the CH-54 Flying Crane. We pumped an average of 40,000 gallons of fuel per day and I built the pump house that later burned after my departure. I also built the VIP helipad for the CG, the Airfield Operations office down in the corner for PAX. I got the aircraft control tower started before my departure and I built the ammunition storage/rearm point at the south end of the refueling area. The 54th Engineers were supposed to build all this stuff but could never get to it so I got them to scrape the pads for the tanks and we bolted them together ourselves. I could store 200K gallons of JP4 and the greatest amount dispensed in one day was 80K. I received eight tankers every day from the resupply convoy when all four were built.

I found the tanks at 1st Log Cmd in Saigon and got them one at a time. I went to Cam Rahn Bay to get the first pump, a 6" single stage Gorman Rupp booster pump and then found the Vitaulic tubing, couplings, elbows, reducers, gate valves, etc to lay the pipe for the fuel line. The final reducers were 4" to 2" plumbing fixtures with a 2" tee on top. To this I had to find an adapter that would accept the OPW coupling of the hoses. I discovered that the valve coupling elbow of the 500 gallon collapsible tanks fit perfectly with the female end of the 2" tee and provided the OPW fitting for the hoses. I needed thirty valve coupler elbows so I turned to the 1st Log Cmd POL division and traded C Rats for the couplers. My next problem was finding thirty nozzles and sixty lengths of rubber hoses to complete the refueling point. I did this by going to the Saigon Docks at the Fishmarket and searching the supply areas until I found what I wanted and then took the NSN, nomenclature, location, and quantity to the Inventory Control Point. (They had no clue what was in the yard). After getting this far I prepared a requisition right on the spot and submitted a priority 5 request. It was approved and I then took my paperwork and vehicle to the yard and obtained the objects I was looking for. (An interesting point here: my supply channel was through the 25th Avn Bn [to whom I was attached although I was a 1st AVN BDE detachment], then through the 25th Div and then through their LNO at the Supply Center. I had my own property book and somehow managed to establish a direct account on my own with USARV and could requisition up to Priority 5 material. Division was in fits because I could get stuff in one day and it took them months).

I built an arc of pipeline in front of the pumphouse with three connection points and I could off load a 5,000 gallon tanker in four minutes using the 1200 GPM pump I had. It took longer to hook up than to offload. The pony pump of the tanker pumped only 75 GPM and the drivers had time to eat their lunch atop the tanker but we changed that with the 4" lines and big pumps. Later I also obtained a 2000 GPM pump that was a 6" two stage but we had to reduce it to 4" to mate with the three filters of 350 GPM each. I figured out the manifold configuration so that I could offload the trucks and keep the pipeline charged at the same time by a system of gate valves and reducing the flow into the storage tanks when a flight came in to refuel.

After Cu Chi I went to FT Rucker where I was a flight commander in the Fixed Wing Branch with the 0-1 low level navigation branch, Feb 68-Apr 69, then to Ft Knox for Adv Crs 69-Feb70, and back to Bien Hoa in June 70 to take command of 68th AHC when I stood it down and served as XO of 145th CAB (Old Warrior 5). The 145th and 269th traded flags in 70 (trying to keep the 145 in country as the first in and last out CAB) and I brought the 269 colors and a small amount of equipment back to Ft Bragg in Apr 70. I was enroute to Bootstrap at Omaha and I stayed 90 days at Bragg as XO of 269th with my good friend Herschel Stephens. I was in Omaha for six months and snowbird at Creighton University with the ROTC for six months while I worked on my MA at Omaha and waited for the next CGSC class in 72. In 73 I returned to Rucker as ACS Officer and departed for PMS at Univ of KY in 76 then to Ft Knox in 78 as Director of the Senior Officer Courses in the Armor School. I retired in Dec 80 and started working as an Army employee until Jan 2003 when I retired again.

The 554th Engr scraped the sites for the 500 Barrel Low Bolted Steel Tanks. After we bolted them together the 554th pushed up a berm around each of the four tanks. They had the task of constructing the tanks but due to their heavy commitment to the Division they could never get to it. The tank berm in the northeast corner took a 122mm rocket into the side of the berm closest to the pump house. It scalloped our a sizeable amount of soft dirt and when I returned in 1970 the scallop was still there but the berm was covered with penta-prime to stabilize it.

The re-arm point was one of their projects that we pushed to get. The berm was pushed up around the ammo storage area by the 554th also.. Initially, the rearm point was on the main airfield on the east side by the crash rescue section. Rockets were stored in a CONEX container and small arms ammo was in another beside the rockets. The refuel points were also on the main airfield by the rearm point and consisted of 10,000 and 2,000 gallon membrane pillow tanks rounded out with 500 gal collapsible tanks (the rubber donuts). We had several refuel points as it took 20-30 minutes to refuel a UH-1 with 250 gallons. It can easily be seen why the East POL was needed. I have timed a flight of twenty birds refueling at the pipeline and it took only 4 ½ minutes to refuel the entire two flights from the time the first nozzle was inserted into the helicopter until the last nozzle was removed.

When we had to do any work on the pipeline to the nozzles, we had to do it at night after most operations were ended. We sometimes realigned it, put in more points, elevated it out of the water in the wet season, and improved the system after dark and up until about midnight. We were all conscious that we were immediately behind the perimeter bunkers with good fields of fire from outside the perimeter. No one had to tell the guys to hurry up as they were as anxious as I was by being exposed in vehicle headlights working on the pipeline.

Operating the pumps was a one man operation after we got it built but I always sent two men out there at night. They needed the comfort of another body to talk to and pass the time. I had the Engineers to dig a hole behind the pump house for a bunker and the guys would sit on top just over the entrance and when anything happened they would simply slip off the front and be inside with only one step. The berms around the tanks were not completed until Dec 67, just 30 days before TET of 68.

JP 4 consumption in Feb 67 averaged 20K gallons per day, in Jan 68 the average was 40,000 daily. The greatest amount pumped in one day was 80,000 gallons during TET of 68. Each day I took eight tankers from the resupply convoy from Long Binh and we could suck a 5 K tanker dry in four minutes with the 2,000 GPM pump we had. We would off load three at a time in the half circle off load area we built and by the time the drivers opened the hatches he started closing them again. That is how fast we could unload them.

The Crash/Rescue crew came from B Company, 25th Avn Bn. They were a motley bunch with an E-5 in charge and lived on the airfield in a tent. The tent was located across the street from the 554 Engr. They were the fire fighters for the entire base. I had a fire fighting section in my detachment (three guys) but they were not trained and I had no fire fighting equipment. The “old” guys didn't need them as they rarely had any activity and I did need them to build our orderly room and the fuel tanks. The ammo detail came from A and B Company but worked for me. The ATC guys were from the battalion also. When I arrived there the “tower” was a portable hutch mounted on something slightly above ground level and was located north of B Co Maintenance. I worked with the ATC in Saigon and got priority for a tower to be constructed with a full console and it was built between the East POL and the airfield. I've got some pictures of its construction but TET occurred before it was finished and I am not sure whether it was ever finished or not. I believe it was but not to the original specifications.

Since the 341st AOD had a firefighting mission, the firefighter injured in the rocket attack* you mentioned may have come from them. The AOD may have assumed that mission after we departed and the new guys came in. My unit all PCSed on the same day and when we departed Cu Chi on 12 Feb 67 there was only two persons in the unit, the commander, Major Bob Zion, and one new enlisted man who arrived just days before we departed. Maj. Zion did not stay long as he was looking for an AHC to command and felt the Detachment was beneath his talents. The TOE for the 341st had a LTC for Commander and several of the guys who built the units at Ft Benning with me were replaced by LTCs when they got in country. We had two LTC commanders at FT Benning who moved with us to RVN. They went to Vung Tau and Qui Nhon. There were eleven detachments formed at Benning and I was the “supply” officer for the group. I was a captain at the time and there were two majors and one 1LT with the rest captains. I made Major at Cu Chi in Oct and commanded the unit for a full year, which was unheard of in a combat zone. The command tour length was six months but I got twelve. The former Chief of Staff of 1st Avn Bde was Colonel John Dibble and he was my wing mate in flight school. I stopped by to see him in Saigon before they moved to Long Binh, and asked if it was true that LTCs were replacing the AOD commanders and he told me that two in the Delta were already replaced and I commented that it was a hell of a deal that we did all the work of forming the organizations, obtained the equipment and moved them to RVN only to have them taken from us when the real command began. I knew a captain in the S-1 Personnel shop who had served in Germany with me and asked him to give me as much notification as he could if I was being replaced so I could pick my unit of assignment. He said he would but I was never notified. On my second tour I commanded the 68th AHC at Bien Hoa in the 145th CAB and have the rare experience of having two combat commands.

We were scrambled from the “scramble shack” on the flight line and since this was a daylight mission the crew chiefs were already at the ships performing whatever magic it was that they always performed to keep my young ass in the air. Of course, they had our two Cobras ready as three of us hurried to the aircraft, the pilot (front-seater) of the Fire team leaders Cobra got the mission details on the phone and then ran to the lead ship. By the time he was strapped in we were taking off. One advantage of the Cobra over the “Charlie Model” gunship was its more powerful engine, a combat ready Cobra would actually hover which made takeoff more science than art, the combat ready “Charlie Model” well, it hopped instead of hovering and only real pilots could get one in the air. But I digress (and probably will again before this story is told).

My pilot briefed me as to the direction we're headed and the frequency and “call sign” of our contact in the target area. I briefed my wingman, who was flying behind and slightly above me as we climbed to our en route altitude of 1500 feet. I recognized the call sign as that of one of our local FAC pilots (Air Force pilots who at that time flew the OV-10 “Bronco”). The target area was just south of the Angels Wing (a part of the Cambodian border northwest of Saigon that looked like its name) in the Plain of Reeds. This was a large area, flooded to a depth of three to six feet during the monsoon season with grass or reeds of about the same height. During the dry season the water receded into a series of wooded creeks or streams that ran roughly from Cambodia into Vietnam through the Plain of Reeds to a river that served either as the border between Cambodia (a no-no at that time) and Vietnam or the eastern edge of the Plain of Reeds. There were no `friendlies' west of the river 99.9% of the time. The border was constantly patrolled by the FACs and they count the leaves on the trees from 1500 feet. Needless to say, it was not a good idea for the NVA to try to cross the border during daylight, duh. But they tried anyway, and it usually didn't work and it wasn't going to work today either.

A big sampan chock full of nuts had been spotted by the Bronco driver trying to hide in one of those wooded creek lines, and since he was by himself he called for us. When we arrived and started our orbit at about 500 feet, we had no trouble finding the sampan once he marked the target (read blew about 6 to 8 NVA out of the sampan). We rolled in, sank the sampan and began to blow up everyone who was left. Our job. It wasn't long until we were no longer receiving AK fire from the folks who had abandoned ship. Then it began to rain, and anyone who has been in a monsoon knows I'm not kidding about the rain. Some of the time it was raining so hard the only direction you could see was down, and there is just no way to shoot rockets aiming through the rocket site and the canopy of the Cobra when it is raining. By the time you see the target you are much too close and the rockets don't arm (I believe that takes about 300 feet), and unless you stab the target with a rocket (which has been done) it just sticks up in the mud. We had to shoot the chin turret miniguns at such a deflection they soon jammed which was one problem we had with the Cobras and tried to avoid.

By the time both ships guns jammed we were down to one lonesome NVA, who had made it 100 to 150 yards from the splitters of the sampan. We stabbed a few rockets in the ground around our prisoner, but it became obvious we just couldn't see well enough to shoot. I looked around and discovered that in my haste to leave I had left my side arm in the scramble shack. So I inquired of my pilot “Dandy” Dave if he had his - can you guess his reply? Nope, so I called my wingman to inquire if either of them had a weapon, thinking we would just pull up beside our NVA - who wasn't going anywhere - and boom, no more NVA. Can you guess their reply? Yep, no guns. At this point, both we and our NVA are up the proverbial creek without a paddle. There's no way I'm leaving the area with an enemy left alive. So I called battalion to see if they could divert a slick to pick up our prisoner, and although they answered in the affirmative, it was going to take 20 to 25 minutes and we just simply could not remain on station that long. So that's out, which leaves us with just one option - capture the prisoner ourselves.

The only extra seat on a Cobra is one of the ammo bay doors underneath the pilot or gunners position. Cobra pilots have opened one or both of these ammo bay doors in dire circumstances, usually to effect a rescue (one door on either side of the aircraft, which open out and down to form a tray on which you can slide the ammo cans from beneath the pilots seat to rearm them - each holds 4000 rounds of 7.62 mm ammo. Each door is about 4 feet long and 2 feet high [or wide when open]). I told Dave, up front, I had a plan if he would get out to open the ammo bay door. He answered in the affirmative and I brought the aircraft to a low hover 100 yards or so from our prisoner. Dave opened up his canopy and dismounted (not such an easy task on a slick aircraft in a monsoon). While standing the skid as we hovered above the Plain of Reeds, Dave somehow managed to get the ammo bay door open without being knocked off or falling off the skid. He climbed back in and hooked up and I told him my plan. I was going to hover over to our prisoner, he was going to motion for our prisoner to sit on the door, and all the while he was to make very threatening gestures with our breakout knife (the breakout knife is a piece of safety equipment on the Cobra, it is about 10” long, weighs about 10 pounds, and has a 1” to 2” blade; its main job in life is to allow the crew to breakout the canopy when there is no other means of escaping a Cobra whose canopy cannot be opened). As soon as our prisoner was aboard, I would come to a high hover, and in the event of a struggle at least our prisoner would have a long way to fall (assuming Dave was successful). We had spent considerable time checking out our prisoner and had determined if he was armed it was hidden, because he appeared to us to be as anxious to surrender as we were to capture. Happily, everything went according to plan. So off we went in the rain with Dave hanging out of the cockpit making threatening gestures with the breakout knife, and our prisoner hanging on for dear life.

On the way in we had flown by a fire support base some clicks back so I called them and ask if they would meet us outside their wire because we had a prisoner for them. Although I'm sure it sounded fairly stupid, I suggested that someone bring a weapon since we didn't have any. They took our prisoner, who happened to be an NVA nurse (probably headed for the tunnels under Cu Chi) and we returned to base (Cu Chi). After the CG's briefing the following morning where, so I'm told, the proper use of Cobras was discussed, higher-ups suggested, strike that, ordered us to refrain from capturing prisoners with Cobras in the future; which leads me to believe the amount of intelligence gathered from our prisoner was about equal to my own.