David Mitchell
I also want to salute another of my buddies from my "Scout Platoon" - (the "Loach" pilots). His story is just one more of the many bizarre situations we found ourselves in.
If you look at the bald guy in the little electic cart to the right of the photo (your right - black sweater) - that is a guy named Joe Byrd, the dumbest Texan I have ever met - and I absolutley love this guy!
As with all of us, Joe was dumb enough to volunteer to fly with the "Scout Platoon" - meaning he would fly the Loach in our low level slow speed search to get shot at. (for those who missed some of my earlier description, we were not allowed to shoot first in Vietnam - most of the time - so we had to get them to shoot at us first).
So the mission was frought with risk. Joe ened up getting shot down twice, and decided that was enough for him. So he moved into another less risky pilot slot in the operation - Co-pilot in the C&C ("Command and Control") - the Huey that directed the mission from about 500 feet of altitude (and had to come down and pick us up when we did get shot down).
But one of his two "shoot downs" was a bit unique. He and his Observer were "working" (searching) an area near the infamous "U-Minh" Forest (way to our south, an area with heavy concentrations of NVA (North Vietamnese Regulars) - and I mean "heavy".
The Delta is laced with hundreds of canals, large and small, and they splashed down in a medium sized canal about 25 feet wide and had to get out of the cockpit and get to one of the canal banks. Getting out of the cockpit would be challenging, as you are partly submerged. But it gets more intersting.
They were only a few feet from the bank but they were over their heads and in full uniform, which by now, is fully soaked, plus thay had combat boots on their feet (a bit hard to "kick" when you want to swim), plus a helmet (half full of water), a pistol belt with their revolvers, and oh yes, the "chiken plates". The chicken plate weighed about 14 pounds on your chest, attached by a large wrap-around velcro. But to make this really interesting, I should add one more little detail - Joe grew up on a farm and could not swim a lick!
Joe and his Observer, a fairly large strong kid, tried to get to the nearest bank, with his Observer trying to swim (in all the same clothing and equipment), as he tried to drag Joe with him, holding on to his shirt collar. Joe related later that he was panicking and flailing his arms, making it even harder for him to be dragged along.
But in a few moments, they managed to reach the bank. As they crawled up the few feet to the top of the bank of the canal, they found nothing but tightly spaced rows of Punji sticks coming out of the ground facing them with sharp carved tips that would impale them. AND, that was the side they had taken fire from originally, so as they tried to peer up over the bank, they started taking more heavy fire, from a sizable unit of NVA troops encamped on that side of the canal (thus the rows of Punji sticks).
So they had to swim back over to the opposite bank. And again, the Observer dragging Joe along - although I seem to recall they had ditched their "chicken plates" to lose the weight and drag. They got to the opposite bank, and crawled up over it to a safer section and were abe to crawl down the far side of that other bank and get out to where the "C&C" ship could get in close enough to pick them up - of course with the help of our two Cobra Gunships laying down close cover fire as they hovered in for the pickup. And no let up in the fire they were stil receiving from that opposite side of the canal.
To say that Joe's first "shoot down" was rather routine might sound crazy, but it was this second time that pushed Joe into his decision to get out of the "Scout" Platoon and switch places in the mission. We had guys shot down multiple times (one was 5 times) without quitting teh Scout platoon, but Joe was well within his rights to opt out. None of us begruded him for it.
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And in a funny way, I am the beneficiary of his decision. When I was shot down, the C&C pilots that day who were directing the mission, and came in and got us, were Don Eriksen, the heavy set blond standing with a cane (left in photo) and this same Joe Byrd.
Don was an arrogant New Yorker, and Joe was a dumb Texan. I joke that I now have the priveledge of thanking God every day of my life for arrogant New Yorkers and Dumb Texans.
(Joe is on the right in black sweater - he contracted a rare disease later as a Major in Korea and lost the use of his legs)
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