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David Mitchell
As I mentioned before, the strange mission we flew - the so called "Hunter/Killer" teams - were tactically intended to get shot at. It was part of the mission to draw fire, to locate a target for the Cobra gunships circling over head. To give you some better point of reference, I'll share some info about this in my experience. (don't know why the spacing is different here)
I think I may have flown about 320 days as a Scout pilot during my first year. Each day we flew would involved two or three actuall search "sorties" (flights), each lasting about two hours before trading off with the our backup team. In all those "sorties", I probably came under fire maybe somewhere around fifty or sixty times - usually from close underneath me. That may have been a bit less than some of the other guys in my platoon. No reason - just random. And in all those times, I only took hits in the ship maybe ten or twelve times. I was never hit personally, although I had some close ones. And I was not shot down but once, being a bit callous on my very last day in thte air for that first year.
To put this in perspective, my platoon of 8 guys (totaling maybe 16 guys as the year progressed and guys came and went) were shot down about 24 times (yes, twenty four). Our two sister Companies had worse records than we did. One of their Scouts was shot down three times in one day - we all thought that was the funiest thing we had ever heard of. We drank and laughed about that in our hooch that night for quite a while.
"What was he, some sort of slow learner?"
And in my entire 18 months, our Troop had no fatalities - from enemy fire - while in the air - during the search mission. I must explain that we had about eight fatalities from one awful mechanical failure, and several god awful "accidents" on the ground. Once we were were shot down, the C&C (the Huey running the mission) would drop down from their 500 feet (often under fire) and pick up the downed pilot and observer.
* The Pilot in the photo below, JackAbbott, our platoon jokester and good buddy, was shot down five times - well maybe 4 1/2 times (long story). I picked him up one of those times.
A chapter from my book;
12 - MY FIRST HIT - A Strange One
Not Long after that day when Rip Ashe was shot down, we we’re working an area down river to our east at a place called Ben Tre (“ben tray”). This location had no formal airstrip and refueling was brought to us by way of small fuel trucks driven by ARVN (Army of the Republic of Viet Nam)
Refueling a Loach at BEN TRE (“ben tray”) - fellow pilots Jack Abbott (facing) and Paul Patry (sideways).
(Just across the road behind us was a daily procession of little boys in orange robes going to Buddhist school.
NOTE: The truck markings on door (JP4) indicate the type of fuel (Jet Propellant - 4) for our turbine engines.
We were flying our search in an area near Ben Tre that had a sort of triple layer canopy of tree cover. First there was a low growth with some 20-foot “Nippa Palms”, with their wide leaves that made for great cover. Then there was some medium height growth - perhaps 40 to 50 feet, and finally something resembling Sycamores growing in a partial cover, up to about 80 feet. Flying over this mixed coverage and being able to see down through it was difficult, made more confusing by the fact that the there was a live fire fight going on down there between some of our allied ARVN troops, and a group of Viet Cong (VC). It was awkward and a little stressful being up at that height (80+ feet) and having to look down through the small openings at tracer rounds being fired back and forth between combatants that were difficult to identify. We circled several times trying to decide if, and where we could add some cover fire for the ARVNs beneath us.
Suddenly I heard a sort of soft, but loud thud on the lower rear of my ship - just below and behind my seat. But it was not that sharp “crack” sound like a bullet penetrating metal. I immediately lost all electronics - all my instruments, as well as radio and intercom. I had no idea what to do. I made a few futile attempts to call out on my radio and tried to use the intercom to say something to my Observer. Nothing worked. I had never seen an instrument panel go completely dead while we were in flight - nor been without the use of my radio or intercom.
Here we were, unable to let my Lead aircraft (or anyone) know what was happening. I continued to follow him around in our loose circle wondering what on earth to do. I realized I had one choice and that was to break off the circle we were flying and head back to the landing strip at Ben Trey. The other ships saw me break away and quickly realized I must have been in trouble, so they all broke off the search and followed me those few minutes back to Ben Tre.
Upon landing, we got out and discovered a rather large hole in the side of my ship. It was about 15 inches behind and slightly below my door opening. The hole was about the size of a very small lemon – or a bit larger than a golf ball – not a small bullet hole. We opened that part of the “cowling” (section of the exterior metal “skin” of the ship) to find that whatever it was, it had completely severed the entire cluster of gathered electronics wires that led to all my electronics. But there was no projectile, no bullet, no grenade slug - nothing! And no other damage to any other part of the engine inside that entry hole. Really odd?
We were able to get my ship started and fly it back home to Vinh Long (a short flight) with the rest of our ships at the end of the day. And I have wondered to this day what it could have been. I have though that perhaps I must have triggered a tree-mounted grenade, something that I flew over and set off by my rotor wash. But we were flying over branches so high and so small, that no human could have climbed up there to mount such a device. I have wondered also about a grenade rifle, fired from the ground, but it would have taken a miracle shot at our height, while in motion, and that would also have created much more damage – and left some sort of projectile somewhere in the space inside the hole, and made a much louder sound.
I’m afraid I’m going to have to take this mystery to my grave. I guess that’s better than having it put me in my grave on that day.
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