Sam Kaiser - PSP
Sam gave me one of the worst scares I think I ever had in country. Sam
Kaiser was our Company Executive Officer, or second in command, and later the
Commander. On this mission he was just peter pilot!
We had been hauling supplies to a new firebase being installed at the south end
of the Ashau Valley. 5 - 10 aircraft had been hauling most of the morning
taking them PSP, sand bags, lumber, etc. Sam had just picked up a load of
PSP (12 inch by 12 foot steel planking) banded together by steel straps and
slung under the Chinook. He was heading SW when we started to pass him
with our load.
As we neared him, his load was moving and didn't look proper. As we tried
to contact him to advise him, the load began to come apart.
Sheets of PSP began to slide out of the package under his aircraft. The
first couple just fell away from the aircraft, with no danger. By now we
are screaming at him to punch the load, get rid of it, etc. He probably
was looking for switches to accomplish just that.
Before he could release the load, a couple of more sheets broke free and
started to climb up the side of the aircraft. The rotor wash from the
rotors causes a circling effect. It will make debris under the aircraft
circle away and upward to the top of the system. It was trying to do that
to the 12-foot long sheets of PSP.
Two sheets began the climb up the side of the aircraft. The first rammed
into the fuel tank section of the aircraft, spilling fuel. Luckily none
went to the engines and set them on fire. The second sheet skipped the
fuel tanks, but hit the side of the aircraft and as it reached the top, broke
off and fell away.
Neither piece went over the top of the aircraft where it would have struck the
drive shaft between the front and rear rotor system, or into the blades of the
two rotor systems that overlap at the middle of the Chinook.
The load was dropped; Sam went for home, landed, shut down! There were
over 2,000 man-hours needed to repair the sheet metal damage to the aircraft.
Thousands of loads of PSP were carried by Chinooks that year, and that is the
only one I ever heard or saw come loose. One was enough.
Out house off the firebase
One of the "old" traditions in the army that is still in existence
even today is separate outhouses for enlisted and officers. Why, but in
Viet Nam, even the firebases had separate, but equal facilities. They
would normally be side by side, and marked, officer - enlisted.
One of the bases was a small hill. Way to much stuff was put on the
hilltop. In the end, the latrines were side by side and on the very edge of the
hill.
The Chinook has to land "into" the wind. This is even more
important when it is heavy loaded and working mountains with altitude. So
it was to be this day.
Mr. XXX had pulled a load of ammo to this particular base. Because of the
wind, his approach was over the top of the outhouses on the edge of the base.
The enlisted outhouse was full when one of the soldiers decided he couldn't
wait, therefore took a chance and used the officer’s latrine.
The pilot made his approach. The load of the aircraft, wind, and height
of approach caused the Chinook to blow the officer's latrine off the mountain!
When the rescue party got to the outhouse and brought the kid up the
mountainside, a Medevac chopper was called to take him to a hospital, being he
was bruised and cut up from the metal drum in the base.
As he was put on the Medevac, he was heard muttering something about he really
didn't believe the Officers were so serious about Enlisted men using their
latrines.
Ammo
We hauled a number of different types of Ammunitions. Most were standard
run of the mill artillery shells. They came in 4 sizes and were packaged
two ways. 105mm howitzers were a solid shell; powder and bullet were one
piece. The nosepiece or fuse was boxed separately, which was true with
all artillery shells. (There were numerous types of fuses).
155mm, 175mm, and 8-inch shells were packaged as separate pieces. A
10,000 lb pallet would be either bullets (projos) or powder. Instead of
the powder being in the bullet base like it is in a piston shell, it was made
up of 1 lb bags, tied together and used as needed for a given mission. If
a mission called for 2 bags, then two were torn off the string, used and the
balance of 3 - 5 bags were put in a pile to be burned.
Another type of shell was a beehive shell or "round". This was
a 105mm round with thousands of little steel darts or arrows inside. It
was used as a shotgun round from a howitzer and used for close-in protection.
If a base was being overrun, this round would be fired low, and used to
kill anything in 100 yards. It was like a huge knife destroying
everything in its path.
We only hauled these shells inside the aircraft. They were not to be
dropped and given to the enemy to use against us, in any form.
Jeeps - ice -
beer /conex showers
Of the many missions we flew every day, there were a few that were just fun.
Some fun for us, and some because we could bring some light to the guys
living in the mud on the hilltops.
Now and then, we would get a call to pick up special loads. When we
landed at the designated area we would find a jeep with a 1/4-ton trailer
setting on the pad. The trailer would be filled with a mountain of ice,
and if you looked carefully you could see cases of beer cans under the ice.
The trailer would be dripping water from the ice melting. Carefully
it would be backed into the Chinook and strapped down. The crew in the
rear could eat ice on the way to the Firebase, but not touch the beer.
Reality was that they wouldn't have touched the beer if it had been offered.
Our crews had cold beer at shutdown. This beer was going to their buddies
in the field. I sometimes thought the crews would have killed to protect
that trailer of beer. Drink it, not a chance. The reaction of the
guys on the firebase when that trailer arrived was worth all the gold in the
world. A touch of stateside, a touch of humanity, whatever! It was a
special treat for all of them.
With the spattered trailers of beer went conex showers. Soldiers on
firebase hilltops were not supplied with water, except to drink. Every
drop of water they got was hauled in by helicopter, hot, tasteless, but much
needed in temperatures well over 100 degrees all day, all year. Rain was
nice, but made mud. Any benefit from rain was quickly overcome by
troubles it brought.
The army engineers in the rear areas rigged showerheads and piping to steel
conex we had used for shipping supplies to Viet Nam. (Every unit had
them) on top of the connex was affixed a rubber blivet filled with clean,
if not purified water. We would sling these to the firebase, leave them,
and then move it to another. With the heat, the water in the blivet was
kept hot. Soap, water, a shower, then back to the mud. For some reason,
the army didn't leave the conexs at the bases. We would move them from
hill to hill so troops could shower. There were enough in country to have
one for every soldier, why not every hill was beyond me. Still, you could see
their faces light up when we were inbound with one that was obviously a shower.
Bands - USO shows
There were only two things better than beer and a shower for the guys on a
hilltop. Those were USO shows or donut dollies as they were referred to,
and a USO band visiting. The former was more common than the later.
The "Donut Dollies" were girls brought over from the states for the
Red Cross and USO. They would jump a helicopter and visit a
"secure" firebase during the day. Rarely did they take donuts,
and seldom if ever coffee. The idea was just to put a female in a
mini-skirt on the ground to visit with the troops for a couple of hours, let
the guys know there were still girls in the world, and "tease" them
for awhile. Morale being the important thing here.
USO shows would be taken to the larger of the firebases in the area that might
have secure facilities and generators to provide electricity for the musical
instruments.
The USO bands were bands gathered from all over the world. Most were from
the Philippines. Most of the members could barely speak English, and only
a few could play music that was recognizable by the words. That was the
least of the popularity of the bands. Again, each band had girl singers
and dancers. All wore mini-skirts and usually not long enough to cover
their bottoms when standing. A female, of any skin tone, with long legs
and a mini skirt was good to get a GI fighting for 30 days at least.
Our job was to get them there. The Hueys and LOHs provided the
transportation for the Donut Dollies. The Chinook provided the
transportation for the bands.
Between and just to the rear of the pilot and co-pilot on the Chinook, is a
folding seat, called a "jump seat". It's normally used for VIPs
riding and wanting to look, check pilots testing crews, or other
"official" duties. In our case, seating for mini-skirted girls
of bands being moved from one location to another.
The crew chief would be told as the band started for the aircraft which girl
was to be given the jump seat. He would escort the girl and help strap
her in. Letting him strap her into the jump seat made sure we got the
girl of our choice. All very, very chauvinistic I'm sure, but what the
heck, sue me! Times were different.
Our battalion headquarters had 3 or 4 "extra" hooches. For the
shows that were to play in our area, we provided buildings for them to stay in.
They were built before I arrived, and were still used after I left.
I assume that the either the 1st Cav. had them built or our headquarters
did when they arrived and took over from the Cav.
Beep- beep sounds for radar:
Almost immediately it seemed we started westward for the Ashau Valley. The
Ashau was a long valley on the western side of South Viet Nam. It ran
from just south of the DMZ (39th Parallel) for about 100 miles to the south. It
is bordered by mountains on either side (east and west). In the north central
part was an old French Airstrip called the Aloi Strip. It was clay and
the French used it as resupply for their troops during the early 1950s.
We used the base as a support base for infantry and special operations.
Just to the south of the Aloi strip was a firebase called Currahee.
This also was an Infantry support base. (Additional descriptions later
chapters)
At any time of the day or night there could be a B-52 Bomber strike going on in
the Ashau. If you flew over the valley, the ground had been pock-marked
by bombs. It appeared as if the ground had a bad case of the chicken-pox
and was scarred. Without the bomb craters, the valley was something out
of a western novel, long, wide, green and peaceful. Hard to imagine the
death and destruction happening in such a peaceful looking valley.
This was Bad Guy, VC or "Charlie" country as we knew it, and we were
not welcome. No more welcome than the French had been 30 years earlier,
or the 1st Cav. 3 years earlier. But, being there, in the area, we might
as well try.
Just prior to our arrival and before the 1st Cav left, they had lost a CH-54
crane, in the Ashau valley. The report was the crane had been at 10,000
feet and on top of the clouds, therefore not visible from the ground. The
aircraft had apparently taken a 57mm round in the cockpit, killing all, and
crashing in the jungle. We found the wreck some 2 years later.
The message from all of it was that the bad guys had radar-guided weapons that
could pick us out of the air. How many and where they were was a mystery.
And one we didn't want to solve.
Rumor was that if the radar "locked" on to your aircraft you would
hear a small beep, beep, beep in the headsets. At that point it was time
to do something, if only last prayers.
It was also common to be flying along and see small white clouds or puffs of
white smoke appear 100 or so yards off one side of the aircraft. Put the
two together and you knew someone didn't want you in their airspace.
I'm in country a month or two, new Pilot in Command (PIC), and thinking I'm
doing fine. "Beep, beep, beep, and puffs of white smoke"....
My immediate response is to call my operations, tell them to get us some
gun ship cover so we can continue the missions for the day. No one said
anything. No response, no guns, and we didn't get shot down.
A few weeks later, as the old timers were leaving, we hosted farewell party,
they in turn left each of us something to remember them by and allow us to take
their old places. One had made a small radar set and presented it to me
to keep me safe from the 'beep, beep" in the jungles. Good joke, and
a lot of laughs for everyone except me. I had been a typical new guy, and
it was embarrassing. Truth is embarrassing is ok as long as it isn't
deadly, something I would learn as friends began to die.
Seems the beep, beep, I was hearing and thinking was radar was the low warning
sound of a Huey's rotor system being broadcast as the Hueys in the area were
taking off a bit over gross. It was a sound we grew to ignore.
Still, that day, the sound scared me bad!
Crash burn on a firebase -
The Chinook has two rotors. Both are needed to keep the aircraft straight
and level. As the aircraft approaches the ground during its landing both
rotors produce what is known as a "ground cushion of air". That
is, the rotors compress the air it draws through the system, and because it is
so close to the ground, it acts like a "cushion" for the aircraft to
sit on. If the nose of the aircraft is allowed to raise to high during
the landing, the aft rotor's "rotor-wash" can blow this
"cushion" from under the front of the aircraft and cause it to crash,
tail first.
We were taking a load into a firebase on the edge of the Ashau Valley. Normal,
everyday, routine flight. I had, by now, done it a thousands times. This
morning was to be major different.
We started the approach, a little too fast, but not a major error. As we
approached the ground, to stop the forward movement of the aircraft, I lifted
the nose higher than I should have. As we terminated the forward movement
of the aircraft, the nose high attitude caused the aft rotors to blow the front
"cushion" away. Immediately the load and aircraft started to
settle to the ground. Applying forward cyclic to level the aircraft and
additional power and pitch to the blades did nothing to stop the aircraft from
settling to the ground. The crew chief calling the load down is now
getting excited because aircraft is settling downward faster than normal. I'm
getting excited because I can't stop the settling and it’s making him excited.
When our Crew Chiefs began to get excited you knew you had a problem.
They were your eyes and ears aft of the cockpit. All were
experienced by now and calm in almost any situation, except crashes.
Pulling in power, increasing the rotor RPM, or trying to, does nothing.
We continue to settle on the load. The crew chief finally calls the
load on the ground, and that the aircraft is settling down and touching the
load. His last comment on the radio was "hook is in the load, I'm
clear the hole". This meant that the aircraft hook had entered the pallet
of ammunition we had just set on the ground, the aircraft body would hit next.
More than likely we would create enough static electricity to set off the
power in the ammunition and cause the entire base supple of ammo to explode,
blowing us at least into Alaska, if not California, 10000 miles away. Why
he cleared the hole is beyond me, rolling over two feet was not going to save
him if we exploded. It was funny later, although not at the time.
For some reason, the blades caught and the aircraft began to fly. We rose
in the air and started a climb away from the base.
At some point Mr. Lane, my CW2 copilot tapped me on the shoulder and told me he
"had the aircraft". I told him OK, and asked why he hit me with
his fist. His response was he had been talking to me and got no answer,
tried to take the controls and couldn't take them from me, or couldn't move
them, even using both of his hands. (I was using one hand to hold the
cyclic). He said he had hit me on the shoulder two or three times before
he got my attention.
To say the least I was concentrating on the aircraft. To this day, I
think my concentration and "willpower" made that Chinook fly.
That and a prayer from grandpa back in the states. By all rights
and descriptions, we should have all died that day. That we didn't was
because of something greater than a couple of pilots.
Bus run and overloaded take off
As I was one of the two scheduling officers for crews, periodically I took the
liberty of taking the "bus run". It was considered an easy day
and generally was pretty good duty. My last one almost proved fatal for
my crew, about 50 GIs and me.
The bus run was a way of getting the troops from the field to the PX in Da
Nang. A day off for them, and a little shopping for much needed items.
We would start at the northern-most fire support base in our area of
operations, Fire Support Base Sally I believe. We would stop at all the
bases enroute to Da Nang. At each stop we would pick up passengers, until
the aircraft was full. Generally we would make it back to Phu Bai and
Camp Eagle before we had all the seats filled. When we landed at Camp
Eagle for the last stop, we would normally refuel before the last leg to Da
Nang.
This day, we were pretty loaded with GIs and their baggage when we stopped to
refuel at Eagle and pick up the last passengers. We landed, refueled, and
started to depart.
Normal procedure was to call and get the crew chief to count heads and estimate
the weight of cargo or baggage. We didn't care that much if we could
hover. We did, however, have to turn a head count and weight count in at
the end of each day. Tonnage hauled and passengers carried were gathered
from each aircraft at the end of the day and forwarded to Battalion, where it
was totaled with A and B companies and then forwarded to Group. All a
part of the "Numbers" game being played in Viet Nam. Bodies, Bad
Guys, Tonnage, Passengers. It was a way of measuring the war. And
as it should be, we hauled 5-ton jeeps, instead of the 1300 LB jeeps the army
issued.
This day, we actually reported less than what was really happening. When
the chief gave me the figures, I thought he was pulling my leg. He said
we had 50 plus on board (seats for 33, remember), and with the baggage
stacked down the center aisle, probably 2,000 lb. of baggage. As he was
calling this information forward, I was trying to pick the aircraft up to a
hover.
Apparently he was right about everything, in addition to the 7,000 lb. of fuel
we had just taken onboard. By the time I got the aircraft to a 15 - 20
foot hover, I was pulling all the power each engine could supply, and the
torque meters were showing red line on each dial. For some reason I
decided to try it.
Our departure to the north from the refueling pad was off the side of a small
hill, maybe 100 foot down, then 200 yards to the north was another hill, as
high as the refueling pad. The second hill had a barbwire fence about 3
foot high, and inside was a motor pool with 2 1/2 ton trucks parked side by
side around the edge.
A Chinook on take off has a tendency to dip a little just as it hits
translational lift and begins to fly. My plan was to ease it off the side
of the refuel pad (hill), let gravity help get the 18knots of airspeed for
translational lift, and just fly on to Da Nang. I did! Almost!
We eased up to the edge of the refuel pad, and started down into the valley
between the hills. It did not fly as quick as I thought it would or
should. By the time we arrived at the next hill, where the motor pool was
located, we were just barely flying, and slowly began climbing the side of the
hill.
As we crested the top of the hill, the aircraft tires barely missed the
barbwire fence. As we passed between two army cargo trucks backed up to
the fence, I swear I could look into the cabs of both trucks. Clearance
of the fence was only inches under us, and between the trucks, maybe a couple
of feet.
We skimmed across the motor pool, and by the time we reached the far side, were
flying and climbing skyward. Nothing was said by either of the two
pilots. No word was heard from the rear crew, although I can imagine the
two door gunners on each side of the aircraft were praying as hard as any two
GI s could pray! It probably looked like the machine gun barrels would
hit the side of the trucks as we passed.
We continued to climb and finished our flight to Da Nang. When we arrived
in Da Nang, the landing area was outside the 5th Trans Maintenance area, and
was about a 200-yard runway made of PSP. We decided that with the take
off, and that we had burned very little fuel, a running landing was probably
the best bet.
We made a "fixed-wing" landing, rolling to a gently stop. Let
the GIs off and returned home. Safe and an awful lot wiser set of pilots.
Never again did either of us try to overload a ship that much.
In fact, the next ship overloaded that bad was from A company, and cost the
lives of 53 ARVIN soldiers.