"If I had not flown it in myself, I would not have believed that a helicopter would fly in that condition."
Predestination
“Destiny is what you are supposed to do in life. Fate is what kicks you in the ass to make you do it.”
…Henry Miller, 1891 - 1980
The slight Texas morning breeze played in Iye and Siyeke’s hair as they sat cross-legged on the leading edge of the left stabilizer pretty much minding their own business and watching the proceedings. Both Guardian Angels were dressed in silky cloud-like smoke colored jeans and boots. Both had silky shoulder-length bobbed hair and both showed slight womanly features under their long-sleeved shirts. Their luxuriantly feathered wings were tucked gently behind them, almost invisible, and they appeared as comfortable and relaxed as they could be in their line of work…for a Guardian Angel’s job was never easy.
“Seems only yesterday you were taking care of David and Morris and I had my hands full watching Roger in that shooting war in Vietnam back in 1970”. Iye sighed as her head swiveled between loadmaster, trucks, Roger and Siyeke.
“Silly, it’s been only a heart beat in our time, you know. Remember that introductory lesson we had to have with The Creator before he allowed us to take on assignments.” Siyeke replied. “Elohiym told us there were only three creative acts that were recorded for him in Genesis: Heaven, the Earth, and Life."
“Yeah, I remember, but it’s still hard for me to understand a day, when a day doesn’t always equal a day.” Iye was struggling with it, but down deep, she knew what God had meant.
Both angels sighed and continued watching their ‘charges’.
The Angels went unnoticed as they were nothing more than an imagination, a thought, a wisp of energy, a soul without form, as we know it. They were there to protect their ‘charges’…humans assigned to them at the moment of their conception. From that moment their destiny was written it becomes predestination. If it’s written, someone had to write it and that someone must have something to do with the outcome. The Angels couldn’t change that outcome. They can help by bending it, but change, no. They are here to guide us through pre-determined life. Angels aren’t there for every little thing, like bumps in a daily routine or to help win a game, get over a bad cold or a hangover.
In 1969, Iye took Roger, and Siyeke took Chief Coe and Dave on as their primary charges and passed the rest to other angels. But they were known to butterfly as needed. Since their wards were going to be in harm’s way they were going to need all the help they could get, and South East Asia was a boiling pot where Iye didn’t want Roger’s hide boiled. It was so written.
By 1963 the United States watched Communism succeed in Vietnam and began bombing the North from aircraft based carriers. By 1965, North Vietnam was being chewed up pretty good by American soldiers and marines in a conventional fight so the North changed tactics to a more guerrilla style.
We’ll come back to all that in just a bit; right now it’s time to go to another war… again.
Time: 0512 hrs
Date: 01 December 1990 (Gulf War)
Place: Kelly Air Force Base, San Antonio, Texas
Temperature: 8 C
“We need to get these choppers loaded”, Sergeant Rasmussen the loadmaster was complaining to a slick sleeve FNG as he motioned toward several men standing at the top of the ramp. His C-5 was majestic in the early morning hours sitting in line on the tarmac with dozens of its sister ships. Ramps down, fatigue dressed men and women scurrying around and loading crates of aircraft spare parts on 5-Ton OD trucks. Everyone had a job and as inefficiently as the military sometimes seems to move, helicopters with folder blades, support rolling stock, and crates were disappearing from the trucks and being lashed down inside the skeletal insides of the aircraft. Roger Whitley, Mike Deady, and Terry, their crew chief, had reputations as to slight of hand and an air of ‘if your daughter isn‘t locked up, she’s fair game’, but they always get the job done. They were all fun loving with a serious side that came out at the oddest times.
In this cool Texas morning they were dressed only in their gray flight suits, but weather wasn’t on their minds. “Do you know those guys up there? Let’s get them moving and out of the way.” Rasmussen said more to himself then to Irby.
“As a matter of fact I do know them. Look at the name on the chopper… the guy standing next to it.” Rasmussen was saying to Irby as he squinted toward the top of the ramp saying, “Irby, look real close. Didn’t you ever watch Emergency 911 on TV? That’s the helicopter they used in the opening scene and that’s its pilot, Chief Whitley.”
Celebrities or not, there was a job to be done and Rasmussen was having the normal problems loading people and equipment on board his C-5 so he didn’t need any extra headaches. This wasn’t the greatest job in the world right now, sending men and women off to war, but when trouble started brewing in the Gulf; President Bush had made the decision to send troops to help and other then a few active combat type units. Roger’s Medical Reserve unit was the first alerted. The unit being loaded was the 273rd Air Ambulance detachment; out of Conroe, Texas “That’s Chief Whitley and his crew all right” was Irby’s answer. Then just as the light went on over his head he exclaimed, “If they hadn’t been on television they would just normal 40 year old guys getting ready to take their 30 year old Huey’s to another war.”
“Yea Right” was the response. “So? You want their autographs – or what? Get on the stick. Get these crates loaded.” The words were sneered so the meaning was not just conversational. They loaded.
All wars are political and conducted to gain power or territory, for genocide or just plain stupidity.
The Gulf War: Desert Shield and Desert Storm
Scenario:
In 100 hours, was it possible to reduce the 3rd largest army in the World to the 2nd largest army in Iraq? It was over so quickly the guys and gals there never really had a chance to enjoy the war. The answer is yes.
Back to sunny Vietnam - 1969
“Remember what our flight instructors always told us. ‘Helicopters don’t lift as much in hot or thin air as they do in cooler temperatures’. Remember?” Roger was listening and also remembering when a guest speaker at the flight school had talked about the Huey. He had been a much-decorated Vietnam combat veteran who had been in full dress blues and stood as straight as a ruler. Roger remembered him being a bit salty, but he got his point across by telling real stories of actual events about flying the Huey and the brave kids that flew them. He was remembering as if it was yesterday and he could see and hear the pride in CW2 Wayne “Crash” Coe’s voice…
…“I managed to get shot down in Viet Nam seven times, I also had two engine failures, not combat related, for a total of nine auto-rotations for real. You don't think I would make a nickname like 'Crash' up, do you? Fucking Flight Surgeon called me Crash. I was a standards pilot for Sixth Army in California and no one knew my real name was Wayne.” There were a few smiles from the class, but no one snickered or made a sound.
He noticed the initial indifference then continued with, “I was flying for the 187th AHC in Tay Ninh where I few with a bunch of kick ass, take no quarter from anyone pilots. Not sure if some of it rubbed off on me or I affected some of them but we got along real good.”
The whole class sat easy in their chairs as Chief Coe began talking. It was if he was in his own little world and was carrying on a conversation with past combat buddies. His demeanor was professional, his tie was tied perfectly and his white shirt had just come from the cleaners. His shoes had a spit shine you could look up a girls skirt with and they made slight leathery sound as he paced the front of the classroom and down aisles to search out individual cadets and to look them in the eye to get key points across. No one took notes, but no one forgot a word of his message.
It was when Crash switched to first person Roger enjoyed most. “So Crash, do you remember doing a medi-vac near Katum where you chopped down a couple of trees getting in?” Frenchie asked me.
“The night medi-vac deep in a hover hole where I destroyed a D model getting out the wounded?” I answered.
“Yep, that’s the one.” The Frenchman replied.
“I didn’t think we were going to make it home, in fact, I didn’t think we would ever get off the ground.
Class… this is a war story from my vantage-point in the left seat and meant to show you just how much punishment your helicopters can take and still get you home. They have their limits but if you're good to them, they will return the favor. Actually, I’m not real sure but from this story you may also see where the nickname “choppers” came from.
The 187th Assault Helicopter Company had been given the mission to re-supply the 25th Infantry this day, and as a member of the First Platoon, known as the Maggots, my instructions had been simple. “Blackhawk 54, Contact Manchu 6 on his ground push, don’t let them keep you past 1900 hours.” Growled Major Bauman. After our evening briefing my platoon leader Captain Billie Presson was next to get my attention, he assigned me an aircraft and gave me a list of frequencies to contact the ground troops. I was happy to get Billy for my Crew Chief and Frenchie for a gunner both from Boston, both with thick Boston accents. It would be fun to hear them talk on the intercom; some of guys from the Deep South needed translators just to work with these two.
We started early in the morning hauling water and ammo.
I could see the red smoke coming up through the hole in the Jungle. We were out near Katum. It was a long flight from Tay Ninh to that hole in the jungle.
I made a high pass over the Hover Hole and looked down into the dark green eerie pool, I could see nothing in the darkness and the smoke coming up made things worse.
I approached into the wind and when I got right over the top of the hole my crew started clearing me down. About half way down my eyes had a chance to adjust to the dim light in the Jungle and I could see between my feet the Grunt with the rifle over his head guiding me in to touchdown. The red smoke flair at his feet puking out clouds of the acrid red smoke that burned my eyes and lungs at the same time. The rotor-wash turning the air pink all around us.
Once I had the guide on in sight, the rest was easy and they had a pad marked and markers for us to land on.
I went to flat pitch and had a look around. The Grunts were dug in, but the only light was from straight over head, it was dark under triple canopy jungle early in the morning.
The crew helped the Grunts take the ammo off while the Sergeant I would be working with came up to the helicopter to shoot the shit. I told him this helicopter was a good one and we could take seven men. With simple hand signals the Sergeant pointed who was getting on and with thumbs up and a big smile it was time to go.
I pushed the mike button the cyclic to the first détente, the intercom, “Coming up” I was telling my crew to clear me on the vertical departure. “Clear right” from Frenchie, “Clear left” from Roger. The UH-1D started to climb straight up. With help from my eyes in the back we threaded our way out into the bright sunlight. At the top of the hover hole I eased the nose over and gently started to get enough airspeed to fly home.
Time after time we went in and out of the hover hole until very late in the afternoon just before sundown when Manchu 6 let us go.
That last trip out of the hover hole empty was like being born again. With an empty chopper and the radio playing “Please release me let me go….” we were all singing along with the radio grabbing some altitude on the way home.
“Mr. Coe, you said I could get some stick time if…” I cut him off. Usually after a long day of flying, I would let the crew fly home. Some of them like Frenchie became proficient flyers. I always thought teaching the crew to fly was insurance. The 187th Assault Helicopter Company already had a time where both pilots were hit and the helicopter was flown to the hospital by the crew chief saving all their lives.
With the Flying Frenchman at the controls and clearance from the Tay Ninh tower, we terminated at a hover twenty feet over the top of POL. “I’ve got it” I said, and I hovered down to a refueling nozzle. I was about to take my helmet off when the call from operations came in over the company frequency.
“Blackhawk 54 we have a medi-vac for you, shut down on the operations pad.”
I climbed out and made the short walk to the inner sanctum, Blackhawk 6 territory. Major Bauman always talked very formally to the Warrant Officer pilots in his command, “Mr. Coe, the troops you have been supporting today was hit hard just a few minutes ago. They are requesting medi-vac. They have at least two very seriously wounded men that need medical attention immediately. You have been operating out of that Landing Zone all day and know the area, so I am sending you back to get the wounded. Grab something to eat while the gun ships work over the area, this could be a long night.”
I felt sort of numb on my short walk back to the helicopter; the thought of flying down in that hover hole in the dark was not what I had in mind for this evening.
I told the crew of the mission we had been given; they were ready to go, not one second of hesitation. I felt better; they obviously had faith in my ability to get in and out of the hover hole one more time in the dark.
Major Bauman’s runner found us all at the mess hall. “There is a break in the action, you need to depart now.” And he turned on his heel and was out of the tent in a flash, we looked at each other and dropped what we were doing and ran back to the helicopter.
We were in the air in minutes, the darkness closing in around us as we left civilization and headed out over the jungle. I checked in with Paris Radar and they started vectoring me to my target. I could hear the Guns on Victor coordinating their attack; I broke in with “Blackhawk 54 inbound for a medi-vac, over.” The Rat Pack fire team leader came back with “Roger 54, they seem to be pulling back, I would not call it quiet, but we are not taking fire at this time.” Rat Pack 18 Art “Killer” Cline had my life in his capable hands.
I switched to FM ground frequency and called the ground commander. “We have two hit very badly and five that will make daylight.” Was his comeback, I knew I could get all seven; we had been hauling that many all day.
Rat Pack 18 called for flares, and the Grunts responded by shooting one out the top of the landing zone. The wildly swing flair clearly showed the hole in the trees and I was over the spot in seconds.
Searchlight and spotlight on and at first look down I could see tree limbs that had fallen across the opening to the landing zone during the battle. My crew was clearing my tail boom, and about half way down our rotor wash dislodged a large branch sending it through the main rotor. To up the pucker factor, the Viet Cong started shooting at the light in the trees with everything they had. I could clearly see the landing pad had a large branch leaning out over it; I had not chopped my way in this far to pull pitch and leave without my wounded Grunts. I chopped and chopped until I got on the ground. When I shut off the light we were plunged into an inky darkness with the only light coming from tracers crisscrossing the landing zone and the dim red light of the instruments.
My D model blades were thrashed. I had lateral vibrations, I had vertical vibrations, and it seemed as if she was going to shake herself to death. We were taking a huge volume of fire on the ground, and everyone with a weapon was using it. The Sergeant I had been working with all day ran up to the door and told him to just put on the critically wounded patients; my beat up blades would not lift very much.
The Grunts loaded two very badly wounded men and a medic to keep them alive. I called out “Coming up” and as I started pulling pitch I knew we had big problems with the main rotor.
As soon as I broke ground I turned on the lights, which seemed to focus the tracers on us. We still had some chopping to do to get out. By the time I got to the top of the hover hole I was pulling all the pitch we had. The Rat Pack was working out on the steady stream of tracers coming up from the jungle.
I was trying to get some altitude, but the old girl had given her all chopping in and out to get the wounded Grunts. I was able to get some forward airspeed and with the pitch pulled under my armpit we limped back at 40 knots low level the aircraft shaking so hard I was afraid we were going to come apart in the air. I did not lower the collective until we were over the hospital pad.
“Blackhawk 54 turn on your position lights.” The call from Rat 18 boomed in my ears. I turned everything I had on. “Tally ho” was the response and soon a light fire team accompanied me on my slow trip home.
It took an eternity to get back to Tay Ninh. I made a straight in controlled crash at the hospital pad, my Rat Pack escorts streaking over the top of us low level, in 90 degree banks, thumbs up, a salute from the Bad Dogs. I started to breathe again.
The 45th MUST hospital triage team swarmed our chopper and I shut her down after cooling the engine for the required two minutes. As the blades turned down I could see the end piece was gone off of both blades. When I climbed out to have a look myself, my knees got a little wobbly from what I saw. The blade leading edge had been beaten flat, and about the last three feet of both blades was gone, they just had the flat lumpy leading edge, and the rest was gone. We had a couple of bullet holes and the dents in the leading edge went all the way back to the rotor head. The tail boom had dents all over it and the tail rotor leading edges were all flattened and dented. We had also broken out one of the greenhouse windows, and my chin bubble. If I had not flown it in myself, I would not have believed that a helicopter would fly in that condition.”
The class hadn’t moved a muscle throughout the entire presentation and it was if they were spell bound now that the Chief had stopped talking.
There was slight clapping in the center of the class and as the cadets got their senses back and realized they were not in Vietnam but still sitting in a classroom in Texas, the applause escalated to a steady thunder with everyone standing and smiling. There were tears on many cheeks and Roger’s wasn’t the driest eye there.
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