Читать книгу Flying Through Life - robert Psy.D. firth - Страница 12

THEY’RE SHOOTING AT ME

“Nothing makes a man more aware of his capabilities and of his limitations than those moments when he must push aside all the familiar defenses of ego and vanity, and accept reality by staring, with the fear that is normal to a man in combat, into the face of Death”

— Major Robert S. Johnson, USAAF

I landed behind the wrecked Air America C-46. It was shot to pieces when it flew a wide square pattern into Victor 40, Tham Ke. The property just to the south of this aircraft was a free fire zone and we all knew it- This was Charlie country and the zipper heads were laying into anyone and anything that entered it.

The hapless Captain still flew way south of the airport and, when he was down to 1000’ turning final, the gooks opened up. The C-46 is indeed a big fat target but it doesn’t have many areas that are particularly sensitive to bullets. This is a good thing as there were likely a thousand holes in it when one engine finally caught fire. They landed and skidded off to the side at the North west end of the PSP runway.

Amazingly, no one was hurt. There were a bunch of Vietnamese Chief’s of Police on board who were there to attend some kind of meeting. They gave the dumb Captain a metal and he was their hero. I walked across the ramp to see the beat up aircraft. It hadn’t burned but it did have a bunch of holes. While walking out on the ramp, I heard what sounded like a bullet ricocheting off the metal runway. It was a bullet! The little bastards were shooting at me. I ran like hell and dove behind a bunch of sand bags.

The only place the shots could have come from was the tree line at the south end of the runway. It was a long way, maybe half a mile. I was lucky. That was the first time in my life that someone I didn’t know had tried to kill me. I never forgot it. Of course, that’s what war is all about isn’t it. What did Patton say, “the only way to win a war for your country is to make sure the other SOB dies for his” or something like that? I did manage to get the WW II flare pistol out of the wreck and have it today over my fireplace.

I picked up my passengers and flew them the forty miles north to Danang. The next day was sent down to Quang Ngai Victor 23, just south and west by some 50 miles from Tam key on the edge of Charlie country. This was the scene of my first accident- the first and last time I bent the tin. I was refueling at the eastern side of the strip just off the runway when a helio came along in a slow hover and blew the tail of the Porter into a ditch leaving the stabilizer supporting the weight of the empennage ripping the elevator hinge supports from the thin 028 gauge hull.

I called the base in Danang and in a few hours two mechanics showed up on another company machine. They lined up the torn attachments, drilled out the old rivets and somehow pop riveted the damm thing together. They said “OK, Cap, fly it home and we’ll do a permanent repair.” I got it back and they worked on it all day and got it fixed up like new.

By 0900 the next day I was back in Indian country. We had a young Embassy guy on board talking to a bunch of guys on a portable bayside. He was in the cabin with me flying around a place he had identified on a map. Suddenly, we started taking rounds. I broke off and, seeing that he was still alive, headed back to Quang Ngai to check the damage.

On the ground he got a call and as the holes weren’t in any bad areas, I taped them over with “Speed-Tape,” (a variant of the ubiquitous and famous Duct tape-never leave-home- without it marvelous stuff ) and we loaded up about ten big green ammo boxes and overweight and heaver than hell, headed back to the same place. He wanted me to line up on some smoke and make a series of low passes while he tossed out the ammo. It was on the second pass when we started taking hits again. We weren’t part of the shooting war and definitely weren’t supposed to be doing what we were doing.

I broke off, climbed out of range, and called the company for some direction. When I explained the situation, the base manager just said, “use your own judgment- I’m not going to order you out.” Well, that left it to me. Everyone on the frequency heard me- I couldn’t chicken out now…The Porter had no armor and a good size sling-shot could bring her down. The embassy guy, whoever he was, was getting nervous about not completing the drop. I asked him who the guys on the ground were? He said “round eyes.” It was getting dark. I decided to try again.

We planned to kick them all out in two runs. He got the smoke and I dove in with him hanging in the big open door strapped to a jury rigged harness fastened to the overhead. This way he could kick the cargo out without to much risk of following it.

The first pass went OK and I climbed up for a repeat dive. On the pull out the little bastard opened up on us and more holes appeared in the cabin wall and overhead. The kicker was OK and his guys on the ground said that they spotted the shooter and fired some smoke in his direction.

I was pretty mad by then so decided to take a look. The kicker had an M-16 and he leaned out the door while I dropped to the tree tops and headed for the smoke. We flew over a tree line and, at about ten feet over the ground, saw a guy on a bike pedaling down a dirt road for all he was worth. He shot the entire clip at him and never came close. I had the beast down to 80 knots and we tried it again. Same thing- either this bastard was the luckiest cong in the country or my kicker was the worst shot.

I decided to finish it before some of his pals showed up. I got behind him and gauging carefully flew the aircraft into him. I hit him in the back of his head with the right main tire at about 90 mph and knocked him and his fucking bike ass over teakettle. He flew probably 100’ and I had just killed my first VC. At least I hope I did. We didn’t stick around to see if he got up. I wanted to paint a symbol on the side of my plane but knew the company wouldn’t go for such an ostentatious display.

We flew back, dumped the reaming ammo to a bunch of very grateful guys and headed home in the gathering darkness. Small firefights and minor explosions showed up all around us as the real war, which took place mostly at night was starting up.