What do real people call you Davis? To ride on my aircraft you have to be on a first name basis with the whole crew. I’m Tom, this ill tempered navigator is Joseph, no connection to anybody biblical, and our co-pilot is Little Joe. Really another Joseph but doesn’t pretend to have any biblical connections and the ‘Little’ comes because he hasn’t finished growing yet.”
“Yeah sure, Sir. Tom. It’s Dan to most people.” Dan turned and looked up at the co-pilot who he figured was even younger than he was.
Knowing the obvious question the co-pilot smiled and answered Dan’s unspoken question with a good humored smile. “6’-2 & 1/2 inches.”
Dan followed the crew to the aircraft who had split his gear amongst them so he as just carrying his AWOL bag. When they reached the forward troop door the navigator motioned for him the go ahead and the pointed to the left and said, “Up the stairs. You can put your gear in the stowage at the top on the left. Sit in either of those seats”, he told him pointing at the crew seats against the aft cockpit bulkhead. “Watch your knees when I swivel my seat forward. It has armor plating on the sides and back which will nail your knees if you get in the way.”
“Yeah, I know, been there. Didn’t get nailed, but came close.”
“You’ve ridden in a 130’s cockpit before then?”
“One time, Nav. Between Da Nang and Chu Lai last spring.”
Their first stop out of Tan-Son-Nhut was Phan Rang where several pallets were unloaded and a couple pallets picked up as well as a group of 6 Green Berets who were headed for Ban Me Thuot in the Central Highlands, the 130’s next stop.
From his seat in the cockpit Dan could see the rapidly changing landscape from the coastal plain then into the mountains and a repeat of the bomb craters and bright green areas which were interrupted by napalm burned patches of black. Going into Ban Me Thuot was a bit different than what Dan thought was a normal approach for a 130. Looking out the windshield Dan could see the end of the runway approaching rapidly. About half way down final the navigator swiveled his seat to look at Dan. “Charlie has been sniping at any and all aircraft on approach so we take advantage of the Herkie’s flight characteristic. Steep and fast. Enjoy it . You get used to it.“ With a smile he swiveled back to watch the approach.
The Green Berets left them along with several smaller green painted wooden boxes each quite a bit larger than the average footlocker, and a pallet loaded with cases of C-Rations.
When the co-pilot who was flying the 130 settled onto a steady course, the nav picked a map off his desk and turned to Dan. “We are following a kind of zig zag route northward. You can see we went out to the coast to Phan Rang then into the Highlands . now we have left Ban Me Thuot and are headed for Qui Nhon on the coast. Not quite a guided tourist tour.”
“It’s all right though Nav. I haven’t seen this much of the country even by air. Went down south from Da Nang to Saigon in a 124. Kind of a straight run. Not near as interesting as this tour.”
“Glad you’re enjoying it. It will get more interesting coming out of Qui Nhon. We’re picking up two Long Tom artillery barrels to take to Da Nang.” He was interrupted by the A/C on the intercom.
“What is our ETA into Qui Nhon, Joseph? Any chance that we’ll have time to hit the snack bar?”
“Why? Is Little Joe hungry again? Hell we just ate less than four hours ago.”
“Actually 3 hours and 40 minutes ago.” Quipped the co-pilot.
“Art, how about coming up front? I want to pick your brain about those Long Tom barrels we’re going to pickup in Qui Nhon and haul to Da Nang. I want to know if I should increase my life insurance since I’ve never hauled any before.”
“Be right up, Tom.” The loadmaster answered.
“Whatcha doing back there, Art? Reading dirty books?” The flight engineer asked the loadmaster.
“Actually, no. You stole all of mine so I haven’t anything to read until I get some more in the mail from stateside.”
Dan heard several snickers on the intercom followed by a couple mike clicks.
“A couple of other loadmasters who have hauled the Long Toms say the best configuration is to alternate the breech ends and put the forward most breech end aft a bit more than the aft one. Try to get the aft one as far forward as possible. And be ready to adjust elevator trim as soon as you rotate.”
“In other words fly it by the seat of my pants until we level out at altitude.”
“That seems like the best solution, Tom.”
“Okay. We’ll find out how right your cohorts are, Art.”
There was a bit of a hassle to get the Long Tom barrels loaded. Dan stood with the pilot and navigator watching the loadmaster and crew chief sweating with the ground crew making sure the extra extremely long artillery barrels were lined up and insert into the C-130’s cargo deck correctly.
“I think this is the best we can do Sir. The loadmaster, a twenty something Staff Sergeant standing on the open ramp told the pilot. He had sweat running down both sides of his face and the underarms of his gray flight suit was dark with sweat stain.
“Looks good to me, Art. What do you think Joseph?
“I think that I’ll wait for the next train, Tom. Maybe they should strap those things down? You know, so they won’t fall out the back when we take off or come up into the cockpit when we land?”
The pilot turned and looked at the navigator. Shook his head and retorted. “They would have tied them down, that is the correct term for it, if you hadn’t hocked all the tie downs to buy Tiger piss from the girls in Da Nang.”
“I’m sorry Tom. Next time I’ll buy Budweiser and share it with you. Then you won’t have anything to complain about.” With that the navigator turned on his heel and headed across the ramp to where the copilot was coming towards them carrying what appeared to be bags from the flightline snack bar.
“Here goes nothing.” Came over the intercom when the 130 started its’ take off roll. Both pilots and the flight engineer seemed to be busy and concentrating as the airspeed built and the far end of the short runway seemed to be rushing at them.
“Rotation.” Came over the intercom and Dan saw and felt the nose come up. “I‘m feeling the need of a bit more nose up trim to ease the yokes forces.” The A/C declared in his quiet voice. “That’s better. It seems our loadmaster was right again.“
“That wasn’t so bad Tom. I knew you could do it.” Quipped Joseph. “I guess the Seabee and I won’t need these parachutes after all.”
“Yeah, thankfully we don’t have another stop to make before Da Nang.. We’ll see if I can repeat the performance into Da Nang without trying to land on the nose gear or burning out the brakes. One advantage we’ll have the runway is a lot longer so we won’t have to make as steep an approach as we did into Ban-Me-Thuot. Nor stop as quick.”
“Do you know where to go here in Da Nang?” Joseph the navigator asked Dan.
“Thanks, Nav. I’ve been here several times I can go over to Ops and see what I can do for a ride to Phu Bai. There should be plenty of short flights headed north from here.”
“I would suspect so.”
“Take care and keep your head down Seabee.” Came through the intercom just before Dan removed the headset to return it to them navigator.
Dan walked across the tarmac, to a building with a sign reading Flight Operations hanging from a porch railing, carrying his duffel bag with most of his uniforms and civilian clothes, his 782 gear which had not only the required blanket and poncho in it , but also four C-ration meals he had brought along to offset any chance of getting stuck somewhere as he had in the attack on Da Nang when he was trying to get out of country on leave. He was wearing his flak jacket only because it was easier to wear than carry hot as it was to wear.
I will be very glad to get rid of this gear. Never realized what a pain In the butt it was to carry around. He thought as he dropped it all in a pile in a corner of t
he porch before entering the air conditioned Ops building.
“Need some help Seabee?” An Air Force Staff Sergeant asked from behind the counter.
“Actually. I need a ride to Phu Bai.”
“You’re in luck, got a C-7 Caribou leaving shortly which only has four or five passengers and a couple of bags of mail aboard. Got a copy of your orders? That will do.” He acknowledged as he wrote Dan’s name, rank, serial number, unit and destination on the aircraft’s manifest. “They’ll be loading shortly. Park it if you want and I’ll let you know when they’re ready to load”. The Staff indicated the row of chairs set against the far wall.
That thing flies, huh? Looks like they forgot parts of its rear end. Was Dan’s first thought when he followed an Air Force Sergeant onto the tarmac.
The dark olive drab aircraft had a new paint job and the aircraft numbers and US AIR FORCE designates were also obviously new.
“They used to belong to the Army, but we just got them” A very young Air Force Sergeant, who turned out to be the crew chief/loadmaster, explained.
“Put your gear here & I’ll throw a tie down over it.” The Sergeant told him when he put down Dan’s duffle bag which he had carried onto the aircraft. “We won’t be leaving for a few more minutes . You can sit anywhere you want but fasten your seat belt before we start taxing for the active. OK?”
Dan acknowledged the OK with a nod and stepped out the way of the aft loading ramp but continued to stand where he could catch a small amount of the light breeze that was blowing across the hot asphalt parking area.
“We leave the ramp open in flight. This thing hasn’t any air conditioning so we use what airflow we can get in flight.” An Air Force Lieutenant in a grey flight suit said as he passed by Dan after coming from the cockpit and stepped off the ramp. “You ready to do our walk around. Bobby?” The officer asked the crew chief who had been standing by the ramp rolling up a black ground wire which he had plugged into a comm outlet on the forward starboard side of the aircraft.
“Yes Sir. I already pulled the down locks.”
“Yeah I saw them on the ramp. Anything wrong with this critter that isn’t in the forms?”
“Not that you don’t all ready know about, Sir.”
“In other words, if there is, we’ll discover them together.” He said with a smile and motioned for the crew chief to follow him and started around the right side of the C-7.
Dan heard a bit more of their conversation as they walked away.
“What is this, our fourth or fifth trip together Bob?’
Actually this week, Sir? Our sixth. When do we get a day off?”
“Never, my boy, never. Unless I break your nice shiny, old ex-Army airplane.”
“You wouldn’t do that Sir. At least not here in Da Nang.”
“Pick the spot where you want to take a day or so off and it’s yours, Chief.”
Dan couldn’t help but smile at the rapport passing between the young officer and lowly very young Sergeant. They are obviously friends and spend a lot of time together and respect each other.
The two men came back to the ramp in just a few minutes. The pilot stepped up onto the ramp and the pilot headed for the stairs going up to the cockpit. As he passed Dan he stopped long enough to tell him that he could seat here back by the ramp and it would be cooler since the ramp would be open for the whole flight.
“Where’s the other passengers, Bob?
“There’s six, Sir. They’re waiting on the side of the tarmac by the Ops building.”
“Round ‘em up and herd them aboard so we can start engines.” The Aircraft Commander hollered down from the top of the cockpit stairs before he turned and slid into the left cockpit seat. Dan saw him turn as he was putting on his headset and say something to the copilot, who appeared to be the same age and rank as the A/C.
Dan couldn’t help but notice the first man to step up on to the partially raised ramp. Undoubtedly an Army First Lieutenant in green tropical fatigues. He was wearing a camouflaged hat that was commonly called an air commando hat. Pattered after the English and Australian broad brimmed hat with one side of the brim snapped up on the side of the hat’s crown. Not exactly regulation Army so far as Dan knew. The unpainted, unpolished brass insignia that he wore, except for his rank bars, was unidentifiable to Dan and didn’t give a clue to what the Lieutenant’s job was. His nylon jungle boots were blackened with little if any shine though his pants were bloused with some type of blousing device on the top of his boots. He wore a pair of thick lensed Granny glasses and carried in his left hand a rolled up black umbrella he used as a cane and was more at home in London or San Francisco than in Da Nang, RVN. In his right he carried a olive drab nylon AWOL type bag just large enough to hold a shaving kit and change of underwear.
Dan couldn’t help but snicker to himself at the man’s body language and manner of dress. Arrogant bastard. Wonder if he’ll tell the pilot that he wants to ride in the cockpit instead of in the cargo compartment on uncomfortable troop seats like us common folk.
The Army Lieutenant did select a seat far removed from the other six. He went all the way forward and sat in the last troop seat just below the stairs going up into the cockpit. Before he sat down he took a red painted can which was hanging several seats aft of were he was headed and carried it with him. It was a standard aircraft ashtray. Usually a Coke or beer can painted red with a bent piece of tin soldered onto it’s side so it could be hung from the aluminum tubing that supported the troop seat backs.
The C-7 had hardly level off at an altitude lower than Dan had ever flown in Vietnam when the Lieutenant reached into an upper pocket of his fatigues blouse and pulled out what appeared to be a gold cigarette case. He took out a cigarette much longer than the common American cigarette and proceeded to place it in a white cigarette holder about 4” long before lighting it with a huge gold lighter.
At the same time the crew chief who had been standing by the aircraft’s ramp watching Vietnam slide by under the C-7’s belly turned and scanned his passengers. When he saw the smoke drifting up from the freshly lit cigarette his eyebrows went up and he made his way towards the cockpit stairs talking on his headset. Dan saw the A/C turn in his seat, look down on the hippy looking officer then made eye contact with his crew chief as he shrugged and smiling said something into his mike. The crew chief made eye contact with Dan and nodded positively as well as mouthing, ‘go ahead’.
Dan unhooked his seat harness and stood. He took the opportunity to see what other strange persons might be amongst the other six But they were actually quite average at least for the American military in RVN. Three were Army and they all looked like draftees and were right out of basic training. They were all in brand new tropical fatigues which had never been washed and had creases reminiscent of having just come off the shelf of supply. Their jungle boots were all un-scuffed and unpolished with not a trace of red Vietnam laterite on them. Dan doubted that any of the three had to shave more than twice a week to conform to Army standards. Of the remaining three, two were Marines. Dressed in freshly washed red stained camouflage jungle fatigues wearing jungle boots which were more red than their original green with black leather. Though neither carried a weapon, Dan was sure they were from an active unit in the bush up north and were headed back to their unit after being in Da Nang for some Marine Corp reason. Maybe returning from R & R. They both made easy eye contact with him and smiled easily. Each recognizing him as a salty Seabee one who had been there. The sixth was a middle aged white man in civilian clothes. Average height 5’8” or so, and a bit over weight with a thickening around his waist. He had a full dark brown mustache that was streaked with a little gray as were his side burns. Dan couldn’t see the rest of his hair since he wore a cream colored straw cowboy hat that was the worst for wear. Red streaks and dark brown smudges along the crown. He wore well worn jungle boots, khaki pants and shirt with epaulets almost like a un
iform. On an also well worn wide brown leather belt and holster he carried a Smith and Wesson 357 magnum with a 4” barrel that Dan recognized as a model 28 Highway Patrolman.. A strictly self defense weapon in Vietnam.
Flying military? A contractor or CIA? Nice smile and really blue Santa Claus eyes. Dan observed further when he made eye contact with the man. A cold blooded CIA hit man? No, his hands are rough and callused. A working man. Contractor no doubt, but carrying a weapon?
Dan heard the power come off the engines and felt his stomach drop when the copilot, who was now flying the C-7, pushed the aircraft’s nose down and started to rapidly lose altitude. Before the crew chief could say anything Dan dropped into the nearest troop seat and pulled the harness over his shoulders and across his waist.
TWENTY-NINE
He didn’t have to wait long. He sat on his duffle bag in the shade of the operations building at the Phu Bai airfield watching Marine Corp Huey’s setting down on a nearby LZ before air taxing over to the fuel pits where they were being refueled ‘HOT’. Engines running, both pilots in their seats with their helmet shields pulled down. Nomax flight gloves pulled up over the tight fitting cuffs of their nomax flight suits which were zipped up tight around their necks and down over the tops of their flight boots. As near as Dan could bother to figure each Huey was on the ground and back in the air in less than 10 minutes. He heard the Seabee green flatbed stake truck pull up next to where he was sitting before turning his attention away from the steady stream of incoming and outgoing Hueys.
The third class driver stepped out on the truck’s running board before speaking. “You Davis? Going to Gia Le?” The driver was tall and lean. He was in need of a haircut by Seabee standards and his greens look like they had been worn for several days. His Marine Corp hat had the Marine Corp symbol almost, but not really marked out very well with a black marker, but unlike Dan’s and most Seabees where all you could distinguish was a black triangular shape on the front of the hat.
“Yeah. That’s me. Here I expected a long wait so I could watch the Marines.”