A brand-new replacement, Captain Hertz, was assigned to fly with me one afternoon. Nate flew with another replacement, and the two of us were going to fly to Qui Nhon and back to check these new guys out.
When the sky was a dull orange behind us, we crossed the An Khe pass heading east. Hertz had been flying since we left the ground. He was doing okay, flying on Nate. We talked a little in the air. He told me he had a lot of flight time in the States.
A formation accident in the Cav had killed ten people. We heard reports about other wrecks around the country. Night-formation skills were critical. One guy, fucking up just a little bit, could wipe out a bunch of people if those rotors connected.
As it got dark, Hertz began to drop behind Nate. I encouraged him to close up, because dropping back too far caused you to lose perspective relative to the lead ship.
“Move it right up close, just like a daylight formation.”
Hertz moved to about two rotor disks’ distance of Nate. Unfortunately, he also started to oscillate, swinging too far away, then too close. As he tried to adjust for the swing, he overcorrected. I said nothing. On one swing toward Nate, he scared himself and dropped farther back.
“You gotta keep it closer,” I said. “If we were in a regular formation, we’d be screwing up everybody. If Nate decided to make a left turn right now, we wouldn’t know it until we were right on top of him.”
“I was just dropping back for safety.”
“I know. But, believe me, it’s safer closer.”
“Okay.”
As he pulled back up into the slot, he once again began the oscillations. He was on a pendulum that swung out away from Nate and then back toward him. He either knew a real slick trick, or we were going to blend rotor blades with Nate. At the last possible moment, when I realized he had no slick trick in mind, I grabbed the controls.
“I got it.” I Hared back abruptly and pulled back into position.
“Why?”
“Because you were going to hit Nate.”
“I wasn’t even close,” said Hertz.
“You were close enough that I had to get on the controls.”
“Well, I don’t think so.”
“Well, we’re up here tonight for your benefit, not mine. Try it again.”
He set up again, and again began to swing in and out. His trouble, I believe, was his fear of collision, which was rational but which wrongly affected his judgment. He overcorrected, compounding the error until it grew out of control. On a wild swing away, I asked, “Are you okay?”
“Roger,” said Hertz. Then he swung in toward Nate, and once again I took the controls. “I got it.”
This pissed him off. “No one has ever taken the controls away from me, especially not a warrant officer.” Ah, what we had here was a dyed-in-the-wool snob who hated warrants.
“Well, as far as I’m concerned, Captain, you should be thanking me for saving your life. I need night training like I need an extra asshole.”
“When we get back, I’m reporting you for insubordination.”
“Right. Well, it’s turnaround time. Nate is going to fly on us on the flight back. You take the controls and just aim this thing back to the west. You got it.”
Hertz took the controls. We said nothing more on the flight back to the Golf Course. I did consider the possibility of a steep bank, flip off his belts, open the door, and assholes away. But that was impossible.
Hertz made the approach to our area nicely. In fact, the only thing he had done wrong was the oscillating in the formation. I could’ve helped him on that if he had just relaxed. On the ground, he opened the door and stomped off. I logged the book, entering myself as the aircraft commander, Hertz as pilot.
“How’d it go?” Gary asked as I dumped my gear on my, bunk.
“Shitty. That new guy Hertz tried to kill me and Nate, and when I had to grab the controls, he got pissed off.”
“Yeah. I heard him yelling at Farris a little while ago.”
“What’d he say?”
“I couldn’t tell, but I heard your name a couple of times.”
Nate walked in grinning. “Mason, you really pissed off that new captain.”
“I know. He said he was going to turn me in for insubordination. Maybe they’ll send me home early.”
“No such luck.” Nate sat down on my bench. “Farris ended up chewing his ass.”
“Really? What’d he say?”
“He said that regardless of rank, you were the aircraft commander. And he said, ‘If Mason said you were too close, then you were too close.’”
“Really?”
“Yep.” Nate fiddled with a plastic chess piece on the board I’d left set up. “Hertz has to apologize to you, too.” Now I felt very good.
“Wanna play a short game?” Nate held up two pawns.
“Anytime,” I said.
III. SHORT-TIMER’S BLUES
10. Grounded
And still the little men keep coming, with their awkward, sauntering gait, the mark of a lifetime of transporting heavy loads on carrying poles.
April 1966
When a First of the Ninth platoon landed near Chu Pong, they captured NVAs who said that there were at least a thousand more men in the area. Moments later the platoon was under fire and trapped. While trying to get them out, two slick ships were shot down, and fifteen men were killed.
This was bad news to many of us. The strategy of attrition was an endless cycle of our taking and retaking the same areas.
“Why the fuck don’t they keep some troops out there?” said Connors. “This is like trying to plug fifty leaks with one finger!”
Week after week, the magazines reported kill scores that we knew were inflated with villagers. There were quotes from generals who reported we had them on the run, and quotes from the leader of the posse, LBJ, that victory was just around the corner.
The perimeter of the Golf Course was now mined, searchlighted, patrolled, and guarded. In seven months the VC had been able to get only a few mortars over it and a handful of men through it.
When the Eastern mind encounters such a hard obstacle, it is inclined to use a kind of mental judo to bridge it. The VC asked themselves how they could get the Americans to give them rides in their helicopters so that they could inspect our defenses.
“Mason, you and Resler go over to the bridge and bring back some prisoners,” said Farris.
Gary and I lifted from row three and flew to a small field near the southeast corner of the perimeter. Here a second lieutenant ran over with his M-16 held by the sights.
“Got two suspects for you,” he said. He pointed behind him to two kids, maybe twelve years old. They were smiling as the grunts gave them chocolates. One of them smoked a cigarette awkwardly.
“Those two?” I asked.
“Right. We caught them wandering too close to the perimeter.”
“Maybe they don’t know they’re not supposed to be here.”
“No, they know all right. Our orders are to arrest anyone who gets too close. You’re to take them to the cage.”
“Where’s that?” I asked.
“You know where finance is?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, there’s a barbed-wire pen in a field near there. You’ll be able to find it easy.”
“Okay.”
The lieutenant motioned the prisoners toward our ship. The two boys grinned with childish expectation and ran over.