War Story 3: War, Luck, and Survival
When I heard the news, it was like a bolt of lightning striking the top of my head and reaching down into my stomach leaving me feeling just sick.
On August 6, 2011, an Army CH-47 Chinook helicopter carrying our finest warfighters in Afghanistan was shot down and all 30 American lives were lost. SEAL Team 6 had 22 of its elite members on board that aircraft.
The images raced through my mind like it was yesterday. I stared into space and remembered.
We had come into the Kham Duc Valley, just east of one of the main infiltration routes into South Vietnam from Laos, with a vengeance. More than a battalion of the US Army and other units from the South Vietnamese army combined to reestablish our presence in an area lost during the Tet Offensive.
It was an area full of jungle, mountains, rivers, and enemy soldiers.
Most importantly, we came to retrieve the remains of some Special Forces, “Green Berets”, lost during a bitter battle when 120 allied soldiers were reportedly surrounded by 5,000 of the enemy.
After a couple of months, our mission was accomplished. We retrieved the remains of a dozen fallen comrades and conducted numerous patrols resulting in skirmishes with the NVA with lopsided results. Scores of the enemy were killed. One attack by sappers trying to hit Alpha Battery with their howitzers resulted in 16 enemy dead in just a few minutes.
The bucket of a front-end loader manned by the Seabees repairing the airstrip was filled with the enemy dead and buried in one mass grave.
It was time to evacuate.
Guarding the airstrip, as units were loaded up and flown out by helicopter, were two platoons of the 196th Infantry. My platoon was the second last to board a CH-47, along with other equipment and supplies. We were all moving to a new firebase called “LZ Judy”, 49 miles southwest of DaNang. It was a small mountain with most of the top cleared off and bunkers dug around the perimeter and the howitzers in the center. LZ Judy had a commanding position overlooking the valleys below.
Even as a paratrooper, I never liked getting on a helicopter of any kind, especially a Chinook. Having made over 26 combat air assaults into enemy territory, it was the feeling of being so vulnerable and helpless. The worst is during take-off and landing knowing it could be your metal coffin.
All we could do was scramble as fast as possible when the rear tailgate lowered, get on board, and pray it would take off IMMEDIATELY. No delay – Go! Go! Go! Don’t give the enemy a chance to take aim. Finally, we were airborne.
The last platoon to leave Kham Duc was boarding their Chinook, along with a mortar squad, when it was reported that some claymores and other explosives were left behind. The First Lieutenant took responsibility and went back for them with his radio operator. Not to delay anything, he told the Pilot to take off without him. Another small helicopter hovering above would come down for him.
A courageous decision, he was virtually the last American soldier on the ground with the enemy all around.
As my lumbering Chinook slowed for the landing on the top ridge line leading up to LZ Judy, it lurches with its backend dropping down and then slowly it levels off and lowers with the twin propellers noisily slicing the air.
When the rear door opens, we raced out as face as possible even while loaded down with heavy packs, weapons, ammo, and other gear. We all start moving up the mountain slowly in the suffocating heat carrying our loads.
Whew! We made it. Relief swept over me.
Right behind us was the last Chinook coming in to unload the last platoon - without its Lieutenant.
I turned, dropped my pack, and waved at my guys to move up faster so we would not create a gaggle. I watched in awe as the huge inbound Chinook slowed, straining under its load, and trying to level off for the landing.
Then it happened.
The tell-tale “rat-tat-tat-tat” of a lone enemy’s AK-47 unloading directly into the belly of the Chinook, made it stumble before dropping backwards and capsizing a few hundred feet below us. When it hit the treetops it exploded in a massive fireball. The twin rotary blades broke off and hurled at us like boomerangs, killing and wounding several trying to get up the slopes of LZ Judy.
One man – the co-pilot – was blown out through the windshield of the Chinook as it was falling from the sky.
In the little helicopter trying to catch up carrying the platoon’s Lieutenant, he peered down to see that his entire platoon was gone. All 31 died that day, August 26, 1970, on LZ Judy. Mortars on board kept exploding and the flames were so intense that we could not go near it for more than a day.
Immediately, all hell broke loose, with the Chinook explosions shaking the ground, Chinook pieces landing all around us, and the Battalion’s howitzers opened with rapid fire to rake the mountainside hoping to get the suspected sniper.
But it was over. Some of us were so very lucky. The co-pilot thrown out was the only survivor with multiple broken bones and severe injuries. It was a solemn night without sleep on the mountain as the crackling fire raged below us.
For sure, lucky survivors of war will always remember and give thanks. This time is no different. Those who did not come back are the true heroes.
Every day is Veteran’s Day for Veterans who lost a brother or sister.