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.
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