Para-Rescuemen) had been looking for another downed pilot, when he glanced downward and saw this strange looking individual waving a ragged black pajama top at him. The PJ immediately knew that it had to be an American, because he had never seen a six-foot-five VC before. The second PJ nervously scanned the thick foliage for any sign of the enemy, his Gatling gun sweeping the area in anxious anticipation of combat. The crew chief, Tsgt Ray B. Stone, manned the other gun, and kept whispering, “Hurry up, hurry up, I got a bad feeling.”
One of the PJ’s, SGT. Anthony “Tony” De Grazia, shouted to the pilot, “CPT Brown, at three o’clock, there is a guy waving at me, come around, come around now!”
CPT Brown brought his aircraft around and also spotted the ragged looking individual. CPT Brown, a cagey Vietnam veteran, was concerned about the sudden appearance of this ghost-like creature in the middle of the clearing. Suspecting a Vietcong trap, CPT Brown picked up his radio transmitter and depressed the talk key.
“Bird Dog 1, this is Spooky 7, over.”
“Spooky 7, this Bird Dog Leader, what can I do for you?” The voice was heavily accented in a deep southern Texas drawl.
“Bird Dog Leader, we are going in on an attempt pick-up however, I feel real hinky and I suspect a trap, can you provide some cover?”
“No problema, amigo, that’s Spanish for friend, you understand. We are six-clicks (kilometers) north of Elephant Valley, near the river, and we will be there in about four mikes (minutes),” answered Major Sam Houston Dennis, the flight leader and detachment commander of the 50th TFW (Tactical Fighter Wing) out of Da Nang.
“Bird Dog Leader to all my puppies, follow me, we got a mission just south of here.” Major Dennis shoved his stick to the firewall and kicked in his afterburners. The F-4 Phantom screamed and trembled as the afterburners shot it forward at more than Mach 1. The three other planes in his flight followed right behind him, like a pack of hunting dogs following a raccoon scent.
Three minutes and forty seconds later, Major Dennis spotted the slow-flying HH-53B. Bird Dog Leader buzzed the Jolly Green Giant to let CPT Brown know that the hound dogs were around. CPT Brown sighed a breath of relief and called SGT De Grazia on the intercom.
“Tony, you be careful out there. Any sign of trouble, shoot first and we’ll Didi Mao (Vietnamese GI slang for scram) out of here,” CPT Brown yelled in the microphone.
“Bird Dog Leader, from Spooky 7, my PJ is going in on the penetrator, keep your eyes open, over.” CPT Brown said, hoping and praying that they would not be needed.
SGT De Grazia nervously scanned the area, but not seeing any obvious enemy signs, he slowly lowered himself down the winch. Tsgt Byron, the crew chief, provided cover with the mini-gun. SGT De Grazia nervously covered the area with his M-16. The tall, but scraggly looking man staggered toward him. Although Tony recognized the tall apparition as a Caucasian white male, the tall man had somehow picked up a greenish tint to his skin and was covered with open sores.
Slipping as he walked, Jeremy made slow progress toward the nervous SGT De Grazia. Every step seemed to take an eternity. He noticed the nervousness in the young airman’s eyes and tried to smile at him. However, his lips were so parched that it only caused him pain, and he frowned instead. He eventually reached Tony and stammered.
“Thank God! Thank God!” Jeremy’s voice cracking with joy.
“Who are you?” Screamed De Grazia.
“CPT Grant, CPT Grant, US Army, Special Forces, I was captured over three months ago, and just recently escaped.”
“Well, welcome aboard, you are a lucky man, we were looking for someone else and just stumbled into you.” SGT De Grazia clipped his microphone and informed CPT Brown of his rescue. SGT De Grazia secured Jeremy to the metal penetrator and yelled in the mike, “Get us out of here, pronto.”
“CPT Brown get, us up, and the hell away from here.”
Just as the aircraft began its slow upward flight, the surrounding jungle erupted in a staccato of small arms and machine-gun fire. Clearly visible green tracers curved slowly upward towards the slow-moving aircraft. The speed of the bullets seemed to increase as they got closer to the aircraft. Hidden Vietcong positions opened up with everything they had. Jeremy had somehow managed to walk into a Vietcong battalion headquarters and not be observed until the helicopter circled the area. The VC commander decided to spring the trap at the moment of the rescue. However, he did not count on the four Phantoms.
CPT Brown pushed his stick to starboard, and raced for Da Nang. It seemed that his helicopter was being pelted by a huge storm of marbles and angry giant wasps. Round after round hit the sturdy Jolly Green Giant, but CPT Brown managed to keep her flying toward Da Nang. Just as it seemed they were going to get away without even a single casualty, several 12.3 mm heavy machine-gun rounds hit the aircraft. The aircraft seem to shudder in mid-air and a small fire started in one of the auxiliary generators. Tony was able to put out the fire and CPT Brown was able to keep the aircraft flying. However, the first round struck the crew chief, Tsgt James O. Byron, in the chest.
The round made a gaping four-inch exit hole in his back, and Tsgt Byron dropped to the floor without even uttering a single groan or word. Jeremy and SGT De Grazia stared in horror as the rounds continued hitting the aircraft. How ironic Jeremy thought, I am going to die in this copter after being saved by them. Just then, the aircraft began stuttering again and blowing dark and oily smoke all over the sky. It seemed that they were going to crash. Jeremy hung on to the nearest hand hold and began saying a “Hail Mary” to himself.
CPT Brown struggled and somehow managed to regain control of the aircraft and slowly nursed it back to Da Nang, his aircraft trailing and belching smoke the whole way. The numerous large holes in the fuselage made such a racket that both Jeremy and the rest of the remaining crew had to hold their hands over their ears. Jeremy was amazed that any aircraft could still fly after such a beating. Some of the holes in the fuselage were as large as a dinner plate, but somehow the amazing flying skills of CPT Brown kept them flying. Jeremy made a mental note to himself to buy the whole crew several drinks at the club, if they ever got back.
As a parting gesture to the still hidden Vietcong positions, CPT Brown did manage to vector the F-4’s into the area and they smothered the entire jungle canopy with napalm, Willie Petes (white phosphorous) and cannon fire. As the helicopter slowly pulled away from the area, a fiery greasy hell was observed by all who had participated in the rescue. As quickly as it had started, an eerie silence covered the battlefield. Where once an entire battalion of the enemy had lived, now there was nothing but charred remains and stench.
CPT Brown had sent a message asking that a second-53B be sent to the general area to search for the original pilot they had been looking for. CPT Brown was now convinced that no living thing could have survived that inferno, and he called to thank Major Dennis.
“Bird Dog Leader, this is Spooky 7, thanks for the assist, it was hot and heavy down there, old buddy.”
“Hey, Spooky 7, anytime. If you want me and my boys to barbecue anymore chili for you, just give me the word, hombre,” Major Dennis answered with his now recognizable twang. Just to make sure that you get home all right, me and my puppies will escort you, amigo!
“Hey Bird Dog Leader, this is Spooky 7, thanks a lot and muchas gracias to “you all.” We sure can use an escort home,” replied CPT Brown, his voice breaking with emotion.
Upon landing at Da Nang, the crew examined the aircraft and counted
