187th Assault Helicopter Company Tay Ninh Viet Nam November 1967 - Have you seen Mr. Coe? The SP4 from operations was half crawling across the floor of the 187th Assault Helicopter Company Officers Club trying to not get in the way of the projector. Mr. Coe, have any of you seen Mr. Coe.
      The movie tonight was a western; I really liked westerns but the racket in the back was starting to distract me. It was bad enough that the bar was in full swing and everyone with tobacco was using it all at once, and the blue haze hung almost to the floor. Must be a medivac, I thought to myself, and I stood up and signaled my presence to the frantic SP4.
      "The Colonel wants you in operations right now, your crew has been sent for bring your flying gear."
      I loved medivac missions. They were a contest to see how fast I could find them and get them back to the hospital for treatment. In this arena success or failure was measured in minutes.
      As a member the 187th we lived ready to fly. I ran to my tent grabbed my flight gear and ran to operations. Out of the corner of my eye I caught WO Steve Hartman running to operations, good, I would have a peter pilot with a set of balls and superb local area knowledge.
      I was only a few steps ahead of Steve through the operations door. LTC Bauman had a map spread out on the counter with all the frequencies and the landing zone plotted ready to go.
      "Coe, you and Hartman have a long one tonight. I need to have you medivac some wounded grunts for the 25th Infantry just outside of FSB Burt. A patrol was ambushed several men wounded seriously and it is reported 'no contact' right now, but you both know how quickly things can heat up. I have sent a light fire team up to help you, so contact Rat Pack 18 on the company push as soon as you are airborne. That is all I have---good luck men and don't take any stupid chances with my helicopter."
      I smiled back and snapped off my best hand salute for the man I would have followed into hell, and he saluted me back.
      The Colonel's jeep was waiting just out of the operations door, and we drove like mad men down the road between the revetments, I could hear a helicopter cranking, SP4 Ray Hrynko would have our UH-1D ready to pull pitch as soon as we were strapped in. Ray and I had been through this drill many times before; any thing that would save time was employed.
      Steve was buckled up first and called out "coming up." The crew chief and gunner Frenchie Gibeault called out "clear left"; "clear right" and we came to a hover as I was threading the shoulder harness rings through the lap belt. I switched my radio to transmit and stepped on the floor button. "Tay Ninh tower Blackhawk 54 from Blackhawk revetments to the north for a medivac." "Roger 54, the Rat Pack has departed seven minutes ago, clear to take off, good luck sir." I keyed my mike twice to indicate I had heard him, it was clear from his voice he knew how dangerous these night medivac missions were.
      As soon as we break ground the inky darkness of Viet Nam envelopes the aircraft and we are flying on instruments gaining altitude as fast as we can---Steve has the collective all the way up, we are using all the horsepower that the engine could produce.
      As my eyes get accustomed to darkness I can see the road meandering North below us. Some of the flooded fields were reflecting the little bit of moonlight we have tonight. The half moon would skip from pond to pond, like a smooth rock tossed across the water. Old water filled bomb craters, like sparkling jewels, would catch the moon rays and gleefully toss them helter-skelter.
      On the distant horizon I could see the rotating beacon of the Rat Pack high bird. I switch my radios to company push and step on the floor button,"Rat Pack 18, Blackhawk 54." I hear CW2 Art Cline on the radio; "Are you the medivac tonight 54?" "Roger 18." Rat Pack 18 has already talked to the ground commander but I call him to tell him we are in route and get a short count to home in on.
      Rat Pack 18 arrives over the landing zone first and makes a low pass to see if he can draw some fire. Rat 18 with all his lights on, landing light everything, making a slow pass, what a sitting duck, but no tracers come up and he blacks out his lights as he picks up a little altitude. "54 it looks cold."
      This is no time for a screaming approach, I can't see squat. I turn my landing light on and move the search light up to a useful angle. Captured in the beam of my light is a grunt standing with his rifle over his head--- he had to know the enemy could see him clearly---I put the beam on him and come to a hover just in front of him. Ray and Frenchie clear me down and the helicopter makes a bouncy touchdown. As soon as I go to flat pitch the Grunts shielding the wounded get up and start loading our priceless cargo.
      It never fails, we have been on the ground five f'n seconds and here come the first of the tracers. The Grunts are pouring fire in the direction of the Viet Cong shooters. I switch radios to call for Gun help, but Rat 18 is way ahead of me and the red firehose of minigun fire shoots down from a dark sky.
      It takes an eternity to load. We have all six wounded on board and I have all my lights off, even the ones on the instrument panels. Ray and Frenchie call clear left and clear right. I call Rat 18, "coming out" then break ground and start a max performance take off with no lights and no instruments. Up and up we go, but the tracers are following us up. So far they have not touched us, but they are so close it sometimes looks like they come in one door and out the other.
      Steve Hartman could read my mind and on like magic came the instrument lights. Ray's voice on the intercom calmly tells me that several of these men are wounded very badly up but still alive. We are already flying as fast as we can go. We make 1500 feet AGL and convert up into go and fly back to the hospital with the airspeed indicator clearly in the red arc.
      "Tay Ninh tower Blackhawk 54" I had just finished talking to the 45th MUST hospital (Medical Unit Self Transportable) on FM and now need to tell the tower operator of my plans. "54 clear to land hospital pad" not one word extra, he knew of my delicate cargo and the need for speed.
      I had pushed the nose over when I could clearly see Tay Ninh base camp and by the time I reached the hospital pad I had a bunch of airspeed to bleed off.
      The triage team was crouched on either side of the pad as I set the helicopter down as gently as I could. The triage team was lifting the men out when one of the guns snagged on something and discharged in the cargo bay and Steve and I watched as the tracer arced into the sky. If Chuck didn't get you, Murphy would.
      With the wounded taken care of we lifted to a high hover and called the tower to get permission to go to the fuel dump to top off the tanks before putting her away.
      Steve and I left the jeep for the crew to use, they still had to clean guns and get the helicopter ready to go for tomorrow's missions. They had guns to haul and I was going to go to the hospital to see if I could help with the casualties that I had just brought in. I had worked enough in the hospital to be on a first name basis with most of the operating room staff.
      I hit the hospital showers and put on a green scrub suit and took my adrenaline filled brain to the opening of the orthopedic surgical suite were Dr. David Bryant would be working.
      I tapped on the window to get the attention of the circulating nurse. She smiled at me and told Dr. Bryant that I was at the door. He waved me in and I entered the surgical suite acutely aware of the sixty-degree temperature and the antiseptic smells.
      Tall and very thin David Bryant peered at me over his glasses, and said, "I think this is one of the men you just brought in."
      "How did you know I was flying tonight?" David looked up and said "I had the surgical duty tonight and I heard your voice on the radio when you called inbound. I was hoping you would come by and check up on your load of casualties."
      The Grunt on the operating table had several gunshot wounds and David's team was trying to stop the bleeding while at the same time pumping blood into both arms and legs using blood pressure cuffs to increase the flow.
      The gas-passer at the top of the table started to get a little frantic and in a loud voice told everyone "I am loosing him, his blood pressure is going down, and his heart beat is getting very irregular."
      David Bryant talking to himself mutters something about needing to find the bullet hole that is letting out all the blood pressure and with his hands deep in the wounded mans abdomen he finds the hole in the aorta causing the major problem. The Grunt's heart arrests the first time and the surgical team scramble to set up a heart tray.
      David opens the Grunt's chest and starts pumping his heart with his hand while a thoracic surgeon tries to patch the gaping hole in his aorta. One doctor pumping his heart, one doctor trying to patch the extreme damage done by a Chicom bullet. Every one in the operating room was doing their best, but the damage was too great and they could not save him.
      As the surgical team cleaned up the room and pulled the surgical drapes off the dead Grunt, I was just standing there in shock. The dead man's white body laying on the operating room table nude and violated. I could not take my eyes off of him.
      Death was a frequent visitor at the 45th MUST, the graves registration guys came with a gurney and a body bag and I helped them lift the dead Grunt into the bag and zip it closed. I wanted to include a note to his mom that I had done all I could, I had risked my life and the lives of my crew to pull him out of the jungle and get him medical treatment. But the reality of the moment was that I had already seen many dead American troops, and by the end of my tour I would see many more. I did not have time to write to my own mother.
      As soon as they wheeled the dead Grunt out of the operating room, the clean up crew cleaned and mopped and another Grunt from my medivac load was wheeled in and placed on the table and the surgical team went back to work as if nothing had happened. After all, they could not worry about the men they lost; they were quite busy trying to keep others alive.
      I worked until midnight, then made the short walk to my tent. Warrant Officer John Jordan was just finishing his evening bottle of Johnny Walker Red and as I sat on my cot the generator was turned off and the whole 187th Assault Helicopter Company area was plunged into darkness. And right in front of me floating in the darkness was the stark white body of that dead Grunt burned forever in my mind.