Bording1
By Ken Bording
After the 48th's "Road Trip" all
around I, II, & III Corps in very early '67 we finally got back to Phan Rang
for a short visit. Harry Schuler and I got a cushy mission to Dalat.
He and I and a CE and Gunner (sorry I can't remember their names, it's the least
I should be able to do since I almost killed them!) went single ship to the
"We won't fight and you can make us" mountain paradise of Dalat
without any adult supervision in support of Operation Concern and Dr. Tom
Dulley's (probably misspelled) medical clinics spread all over the far reaches
of the mountain areas.
We spent numerous, wonder nights in a clean hotel, in civilian clothes, eating
at fine restaurants and flying enjoyable, nonviolent missions.
Of course, If you've ever been to Dalat, the airport sat up on a mountain
overlooking the beautiful city and had some outrageous DA and corresponding loss
of aircraft performance.
Old Harry and I are watching the indigenous labors load up our trust old Delta
model with, of all things, sacks of concrete for expansion of a clinic in the
mountains. Well, concrete bags are your basic DENSE load and it didn't take too
many to start spreading the skids. Not a problem for a couple of expert,
mid-tour slick drivers -- high DA be damned!
Well, as we are cranking, along comes a bevy of newly arrived, beauteous,
round-eye, skirt-clad nurses asking for a ride to the very same clinic! A match
made in heaven, right?
So we both looked at the kazillion concrete bags and the poor damsels in mild
distress and, using what the Army now calls Risk Assessment and Risk Management,
said "hell yes, girls, get it! Hey, Chief, put
Well, the first real indicator of reduced aircraft performance was the fact that
this pig aircraft would not even come close to a hover, so off we slid. As Harry
accelerated down the runway towards the drop-off (read cliff) overlooking the
City of Dalat, I beeped the N2 like a fool and called out the lack of airspeed
(and altitude and ideas). The cat-whisker FM Homing antennas were sounding like
curb feelers as we gather momentum and a shower of sparks.
I can't actually claim that we ever really took off -- it's more like the
airport just ended and the cliff dropped away. At this point Harry and I are
having a little trouble conversing since the LOW ROTOR audio is blaring away. So
we just sort a fell off the cliff and towards town.
In an effort to gain RPM (believe me we had plenty of airspace -- more than we
needed in the event of impact, for sure)! Harry used whatever elevation the
terrain would give us. For the non-technically and aerodynamically inclined
passengers -- it appeared to be a most excellent close-up aerial tour of Dalat.
For Harry and I it was a wild attempt not to have a hooch named after us.
Any way, this low level tour lasted about 20 minutes while we roared back and
forth across town at TV antenna height. Any attempt to slow down to make a PL
resulted in the RPM bleeding even lower. So after a while we started clawing our
way back up the side of the mountains that form the bowl that Dalat sits in and
we literally low-leveled through the mountain pass south of town, finally
heading in the general direction of our clinic. We went by the ARVN roadblock
checkpoint in the pass so low that they all hit the ground to avoid getting
struck by our skids.
45 minutes later we arrived at the clinic, the girls were most impressed with
their first helicopter ride in country, but we were so shook that we left right
after lunch.
Flash ahead 9 months. I've finished my 48th Tour, volunteered for a second tour
(they made me see the Flight Surgeon) gone to Rucker TDY, qualified in the
CH-47, and I'm back in the same battalion with the 196th ASHC Flippers. One on
my first missions is will a real AH Captain / IP to the area west of good ole
Dalat!
We go into some Mountain Folk village about 100 meters from the Cambodian border
and start a single ship extraction. Well, old CPT H. is the AC/IP and I'm just
the mushroom CP so under his advanced expertise we load up 105 (count them)! wee
people and a portion of their livestock. Not a real problem since we are almost
out of gas and the twin rotors of the Hook did the job nicely. As we climb to
altitude I point out the fact that in about 30 minutes we are going to flame out
and CPT H. announces we'll just head for Dalat and gas up!
We wheel into the Hot Gas point at Dalat running on fumes and line up with the
hose points. This results in use parking 90 degrees to the runway and with a
nice breeze blowing crosswise across our twin rotors. CPT H. sez "Filler
Up, boys". I suggest that we might better take on a partial load of fuel
since the DA is so high, we're packed to the gills with the village people, and
that I almost died here once on a previous tour. CPT H. wasn't impressed with my
tale of life as an underpowered Delta Model slick driver.
So after the boys in the back finish refueling us and fight their way back
aboard, good ole CPT H. snatches the Hook into a 20 foot instantaneous hover
with the breeze blowing across both rotors, declares the power check A-OK, kicks
left pedal and blasts off down the center line of the runway. I whimper loudly
and once again beep like hell!
About 300 meters down the runway we settle involuntarily to the pavement and
continue to gather speed towards my favorite cliff. We again plummet over the
cliff and go off through town on another low-level tour. I now perform two
functions. I point out know areas of lower terrain and provide a guided tour
narration of the benefit of our CE and Gunner. "Over at 3 O'clock and
slightly above us you'll notice the South Vietnamese Military Academy. To our 12
O'clock and substantially above us is the closest pass out of this godforsaken
valley." Useful stuff like that.
Well, we made it and only hit one small out house on the way out of town, but it
sure helps to know the terrain!
Ken