My first “normal” flight will be one that I will never forget. We were to fly our first “get to know the area” flights with HMM-165 until our birds arrived on the USS Core. For this first "FAM" flight, I was assigned as Portside (left) Gunner to Crew Chief, Sgt. Russell Spradley, a seasoned veteran in Vietnam. We proceeded to perform my first Pre-Flight inspection in “THE NAM”. Just as we finished, he turned to me and said:

"Listen up and listen good! I'm short, damn it! Just a few more days and a wake up and then I go back to "THE WORLD! That means I don't need no FNG ( Friggin New Guy) bursting my bubble and that's no shit! Watch what I do. Do what I say. Do it immediately and don't hesitate. And don't question my orders, or you'll be back in “THE WORLD” before me, BUT YOU'LL BE IN A FRIGGIN BODY BAG!"

He then went on to explain the "Rules of Engagement". Even if fired upon, we were not to return fire within our own TAOR (Tactical Area of Responsibility) , given the order to "Clear Weapons", or unless the Aircraft Commander gave a direct order to open fire. He told me that if we were shot down, I had to get the machine gun and ammunition out of the aircraft at all costs. My responsibility was to cover the port (left) side of our defensive position. If the aircraft was damaged beyond repair, I was to place a thermite grenade in the radio compartment so the enemy could not capture the radios.

I'm sure I must have been pale as a ghost. My hands were shaking, my throat was dry and I had a knot in my stomach. I had only been in "Nam" one week. My mind was screaming: "What in the Hell is he talking about?

...return fire?

...shot down?

...get the machine gun and ammo out?

...cover the port side?

...aircraft damaged beyond repair?

...place the thermite grenade?

I was getting dizzy with all these thoughts buzzing around inside of my head. In the Briefing Room, we had been told that this would be a standard "insert" mission. Although the area would be "prepped" by Marine Corps artillery and Naval gunfire, we should be prepared for possible light to medium enemy activity. This would be a "Hot Zone" and iIt was exciting, this idea of "going to war". But I had failed to consider things like getting shot down. A voice from behind brought me back to earth:

"Well Jake, how does she look? Will she get us there and back?"

It was my squadron Commanding Officer, Lt. Col. Ural W. (Bill) Shadrick. He would be flying in the left seat (Co-Pilot) on this mission. I don't know where the words came from, but my answer sounded like a whisper to me:

"Yes Sir, we did a good Pre-Flight. She's topped off and ready to go".

We proceeded to climb all over the aircraft for the pilots give their approval that the aircraft was air-worthy. On this, my first mission in Nam, my own squadron Commanding Officer, was flying in the Co-Pilot's seat. As the Portside Gunner, I would be manning the M-60 machine gun on the same side of the aircraft where my Skipper sat.

Finally, we lifted off into the beautiful Vietnamese morning. It was a short flight to the pick up area, just a few minutes really. Our flight of three birds had each picked up 10 or 12 fully loaded combat Marines. Although they were all clean-shaven and wore clean uniforms, it was immediately clear that these men were not FNG’s. They had done this before and they meant business. There was no clowning around or excess talking. The looks on their faces were more than serious . The pilot told us to get ready as we were approaching the LZ (landing zone). The Crew Chief gave a thumbs-up signal to the team leader who, in turn, passed the word to his men. Some closed their eyes for a few seconds, while others checked their equipment. One or two made the Sign of the Cross.

The Crew Chief's shout startled me: "Hey FNG! Get your head out of your ass. Lock and load your weapon. We're going in."

The HAC (Helicopter Aircraft Commander) came on the intercom and told us that we were the lead sortie and that it would definitely be a Hot Zone. We were clear to fire at any movement on the ground. However, the minute we touched down, we were to watch out for disembarking troops and suppress our fire unless we had a confirmed target. I'm sure they could hear my heart pounding all the way back in Wisconsin as my ears were filled with that pounding sound. It sounded like a large bass drum beating inside my head.

We flared to land and I thought for sure were going to overshoot the LZ and that we were going to crash. We were about to come down in a bunch of tall grass and bushes , when several men, dressed in North Vietnamese Army (NVA) uniforms, jumped out of the bushes right below us and began to flee, running towards the tree line. An NVA officer was standing in the middle of the fleeing men screaming at them apparently trying to get them to stop and shoot at us.

I was leaning half way out of the window, making myself a beautiful target by the way, trying to see where the enemy was in order to take a shot at them. We were still 15 or 20 feet above the ground. The NVA officer took off on the run. I saw a hand sticking out of the Co-Pilot's window holding a beautifully blued, .44 caliber, long-barrel revolver. BLAAAM!! The NVA officer tumbled head over heels and ended up in a heap.

I yelled into my microphone: “You got him, Skipper!” It felt like 10,000 volts were shooting through my body. The adrenaline was surging through my veins and I thought that my heart would burst out through my chest. Lt. Col. Shadrick, had made an impossible shot! He had hit a moving target, running away from him, on an angle, from a descending helicopter. To this day I don’t know how he did that. Lt. Col. Shadrick received a mild reprimand for carrying an "ostentatious” weapon, unbecoming a Commanding Officer.

Several of the fleeing NVA stopped and turned towards us. It was now quite obvious that they were SHOOTING AT US. You could see the muzzle flashes and puffs of smoke coming out of their rifles. Those muzzles looked like they were pointing at a spot right between my eyes, and they looked huge! What broke the trance was when I heard Lt. Col. Shadrick shout over the intercom:

"Get 'em, Jake, Get 'em!"

I pressed the trigger and the machine gun jumped in my hands. If it had not been mounted on the aircraft it surely would have knocked me down. I walked the tracers right up to the enemy. Two of the three just fell over as if they had fainted (maybe they did) . The third, took off running towards the tree line in front of us. I trained the gun sight as far forward as possible, but the safety stop prevented me from sighting in on the escaping NVA. The next thing I remember as we pulled out of the “hot Zone” is Lt. Col. Shadrick's voice on the intercom congratulating me on some "fine marksmanship" and Sgt. Spradley slapping me on my visored helmet shouting:

"Way to go FNG, way to friggin go!"

The Skipper later commended me for my "steady nerve under fire” on this, my first mission. Hah! Nobody knew that after we inserted the troops and pulled out of LZ, although it may have looked like I sat down next to the window to take a breather, I had really collapsed. I started shaking like a leaf in a wind storm. I’ll never know how I was able to stop from being sick to my stomach. One week earlier I had been in New River, North Carolina drinking beer and shooting pool. Here I was, half a world away, shooting people. I was just glad that nobody could see the lump in my throat, or the fear in my eyes, hidden behind the colored visor.

388 and a wake up!