Helicopter UH-1H 67-17328


Information on U.S. Army helicopter UH-1H tail number 67-17328
Date: 02/25/1971
Incident number: 71022517.KIA
Unit: C/7/17 CAV
This was a Combat incident.
Casualties = 02 WIA 01 DOI . . Number killed in accident = 0 . . Injured = 0 . . Passengers = 0
costing 0
Original source(s) and document(s) from which the incident was created or updated: Also: John C. Nelson ()
Summary: Received extensive battle damage attempting a rescue of 2 USAF pilots near Hill 31 in Laos. Made a forced landing. Gunner died of wounds
Helicopter was not recovered

Crew Members:
AC 1LT NELSON JOHN C
P CPT FARR W EMIL WIA
CE SP4 DAVIDSON WIA
G SP4 JOHNSON EDWARD A JR KIA


War Story:
Incident on Hill 31 Laos, 25 FEB 71 The incident on Hill 31 was a resounding defeat for the 1st ARVN Airborne Division and for the members of C Troop. This battle was a military disaster that took place on 2/25/71 in Laos. The event was in part incorrectly documented in one official paper released by the government. I found an account of the incident written up in a research document on Lam Son 719 in the VHPA Vietnam Helicopter History CD (2001 version) and the official document that was included in the story (aircraft damage report marked with a "classified" notation and later released), didn't support the other information on the CD ROM or the facts of the incident as I saw them. A new pilot in the unit, LT David Ferrell gave his account in the narrative document about the event in question. His view of the incident was close to the way I saw it take place. The difference of opinion that I have with his account may have been due to the perspective from which we were involved in the incident. Ferrell was flying as peter pilot in a gunship that was covering the C&C Huey that was shot down. I, 1LT John C. Nelson, was flying the C&C as the pilot in the attempted rescue that day. I was training as to be a mission commander and CPT W. Emil Farr was the co-pilot and mission commander. SP4 Edward Johnson was the door gunner and SP4 Davidson was the gunner/crew chief for the Huey (the tail number unknown to me and in question in my research.) Two other passengers in the C&C were an ARVN liaison officer and an artillery observer for the corps artillery. Neither of them were injured. The heavy anti-aircraft fire we had encountered during the past several days forced our Troop to resume flying a heavy reconnaissance team configuration to give maximum protection to the lead LOH. On this day, we flew a slightly altered version of the usual two LOHs, two Cobras and one C&C Huey. We added an extra Cobra, because that was all that the maintenance chief could supply for us. We also flew the mission without the luxury of having a relief recon team from our own troop sitting at the stage field ready to replace us. The Scout's reconnaissance of the forest north of Hill 31 revealed several enemy vehicles covered in heavy camouflage. The lead LOH wasn't able to determine whether the vehicles were trucks or tanks. Sporadic small arms fire from enemy troops kept the LOHs at bay. The resistance from the enemy led us to assume that the NVA were definitely congregating in a tree-covered valley about a kilometer to the north of the firebase. I called the Air Force FAC who was coordinating the mission and told him about our discovery of enemy troops and vehicles and pinpointed their exact location for the anticipated bombing mission. The FAC intended to divert some fast movers into the target area to disrupt the enemy formation. He requested our team to mark the location for the bombing mission he was getting ready to unleash. The lead LOH flew over the enemy position and threw a Willy Pete to give a reference point for the Air Force FAC. A torrent of green tracers flew up in the direction of the LOH as he exited the area. A great plume of white smoke marked the suspected enemy position as he peeled away from the small arms fire. I called the FAC and asked if he had the smoke in sight. When he Tally-Hoed the marking smoke, I asked how long it would be until the bombers arrived. He responded that it would be at least five minutes before the phantom jets would be on station. I told him that I was going to have the Cobras expend their rockets on the truck park to keep the enemy engaged and hopefully hold them in place until the bombing mission was ready to get underway. When the Air Force FAC called his Tally-Ho of our Cobra's rocket attack, he notified our team that the F-4s would be inbound within two minutes. He ordered our team clear out of the target area immediately so his fast moving jet fighters could go to work. I radioed back that our cavalry team was leaving station to refuel and rearm and would be back in 40 minutes. He informed me that he had four flights of fighter-bombers stacked in the sky above him that needed a good target and we had found the best one so far that day. The FAC promised that he would keep the enemy busy until we returned. When we lifted off from Khe Sanh with full loads of fuel and ammunitions, I called t FAC to let him know we were headed back to Hill 31. The vulnerable LOHs were left behind for our return engagement. Their presence on the battlefield was no longer necessary; we already knew where the enemy was located. Our flight of choppers planned to fly an ARA mission in support of the struggling firebase. The round trip took only 45 minutes. We arrived back on station, as the last sortie of F-4s was flying their inbound flight leg to drop their ordinance. Our gaggle of choppers set up an orbit about two miles south of the firebase to watch the show as the last flight of F-4s engaged what appeared to be enemy tanks. Four of the vehicles had advanced past the perimeter wire and were inside the base. None of the tanks inside the concertina wire perimeter were moving. I assumed that they had been disabled and were no longer a threat to the defenders of the hill. At least six more tanks could be seen maneuvering in the woods to the north of the base. Smoke was pouring from three of the tanks and lay mangled in the woods. I guess that the Air Force had done its job, at least partially. The F-4's bomb runs were being flown from west to east. I watched the first jet drop its high explosive cargo into the trees north of the base, creating an enormous smoke and dust cloud adding to the haze hanging in the air over the hill. The second jet dropped two oblong canisters of napalm into the exact spot where the first plane had dropped his bombs. Flames shot up into the air and a large secondary explosion sent a billow of smoke high above the treetops. Another tank had been destroyed by the marauding Phantoms. The fighters, flying in a racetrack pattern were set up in position to fly a second strike and finish unloading the remainder of their ordinance on the advancing enemy tank company. The first jet planted its bombs nearer to the wire than it had on the first run. When the second jet released its bombs, we saw tracers fly skyward from the turret-mounted machine guns on two of the four "disabled" tanks inside the wire. The lines of tracers converged on the second plane. I witnessed an explosion to the rear of the cockpit of the F-4 and saw a ball of flames engulf the tail section of the Phantom. The suddenly stricken aircraft careened out of control. A moment later the canopy separated from the fuselage and I saw the pilots eject. I watched the ejection seats fly from the aircraft and separate from the pilots as their chutes opened. The entire scene played like slow motion movie before my eyes. I could see every detail of the disaster as it unfolded. The fighter plane continued on its trajectory burning as it carved a fiery arc through the sky. Five miles from where the plane was struck by the machine gun fire it crashed into a hillside in a ball of coal black smoke and bright orange flames. Two orange and white striped parachute canopies blossomed above the chaos below on Hill 31. I could see the pilots dangling beneath the parachute umbrellas as they descended back to earth. They were drifting toward the south side of the base where the fighting didn't seem as intense as it did on the other side of the besieged hilltop. I called to the FAC and said that I saw the pilots dangling from their chutes and suspected that they wouldn't make it to safety inside the wire. I thought logically that the attack was coming from the north and I assumed that the south side of the embattled hill where the chutes were headed was not under attack. In my next radio call I said that I was inbound to pick up the downed pilots. The anticipated landing zone was a small clearing just outside the concertina wire of the perimeter. The LZ was at a spot along the approach path in the direction of the drift of the pilot's chutes. The first pilot had landed his chute in the small clearing I had concluded would be our LZ. The place, located about 20 meters outside the wire looked like it would be just large enough to make a fine on helicopter LZ. I called to the Cobra leader and let him know my intentions. He answered my call saying that he didn't have us in sight. I gave him the details of our planned approach for the rescue the downed aviator and suggested that he catch up with me. I began my approach leaving the holding pattern from an altitude of 1500 feet and approximately and a mile from touchdown in the small LZ. We weren't receiving any antiaircraft fire. I was confident that the mission was going to succeed. I hoped that the Cobras would locate us in time to provide covering fire on either side of our line of approach. The ARVN liaison officer who was flying with us today called the commander on Hill 31 to let him know that we were attempting a rescue. He requested from the commander of the garrison a cease-fire by his men. He asked them to not fire to the south of the base while we were in the area. I was maneuvering the Huey into position on short final. The helicopter's altitude was now at 300 feet. Our prospects making our landing exactly on the impromptu marker made by the parachute looked promising. CPT Farr alerted the gunners to be ready to put down suppressing fire. He stressed to them to fire at known targets only. We didn't want to shoot the pilots we were trying to rescue. The American Artillery observer and the ARVN liaison officer were ready to jump from the chopper. They would act as an impromptu rescue team when we touched down. They were to assist the F-4 pilot into the Huey while the door gunners covered their backs. I was hoping to hear the explosion of incoming rockets from the flight of cobras as we neared the ground. There were no explosive reports covering our approach. The cobras called and said that they still weren't able to locate us. At 100 feet we started receiving small arms fire from the direction of the perimeter. I shouted on the intercom to ARVN Interpreter to have him make the defenders on the hill stop shooting. He replied that the ARVN defenders weren't firing at us. It was the enemy who had dug in just outside the perimeter wire that were shooting. The enemy had closed in tight on the perimeter to avoid the bombs and artillery rounds that were falling all around the base. Now these dug in NVA soldiers were firing on us. The door gunners both started firing their M-60s at the NVA as the amount of incoming fire increased. I could hear what sounded like rocks being rattled in a can as the bullets from the enemy weapons impacted on the thin skin of the Huey. The windscreen filled with holes as we neared the F-4 pilot's parachute that now acted as a marking panel. Pandemonium was breaking out all around me. I saw clearly as the tanks in the perimeter fired their main guns at bunkers within the perimeter and their explosions caused huge clouds of dust and debris to fly into the air. I could see tracer fire from machine guns mounted on the tanks as they sprayed their rounds into the friendly positions. The arcs of tracer rounds from the tanks were slowly rising toward us as we approached our LZ. Out the left door, between our LZ and the firebase stood at least fifteen khaki clad NVA soldiers, all leveling their weapons in our direction. I marveled at their audacity and courage as rounds from Davidson's machine gun kicked up dirt around them. A couple of the soldiers fell to the ground while the rest continued to fire their weapons at our hapless aircraft. Somewhere on the right side of the aircraft I heard the staccato report of a large caliber machine gun as it commenced firing. SP4 Johnson's M-60 was firing a continuous stream of bullets in answer to the new threat. I couldn't see what was happening on the right side of the helicopter but knew that it must have been bad. The sounds of the bullets piercing the skin of the chopper were more intense now than ever. Where were the Cobras and their firepower when we needed them? Both Farr and I had been on the controls together since we began the approach. We knew that as a team and with a little luck we would be able to make the landing, hopefully make the rescue and get back out. Each of us knew that the other pilot would take control if the unthinkable happened. The Huey was nearly at a hover as we approached our goal. We had only another 20 feet until touchdown. I had lost sight of where the second pilot's chute had made landfall. We had only a single marker now and were committed to making the rescue of at least the one pilot. The incoming antiaircraft fires ratcheted up a notch to a higher level as we brought the chopper to a hover over the silken marker. No one had seen the pilot as we made our landing. Then the situation started to turn for the worst. Farr screamed that he was hit and similar calls came from both door gunners. The passengers aimed their M-16s out the door and started firing. There were numerous enemy soldiers attacking, some as close as ten to fifteen feet from the open doors of the chopper. The door gunners took aim at the enemy crews firing the larger automatic weapons that were thwarting our approach while the two passengers engaged the nearby soldiers with the rifles as best they could. Emil and I were being forced to make an immediate decision. Our choice was to either exit the LZ now or become a burning monument to our failed attempt at the rescue. Farr yanked all the collective power he could find in an attempt to begin the departure from the LZ. As the Huey started to rise above the trees, the chopper ran out of lift and began to settle back to earth. We were settling with power because of the over application of collective by the wounded and adrenaline charged Farr. As the skids hit the trees, I yelled that I was taking over the controls of the aircraft. At the time I didn't know that my intercom was not working, so my words foretelling of my assumption of control fell on deaf ears. I wrestled control away from the Farr and banked the chopper sharply to the right toward the lower ground and the downside slope of the hill. I had performed this maneuver from instinct. I had completed this same maneuver many times before while piloting my LOH, when I was overloaded and short on power. The chopper responded well to my urgings and flew a path straight downhill toward the ever-present highway 9. It seemed like the whole NVA army was shooting at us as we began our departure from the overly hot LZ. At least two other enemy machine gunners began spraying our helicopter with their deadly accurate fire. Both of the additional automatic weapons threats were on the right side of the aircraft. Johnson continued to fire his machine gun all the way out of the LZ and down the hill toward the road. At least one, if not two, of the machine guns firing at us fell silent as we flew over them. Johnson had successfully silenced the latest threat. I heard him say again that he was hit but he continued to fire his M-60 to protect our injured chopper and the rest of us. When the helicopter was no longer the target the intense volume of gunfire that we had endured on short final, Johnson's M-60 fell silent. I thought that he had expended all of his ammunition. I continued to fly the Huey at treetop level to avoid any additional enemy contact. The helicopter gained speed until we were moving at nearly one hundred twenty knots. I was not at all surprised to see a flashing red master caution light winking at me. The caution panel below the master caution light was an array of yellow warnings telling me that the chopper was flying on a wing and a prayer. All during the flight I heard Farr calling in vane to let others know where we were. For the longest time his calls didn't elicit any response. I watched as he frantically changed the frequencies on the radio to trying to reach anyone who would listen. I watched the instruments carefully as we flew and prayed for the chopper to remain airborne. The engine instruments were either in the green or marginally into the cautionary areas of the gauges. I continued to push the crippled helicopter to its limits in my effort to reach the medevac pad. Johnson's injury was very serious. He wasn't responding and his bleeding was not under control. The Artillery FO wasn't able to get a bandage on the wound and he was still bleeding profusely. The huge mountain that marked the border, The Co Roc, was only about five or so kilometers away now. The engine started to whine at a pitch that was higher in frequency than the manufacturer had ever intended. The needles on the tachometer split with the engine speed indicator flying into the red zone signaling that it would explode if not stopped. Then the rotor speed indicator began retreating from the green arc that indicated a safe flying rpm. The chopper, I knew, was suffering from a short shaft failure, which meant that we were going to be on the ground in a very brief while without power. I instinctively rolled off the throttle to keep the engine from blowing up and killing us all. Then I lowered the collective pitch and flared the helicopter to regain the lost rotor rpm. I had only the briefest moment to see where the bird was headed and select where we were going to crash. I saw a small clearing directly in our flight path that I hoped would accommodate the chopper. I pulled back on the cyclic to slow the helicopter so it would come to zero airspeed just above the ground between the numerous trees that bordered the narrow landing spot. As the chopper began to settle between the boughs of the trees I pulled on the collective one more time to give a cushion to our landing. The helicopter set down softly in the tall grass of the small clearing. The rotor made only a couple of additional revolutions and abruptly came to a screeching halt, the transmission had frozen. A radio operator back at base camp relayed a message to Farr from our squadron's headquarters that said we shouldn't destroy the chopper because they were going to send a Chinook to recover it. The instructions countermanded the order we had been given to destroy any helicopter downed in Laos. The rattled crew was out of the broken Huey on the ground with little idea of where the friendly forces were or where the NVA were located. Farr had been shot in the leg as had Davidson. Neither of their wounds was bad enough to require that they be carried. The only one in the chopper in need of immediate attention was Johnson. He was still breathing but he was unconscious and not bleeding as profusely as before. The artilleryman and I bandaged the wounded Johnson's thigh without much success. We needed to move to a larger clearing so we could be rescued. Our Huey used every available inch of space in the narrow landing spot between the trees where it came to rest. There was no place unavailable in the small LZ for a rescue chopper to land. I also wanted to get, as far away from the ruined Huey as possible fearing that the enemy would be drawn to the crash site to exploit their fresh victory. The only thing we knew about our location was that our flight path had taken us to the north of the highway. We hoped to find either another clearing nearby so we could call for help or to stumble onto the road so friendly traffic along the highway to pick us up and take us to safety. We gathered up only the equipment that we thought necessary to defend our small band of survivors. We organized our crew to begin our walk toward the road. I wanted to destroy the broken chopper but dutifully obeyed the order I had been given. We deserted the Huey where it had crashed. Farr pushed the red button on the secure radio to make the encoding pins fall out and render the radio useless. He then spun the dials on the remaining radios so as to not give away the radio frequencies we were using. When our preparations were finished we formed into a column to head south to the road. I was in the middle of the procession carrying the wounded gunner, Johnson. We moved cautiously through the thick grass and around the trees. We were lucky, there didn't appear to be any enemy soldiers in the area. A couple hundred yards into the patrol, I laid Johnson down. He had stopped breathing. When I dropped him on the ground he began to breathe again. A few minutes later we stumbled into a large clearing and halted our progress once again. We debated whether to go directly across the field or skirt around its perimeter. We decided to take the most direct route. We increased our interval and ran one at a time as fast as possible to the other side. Once one person made it to the other side, another man would do the same until we had all traversed the small field. We again paused when we reached the other side of the clearing, this time to catch our breath. Luck had been with us as we made our retreat. I looked skyward and saw a lone Huey flying high in the sky coming from the direction of the hill from which we had recently escaped. I remembered the survival radio tucked in a pocket on my vest. I pulled it out and proceeded to extend the antenna. I was so full of fear and adrenalin that I yanked the antenna completely out of the radio. I thought that I had destroyed my precious communicator. I made the radio call anyway and was shocked when I received a response. I don't know what the respondent said, so I called again. I said, "This is Yellow Scarf, Red 16. Mayday! Mayday!" I used my unit's traditional call sign because I couldn't remember what the assigned mission call sign was. The return call came from someone and comforted me by saying, "Yellow Scarf, rescue will be on the way soon. Please state your location, over." I responded to his acknowledgement with what I felt was our location. "Yellow Scarf Red 16 is about 1 click north of the road and about five clicks short of the border, over." Within five minutes we spotted a Cobra flying low over the trees as if he was looking for us. I grabbed my pen-flare and fired it directly at the oncoming chopper. As I watched the arc of the flare, it resembled a slow motion red tracer bullet. I hoped that the pilot, seeing a red projectile tracing through the air directly at him was not too trigger-happy. I held my breath as the Cobra flared and shot an approach to the field next to where we were squatting. The Cobra was one of our own gunships with the crossed sabers displayed on the engine cowling and the yellow circle unit designation clearly visible behind the cockpit. The Cobras had finally located us. The front seat pilot relinquished his seat in the cobra and helped Farr take his place. David Nelson had volunteered his seat so Farr could be the first one saved. Nelson brought along another survival radio too. His still had his antenna attached so we used it to contact the rest of the flight of orbiting cobras. David requested an immediate medevac for Johnson and the other member of the crew who had been shot. The Cobra team remained on station although low on fuel to supply fire support for the rescue chopper. We sat on the edge of the clearing while the remaining two Cobras flew in a protective orbit around our party's small perimeter. We waited impatiently for the medevac to arrive. After what seemed to be a long time, a chopper arrived to take us to Khe Sanh. The Huey that responded to our medical emergency was from another unit that had just returned from inserting a company of ARVN onto the latest hilltop on the way to Tchepone. He was returning in his empty helicopter to get another load of infantry to put into the fight at whatever firebase they were occupying today. He said that he heard our calls on guard and volunteered to fly the medevac mission. The remainder of the survivors gathered up their gear and jumped on the chopper. I don't know how long it took for the day's ordeal to play out from being shot up to being rescued. I was certainly elated to still be alive. The anonymous pilot flew to the "B" Medical facility at Khe Sanh as fast as he could. When we arrived, I was told that Farr was already there. A medic said that he was being treated inside and would be OK. A team of stretcher-bearers carried Johnson into the bunker/hospital where a medic directed them to take him. A doctor came to the side of the stretcher immediately to see to the needs of the badly injured man. Immediately after listening to the doctor's instructions, the two medics lifted the stretcher where Johnson lay and took him into the operating room. I was directed to sit outside of the bunker and wait there, if I was going to stay. I waited outside the bunker until the doctor came out and gave me the bad news. He said that he had done everything that he could to save Johnson's life, but excessive blood loss had caused his death. The doctor declared that the femoral artery in his leg had retreated inside his hip girdle, making it impossible to stop the bleeding or to treat him in the field. Johnson had lived for only a few minutes after we arrived at the medical bunker. I was disappointed and angry that I wasn't able to fly him to the hospital in my Huey and give him the extra few minutes that may have saved his life. Please excuse some of the dramatic license I've taken in the narrative. I've tried to record the incident as best as I could. I wish I had kept a diary to detail the events better. Submitted to the VHPA in March 2003 by John C. Nelson.

This record was last updated on 02/28/2003


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