THE LZ

The men had stood by the red laterite landing strip for more than thirty minutes. It was extremely hot, equally humid and no shade was available. The men had organized themselves into approximate locations for the UH1H’s that were allegedly inbound, then delayed and delayed again. The men dropped their rucks and either sat down or stood up in small groups talking.

The leadership was huddled over the radios with body language showing their frustrations. Sweat and torpidity encompassed the men as they simply endured what they could not control.

Suddenly a shout was heard: “Inbound. Ruck up.”

Concurrently, a yellow smoke grenade was tossed on the strip. It slowly spiraled upward with negligible wind. In the distance, a small strip of weaving black could be seen in the distance. Troops struggled to their feet with the rucks now on after much grunting and shared assistance. Cigarettes were crushed and anxious eyes fixed on the wavering black line. Sweat poured off of each man as he faced inward to the strip. Occasional thumbs up were flashed to a friend across the strip. Each was now alone within himself in varying states of anxiety. Would I return? Would there be contact? Will I get hurt? Adrenalin began to flow.

The birds now took distinct shapes weaving and bobbing as they hovered in line following flight lead. Lead touched down creating a large red cloud of dust as the rotor blades took slow turning movements-just enough to keep the dust churning integrating the JP5 exhaust now washing over the troops as they approached to load.

Very quickly, all the birds had landed with a huge cloud of red dust generated over the scene to the point where men at one end or the other could not see the other end. Troops staggered toward the throbbing birds. Crew Chiefs waved them aboard with some stepping off to assist the most burdened. Other gunners simply sat in their slot watching the loading with a bored look.

Soon, flight lead put his bird in full power and began to shake and shimmy as he tried to gain airspeed and altitude despite the heat and humidity. Quickly the other birds followed leaving a vast cloud that began to dissipate. By three thousand feet, the flight had achieved a series of staggered trail formations as it progressed toward the Landing Zone, some 15 minutes away.

The sudden emergence from the cloud and the cool air gushing between the doors, acted as a stimulant-simultaneously cooling the body and clearing the mind. Troops looked at the land below, now green with the shimmering traces of creeks broken up by many villes below with their paddies, huts and small fires and smoke. Each man was temporarily lost in his own world for this temporary respite from being a Grunt.

The ocean was in the far distance. Along the coast, the towns and built-up areas were clearly outlined. Most obvious were the US basecamps with their geometric rows of hooches, paved streets and moving vehicles. It all seemed so distant, but just for a moment. The IMAX of war.

As a signal, the birds began to coalesce more closely and achieve a staggered trail while quickly dropping altitude. Looking ahead, the troops could see a small patch in the jungle green emitting smoke with streaks of movement above. This was their dirt to be.

The passengers in flight lead could now pick out the Phantoms as they screamed in with loads of napalm and bombs and arched off leaving a heavy black exhaust trail and large grey or black clouds of detonation. . On the edges, Cobra gunships fired visible tracers on the flanks as the grey puffs of artillery outlined the box landing zone.

The Grunts, now out of their momentary reveries, looked anxiously at the scene below, gripped their rifles and felt for the landing struts, shifting the ruck load to the edge of the floor in anticipation of exit. Quickly, the birds dropped from a thousand feet to five hundred to one hundred to fifteen to three feet to touch down.

Door gunners gesticulated “Out!” as each man stood on the strut with full ruck load and attempted to step off. Each bird shimmied and shook as pilots worked to stop the bird, drop the last few feet and still retain power.

In many cases, the Grunts were pushed or dropped from three to five feet as the bird crew was anxious to dump and run. Men fell face down into the newly turned organic earth, reeking of cordite, JP5 and smoke from the many fires.

Slamming into the earth, helmets crashed over faces now driven into the churned earth, each man tried to recover his senses, lift his face and become part of his unit. The day was just beginning.