December 31, 1967 - Soui Cut,
The Battle for Fire Support Base Burt.
I loved the view from the top of Nui Ba Dinh. You
could see the lights from the far away cites. And I loved
the challenge of a perfect pinnacle landing in the early
evening just as the sun drops below the horizon. It was
my last stop; I could go back to Tay Ninh for the New
Year's festivities at the club.
It was amazing how fast they could get the cases of
Champaign off my helicopter.
Tonight would be great fun, Captain David R. Warden
our Group Flight Surgeon, would be on the courier from Cu
Chi, and would be staying in the guest quarters, I loved
flying with Doc and we had flown a lot of missions
together. Doc is the greatest storyteller of all time,
and tonight I would get a double dose, staying up late
for New Years stand down.
I was the last bird in that night and after fueling
and a quick stop at the arming pits for some linked 7.62
for the M-60's, I put my D-model in the revetments, and
started the hike to the operations tent, walking right
past the mortar watch ships, WO Bill Britt saying
something is cooking down at fire support base Burt, and
they were on alert. Bill Britt, Frenchie Gibeault, what a
team.
I find Doc and we start cooking a steak, out on the
grill set up behind the Officer's club. I liked it when
the army made an attempt during the holidays.
Almost anything was better than C-rations. The party
had started before Doc and I got there and seemed to be
in full swing by the time we sat down to eat our steak.
WO Jim Conde could get anything and these steaks were
proof. I looked up to Jim, a Special Forces type that
went to flight school, he could speak the local language
and he knew people in low places, if you know what I
mean.
The party was a success, we watched a movie, heard and
told some great stories (all true of course) and I headed
off for bed, wishing the tent had cooled down enough to
be able to sleep in. I walked over with Doc to find him a
Cot in the tent we kept for visiting crews, and on my way
back was stopped by the on duty orderly.
"Mr. Coe find your Doctor friend and get to operations
now." I thought, what kind of silly bullshit is being
pulled now by one of my more than slightly inebriated
flying buddies. So rather than wake up the Doc, I walked
over to the Operations tent and a very serious Major
Bauman looks up and says "where is your Flight Surgeon?"
Well, I started to speak and he cut me off, "get him now,
and get back here as fast as you can, your crew has been
sent for, hurry."
Doc was still awake, he jumped in his boots and
grabbed his gear and out the tent flap in one move. For a
huge airborne ranger, Doc moves so well, the word would
be graceful, if not applying to 250 pounds of raw muscle
and brains. My flying gear is in my tent and we both
double time over to it and double time to the operations
tent.
Major Bauman looked very unhappy, he was gruff when he
was happy, and he looked sinister tonight. "Men I have a
bad job for you two tonight. Mr. Coe you are my only
sober pilot, and Captain Warden, I have to send you as
the Co-pilot, I have no one else to send." I looked at
Doc and he smiled at me. I knew he was up to it what ever
it was; I think the word is fearless. "The medevac
choppers from the 45th are having problems getting in to
Fire Support Burt. Our boys need ammo and medevac, I am
sending a fire team to cover you in and out, and it looks
bad up there."
Major Bauman's Jeep took us to the revetment and my
crew had the bird untied and ready to rock and roll, we
were airborne in minutes. First stopping by the ammo
bunkers and taking a full load of ordnance. As my heavy
helicopter staggered for some altitude, I noticed just
how black it could be in Vietnam, and started to fly on
my instruments, tuning my radios to the Ground FM, the
FAC on VHF and my company UHF. "Blackhawk 54 inbound with
a load of ordnance, where do you want it, over." No
response. We must be too far out for them to hear us, and
I pulled a little more pitch and grabbed some more
altitude to help with the radio.
I was busy flying, I could hear the gun ships on Victor
and I could hear fast movers on Uniform, no grunts on Fox
Mike. Doc keys his mike, "good night, look at the fire
fight going on out there." In the inky darkness was the
fountain of horror, a full fledged fire fight, tracers
coming in, tracers going out, explosions, fire, it looked
like a real mess down there. Bullets ricocheting at every
angle, I knew our mech. men were fighting for their lives
down there, and they would be needing our ammo and
medevac now. I ask the FAC for the ground frequency and
he gave it to me.
"Ground control Blackhawk 54 over." I could hear the
din of battle behind a voice on the radio. "Blackhawk 54
we are under heavy attack and are requesting you stand
by, say again ordnance on board," "Roger Ground, I have
105 Beehive, fifty cal and a Doctor." After a moment of
silence ground comes back on the radio "it is too hot to
land now, but we urgently need your load." I don't hear
the Rat Pack, so I call the Stinger gun ships, "Stinger
lead, Blackhawk 54, over," "Stinger go ahead" "I have 105
beehive and a Doctor on board can you get us in?" "If you
want to go in there we will escort you in, what is you
location?" "Blackhawk 54 is South East 5 miles out."
"Roger Blackhawk come to the south end of Burt, we will
pick you up and escort you in, but there is a lot of fire
down there so make it a fast approach." We fly south of
Burt and I can see the gun ships coming out to get us. I
start the 120 Knot approach, at first going past the gun
cover, but then as I start to flair they are by my side,
mini guns roaring, low level insanity. I can't see a
fucking thing with all the smoke and flares competing
with the tracers. I see a lone trooper standing with his
arms over his head, guiding me in, exposing himself. The
bravery of the men on the ground chokes me up. I am
guided to a spot with wounded men, Doc is out of his seat
on the ground, doing the much-needed triage, so we can
take the worst hit out and hope to save them. Men come
from the dark and take the Ammo off, the volume of fire
in the perimeter is intense, I am taking hits, it will
only be a matter of time and this helicopter will never
fly again, Doc has his load and is back in the right
seat, I call coming out, and look up to see a pair of
gun ships covering my ass coming out. We are low level in
the dark with a load of men, all severely wounded, Doc
says "I had better get busy," and jumps over the console
and starts taking care of the men. I fly directly to the
12th Evac pad in Cu Chi. I call "Golden Umpire, Blackhawk
54, inbound with eight wounded about 10 minutes out." The
calm voice of Bill Giles on the radio comes back "late
night 54, you are our only chopper land on pad one." Nice
to hear a familiar voice on the radio. I wondered if he
ever slept, he was always there when I needed him. He
will expedite the unloading of our wounded. Best Pad Man
in Vietnam.
Cu Chi tower clears me direct to the Medevac Pad and I
come in hot flaring sideways to clear the tail boom, and
I am almost down and on jumps Big Bill Giles and he takes
charge. Bill strips off the loaded weapons and explosive
devices, gently lifting the men on to stretchers waiting
by the open door. Bill does his work like a mad man, but
every move is practiced. Bam, Bill hits me on top of my
helmet to tell me he is jumping off and I can pull pitch.
Total time on the pad maybe two minutes, but probably
less.
We lift to a high hover and ask tower for permission
to go to the ammo bunkers, and they clear us direct. The
ammo lumpers know what is going on and have our load
waiting, we watch them put it on in the aircraft, then a
quick call to the tower and we are staggering into the
air again. We have enough fuel, and I would like to be
light going in, to help with the control of the aircraft
down low behind the perimeter of Burt.
Doc and I start to hear the radios first, things are
bad, looks like one of the gun ships is down, in the dark.
Shit. I see the fast movers laying down Napalm, lights
things up, kind of pretty, and deadly at the same time. I
cannot see Burt yet, but the fire works were spectacular
coming from a concentrated spot on the horizon. As we get
nearer we call the ground and ask for status, they wave
us off, too hot. Fuck, now fuel was a problem. It took a
few minutes to find a gun team; they had one down, and
were pissed off big time. I think they would have
escorted me into hell if I had asked. They called the
fire and I made the approach, we turned this one around
in seconds, not one mistake, in and out. I called Big
Bill and Doc went to work in the back.
Doc and I flew all night, and in the morning we landed
by the shot down gunship so Captain David Royal Warden Jr.
MS could perform his duties as a flight surgeon and issue
a cause of Death for the crew. The men in the gunship had
been burned very badly by the fire, I know it was a shock
to Doc, his whole demeanor changed. Fight all night and
then in the morning perform autopsies on the man who had
been covering your ass all night, is a tough one.
Doc and I flew into Burt numerous times, but what we
really remember is the aviators we lost, not the men we
saved.
Wayne R. "Crash" Coe
Blackhawk 54
187th Assault Helicopter Company 1967-8
top
January 1, 1968 I was one of the pilots hauling ammo
in and wounded out of Fire Support Base Burt. It was a
long night. One thing stands out in my memory bright and
clear about that night. Was a Buck Sergeant directing
traffic with two hand held flares. As I would come
screaming in through the dark and smoke, with gun cover
on each side, I could see very little except for the
tracers going both ways. He would stand up tall and brave
with a flare in each hand and while every God Damn Dink
in the fucking world would try and hit him with automatic
fire, he would calmly direct me to the nearly invisible
pad, drag off the ammo and load the wounded. We were
turning it around fast and he never failed to catch my
attention coming in fast through the smoke and dark. I
could have never gotten on the ground in the seconds
required with out him risking his life for every
helicopter approach. We were blind with out him.
After the battle I found the LT in charge of the
awards and told him of the heroics of the Buck Sergeant
on the helipad. Doc Warden wanted to put him in for
Bronze Star and we wanted to thank him for the great job
he had done at bringing us in. No one could seem to find
him, and my Peter Pilot and I went back to Tay Ninh. I
wanted to thank him then, but I am going to get a chance
to thank him now.
Here is part of the letter I received from him.
Dear Mr. Coe,
Hello, hope your are well. I just had to write you,
hope you don't mind. The major point of this letter is to
thank you for your story about Fire Support Base Burt. I
just read it in the newsletter of the 22nd Infantry
Society. Thanks, good story although it gave me, kind of
a weird feeling. The major thing, is THANKS FOR COMING
IN. I felt adrenaline, and a sort of Deja Vou, if that is
how you spell it. I received the newsletter and an offer
to join the 22nd Infantry Society in reply to a request
for info in the 25th Infantry Div Assn. FLASHES. I was in
the 2/77 FA on that same base, supporting the 22nd,
fighting for my life, like them, and I was one of the
people on that chopper pad to meet you as you came in.
Funny thing, but I remember being choked up and thinking
that Crazy Brave Son of a Bitch has Guts! I'll be damned
if I'd fly a target that big into this shit!! Your
nickname is exactly what I thought was gonna happen to
you, and your chopper!
Either in a ball of flames from an RPG, or from not
being able to see. I gotta tell you up front, that I was
so scared, I went into a "Black Out", and except for
brief periods of "Wakefulness," whenever the situation or
what I was doing changed, I was on "Autopilot." I guess
my mind just ran off and hid somewhere. I do seem to
remember, though, there was a hell of a lot of dust and
smoke, kinda turning the chopper pad where I was into a
sort of weird, orange-ish daylight when my flares were
up. All of a sudden, here's this chopper coming out of
the dark, with a least part of our survival on it.
Yessss!!! I know what you mean, champagne and ammo
come off choppers pretty fast, or at least we tried to be
fast. I remember the first chopper I saw. I don't
remember how many came in or if there was more than one.
I remember straightening up and rubbing my aching back as
the last on was taking off, and noticing it was daylight
and the shooting had stopped. I Remember waving at the
first one I. I vaguely think I remember a brief flash of
God, I hope he doesn't squash me, the first one I saw
came out of the dark like a bat out of hell and along
with the relief, hell is what it skeert out of me.
Strange to me, that I should be scared, after I had
already given up, tried to make my peace with HIM, just
in case. I guess even though you give up, you never
really give up. I don't know who else was on that chopper
pad, how many of us there were and what units they were
from except me and my helper from the 2/77. It was so
loud on that chopper pad, I never tried to talk after the
first few times, shouting in people's ears and they
couldn't hear me, nor me them when they shouted in mine.
Besides only my robot was there, the rest of me ran off
and hid somewhere. It was for me, just the natural turn
of events that I ended up staying there all night. After
my Pard and I put our first one on the chopper, actually,
as we were lifting him up it was heavy and then all of a
sudden got a lot lighter, as the guys on the chopper had
grabbed the litter to lend a hand. Thanks guys! I turned
around and started to head back to the aid station for
another litter, but surprise there were already some
there! And I'm probably wrong, but it seemed to me like
almost as we finished loading one chopper, there was
another one to unload and then load. Seemed like they
were coming in almost head to tail. And in between, I was
breaking ammo out of boxes, the ones I couldn't break by
basically bringing them off the chopper hard, hoping they
would break open and be faster to get the ammo out. We
were in one hell of a hurry.
Funny how time flies. This December it will be 33
years since Burt, but sometimes it seems yesterday,
anyway the parts I remember do. Just in case you may be
interested in another perspective from the ground, I'm
including my account of it as much as I remember.
Take care of yourself.
Mike Pectol
3rd
of the
22nd
~
Delta
Company ~
Combat
Infantry 
December 6, 2006
A
Gold Star mother lost a son or daughter in service to
their country. 
