Author: COL Retired Doug Moore. Member DUSTOFF Hall of Fame and Army Aviation Hall of Fame
One mission that caused me quite a bit of concern occurred in the early spring of 1965. Lieutenant Mike Trader and I were flying together and received a call that a U.S. soldier had been wounded near the Cambodian border and the instructions were for us to land at the Moc Hoa Special Forces camp to pick-up an American guide. Those instructions seemed a little strange because we usually flew straight to the battle site when an American was wounded.
When we landed at Moc Hoa, we got an even bigger surprise. A Special Forces captain ran to our helicopter and handed me a handwritten set of map coordinates. As he climbed in the back, I checked the coordinates on my map and noticed the pick-up site was located at least five miles inside Cambodia. It was supposedly neutral in those days and we weren’t supposed to cross that country’s border.
When I asked the captain about it, he simply smiled while handing me his map and said “Hey, use this one!” I don’t know where he got it, but the Cambodian border on his map was considerably further to the north than what my aviation map was showing. Since the area north of Moc Hoa was mostly swampland with no discernable markers on the ground showing where the border was actually located, we launched and headed north.
Along the way, the captain told us a Viet Cong unit had been harassing them for some time but would flee back across the Cambodian border each time they tried to respond. On this occasion, one of his lieutenants was leading a small force that was in hot pursuit and were gaining on the enemy unit. While running after the bad guys, the lieutenant apparently stepped on some sort of land mine and was injured.
As we flew further to the north, the Air Force Air Traffic Control Center in Saigon (Call Sign: Paris Control) called, “Dust Off, be advised you are approaching Stormy Weather.” That was the code word for the Cambodian Border so I acknowledged his call and told him we were only going a few more miles further north. A couple of minutes later, Paris Control called again and said, “Dust Off, we show you over Stormy Weather.”
We were still short of where the wounded lieutenant was supposed to be, so I began losing altitude while hoping Paris Control would not report us to higher headquarters. About that time, the captain we picked up used his radio to call the ground element and we landed near their red smoke. The medic and crew chief jumped out, placed the wounded officer on a litter, and began carrying him towards our helicopter. I could tell from his grimaces that he was in considerable pain and there was blood all over both of his trouser legs.
As soon as he was loaded our medic, Specialist Fourth Class Bill Hughes, began cutting away the lieutenant’s clothing and found several fragment wounds. The lieutenant then began complaining that his foot was hurting bad and was concerned that part of it might have been blown off. When Specialist Hughes removed his boot, there were no visible injuries other than considerable swelling. His good fortune was that a few weeks earlier he had received a new pair of jungle boots with steel inserts and they probably saved his foot. All he got there was a severe jolt when the mine exploded, and his foot probably ached for several days. He was overjoyed that it was still intact.
As we were lifting off from the pick-up site, we noticed the Vietnamese soldiers the lieutenant had been leading were turning back towards Moc Hoa, apparently giving up their chase for the bad guys.
We probably hadn’t reached more than a hundred feet in the air when Paris Control called, “Dust Off, you have company about 25 miles behind you and approaching fast.” That meant a Cambodian fighter plane out of Phnom Penh was likely pursuing us as they did on occasion. The Cambodians had several T-28s that had been left behind by the French and, even though they were old, they could still outrun us easily. A couple of months earlier, another of our Dust Off helicopters flown by Si Simmons had been shot at several times and chased all over the northern part of the delta on a dark, moonless night and, in March of 1964, a L-19 observation plane had been shot down by a Cambodian T-28 killing both men aboard. I stopped my climb at 500 feet and planned to drop down to tree top level if he got any closer, hoping I could out-maneuver him at low altitude.
Just as we were crossing the border back into Vietnam, Paris Control called to tell me my “Company” was about 15 miles behind us and still headed our way. Then something absolutely mind boggling occurred that makes me forever grateful for the men in blue.
Paris Control called again and said “Dust Off, maintain your same altitude and heading because I’ve got some “friendlies” coming your way. In fact, if you look to your left, you might be able to see them now.”
We looked to the east and saw two long smoke trails about the same level as us and, within a split second, two US Air Force F-102 “Delta Dagger” fighter planes bracketed us. One went over us and the other went under us about 100 feet away. The pilot who went under us waved and gave us a thumbs up signal. As they passed, they must have hit their afterburners because they began climbing like homesick angels and turned north towards the Cambodian airplane.
Paris Control called a minute or so later saying it appeared the Cambodian pilot was RTB (returning to base). Apparently, his mother didn’t raise any dummies so he decided rather quickly that he wasn’t going to tangle with those bad boys.
We thanked Paris Control for their help, dropped the captain off at his Moc Hoa basecamp, and then headed for the U.S. Naval Hospital in Saigon where the lieutenant received treatment for his wounds. We then returned to our unit with an increased respect for the US Air Force and a new “war story” to share with others.
