Recondo Kill-1968

An Account of Ken Embrey's confirmed kill during a Recondo extraction.

by Paul Greiner

It was late May 1968 when I transferred from the 499th Signal Detachment to the Bandits Flight Platoon. By that time I had been in country four months and  becoming acclimated to working as an Avionics tech in an assault helicopter company. I had been to Phu Bai as an avionics tech during the March 68 Delta mission, had spent time in early May TDY with the 1st Cavalry very close to the same area, and spent time at Strike Force C in Da Nang where I thought I had died and gone to heaven. Strike Force C was another world altogether. I was impressed that enlisted and officers at in the same mess hall and ordered from menus during meals. I was only there four days but wished I could stay for ever.

Working in Phu Bai, was relentless and constant work testing and repairing the avionics equipment that had been taking a severe beating for various reasons. I watched our slicks and gun ships returning day after day shot up and damaged and it was often difficult to keep up with the radio and antenna work. Healthy communication equipment was vitally necessary so there was never any compromise when it came to keeping it in good repair. There were also times those ships took off never to return in one piece. Generally those downed aircraft were destroyed on the ground and to hell with the avionics. The only worry then were the crews of the downed aircraft. The aircraft could be replaced, the men couldn't. Thus, we always kept a close ear to the radio communications while missions were taking place.

With all that went on up there, there was never a shortage of work for the 499th during that time period. We took turns rotating in and out of the field but all of us much preferred  the field over Nha Trang duty. But Lavender, Becker and the other guys with seniority generally kept us rotating while they pretty much hung out up there drinking beer and playing cards.

Whether in Nha Trang or the field I also operated the high frequency radio and assisted in sending reports back to Nha Trang. Those reports were often detailed and long and included items such as KIAs, MIAs, WIAs, ordinance expended, and sorties flown. I remember hanging out in the commo tent working and drinking warm beer late at night listening to pilots talk about their missions. The bravery of those guys and the crews was inspiring and it was then I started thinking about becoming a door gunner. Actually, I'd always wanted to fly, even as a kid. My Dad was a B-24 Navigator in WW2 and flew general aviation aircraft after that. He was an accomplished acrobatic pilot but gave all of that up as marriage and child rearing became the focus of his life. Also I was also intrigued and inspired by the Piper Cubs, Cessnas, and other small aircraft that frequently landed on my road way back in the Fifties. Damn, I wanted to do that too.*

Sometime in late April 1968 I was sent to repair a wiring harness in a 1st Cavalry Huey that had been shot to pieces. From the start, the job looked daunting but I had my orders and I resolved to give it a try. But, it wasn't long before I was convinced that repairing the wiring harness would be impossible. I spent the first couple days matching up the severed ends of wires and connecting them with barrel connectors. It wasn't long before the harness was starting to resemble a python that had swallowed a goat. The bulge was becoming unmanageable and the entire effort was becoming more and more futile. So I only worked on it a couple of hours each day and took it easy the rest of the time. Most of my time was spent hanging around the base camp and drinking beer and shooting the breeze with First Cav guys rotating in and out from search and destroy missions. For the most part however, duty there was quite laid back with the biggest drawback being mortar and rocket attacks almost nightly. That sucked but our bunkers were right there close to us and I didn't get guard or perimeter duty. And, because the 1st Cav often tried to salvage their downed choppers, I had the opportunity to fly out and strip the avionics out of aircraft that had been downed. A couple of those flights gotten interesting and I wondered if the risk was worth the salvage job. But again, flying out there, observing the aircrews and being part of those missions inspired me further and gave me that much needed shot of flying. I soon found myself quite anxious to get back to Nha Trang and make my request to the 1st Sgt.

Sometime in April or May I approached the 1st Sgt and told him I wanted to be a gunner. He looked at me like I was nuts and asked me if I wanted to go home in a box. He also gave me some crap about having a critical MOS and told me I had to be released from the 499th by my superiors, who at that time it seemed was just about everybody. The initial answer from all of them was "no" but I was determined. I decided to become a giant pain in the ass to the Staff Sgt in charge of Avionics. I'd drink beer during the day and then pretty much give him a hard time about everything. He quickly grew to hate me and I could see my strategy was working. He was not an aggressive or forceful personality and he soon succumbed to my ornery insubordination and bad behavior. He finally appealed to his superiors to get rid of my ass. Finally, I managed to get myself booted out of avionics and into the ranks of "God's Own Lunatics"-the brotherhood of helicopter crewmen. Yeah!

After becoming a Bandit, my initial assignment was to gun for Ken Embrey on AC 342. Prior to that I was in avionics, contemplating becoming a door gunner Ken always tried to discourage me. He reminded me about the March Delta operation and he warned me that flying was a dangerous job. Having seen the holes in the aircraft and making reports via the HF radio, I pretty much knew all that. But he kept reminding me anyway. He told me about getting shot down and how he, Wesley, and Robin Hicks carried McCoig's body through the jungle to the point of exhaustion. He told me about how they were pursued by NVA, shot at over and over again and how he was amazed he lived to tell about it. He told me about his mouth being so dry he could barely speak. I listened to him and honored his bravery but nevertheless pushed for the change of duty. So when the Fist Sgt finally granted my request to become a DG, I was really excited and very happy to be assigned to Ken's aircraft. His regular DG, Wesley, had gone home for a 30 day leave and I was assigned to fill in for him. I couldn't have been more excited.

Ken was professional in every respect. He took care of the aircraft in a meticulous fashion and taught me how to care for the guns and many other components of the aircraft. He was always there making sure the aircraft was ready to fly and that I was up to snuff on my end of it. I knew that I had been assigned to a very able and confident individual, an individual who had my utmost respect. We didn't hang out much when we weren't flying. He had his drinking buddies and I had mine. But on the aircraft we were one.

Ken and I flew many missions together. Many could be described as routine and some turned out to be not so routine. For me however, I never really thought of any mission as routine. I loved flying and awakened each day to read the mission chart with enthusiasm. The duty I really didn't care for was the training of the ROK pilots. The days were long, the helicopter took a beating, and so did we. Those missions were seldom fun.

It was during this time, I first experienced receiving direct fire as a helicopter crew member. It happened while extracting a Recondo team not far outside Nha Trang, actually somewhere out near the Valley of the Tigers. Ken and I have both wracked our brains trying to remember our pilots that day. We both think it may have been Ed Young or Bob Heh but CRS interferes with our memories. In any event, it was during this mission that Ken chalked up a confirmed kill.

We were on standby when the call to perform an emergency extraction of a Recondo School team was received. The team was pinned down by VC in a crevice that separated steeply rising terrain on either side of them. They reported they had come under fire from both sides and were huddled in some boulders in the valley separating the steep sides of the terrain. I can't remember how many slicks were involved but I remember at least two or three Wolf pack gun ships. One of them was the converted slick, Lobo, and I'll never forget watching Lobo workout that day. Our ship went in first, entering the valley at one end with the steep terrain on either side of the aircraft. On board we had a hoist system and a SF Sgt. As we began to hover, the Sgt lowered the McGuire Rig and Wolf Pack began suppressing the area. My side was mostly dense jungle on a rocky steep slope that made it seem "in my face" close. I scanned the openings and crevices, swinging my gun relentlessly, always ready to fire.   I looked down to see three guys climbing onto the rig, though it may have been two, but it was then, Embrey called over the intercom, "Sir, I'm receiving fire like a mother*****r". I heard him begin firing his machine gun and could see tracers underneath the aircraft, coming from the Recondo team I assumed. I looked over my left shoulder and I could see the SF Sgt. pointing out the side of the aircraft and at the same time operating the hoist. I could hear him direct Embrey, "There, there!" I stepped out on the skid, trying to see all I could, looking underneath and behind us as I swung my machine gun from front to back.

Wolf Pack was amazing. I watched Lobo circle around and above me and and its mini-guns created a thick stream of red which tore into the trees and jungle in front of me as well as behind me under the tail boom. At times, the glare of the sun and the muzzle flash from the mini guns made the entire aircraft look like a ball of fire. I was completely amazed at the sounds that day. Mini guns sounded like grinding gears, and 40 MM grenades in flight made whooping sounds that reminded me of yelping dogs. The explosions were loud and very close. Everywhere it seemed ordinance was slamming into the jungle and exploding. The jungle churned as earth and rock and trees rolled like an angry sea in front of me. I wasn't scared but I was excited and I fired burst after burst into the boiling jungle. But it was the gun ships that literally set that mountain on fire.

The pilots held the aircraft motionless as the McGuire rig hoisted the Recondo guys up toward our aircraft and clear of the triple canopy jungle. Over the intercom, I heard the SF Sgt. yell something like, "you got him, did ya see him, ya got him". It was about then that we had the guys clear of the trees and we began to move forward out of that crevice like valley. I watched below as the SF guys dangled from the rig and we headed back to base. The SF Sgt. was really elated and telling us that Embrey had caught a VC in the face with a burst of fire. All of us were ecstatic with Embrey's kill but also happy to have those Recondo guys clear of danger. I remember at some point trying to take a cigarette out of a pack and it was difficult because my hands were shaking. I noticed also that I was really sweating and just wanting to kick back and enjoy the wind coming in and cooling me.

It was amazing to see our pilots work under such conditions without so much as flinching but in the 281st such composure was common. Our pilots were the best and we knew it. The Special Forces guys that so often depended on us knew that too. After landing we were greeted by a S.F. Captain who treated us to a clod Pepsi. He congratulated Ken as he listened to the S.F. Sergeant's story about the mission.

I recall also that although Ken Embrey had been under much stress at that time, caused by having a newborn baby at home, the after effects of the March Delta, and many other dangerous missions since, he performed as always, professionally and courageously. He sometimes talked to me about wanting to get off flight status, to do something different. Yet, as the missions came up, he was always there to fly them. This Recondo School day was no different. On this day he performed as always, with a determination and a professionalism that brings credit to all of us as well as getting some "payback" for Ken for all those bad times.

*Long after Vietnam, I attended flight school and received many fixed wing aeronautical ratings including, Private Pilot, Instrument, Commercial Pilot, Certified Flight Instructor, Certified Instrument Instructor, and Advanced Ground Instructor. I have abut 2000 hours of instruction given. Needless to say, that although flight instruction can get pretty hairy, it doesn't even come close to the flying I experienced in Vietnam.