THE TROUBLE WITH LURPS
By Long Knife Pilot, Les “Same-Same” Smith
July 2017

 
   We were at 2500 feet heading southeast after a scramble departure from the ramp at Don Tam.  It was about 0330 on the blackest night I have ever seen.
 
I was the aircraft commander of a UH-1H Huey “slick” leading a flight of three aircraft. 

Being the Aerolift Platoon leader my callsign was Longknife two-six. 

The other two were Crusader Cobra gunships, up and behind, providing cover and much appreciated moral support.
  
Fortunately, no matter how dark it is, you can easily discern the difference between land and water.
 
Using the northern most fork of the Mekong river I could make out enough way points to navigate.  The trouble would come when we had to move away from the river. 

Every little hooch had lanterns in and around them that
 
burned with a very bright, white light.  With no moon, no clouds, and no river to follow, it would be like flying on the inside a snow globe. 

 It would look, and feel, like we were in deep space, surrounded by stars. 

The possibility of vertigo would increase dramatically.  I reminded my co-pilot, as well as myself, we needed to keep our eyes inside the cockpit and on the instruments more than normal.

   Our government loves to create an organization or a system, give it a name, and use the initials of that name to create a word. 

An example, familiar to us all, is NATO. 

The North Atlantic Treaty Organization which is pronounced “nay-tow”.  During the Vietnam war, the army came up with the term “Long Range Reconnaissance Patrol.”

When abbreviated, it became LRRP.  When pronounced, it evolves into “LURP”.  Accordingly, the troopers who made up those patrols were called “LURPs”.

   Volunteers from the 9th Infantry Division made up the original LURP teams. 

By the time Dong Tam was fully operational and "D" troop was in the process of moving into our new quarters, the LURPs had been placed under

 the 75th Ranger Battalion. 

This story involves a patrol made up of troopers from the 75th Rangers and aircraft from D Troop (Air) 3rd Squadron, 5th Armored Cavalry Regiment. 

Specifically, Longknife two-six (slick) and two Crusaders (Cobra gunships).

   I didn't keep a journal or even take notes back then.  I wasn't one for taking pictures. 

Sadly, I don't remember the names of my crew or those of the Crusaders along with me that night. 

I never envisioned that one day, 48 years later, I'd be relying on dusty memories to relate the story that follows.
 
   The LURP teams were usually made up of 5 Rangers who were required to move from the insertion landing zone (LZ), through suspected VC controlled territory, to the

extraction LZ, collecting intelligence about the enemy and terrain. 

The distance between the two LZs varied but often required the team to move faster than they would have preferred. 

Sometimes the route was pre-planned and at other times the teams were free to make their way as needed.  Of course, this was often done at night. 

A patrol moving at night can move quickly or quietly, but cannot move quickly quietly.

   The missions would begin with a briefing at our flight operations late in the afternoon. 

Their planned route, the LZs, radio frequencies and call signs were coordinated and maps updated. 

We would launch just before dusk and do a high flyby of the insertion LZ.  Once confirmed, the slick would move off, come down to low-level, and approach the LZ. 

The team would disembark and make for the tree line as the slick departed in a different direction from the approach healing.  The aircraft would remain nearby until the team was safely in the tree line and good communications

had been established.  After returning to Dong Tam the aircraft crews would be on standby until time to make the extraction the next morning.
  
OK.  So, what was the trouble with LURPs?  Well, they usually got into trouble!  As in the old west, the cavalry would then ride to the rescue.
  
The normal cruising speed of a UH-1 was 90 knots.  This night we had a long way to go and it sounded like the patrol was in deep trouble, so I lowered the nose, added power, and took the aircraft up to 110 knots.  The redline is

120 knots but anything much above 110 and the airframes really started to vibrate, grumble and groan. 

A couple of other times I went to 115 knots but those were to get badly wounded GIs to the hospital.
  
I gave control of the aircraft to my co-pilot so I could check the maps, co-ordinate with the gunships and the patrol, and get some sort of plan organized.

   I set the patrol’s frequency in the FM radio, passed the frequency to the Crusaders to verify they had the proper information, and attempted to make contact. 

No response.  I tried again with the same result.  I hoped we were

still too far away because I didn’t want to think about the alternative.  I waited a few minutes, which seemed like hours and tried to contact them again. 

This time they answered. 

As usual, the radio operator (RTO) was whispering and I really couldn’t make out much of what he was saying.  All I could hear was a tremendous amount of gunfire. 

I told him to speak up, he didn’t need to whisper anymore because “Charlie” knew where he was. 

He replied, “sorry sir, force of habit”. 

I could tell he was young and pretty shook up so I spent a couple of minutes calming him down, telling him that we were on the way and would be there soon. 

Told him we didn’t need to use all the proper radio procedures and call signs because we were the only two that would be talking and saving time was important.
  
We turned more easterly as the river turned south resulting in our flying into another dimension. 

We were almost instantly surrounded by a black void sprinkled with “stars”. 

No horizon, no up, no down.  Most dramatically, no sensation of speed. 

My co-pilot still had the controls and was doing an excellent job.

I, on the other hand, was extremely busy, with one eye on the map, one eye on the gauges, and the other eye on him.

  I called the RTO to let him know we were just a couple minutes out and asked for a situation report. 

He came back with “very low on ammo, one walking wounded with a slight arm wound, and get us the hell out of here”. 

As we passed the end of a large tree covered area we could all see why.

   My heart stopped, my mouth ran dry, my stomach turned.  That all seemed to happen at once when I saw their situation.  It was as bad as it could have been. 

Maybe worse. 

They were in a very large, clear, dry area with heavily treed areas to the north and west.  Almost perfectly straight tree lines extended south and east. 

The patrol was in the northwest corner of the clearing, down behind a rice paddy dike, about 75 to 80 meters from either tree line. 

You could pick them out by the 5 streams of red tracers heading out. 

Thinking of due north being 12 o’clock, there were 8 to 10 streams of powder blue, light green, and white tracers crisscrossing their position from 1 o’clock,

counter clockwise, to about the 8 o’clock position.

   There was dead silence from all 3 aircraft for a time before guys started making comments about the vision before them.  I, for the first time in my life, was terrified. 

I don’t mind admitting I was scared to death by what I saw.  I cussed every decision I had ever made that put me in this position. 

I didn’t want to go down there.  I knew it could mean death for my crew and me. 

Whether it was pride, peer pressure, or the Army Aviators creed, I shook it off, got on the radio to the RTO and told him we were on station and would need a couple of

minutes to come up with an extraction strategy. 

I have no doubt he understood why.

   We held off to the south and came up with a game plan that was very simple in theory.  We could only pull it off if we were able to maintain the element of surprise. 

Charlie couldn’t hear us due to all the gun fire.

   There are 9 navigation lights on a UH-1. One white light on the end of the tail boom, and if you think of the passenger cabin of the aircraft as a rectangular box, there is

one light on each of the 8 corners.  

There are 4 red lights on the left side and 4 greens on the right. 

No matter from which angle you view the aircraft you will always be able to tell which direction the aircraft is heading. 

In combat, you don’t want the enemy to see you at night so the bottom 4 lights were covered with black paint. 

The 4 lights on the upper body were blacked out on the sides so they could only be visible from above. 

There are two switches on the forward, right side of the overhead panel that control the navigation lights.  A 3-position switch for “off”, “dim”, and “bright”. 

There is also a 2-position switch for “steady” and “flash”.  “Steady”, “dim” was the normal setting for cruising at night. 

Using this setting the Crusaders up and behind could keep track of us. 

They were not nearly as troubled with the loss of orientation because they could use us as a reference.

   We came up with a plan.  One member of the patrol would move away from the rice paddy dike, and any other obstacles they were aware of, shade his strobe light inside

his “boonie” hat, and shine it south and elevated at a

slight angle.  Most importantly, he could not allow any light to be seen by Charlie.  I would come in at about 25 to 30 feet so that I’d be above most of the incoming fire. 

I would land with my chin bubble about 2 feet from the strobe light.  The beginning of the extraction would be on my signal as I approached the LZ.  

I would call out “short final” on the FM radio. 

The Crusaders would begin their attack with rockets.  No miniguns.  There were enough tracers in the air already. 

I should be just about on the ground when the first rockets detonated and the patrol would move to the aircraft. 

I wanted all 5 members of the patrol to enter on the left side of the aircraft so my crew chief could get a positive head count.  We absolutely could not leave anyone in the LZ. 

To do so would mean a second trip into the LZ with no hope of surprise.  I would then pick up, pedal turn to the right, and depart low level to the east. 

I told the crew chief and door gunner they were not to fire for any reason because it would give away our position.

   With all the planning complete and everyone briefed, I took control of the aircraft and started a descending spiral. 

I picked up the strobe and set up to approach from just a little east of due south. 

This seemed to be the best angle to avoid the incoming fire.  I called out " OK, got your light and I'm inbound, and going dark". 

Crusader lead answered with "We're ready and you’re covered".

   It was normal procedure in "D" troop that once the slicks turned inbound everyone stayed off the radios. 

Control of the operation now came totally under the lead slick aircraft commander.

   There is normally a little chatter among the crew between turning inbound and reaching the short final position.  None that night. 

Complete silence.  Each of us alone with our thoughts. 

Going over our part of the mission,  I remember thinking that all the tracers provided a reference between up and down and a way to gauge our speed. 

Also, I knew that when we headed east out of the LZ we'd be back in that "deep space" effect. 

My co-pilot reached down and locked both our shoulder harnesses and I leaned into the seatback to take out any slack.

   I got on the radio and called out "OK everybody, short final" and focused on the strobe.  Almost immediately I heard rockets coming in over my left shoulder. 

The ranger with the strobe was lying flat on his back with his hat and light at about waist level.  I put my chin bubble just over his toes. 

As I touched down I turned my head to the right trying to regain some of my night vision I had lost when concentrating on the strobe light. 

I sensed, rather than saw, the LURP under the nose of the aircraft get up and move toward the door.

   By the time we touched down virtually all the incoming fire had ceased, Charlie was out gunned and ducking for cover.

   The LURPs scrambled aboard and the crew chief told me we had all 5.  I picked up, pedal turned to the right and radioed "coming out". 

We headed east, at as low a level as I dared, for three or four hundred meters. 

When I felt safe enough I started a sharp climb and radioed "coming up".  Passing through about 1500 feet I radioed “Flash Bright”. 

One of the Crusaders answered, "in sight, clear up".  I replied with "OK, steady dim". 

At about 2000 feet I radioed "turning south, heading for the river".

   It seemed like hours between my calls of “short final” and “coming up”.  It was probably less than a couple of minutes. 

I doubt our skids were on the ground more than 10 to 12 seconds.

   The Crusaders dropped their attack, circled around to the river, and picked up their escort positions as we headed west and back home. 

About this time, I think something funny occurred. 

I don’t remember clearly and I’m not sure it really did happen.  In the back of my mind, I believe my door gunner said “Sir, I can still see the strobe light in the LZ”. 

I know I wouldn’t have been able to see it because I was on the other side of the aircraft.

  When we got within radio range I called our operations center and passed along a situation report and asked them to call LURP headquarters.

 Pass the word that their people were out and to send a medic and transportation to the airfield.

  The sky was just beginning to show the coming dawn when we landed at Dong Tam. 

The post flight inspection revealed that the aircraft had escaped without so much as a scratch.

  So, once again, skill and daring had overcome fear and anxiety. 

All joking aside, I think all of us involved in that extraction, both the Rangers and those of us from D Troop,

will carry with us the effects of those few hours the rest of our lives. 

We had accomplished a mission that at first sight seemed impossible. 

We did so because we were all well trained and had the ability to be flexible and react to a fluid situation.
 
   I was not the only “D” troop pilot, nor was “D” troop the only unit to fly these missions. 

Recalling my own personal experience, about 75% of the time our flight crews were rousted out of bed to make an unscheduled extraction. 

Most of those extractions were conducted under enemy fire. 

I remember none of them. 

The blackness of the night, the amount of incoming fire, the light show created by the tracers, and my heightened anxiety,

all contributed to turning this mission into an indelible memory.  

Les Smith - Longknife26
July 2017

Epilogue
   I first met Rick Stetson at the annual "D" troop reunion in late April 2016.  Rick was one of the original LURPs from the 9th Division. 

I had been playing with the idea of writing this story for a long time and

when I saw that Rick was to be at this year’s "D" troop reunion I put together a draft for him to read. 

He made some corrections and some great suggestions. 

Thanks Rick.

   While at dinner on Friday night of this year’s Light Horse reunion in Daytona, Rick found out I had recently moved to Las Vegas, NV. 

He told me that the Rangers would be holding their annual reunion this upcoming October in Henderson, NV. and asked me to come and read this story to the group. 

I begged off.  I put my fear of public speaking well above that of going to the dentist.

He countered with reading the story himself and then introducing me.  To this I agreed.

   Wouldn’t it be an amazing coincidence If Rick had been a member of that patrol?  He wasn’t.  He had probably rotated back to “The World”, as we called it, by then. 

It is our hope that someone at their reunion was a member of that patrol or knows someone who was.

  As an Infantry officer, a rifle company commander, and an aviator, I have tremendous respect for those elite soldiers who served as Rangers. 

I consider it a great honor to be invited to join them at their upcoming reunion.

   Once again, many thanks and extreme appreciation to Leslie Lake for her always impeccable job of editing.  Get well soon.



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