Vietnam Diary

161’s VM aircraft during ’68 was a venerable Sioux. This tired bird was weighed down by amplifiers and speakers mounted on the skid panniers and trussed like a Christmas turkey by power cables. With pilot and observer (the observer usually went along to keep the pilot company, rarely to observe) the aircraft was so heavy it required a running takeoff to get airborne. (Legend has it a hearty scream over the microphone at full volume gave just enough thrust to enter translational lift). With a climb rate of around two hundred feet per minute it took time to get on station. This was always a point of controversy; too low, the aircraft was a sitting duck for ground fire, too high and ‘the word’ couldn’t be heard.

Experience had taught recon pilots the safest height to fly was just above tree top level. At that height it’s difficult for an enemy in the jungle to aim and fire a weapon accurately because the time of exposure between breaks in the canopy is limited. As altitude increases time of exposure also increases until the aircraft is beyond effective small arms range. (Generally considered to be about 3,000ft, although larger crew served weapons and heat seekers were starting to appear that could easily spoil your day above 5,000ft).

Of course operating VMs at tree top level was impractical for a number of reasons – not the least being the Doppler Effect. With VM aircraft the Doppler Effect was capable of making the Great Caruso’s voice sound like Dolly Parton and vice-versa. So the VM pilot was caught on the horns of a dilemma- he had to go high, but not high enough to be out of small arms range because at that altitude THE WORD wouldn’t have authority. Too low and it was impossibly garbled by Herr Doppler. And because VM missions were targeted for areas ofjungle supposedly swarming with VC eager to earn Brownie points by shooting aircraft full of holes, the ‘Pucker Factor’ was extreme. So the no man’s land of one to three thousand feet was recommended altitude for VMs. Most 161 pilots regarded VMs as a waste of time. Flying around in circles playing tapes of Oriental music interspersed with friendly ‘please surrender’ messages wasn’t going to win the war. As captured documents later showed, the Chieu Hoi3 program was used by the VC as a revenue raiser; turn yourself in, claim the reward and take a holiday while being re-educated by the South Vietnamese Army. Then snatch it along with your brand new American supplied M-16, tin hat and boots to start the process again under an alias. The VC rested and re-equipped whole battalions this way.

The Americans regularly flew a VM equipped Helio Courier over the Task Force and serenaded us by playing Mitch Miller and gang singing Waltzing Matilda. (They thought it was our national anthem!) Tbis folksy gesture impressed us no end, so it wasn’t long before we’d recorded our own collection. These included: an F-100 on afterburner- great during takeoff and low passes- machine gun fire, artillery and Bob Dylan, the Beatles, and the perennial Rolf Harris. One favourite was Greensleeves – the ‘Mr Whippy’ ice cream truck theme.

We also had a tape of the Star Spangled Banner which was reserved for special occasions. Roger C (of exploding flag fame, re ‘Possums of Nui Oat’, December 1985 AA) claims he once made a US Fire Support base stand rigidly to attention in the middle of a VC attack by playing this tape.

It became customary for a pilot returning from a VM to make a few circuits of Nui Oat while playing a popular selection. As expected some steam-brain at Task Force HQ soon declared this behaviour unmilitary. We added a few stirring brass band marches to the repertoire and ignored the edict.

During January 1968, VM missions reached a peak. This period was the run up to the Chinese Lunar New Year (Tet) and 1968 was of special significance. INT figured this was a great opportunity to pluck at the VC’s heart strings. The result was that special tapes featuring the voices of sultry maidens accompanied by seductive music were composed to persuade the bad guys to throw in the towel and dash home to the wife or girlfriend (or both) for a quickie. (The program was promptly dubbed ‘tit or tet’. ) An intensive schedule was mapped out and 161 set about broadcasting THE WORD.

What INT hadn’t figured on was our irreverent attitude. To our uncultured ears Oriental love songs sounded like the clatter of cooking utensils and the cry of waiters in a . Chinese takeaway. Many missions were flown tongue in cheek (and fingers in ears) with the tape on high speed, slow or backwards. So the Tet program got the treatment. Included in our version were lashings of the Beatles and Beach Boys.

INT were none the wiser to our scheming. When the Tet offensive erupted in February, we feared maybe we’d incensed the VC into a violent response to our activities and we’d have some quick explaining to do. (Had we unwittingly broadcast Satanic verses?) It wasn’t so.

The pinnacle of VM ops was reached in March ’68 when 161 flew a mission to support a cordon and search operation around a local village. The mission sheet and tape was provided by INT and said: “Fly to village XYZ, be on station at 0600hrs and play tape until told to stop. Contact is callsign Delta Tango on freq ABC. ” Piece of cake.

Lieutenant Glen D (recently retired Colonel D) promptly obeyed. He flew to village XYZ, dutifully ran the tape then cruised around waiting for things to happen. The message advised the locals they were completely surrounded by stern faced Aussie infantry, cavalry and the Dental Corps. (T he dentists gave the locals a free examination, drill and fill. ) They were to assemble in the village square and wait further instructions. The population of about a thousand promptly obeyed.

Glen drifted around watching the proceedings. He later recalled: “The Vietnamese gathered as instructed. No hurry, just the resolute patience we’d come to expect from them. I thought the operation was going rather smoothly and for once the troops and the armoured personnel carriers (M113s) were brilliantly concealed around the village perimeter. I couldn’t see any of them. I made a radio call on the frequency listed in the Op Order and asked if they wanted me to play the tape again. Callsign Delta Tango replied “Roger!” so I gave them an encore. This went on for about an hour until I was running low on gas. I advised Delta Tango, who Rogered my transmission. I then headed for base. ”

On the way back to Nui Oat, Glen switched tapes for the customary serenade over the Task Force. He joined the circuit playing ‘Tie Me Kangaroo Down Sport’.

I was on duty in the 161 Ops room at the time and remember the Doppler twisted ‘woop woop’ of Rolf Harris’ wobble board booming down from the sky. Glen was going round for the second chorus when the phone from Task Force HQ almost leapt off the wall.

“Possum Control,” I answered smoothly. (Our motto is: we find ’em, you f. . . ’em. )

“This is Seagull speaking!” the phone blasted.

I snapped to attention, tugged my forelock and replied. “Yessir! What can I do for you?”

“What the f. . . is that bloody helicopter doing?”

I figured he was bitching about the Rolf Harris selection. I gave the standard reply. “Testing the amplifiers, sir! We have the Band of the Welsh Guards playing ‘Men of Harlock’ in the next bracket. The phone fairly sizzled. “You blithering . . . ! Not Rolf Harris, the tape your pilot just played over village XYZ. The operation isn’t due for another two days!”

Oops! Looks as if we’d prematurely started an operation that had been meticulously planned to catch Uncle Ho on his annual pep-tour of the colonies. Being versed in the ways of tin plating my arse I gave the stock reply. “Standby sir!”

I needed time to think. Obviously there’d been a mammoth SNAFU. When they occur the first rule of survival is to blame someone else. Following was a hurried to and fro with Glen over the radio. Fortunately we discovered his Op Order specified today’s date for playing the offending tape. Seems someone at Task Force INT had goofed when transcribing the dates. The information was passed on to Seagull who promptly directed his outrage elsewhere in his search for someone to point the finger at. 161 (more importantly I) was off the hook.

The subsequent witch hunt revealed that the response to Glen’s radio calls had been made by a sleepy duty radio operator back at Nui Oat who’s SOis for the day coincided with the callsign and frequency for the pending operation. He had no idea he was talking with an aircraft thirty clicks away and figured the safest reply was a firm ‘Roger’ to all requests.

The premature start also explained the apparent development of Stealth M113s by the Armored Corps.

After the dust settled, Task Force HQ realised they’d left the population standing around the village square waiting to be frisked by a nonexistent Aussie force. A Vietnamese speaking INT officer was despatched in the voice aircraft to announce to the populace that they all scored ten out of ten for standing patiently in a straight line. Because of this they could now go home. Have a nice day.

The INT officer responsible for this oversight was duly pilloried and sent back to Australia the next day. We marveled at the Army’s concept of punishment. Was that all one had to do to get out of the place?

The Tet offensive showed that something more than VMs were needed to win the war. A few more programs were conducted though in a half hearted fashion. These ops were combined with dropping leaflets, although this practice ceased when Roger C accidentally threw his Secret SO out along with five thousand redeemable ‘C’ ration vouchers.

Pilatus Porters eventually took over the VM role. The actual equipment used survived the war, then gathered dust for ten years before someone realised what it was and consigned it to the Army Aviation Museum at Oakey. It was resurrected for the Kangaroo ’89 exercises where it was reported to have performed extremely well. (It’s been said that the Beach Boys and Beatles were heard over northwestern Australia – ghosts perhaps?) The Chieu Hoi – Open Arms program tried convincing the VC to defect and be welcomed back with open arms. Instead it became

The VC’s R&R program. SOis. Signal Operating Instructions.

A thick booklet containing unit callsigns, frequencies and verification codes that we found difficult to decipher