Tales

As my MAMS Team unloaded the rice, blankets, tinned food and other stores for the waiting Catholic priest and his flock, the flight engineer and the couple of ground crew we carried on such tasks stared disconsolately at the growing pool of oil under the wing and the handfuls of scrap metal that they were recovering from the engine oil filters. With the strip too short for a three engine takeoff even when empty, ‘150’ wasn’t going anywhere without an engine change!

About this time a concerned looking US Army Special Forces Captain carrying an M16 joined the group. We had noticed a Special Forces camp just off the end of the strip on our approach, but as our business was a non military relief operation, we hadn’t considered the matter any further. We were not totally naive, however, having been well briefed on the in-country situation by the British Air Attache in Saigon. The Green Beret introduced himself and asked if we would be on the ground for much longer.

When told that the aircraft, if not the crew, would be stuck there for several days his face fell. “Oh damn”, he exclaimed “That alum’num cloud of yous is go’nna attract VC like flies to shit!”.

To be fair he was right. A Beverley was hardly inconspicuous at the best of times, and some bright spark had decided to give ‘150’ a coat of camouflage paint during her last major servicing. Unfortunately they had used the only colour scheme authorised for Bevs outside Europe – the Middle East (Aden) pattern. As a result, she now sat in the middle of a South Vietnamese airstrip, slab sides and 11 metre high twin tail fins resplendent in shiny two tone sand/desert brown paint, with heat reflecting high gloss white over the flightdeck and passenger boom roofs and glossy RAF roundels looking like big bullseyes on a target. In a many-shades-of-green Asian environment she was rather conspicuous!

At the mention of the Viet Cong, our copilot – a Flying Officer even younger than myself, fresh from the UK and so even without any time in Borneo – asked the SF Captain where these VC were. “See that rubbah”, he replied, pointing to the rubber estate trees that closely lined each side of the narrow dirt airstrip where we stood, “Well, that’s where they are”.

Before we could stop him, and to our horror and embarrassment – “Can’t you just chase them away or something, then, old chap?” responded our illustrious co-jo.

The Green Beret was so amazed by this that instead of decking the bogie, as we fully expected, he just turned on his heel and wandered off, shaking his head. As he went we heard him mutter, to himself as much as to us … “Ah gome. Ah got a buck sergeant so high on pot he can’t find his own ass with both hands. Ah got 53 Vietnamese irregulars Ah don’t chase NOBODY, NOWHERE – even for crazy limeys flying a goddamned museum piece!” … I think it was the ‘museum piece’ bit that really hurt!

Postscript: That night we all flew back to Saigon in the Air Attache’s Devon, returning next day with an engine change kit and crew from Seletar in Bev XB264. To everyone’s surprise, ‘150’ was still intact, and so she remained for the next 48 hours, until the engine change was completed and a slip crew flew her back to Singapore.

In fact the only shots fired in our direction during the whole incident were a couple of parachute flares that bounced off the wing in broad daylight – just as one of the ‘erks’ was disconnecting the fuel lines and spilling avgas everywhere!

They appeared to come from the SF Camp, so maybe the Green Beret Captain got fed up waiting for the VC to take action and had a go himself – or else his sergeant had just one funny cigarette too many. We never knew for sure. We did, however, find out later that like many other missionaries in the area, to keep his church in one piece the Catholic priest at Loe Ninh paid a percentage of all his incoming supplies to the local VC. I guess as the bringer of some of these supplies old ‘150’ must have come under the same protective umbrella!

(Len Bowen, Chisholm ACT)

Timely Call

I work for a small airline/charter company that also has an RPT route, operating out of Townsville.

The pilots in the company have their very own sense of humour, which shines through, especially on the busy days. This day in particular was one for the busy days, or as we know it, “the day from hell”. Anyway, I had just dispatched three aircraft, the first two being airborne, and the third taxying out to the runway, when I received a call over the company radio, that went something like this ….

Pilot: “Hey Mark, is Ken there?”

Myself: “Standby”. I wandered off to get the Chief Pilot. “Go ahead mate”.

We all gathered around expecting there to be a problem with the aircraft, an immense time of tension, for the day had been like this.

Pilot: “You’ll never believe what just happened …. The guy behind me was watching the altimeter, so he leaned over, tapped me on the shoulder, and asked me if that was the correct time.”

Bursts of laughter came forth from all in the office, when one of the other pilots piped up,

2nd Pilot: “Hey Mark, we’ve just climbed to 2 o’clock, and should be on the ground in 1100 feet, and we require the bus please”.

(Mark White, Garbutt)