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Facebook contribution by James Loesch in 2022
Dak To - Late summer 1967 335th AHC Cowboys - Gunship Crew Chief Ship #12930 I took the image as we hovered over the east end of the Dak To strip to our revetments on the north side after refueling. I have seen this image many times over the years because it is in a folder I use as screen saver files. I am always surprised at how casual our flying was, hovering 75 feet above a DC-3 preparing for takeoff. James Loesch March 23, 2022 James Loesch July 2, 2022 335th AHC Cowboys 1967-68 Crewchief Falcon Gunship Platoon Ships #63-12930 and #38685 I posted a picture a few months ago, that I made in late 1967, shot from my door as we hovered across the runway at Dak To. It is looking down at a DC-3 getting ready for takeoff. One of the comments about the picture came from Pat Rogers, a member of the UH-1 CE/Door Gunners Group. It blew me away. He said “I have 63-12930 in my hanger right now! Undergoing restoration for a museum.” I was stunned to learn that my old ship had not become scrap metal, and 55 years after it was mine, it might fly again, and live in a museum. I have included a screen shot of post that Pat commented on, some pictures of my ship and me, and a few pictures that Pat sent to me of the ship on a trailer and in his hanger, Aircraft Restoration Services, at the beginning of the restoration. There is also a picture of the magnetic compass that was in the ship during a mission out of Dak To, which was hit by a round that came up through the chin bubble, nicked the compass and went out through the roof. I don’t know what made me think to keep the compass and send it home instead of the trash. I’m glad I did. It sits on my desk today. Maybe I’ll donate it to the museum where the ship ends up. I hope to see my ship again someday and sit in my seat once more. James Loesch |
[editor] I found another story on Facebook by James, talking about his helicopter and his first mission on it.
July 25, 1967, Dak To, Vietnam
335th Assault Helicopter Co., Cowboys
Falcon Gunship #12930
Early in July 1967, I was working in the maintenance platoon for the Cowboys at Dragon Mountain, which was south of Pleiku, and later became Camp Enari.
One morning at a very casual company formation it was announced that a new crew chief was needed for the gunship platoon. I had already flown missions with my previous company the 128 AHC as a substitute gunner and crew chief so I half-heartedly moved my hand up a little bit figuring other guys who had been there longer than me would get picked first.
To my surprise the sergeant call my name and I looked around and realized no one else had volunteered.
My next surprise was when I found out my ship would be #12930, the oldest, slowest and most worn-out ship in the platoon with matching armament. Seniority protocol allowing the other seven crew chiefs in the platoon to slide up the line to the better ships if they wanted to.
#12930 was in for 100-hour inspection so I helped compete it then packed my duffel bag in the ship and got my first stick time lesson from our maintenance officer flying the ship up to Dak To, where our flight platoons were based. (I was passable at straight and level, nothing more.)
Two days later my ship was part of a light fire team on night- standby. At about 8:00 pm my official duties as a crew chief on my own ship began with what turned out to be one of the most harrowing nights of my life.
We were scrambled to the Special Forces Camp at Doc Seang that was in peril of being overrun. The copy of a page from our company monthly history is quite accurate.
My remembrances of the night were how hard it was to see anything, I had never flown a night mission before, how alone our two ships seemed as we flew under the clouds, through the fog and around the hills to get to Doc Seang.
Once there everything changed as the sky was lit by the eerie light given off by swaying phosphorescent flares, slowing floating down under their parachutes, and sudden darkness when they went out. Explosions on the ground seemed huge. It was the first time I saw tracer fire at night, from above, with reddish orange streaks flashing in all different direction, sometimes ricocheting off at sharp angles. It was a terrifying light show.
As we circled overhead the radio was full of chatter attempting to help us figure out where the enemy was and where to place our rocket and machine gun fire most affectively.
After a few passes my M-60 jammed and in the dark I was unable to clear it so I used my M-16 till I ran out of clips then emptied the co-pilots M-14.
Another fire team arrived just as we expended all of our ordinance and we made the hairy flight back to Dak To too rearm and refuel and flew back to Doc Seang and did it again. The second flight back was more nerve wracking then the first because we knew what we were flying back to.
I never got an accurate description of exactly what happened on the ground, but it seems in this instance we helped save the night.
I feel funny posting the award stuff. At the end of the day, I was just a passenger on a Huey, shooting down at something I couldn’t see and hoping for the best. The pilots had a much harder job flying in those conditions and I cannot tell you how much admiration I had and still have for the men on the ground who were stuck in middle of the fight with nowhere to go and no choice but to win.
James Loesch
February 11, 2018
July 25, 1967, Dak To, Vietnam
335th Assault Helicopter Co., Cowboys
Falcon Gunship #12930
Early in July 1967, I was working in the maintenance platoon for the Cowboys at Dragon Mountain, which was south of Pleiku, and later became Camp Enari.
One morning at a very casual company formation it was announced that a new crew chief was needed for the gunship platoon. I had already flown missions with my previous company the 128 AHC as a substitute gunner and crew chief so I half-heartedly moved my hand up a little bit figuring other guys who had been there longer than me would get picked first.
To my surprise the sergeant call my name and I looked around and realized no one else had volunteered.
My next surprise was when I found out my ship would be #12930, the oldest, slowest and most worn-out ship in the platoon with matching armament. Seniority protocol allowing the other seven crew chiefs in the platoon to slide up the line to the better ships if they wanted to.
#12930 was in for 100-hour inspection so I helped compete it then packed my duffel bag in the ship and got my first stick time lesson from our maintenance officer flying the ship up to Dak To, where our flight platoons were based. (I was passable at straight and level, nothing more.)
Two days later my ship was part of a light fire team on night- standby. At about 8:00 pm my official duties as a crew chief on my own ship began with what turned out to be one of the most harrowing nights of my life.
We were scrambled to the Special Forces Camp at Doc Seang that was in peril of being overrun. The copy of a page from our company monthly history is quite accurate.
My remembrances of the night were how hard it was to see anything, I had never flown a night mission before, how alone our two ships seemed as we flew under the clouds, through the fog and around the hills to get to Doc Seang.
Once there everything changed as the sky was lit by the eerie light given off by swaying phosphorescent flares, slowing floating down under their parachutes, and sudden darkness when they went out. Explosions on the ground seemed huge. It was the first time I saw tracer fire at night, from above, with reddish orange streaks flashing in all different direction, sometimes ricocheting off at sharp angles. It was a terrifying light show.
As we circled overhead the radio was full of chatter attempting to help us figure out where the enemy was and where to place our rocket and machine gun fire most affectively.
After a few passes my M-60 jammed and in the dark I was unable to clear it so I used my M-16 till I ran out of clips then emptied the co-pilots M-14.
Another fire team arrived just as we expended all of our ordinance and we made the hairy flight back to Dak To too rearm and refuel and flew back to Doc Seang and did it again. The second flight back was more nerve wracking then the first because we knew what we were flying back to.
I never got an accurate description of exactly what happened on the ground, but it seems in this instance we helped save the night.
I feel funny posting the award stuff. At the end of the day, I was just a passenger on a Huey, shooting down at something I couldn’t see and hoping for the best. The pilots had a much harder job flying in those conditions and I cannot tell you how much admiration I had and still have for the men on the ground who were stuck in middle of the fight with nowhere to go and no choice but to win.
James Loesch
February 11, 2018
Here are the photos James posted along with the story.
