Life Experiences of Bill
McDonald
From the Book
"A Spiritual
Warrior's Journey"
Life or
Death Decision
In the spring of 1967, in an area about 35 miles
northwest of Saigon, I had to make one of the biggest decisions of my life. We
had been flying solo missions, mostly supply runs to small encampments of the 1st
Infantry Division. These troops were there to slow down the movement of supplies
that were coming directly from North Vietnam off the Ho Chi Minh Trail. There
had been some fighting, but not nearly as bloody as we had expected it to be.
Even though men were getting wounded and killed daily, this was considered a
relative pause in the action between some much bigger battles that would loom
ahead for us.
Our intelligence reports indicated that we should be on the lookout
for large movements of both supplies and troops coming into this sector. We had
not seen any signs that this was true, but we had been keeping a watchful eye on
anything that moved on the ground. We had not received any hostile fire at all
during the morning operations.
My helicopter commander was a major who had just arrived from a tour
of several years in Germany. He was a West Point graduate and was a
strictly by-the-book style military leader. That was the way he had managed his
duties in Germany. He was determined to continue those ways in the Nam. He
appeared to me as a real “no nonsense” type of guy with very little sense of
humor. When he gave an order, he expected a full, 100% obedience by those he
commanded. He did not want to foster any friendships between himself and us
lower ranking souls in the unit. He was in charge, he was “the man,” and for
those of us who did not outrank him, we were there to support and obey his
orders. That was the way things were going to be. We just knew he wouldn’t be
open to any questions or suggestions, we had to do as he said; there was never
going to be any debates about what he wanted us to do.
During his first couple of weeks in the Nam, the major was still
trying to figure out how to find the LZs and how to read the maps of the area.
He did not know the names of places we had to fly, and he had no clue as to
where these places were in relationship to other places or to our base camp.
Without a map in his hand this guy wouldn’t have any clue to where we were. (The
“old guys” who had been there for a while could follow roads and rivers and head
toward landmarks such as Black Virgin Mountain.) Yet, he asked very few
questions, if any at all.
On this particular morning, we were flying higher in the sky (over
800 feet) than felt comfortable to me. We were not at our normal treetop-level
altitude. The major had an aversion about flying too close to the ground. He did
not yet realize the risks that flying at higher altitudes presented. Eventually he would learn—like all new pilots did—that flying at
treetop level was actually much safer. We could sneak up on enemy troops well
before they could fully see or hear us coming; this was the common procedure in
Nam—fly low and fast. Keep your profile
down close to the ground.
From our more lofty position in the sky, we could see much farther
around the countryside. I think it may have been helpful for him in spotting
landmarks for his navigation. We did have a greater view of all that was down
below. But, it also made us easier to get shot. We were not high enough to avoid
small arms' fire and not low enough to sneak up on anyone. We just kind of hung
in the sky like a big, fat, slow, moving target.
We were flying, just a click (a kilometer or 0.62 of a mile) outside
of a small hamlet, when I spotted a group of about 30 people below us who
appeared to be moving down the road in some sort of a military formation. They
were all carrying what looked like some kind of weapon on their shoulders. There
was also a man in the front of them who seemed to be acting as a leader for the
group. They were all dressed in the typical black pajamas that the VC (and most
everyone living in Nam) wore. Since this was so close to the Ho Chi Minh Trail,
it certainly appeared that it could be good sized squad of VC (Viet Cong).
The major went into action right away giving orders. He immediately
determined that they were VC troops—he had no doubts. He ordered me to fire my
M-60 machine gun on the formation below. Now, my M-60 could fire 750 rounds of
7.62 mm of ammo a minute—it would have shredded that group of people in just a
matter of a few seconds. I looked down at the formation and thought what he saw
was correct, but then I froze. I couldn’t pull the trigger on the machine gun. I
could not get myself to squeeze off a single round. I was overcome with great
apprehension and a feeling that something was not right.
I sat behind my M-60 doing nothing. The major was going crazy and
yelling at me. He let me know that he had given me a direct order to fire. It
was not optional. But I just sat there, knowing that something was not right
with this picture. The situation just did not seem right. I told the major I
was not going to fire. I had some very heavy doubts about what we were actually
seeing down on the road.
The major could not believe that I had actually questioned his
orders. He was mad as hell. He told me that I had disobeyed a direct order in
combat. That was a punishable offense. He let me know, in no uncertain terms,
that he was going to bring me up on charges. (Those charges could mean 20 years
or more in a military prison at Leavenworth.)
I told him that we needed to fly lower. I wanted him to make a pass
over the group’s formation so we could get a better identification. In the
meantime, he had circled the aircraft so that the left door gunner was directly
in line to fire his weapon on those on the ground. To my surprise, my door
gunner also refused the order to shoot. My gunner showed some exceptional
courage by supporting my position. He fully understood what he had just done,
and that took my breath away. He was certainly not looking for any trouble from
the major, but there he was making a stand with me on this issue. It could have
been viewed as a mutiny by the military court system. This was a very serious
breach of military law, and we each could have been facing life sentences for
sure. I was in awe that my door gunner had such courage and conviction. He was
basing it on his belief in my feelings; now, I hoped to God that I was right for
both of our futures. That was a lot of weight on my shoulders.
The major was debating with the copilot, a young warrant officer
from Texas, to call in an air strike or at least some artillery. The young
pilot, who had flown with us many times before, suggested that we take the
aircraft down for a closer look. Finally, after what seemed to be a very long
time, (all of these conversations had happened in less than a minute) we dropped
down from our rather higher and awkward altitude and made a decent toward the
group of people on the ground. We had our M-60 machine guns at the ready
position, aiming right at the heart of the group walking on the road.
We came down to about 100 feet. We were unsure of what to expect and
were ready for all hell to break loose as we passed off to the right side of
them. The first clue we had that they might not be the enemy was the fact that
they stayed on the road the whole time we were above them. They had not run into
the cover of the surrounding jungle. The second big clue was that no one was
firing at us as we passed by them at only 100 feet in the air.
As we flew across the road, it became painfully obvious to all of us
who they were; this was just a group of school age children with their garden
tools, marching in a formation to the community garden. The leader was a priest
dressed all in black. My heart raced; I got all emotional and actually felt
tears rolling down my face. I realized just how close we had come to killing all
these young children.
I couldn’t see the major’s face, but I imaged that it turned pale.
All of us onboard were visibly shaken up by this event. He had just given direct
orders to both his gunners to kill them all. He even wanted to order an air
strike on this group of 30 children. Now, he said very little. I had chills
running down my spine and noticed that my hands were shaking.
Why had I and my trusting door gunner both refused to fire? I have
no answers. I just went with my feelings, which at the time were so very clear
and strong that I should not pull the trigger. I risked going to jail because I
followed my feelings and not my orders. What if I had been wrong and they were
really VC? I had risked the helicopter getting shot down and the life of every
crew member—based just on my feelings. I learned in Nam very quickly to never
question those intuitive feelings within. It seemed that those feelings were
greatly heightened in combat and dangerous situations. In this case, it saved 30
young children and a priest from being killed. That would have been a major
tragedy that I could never have lived with because it would have haunted me for
the rest of my life.
That major and I became much better friends after that day. He
actually learned to trust those working for him. He began to ask questions and
rely on the combat-experienced men around him. He turned out to be a very good
human being and a fine officer. He also proved many times over through his tour
to be a brave and courageous pilot—someone who I felt confident flying with and
risking my own life for. I think we both learned something that day that forever
changed the way we looked at life and ourselves.
#
Copyright 2003 W. H. McDonald Jr.
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