Life Experiences of Bill
McDonald
From the Book
"A Spiritual
Warrior's Journey"
Answer to
a Prayer
In
March of 1967, there was a lot of action in Binh Duong Province, in particular,
a place known as Ho Bo Woods. This still contained large elements of the
politico-military forces of the Viet Cong’s Region 4 Headquarters. This area was
laced with tunnels and spider holes (camouflaged sniper holes that the VC used).
There had been some heavy fighting in this area for the prior 15 months, with no
end in sight. Basically, Charlie owned this piece of real estate. He made us
pay dearly for every inch of ground we walked on or flew over. This was “Indian
Country,” and it was not a very good place to be flying alone on any kind of
mission. In this area our troops had discovered a very large underground complex
that included a three-story hospital and offices for the officers, which were
all buried under the forest. This was one of those bad places where I could feel
the fear creep up my spine, and I could taste it in my mouth anytime I entered
the area. It was a very nasty place to do business in, and I never looked
forward to flying missions into or around this area.
On this one particular morning, we
had an early start before sunrise. We had been airborne for an hour, but were
having a very difficult time locating anything below us in the darkness. When
daylight broke over the forest, we had to contend with a thick ground fog that
covered everything as far as we could see. Below us looked all white, like a
rolling cloud on the ground. We could not see the treetops in most places, so we
could not tell if we were flying over an open area or trees. The few LZs
(landing zones) inside Ho Bo Woods were small clearings where GIs had cut down
the trees or blown them up with explosives, so even the LZs were no bed of
roses. They all had tree stumps and fallen logs, which forced us to hover our
chopper just a few feet off the group, so that the troops had to jump out. We
also had to throw out the supplies.
We had been
flying support for some elements of the 25th Infantry Division on
this day. We were all alone, flying single-ship supply missions mostly, fresh
food and ammo for the ground troops. We had been concentrating so hard on
watching out for Charlie that no one was watching our gas consumption. Needless
to say, we had wasted lots of our fuel in a series of long searches, trying to
find where the troops were located.
It was still
very early in the morning. The part of the forest we had been flying over was
now completely engulfed with heavy thick fog. There was just no way we could
carry on our present mission. We circled around to get our exact bearings and
location. The pilots had become a little disoriented by the fog, which covered
guiding ground references. The fog was not burning off, but it was slowly
rising. It rose upward to around 100 feet or more, just enough so we could not
see the treetops anymore. The good news was that no one could see us either, so
we were safe from any ground fire.
The bad news
was that our fuel warning light had come on with its audio alarm sounding off.
The light flashed on the instrument panel as both pilots froze at once. Neither
one had any real clue to our present location or where our own troops where
below us. We did not have enough fuel to make it out of the fog shrouded forest.
We had no idea which way to turn the aircraft. All directions held a mystery.
All the ground below us was hostile and forbidding. There was no right place to
go. We were stuck in this twilight zone between certain death and the fog.
We had
remaining only about five to ten minutes of fuel. It seemed none of us really
knew for sure how much was supposed to be left when the fuel warning light came
on. We did not know how much time we had before our aircraft would drop out of
the sky into whatever waited for us below. If it were treetops, then our ship
would crash and the rotor blades would thrash the trees and twist the body of
the helicopter and those inside it. We knew what that would look like because we
had seen one of our company ships do that same thing just the week before. That
image played over and over inside my head.
The other
possibility was that if we could crash land and survive, we would certainly be
at a high risk for being captured or killed by enemy troops. It would be a long
time before anyone could find and rescue us. The fog would hide our aircraft for
hours, and no one would have any idea were we were because we did not even know
for sure ourselves.
All these
thoughts ran through our minds. Our hearts were pounding, as if we had just run
a long distance race and lost. I looked around, as I would normally do in this
kind of situation, trying to figure out what I might need once we crashed. I
grabbed my M-16 rifle and some magazine clips. I wasn’t carrying any food or
water. We did have lots of colored smoke grenades to use in case we were in need
of a rescue attempt. But in this fog, no one would be able to see them at all.
The pilots
had been in radio contact with our other company helicopters, but none of them
were close by. That was assuming that our guess about where we were was, in
fact, where we actually were.
So, even
after we had given our mayday distress call, no one would be able to quickly
respond.
Our fuel
should have run out, and we knew we were running on sheer luck. We did not fully
understand why we had not dropped out of the sky yet. The fog was endless in all
directions. There was just no opening anywhere to be seen. So, I began to
silently talk to God, asking for His divine help to find us someplace to land
before we crashed into the forest below us.
We were
mentally ready for the worse kind of crash. Not knowing what we were falling
into gave us no preparation or defense against the certain destruction that came
when the rotor blades tore the aircraft apart.
Then, out of
nowhere, just below us, where we had already looked before, there was a clear
opening over a grassy meadow area—a perfect LZ to drop down into. We turn and
lined up with the LZ just as the engine died, having consumed its last ounce of
jet fuel. The helicopter was less than 25 feet from the ground, and the blades
were still rotating with enough force that we did not drop very hard. There was
no damage—a perfect landing, in fact.
I immediately
jumped out of the ship as it hit, taking my weapon with me. Around the
tree-lined meadow we saw movement everywhere. Our helicopter was completely
surrounded. We were on the ground, ready to defend ourselves. There was no way
we were going to win this battle. We were completely outnumbered and surrounded.
Any resistance on our part would have been a death warrant for sure, so we just
held our position and waited.
Then we began
to notice the uniforms that they were wearing. They were elements of the 25th
Infantry. By some unbelievable luck, we had dropped right on top of one of their
small temporary camps. We couldn’t have been more blessed if we had tried. Not
only were we surrounded by our own troops, but they also had a supply of JP-4
jet fuel for our helicopter.
It was a
strange experience and hard to explain. For example, why did this LZ just open
up in the middle of so many square miles of solid fog? Why was there a clearing
at this spot waiting for us? Why hadn’t our helicopter run out of fuel prior to
seeing this opening? Why had we not seen this opening before when we were
looking right in that same area?
It was a very lucky or blessed day, depending on how you viewed the events. Just
good luck you might say, maybe? But then, perhaps other forces were at work.
Maybe the power of a small silent prayer opened a big hole in the fog? I do not
know for sure why it all happened as it did. I do know that we did not crash,
and no one was killed or injured—and that was good enough for me. I do not need
anyone to tell me that prayers do work—I believe.
#
Copyright 2003 W. H. McDonald Jr.
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