even helpful. They wanted the NVA out more than the Americans did. All that came down to: 'If we can stay out of Snoul, we will.'
'What do you think, Three?' Brookshire asked Franks. 'Three' was Franks's radio call sign.[6]
'Intel plus some locals say some NVA are waiting for us up Highway 7 in the rubber,' Franks answered. 'I recommend we go around them to the east and approach the airfield and their major positions from the south.'
'I agree. Get the commanders huddled over here ASAP.'
Brookshire gave the order quickly. He was precise and direct about what he wanted done, as always. There was no doubt who was to do what.
'When we get there, four-six [our tank company] and three-six [Troop G] will break out and start down this way. And I don't think that going down the redball [Highway 7] is necessarily the way we want to go. Work your way through the rubber [trees]. One-six [Troop E], you'll start here and move on up into the town…
'Now if you take fire, return it…
'This is a reconnaissance in force to find out what's in there and also, if possible, to take the town — without destroying it… and when you take fire, shoot. Try to avoid shooting into crowds of civilians…
'Now, if we can get around these f'ers, we might have them bottled up down in this end of the rubber. They figure us to come right up Highway 7. Villagers between here and there told us they have broken the highway, and they undoubtedly have. We'll have to find a way around it. We can always come up through the rubber through this draw.
'Three, I'll be on the ground with Blackhorse 6 [Colonel Starry] with the lead troop. You get airborne.'
'Wilco.'
In Southeast Asia, rubber plantation towns all look pretty much alike. Because it was a provincial capital on a major crossroads, Snoul was a little larger than some. But aside from that, if you've seen An Loc, you've seen Snoul. If you've seen Snoul, you've seen Loc Ninh — the same red, clayey soil; the same ranks of rubber trees at various stages of growth; the same manor house, with surrounding veranda, and maybe a pool; the same grassy airstrip nearby, so the French managers could fly over to Phnom Penh or Saigon for business or shopping. Rubber trees grow moderately high, up to fifty feet or so, and the mature ones are fifteen or eighteen inches wide at the base. So you couldn't easily bull your way through a rubber plantation with tanks. On the other hand, the ranks of rubber trees were wide enough to create lanes Sheridans and ACAVs could pass through. Maneuvering through the rubber was bold, but it was not impossible, and they hoped it would catch the NVA by surprise.
Once they committed to that action, Franks knew, it was essential that they keep moving without interruption to sustain the momentum of the attack. Once they showed their hand and turned east, that would be apparent to the NVA. So there could be no poking around to give them time to adjust. Surprise lasts only as long as it takes the enemy to adjust. Tactically, you have to continue to give the enemy more and more situations to adjust to, thus maintaining and keeping the initiative and, at the same time, keeping him off balance.
For the record, the halt on the night of the fourth did not count as an interruption of momentum. As long as they had the option of going either up Highway 7 or east toward the airfield, the enemy had no way to adjust until 2nd Squadron had committed to one way or the other. In other words, the elements of momentum and surprise were completely under 2nd Squadron's control.
There was one other advantage to taking the airfield. The airstrip at Snoul was long enough to handle C- 130s, and C-130s could bring in far more supplies than the trucks driving overland or the helicopters coming in from An Loc. They also could base their attack helicopters out of there, rather than have them go through the long turnaround at An Loc.
In that event, the choice of the airport over the town was the right one. The NVA were dug in around the strip, and they'd placed three 12.7-mm antiaircraft machine guns in doughnut-shaped gun pits on the southern end of the runway. It seems they expected the Americans to make an air assault on the airfield by elements of the 1st Cavalry Division, followed by linkup with the Blackhorse. So they set up their ambush on Highway 7 to stop the Blackhorse, and they placed their antiaircraft on the south side of the airstrip to face the direction of approach of the American air-assault helicopters.
When the Americans came in on the ground, they weren't ready for that. Meanwhile, the American helicopters that were in the air stayed low and far enough to the east to avoid giving away the ground attack.
Warrant Officer John Mallette and Specialist Terzala were Fred Franks's crew that morning. Mallette already had the Loach running when Franks stepped up to board it. Before he climbed in, Terzala grabbed him. 'Major,' he said, 'today you need to wear your chicken plate. You are not getting on this helo until you put it on.'
Franks didn't usually wear the chicken plate, but he took Terzala's advice and put it on.
The chicken plate was a steel vest that protected the chest and back from shrapnel and direct-fire weapons such as the AK-47. Because it was hot and heavy (when you wore it, you were even more bent over after a day of flying), the chicken plate wasn't always worn. But in the helicopter, Franks and his crews had come to trust and look out for one another, and Terzala knew that they were going into a situation that was likely to be more heated than normal. No sense messing around with fate.
They took off.
On the OH-6, you sit side by side, with the Plexiglas bubble in front of you. The pilot, Mallette, was in the right-hand seat; Fred Franks was in the left; and Terzala, the crew chief/gunner, was in the back, sitting on the floor, with an M-60 machine gun cradled in his lap. Mallette was as skillful a Loach pilot as you're likely to find; he and Franks had been together for nearly ten straight months of tough flying. They'd taken some hits, but had avoided most. Franks trusted his life with John Mallette and Terzala, without question.
Whap!
They were hung up on a telephone wire. It was stretched across the front of the bubble, just at eye level.
Helicopters striking wires happens on occasion. And it is frequently fatal, especially when your ship is just taking off and full of fuel. If you're a pilot, you try to look where you're going — obviously. But wires are thin and hard to see against a background of trees. And in their case, they had been operating for several weeks in an area where there weren't any wires to worry about. Now here they were, hanging thirty feet in the air, with a phone wire ready to slip one way or the other, up or down their bubble. If it slipped up, it would likely tangle around the rotor head, and down they would go… almost instantly to be engulfed in quick, consuming flames. If it slipped down, it would likely hit the skids, catch, and they would flip over. Down they would go into quick, consuming flames.
'Oh, shit!' Franks blurted out.
Mallette put the Loach into full power. The wire slipped down. Caught in the skids. Franks braced himself for the Loach to pitch over.
The line snapped.
And they lurched up toward the sky.
Moments later, the Loach peeled off toward the east to take up station just above the canopy top, ready to help Brookshire and the squadron navigate through the lanes of rubber trees. They stayed low so as to avoid hostile fire, and also to keep out of sight of the NVA so that they would not give away their advancing troop positions.
Franks didn't have much time to reflect on their good luck. He had a mission to continue. M48s, Sheridans, and ACAVs were already in the rubber. But he did have time to think, 'That's it for us today. We've had our close call. Everything from here on out will be OK.'
A few minutes later, Franks's Loach was over the airstrip, while H Company (the tanks) and Troop G were maneuvering toward the strip on the ground. Troop E, together with Brookshire and Starry in their command tracks, was less than a kilometer away, and also approaching. Off to the west, up on a little rise, was the town of Snoul.
If they wanted a meeting engagement, they had it.
Meanwhile, staring at Franks's Loach was a North Vietnamese manning a.51-caliber AA weapon, his shoulder against the stock, and ammunition clearly fed into it. If he had had it pointed up toward the Loach and pulled the trigger, he would have blown them out of the sky. But luck was with them a second time that morning. When the Loach appeared, the crew was frantically trying to depress the weapon so that they could fire at the unexpected oncoming armor.
