The Hand: A Helicopter Pilot's Story of the Vietnam War

By W. Lewis Sain

We were like the “Lafayette Escadrille” flying our aircraft with precision and cunning like the World War I volunteer pilots, scarves around our necks, looking for a chance to even the score for that day’s fighting. Known as the “Purple Gang.” those we supported knew that when the Purple Gang were on call, they would be protected and had the best chance to come back from their mission alive.
Later in life, as we gathered as old pilots, at my home near Charlotte comparing our lives; we realized that we had more in common than we could ever have known. The hand of God was evident as we told our war stories and life stories.
We laughed, we cried, and the love for each other was so evident that we vowed to repeat our reunion again within the next year or so. Little did we know that one of our own present that weekend would die that December, the first in our band of brothers to fall after all this time. All of us will miss you, John Houston; we called him “Howdy.”

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Jul 12, 2023
• ISBN: 9798887516097

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The Hand

A Helicopter Pilot's Story of the Vietnam War

W. Lewis Sain, Jr.

Copyright © 2023 by W. Lewis Sain, Jr.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods without the prior written permission of the publisher. For permission requests, solicit the publisher via the address below.

Christian Faith Publishing

832 Park Avenue

Meadville, PA 16335

www.christianfaithpublishing.com

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

To the men that I served with in the Republic of Vietnam during June 1969 through June 1970. Each man that I knew, in his own right, gives testimony of his commitment to this nation and is a tribute to our country’s American values.

We went to war in a time when our nation was torn apart with civil unrest, racism, and many people opposing the Vietnam War. Times were such that if you voiced your opinion either for or against the United States’ involvement in a war in Southeast Asia, you could face serious injury or death depending on which side of the protest line you were on.

All pilots were volunteer soldiers, we chose to go to war to protect and preserve our American heritage—the freedom we all enjoy today. Throwing caution to the wind and like the gallantry that forged the great west, my fellow aviators flew their choppers in support and above the best soldiers in the world. We went out on missions, and we faced each new day, not really acknowledging God nor realizing his directing of our lives.

God’s hand was on us, and we were none the wiser. We would live and die for our country. This we believed, and that is what we did. This is a testament of my experience and of their heroics.

1

Orders for Vietnam

The Boeing 707 was making its final approach into the Seattle-Tacoma Airport. It took me most of the day to fly from Charlotte, North Carolina, by way of Atlanta, Georgia, and Dallas, Texas. First on Eastern Airlines from Charlotte, connecting on a National Airlines flight from Atlanta to Dallas and then on to Seattle.

Just thinking about leaving my wife and family behind was not what I wanted to dwell on, and my thoughts began to wander what I would do in order to make the transfer from the airport to Ft. Lewis military base just outside Seattle, Washington. A sign-in baggage claim announced the United Services Office (USO). It read all service personnel report here for information.

Located in the Seattle Airport for solders traveling from the airport to various places, the USO is still being used and can be found at many Airports today. They offer hot and cold drinks, doughnuts, and sandwiches. They also have cots in quiet areas for sleeping and a recreational room with couches and recliners for TV and tables for board games.

I hopped a troop transfer bus furnished by the USO. Within an hour and a half, we arrived at what would be my out-of-country departure location. Very soon I would be bound for the Republic of Vietnam as ordered after graduation.

In those days, the escalation of the Vietnam War had created a greater need for additional training space. The army moved all Primary Helicopter training to a facility at Ft. Wolters, Texas, about sixty miles west of Dallas, Texas, in a small town named Mineral Wells.

Ft. Rucker was the original Primary and Advanced training facility during the Korean War for both fixed and rotary wing. Rucker was revamped and was allocated the task for Advanced Helicopter Training along with Hunter Army Airfield in Savanna, Georgia. I completed my training at Hunter.

On May 5, 1969, I received my WO1 bars and my Army Aviator wings. At the graduation ceremonies, my wife Karen and my mother pinned on my warrant officer bars and my wings while my family watched.

That night, we attended a reception and dinner, initiating me into the ranks of the officer corps. Karen and I were very happy and the thirty-day leave was welcome after the vigorous nine months of training at Ft. Wolters and Hunter Army Airfield.

Graduation ball May 1969. Left to right: Thad Lawing, Louise Lawing, Frances Mauch, Bill Mauch, Karen Mauch Sain, W. Lewis Sain Jr., Betty Sain, and Walter Lewis Sain.

After graduation, I received orders assigning me to The Big Red One division as a pilot. When I got to Ft. Lewis, after reporting to the receiving office, I was handed new orders stating I was to report to the Tenth Aviation Battalion in Dong Ba Thin, Republic of Vietnam for unit assignment upon arrival.

Great, I thought, now I have to remove the Big Red One patch, Karen sewed on my uniform sleeve. She said she was so proud to do this one little task, which made my uniform complete. Until then, I did not know Karen could sew. But then, there was a lot I did not know about my wife of six months.

I got a room at the Base Officers Quarters (BOQ). My departure flight was scheduled for 1400 hours (2:00 p.m.) the next afternoon on National Airlines at the Fort Lewis Airport. The room was small with a single bed on the second floor, which had a private latrine or bathroom. In the army, I had never had my own private room with a private bath; I thought I’m going to like being an officer.

A notice in the BOQ on the check-in desk had an advertisement that the Officers Club on post was having a welcoming buffet for all officers on orders for Vietnam. A sort of meet-and-greet gathering; I got a post transport jeep from the motor pool to give me a ride to the O club. I met some of my former members of class 69-9 there, and after drinks, we got in line for dinner.

Man, did they put on the spread. The main display in the middle of the table was the largest fish I had ever seen. It was a perfectly prepared tuna that had to be over three feet long and, might I say, was very delicious. The buffet had the usual salad bar and other main entrees along with many side dishes.

A desert bar and coffee bar rounded out the dinner presentation. After small talk, some of the guys wanted to go to the officers’ club barroom for after dinner cigars and drinks. Since I did not smoke, I said my goodbyes and got another transport to my room.

That night, around 8:00 p.m. west coast time and 11:00 p.m. east coast time, I called Karen. In those days, we had pay phones and without a credit card, I called her collect. I heard her say, Yes, operator, I accept the charges, knowing that her father was paying for the call.

She was living with her parents until I came home. I said, Hello, honey. We started with small talk, but we both knew it would be the last time I talked with her for some time. We also knew that all conversation from then on would be by letter; she started crying.

With tears in my eyes, I assured her, as best I could, that we would get to see each other when my year was up. I said if I get to a phone should the plane land somewhere before Vietnam, I would call her. As I hung up the phone, a feeling of fear came over me, and with a sense of panic, I went up to my room. It was very hard to sleep; in fact, I’m sure I didn’t.

In November 1965, I met Karen when she was fifteen and a half, and I was eighteen. Her brother asked me to pick up his kid sister at a friend’s house. I was giving him a ride anyway from the A&P where we both worked bagging groceries.

She was the prettiest girl I had ever seen, with long, straight, reddish hair. Back then, all cars had bench seats with three abreast, as did my ’53 Ford. She got into the middle on the front seat beside me. Her brother Bill had shotgun. She looked at me, and my heart skipped a beat. She said, Hey in a melodious southern accent.

When I got home that evening, I could hardly contain myself. My mother asked me what was wrong with me. You seem different, she said. Did something happen at the store? Were you fired?

No, Mother, nothing happened at the store. I wasn’t fired, I said. I just met the woman of my dreams; one day I am going to marry her.

Mom, you wouldn’t believe it, she has long hair, she has freckles like you, and she smells good. I later found out her perfume was Youth-Dew by Estee Lauder. Thinking, as all good mothers do, that this was a passing fancy, not impressed, my mother said, That’s nice, son, and do you want anything to eat?

I asked Karen on a date the month before she turned sixteen and was given permission by her father, provided it was a double date with her brother Bill who would be nineteen in a couple of months. We dated off and on for the next two years until September of 1967.

We broke up for what I thought was final, and that fall, I became disenchanted with life. Bored with college and my situation of living at home, I felt that something had to change. Well, it did; I was drafted into the US Army in January 1968.

When Valentine’s Day came around, I was surprised to get a card from Karen as we had not spoken for over three months. Our mothers ran into one another at K-Mart, a local department store much like our Walmart’s of today.

Mother told Frances, Karen’s mom, that I still talked about Karen all the time. Frances told Mother that Karen still talked about me also. Well, Karen’s mom apparently went home that evening and told Karen about the chance meeting she had at K-Mart.

She suggested that Karen should send me a valentine card, in a sort of break-the-ice gesture without strings. The card read on the front, Do you know how you can be my Valentine? On the inside, it read, Just ask me, stupid.

I was so elated when I got the card at mail call. I immediately called Karen and asked her out that weekend as I had gotten a pass to come home. She said yes. We doubled-dated with her brother Bill and Bills new wife Margo.

We went out to eat and then to a movie. After that, I called her collect every chance I got, having the operator reverse the charges to my home phone. My father did not complain about the extra telephone bill.

That May, two things happened to us that changed our lives forever. One, I asked Karen to marry me, and two, I started flight school training to be a helicopter pilot for the US Army. We were married that December in 1968 when I came home for leave between my primary and advanced training. Six months later, married, I was on my way to Vietnam.

Our plane left Washington State on time. Excitement, anxiety, fear, and not knowing what we were to expect was thick in the cabin. By the time the flight attendants came around with our meals and beverages, we started to settle down.

Boarding our flight to Vietnam.

The flight was uneventful, and it took us sixteen hours without a stop. Sometime the next day, the announcement on the PA was chilling. Gentlemen—not Ladies and gentlemen—we are making our pattern for landing. We will be landing in Cam Ranh Bay, Republic of Vietnam in fifteen minutes. I felt a lump in my throat, and I could sense the tension throughout the cabin. No one was talking; those who sat on the window seat were peering out the window, and the other two soldiers on the row were trying to look out.

The plane landed, and we started deplaning. The extreme heat and humidity, not to mention the smell in the atmosphere outside, was almost unbearable. The climate of Vietnam was so awful that I gasped. Needless to say, I just knew someone was going to start shooting at me when I went down the stairs, but nothing happened.

We followed the signs and were ushered into a building where we received our jungle fatigues, combat gear, and anything we did not bring with us in our duffel bag. The next line was the pay master, where we had to exchange our US currency for Military Pay Currency (MPCs). They said green back currency was not to be used by soldiers in Vietnam. Imagine seeing a red five-dollar bill and a green ten-cent bill. All our money had different sizes and colors. The bills were larger than the change bills, but it was all paper, no coins.

Military pay currency 1969.

Personnel gave us instructions where we were to stay for the night and gave us instruction where to check back in the next morning after chow for further orders. I was billeted in the officers’ section of the compound. That night, my first night in Vietnam should have been remembered. As bad as it must have been in my memory, I cannot recall the details.

Was that a defense mechanism of the brain? They say we tend to remember only the good things in life and only remember the most traumatic events in our past, good or bad. I guess I will never know. Looking back, if it were a fearful night, I know that God does not give us a spirit of fear, and had I known him then like I know him now, I probably would have remembered that night.

The next day, I got into the back of a deuce-in-half military truck. A two-and-one-half ton, thirteen-thousand-pound work truck used by the army in various configurations. This particular truck was outfitted for troop transport without a top over the back. We traveled approximately one hour to Dong Ba Thin, a small town northwest of Cam Ranh Bay.

I asked a soldier if he knew where the Tenth Battalion was located. Following his direction, I reported to the Tenth Combat Aviation Battalion Personnel office along with ten other officers for assignment. The captain said, Gentlemen, we have a map in the corner where the aviation companies are located. Go over and decide which unit you would like to be assigned.

I did not know anything about Vietnam, the fighting, the casualties, nothing. While I was staring at the map, the captain started calling out names and assignments. When he came to me, he said, Mr. Sain, you are going to Rocket City.

I said, Where?

He said, You are going to the 155th Assault Helicopter Company in Bam Me Thuot (BMT) along the Cambodian border.

I said, Rocket City, why is it called that?

He said, Son, it is called Rocket City because they receive mortar and rocket shelling all the time. Don’t forget to keep your head down when you get there. Good luck, you are dismissed, and he gave me my orders.

He must like his job, I thought as I walked out the door. I was given another billet room from the orderly room clerk; I got some chow for dinner and then went to bed.

With duffel bag and a combat helmet on my head, the next day, I was loaded on a Huey UH-1H helicopter. They called it a slick, and so it was my first exposure to a combat environment; a helicopter flight in the Republic of Vietnam, I was really there and without a gun.

The crew chief told me to sit in the door gunner’s seat on the right rear of the cabin. He said for me to stow my gear on one of the seats in the middle of the cabin and make sure I strapped it in with a seat belt. The pilot did not bother to brief me of any emergency equipment or what to do if we got shot down. I was a pilot, and although he knew that, I guess he did not care.

Even though I was rated in the Huey, I had never set in the alcove where the gunner would sit. They left the doors open for effect to give the newbie a thrill or in an attempt to scare me. At least that is what I thought they did, which if on purpose, it worked. The wind and noise was loud, and although the temperature was fine, without an intercom, I could not talk to the pilots or crew chief.

Then it hit me: I could not believe it; I was flying over the jungle of Vietnam. It looked a lot like the forest of Georgia near Savannah; the red dirt was everywhere. The trees were different. They were very dense. I would later learn it was called a triple-canopy jungle. Which meant the foliage was so thick that the trees could hold up a chopper if we crash on top of them. I sat there for over an hour quietly in the back, scared to death. I was sure they were talking about me, and I know they were watching my reaction. But I did not let on.

The Combat Huey Slick with M60 mounted on the side.

Riding along