Heroes Next Door: Hornet 24

By Chris Peluso

Written to help address the dearth of age appropriate material focusing on the Vietnam conflict, Heroes Next Door – Hornet 24 gives the middle school and young adult reader a window into the lives of helicopter pilots during that conflict.  The book is written with attention to detail, the reader experiences basic training, flight school, and twelve months of life, service, and sacrifice in Vietnam as told by a veteran who lives next door. Matt and Ellie are growing up in an average suburban area, when their next-door shows up with an olive-drab painted Army helicopter.  The machinery sparks immediate interest and serves as a conduit to relationship building between the two children and their neighbor, Mr. Ed.    Spread over nearly two years the siblings help restore the vintage aircraft and gradually, Mr. Ed shares stories of his training and experiences during the 1960s.  Stories from Basic Training gives the reader a sense of the discipline and focus required. Flight training introduces the reader to some of the principles of helicopter flight and performance.  Readers travel the globe, landing in Southeast Asia just after the Tet Offensive.  The risk, fears, apprehensions, and personal development that come with such a deployment, along with the emotional growth, team building, and camaraderie weave into a series of combat action sequences.  The reader is left with a basic understanding of the history of the conflict (thru late 1969), how U.S. and South Vietnamese troops engaged and searched for the communist forces, and how helicopters provided maneuverability and flexibility to the U.S. forces.  Along the way, the reader is shown life in a large Army camp, Saigon, and the risks associated with assignment to Vietnam. Heroes Next Door-Hornet 24 also shows some of the lighter side of the conflict, rest and rehab in Bangkok, recreation in camp, team building, and a few current events.  It also takes a brief look at the anti-war movement and how it affected the soldiers who were doing their duty.  Heroes Next Door -Hornet 24 is a unique book that reveals the humanity and the horrors of the Vietnam War in a manner that is appropriate for younger audiences. With attention to historical accuracy and touching respect for the men and women of the Vietnam War, this book is a must-have companion for any young reader looking for real-life heroes.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Thomas Nelson
• Release date: Apr 10, 2018
• ISBN: 9781595556042

Chris Peluso

Chris Peluso is a homeschooling father of four.  He holds a Master of Education degree and is a retired paramedic and firefighter. He enjoys spending time as a Living History Interpreter, Sunday-school teacher, and volunteer leader with Trail Life USA.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

MR. ED HAS A HELICOPTER

M R. ED HAS A HELICOPTER! shouted seven-year-old Ellie and her older brother Matt as they pulled into their driveway one afternoon. Can we go next door and see it?

As Dad parked the van, they both jumped out the side door and shot across the lawn to see their neighbor’s new machine. Dad followed a few moments later and listened to the conversation unfold.

What is it? asked Ellie.

Why do you have it? Does it fly? Matt jumped in, peppering their neighbor with questions.

Can we get in? They asked in unison.

Ellie and Matt had picked up his mail when he was out of town. He had watched them play from his porch, but they never would have expected him to have a real full-sized helicopter.

They had always chatted about gardening, hunting, fishing, and hobbies, but never about Mr. Ed’s history as a retired Army Lieutenant Colonel and Vietnam War aviator. He motioned for them to calm down and began to tell the story of the aircraft.

This aircraft belongs to the US Army. It doesn’t fly anymore, and they really can’t use it for anything. They have loaned it to a group that I belong to, so we can take it to public events and use it to help teach people about helicopters, Army aviation, and the Vietnam War.

Matt listened carefully, something that was usually a challenge for him. He was fascinated, hanging on every word, occasionally asking questions.

I’ve got a lot of work to do on this aircraft, Mr. Ed said. He looked thoughtful. But, if you can do some research and tell me about it tomorrow, you two can help.

Yes sir! That sounds great!

Good, my old back will love having the help. Then I will see you two tomorrow?

Yes, we’ll come over right after breakfast. Matt beamed.

Run along now. Good night. Mr. Ed waved as the kids headed back through the narrow wood line between the houses.

Matt grabbed a note pad and started sketching the helicopter. Later, he hit the Internet and identified it as an OH-6 Cayuse. He learned that the Cayuse was a light observation helicopter and that it entered service in 1966. He discovered that it was a scout helicopter used to help find Viet Cong and North Vietnamese Army troops during the war. These terms were new to him so he jotted down a note to ask Mr. Ed about them.

After breakfast the next day, Matt and Ellie ran next door. Their Dad following behind. The first thought on Matt’s mind was to discuss his research.

Alright pal, what did you find out? Mr. Ed prompted, noticing the note pad.

I think this is an OH-6 Kay-you-see. It was a scout helicopter. Is that right?

Not bad, but it’s pronounced kī'(y) o¯os – two syllables, not three. I will give you an easier name you might like better. Everyone used to call this helicopter a Loach." That’s Army slang for Light Observation Helicopter. Their job was to be bait for hunter/killer teams, not just to scout. The Loach would fly low and slow, following trails, flying between hills, looking for the enemy. When they found them, the door gunner could shoot or throw out a smoke grenade and call for help. Very rarely did they work alone; attack helicopters would be up higher waiting for the Loach to find something."

Did you fly Loaches? asked Ellie.

No, I flew slicks, Hueys, troop carriers. We flew supply missions and medevacs and we carried men around. Mr. Ed grew quiet for a moment and worked on cleaning the Plexiglas windscreen of the Loach.

Can you tell us about what you did?

After a short pause Mr. Ed looked up and said, Let me talk to your Dad for a while, and we’ll see what he thinks.

It’s time to go home and do your chores. Dad announced, taking Mr. Ed’s cue.

Matt and Ellie walked home, looking over their shoulders and hoping for some hint about what the grown-ups might decide. Thinking that extra special behavior might help their cause, they worked hard to finish their chores. They cleaned their rooms, put away their clothes, and took care of the pets.

After what seemed like hours, Dad came back and asked them to sit at the kitchen table for a few moments. Guys, Mr. Ed has offered to share some of his story with you. In exchange, you can help him clean up and fix the Loach. What do you think?

"Yes!" They shouted, beaming.

That’s what I thought you’d say. he smiled. But we need to talk about a few ground rules first. Number one, your school and chores come first. Second, you cannot get in the way. Third, if Mr. Ed stops talking or changes the subject, do not keep asking questions. He has reasons for not telling you everything and you need to respect that. Can you live with these rules? They looked at each other and nodded in agreement.

Yes sir, we can.

Good, you can start tomorrow after school.

School seemed to last forever that first day with the minutes stretching into hours.

Finally, after school they ran next door, yelling, Mr. Ed, we’re here to help!

He popped around the access door to the main engine, grinning, and said, Today I need to work on this door. It’s not closing right, over the exhaust port here. Both kids stood watching as Mr. Ed worked in the engine compartment and spoke like a teacher giving a well-known lecture.

When I was finishing high school, in 1966, the Vietnam War was really getting going. President Johnson, some people called him LBJ, was trying to stop Communism, which is a different kind of government that does not give people much freedom. The North Vietnamese were trying to take over all of Vietnam. They had an army, called the NVA, and a group called the Viet Cong, or VC, who said they were freedom fighters. You see, the North Vietnamese started fighting against France in 1946 because Vietnam was a French colony. In 1956, the Vietnamese beat the French, and a peace conference set up two different territories. The North Vietnamese were Communist and friends with the Soviet Union and China. South Vietnam was friends with the United States. Soon a group of Vietnamese in the south decided they wanted to be part of the north. These people became the Viet Cong. The United States really wanted to keep South Vietnam as a free country, so we started helping their government. At first, we just offered military teachers and supplies. Then the VC attacked some Army outposts, and some of their gunboats attacked a Navy destroyer. That led to the Gulf of Tonkin Resolution. Soon we were sending lots of troops – more than half a million.

What kind of things would a communist country do that’s different? asked Ellie.

I know! said Matt, I heard an interview on the radio the other day that talked about a man who was arrested in Burma for eating a sandwich in an unpatriotic way. They arrested this man just because someone in the government did not like the way he ate his lunch. Isn’t that right, Mr. Ed? Matt looked for backup and support.

Well, I suppose that could be one thing a communist country might do. Most times average people in a communist country cannot make many choices for themselves. They do not get to pick their schools, religion, or clubs. Sometimes they cannot even choose their jobs. It is hard to be successful, since everyone is supposed to be even. Most of the time a small group, or even one man, becomes powerful and runs everything. Some very infamous dictators like Joseph Stalin and Mao Zedong were communists. America spent many years fighting and preventing the spread of communism all over the world, Mr. Ed explained.

I’m glad we’re not a communist country, Ellie declared, stumbling on the word communist as she said it.

Me too, and I spent most of my adult life working to make sure that America stayed a free nation, replied Mr. Ed.

I graduated from high school in 1966 and applied to NC State University. I expected that I would work on an agricultural degree and go into farming. That seemed to be one of the best options in rural eastern North Carolina in the 1960s. Uncle Sam had different plans for me. During my fourth semester at State, the Selective Service, or draft board, sent me a letter. We were sending so many men to Vietnam that we needed to draft people into the Army. When drafted, you do not really have a choice, most of the time. If you are healthy, you have to join the Army. I could have probably argued for an educational deferment, but I believed in the war and wanted to help the South Vietnamese stay free. It was my duty to do my part.

Mr. Ed? Ellie asked, What’s an educational deferment?

With an educational deferment you apply to the draft board to have your selection put on hold so you can finish college. Many people did that (some famous ones in politics), but that is another story. Some folks would stay in school through the end of the war and stay out of the Army all together.

If you could have gotten out of being in the Army, why didn’t you? she asked, wondering why anyone would want to go to a war.

Mr. Ed looked up toward the helicopter, then to the flag mounted in his front yard, as he contemplated the best answer. Well, sometimes you are asked to perform a duty. Sometimes you have to do what is best for your country, another country, or other people. That is part of what makes America great; we help other people. I thought we were helping, whether we did or not is up to history to decide. That was a good enough reason for me. Mr. Ed looked at Matt, and back to Ellie, hoping to see a spark of understanding, Anyway, something to think about or talk to your folks about.

Now, back to my story. I had two weeks of freedom before reporting to the recruiter’s office in Raleigh for medical screening and many immunizations - my arms were sore for days after getting all those shots – and finally, my swearing in on July 1st. That’s when I officially became part of the United States Army. As Mr. Ed said this, he pointed to the white flag with the blue logo and red scroll flying from the flagpole. "They told me that since I had attended college, I stood a good chance of qualifying for Officer Candidate School immediately if I did well in Basic Training.

"I was put on a bus, with about thirty other guys, to Fort Polk, Louisiana, for Basic Training. That was a tough eight weeks, but I learned a lot. We were up at 4:30 in the morning, usually to the sound of a metal trashcan banging across the floor, and chased out of our barracks. We did push-ups until we thought our arms would fall off, and then we did some more. We ran – we ran in the rain, we ran in the mud, we ran with boots on, we ran with packs on, we ran carrying rifles, we ran carrying each other. The Sergeants shouted at us. We marched. We ate without speaking to each other, and we only did as told. We cleaned our rifles, took them apart, and put them back together again. We did it blindfolded. We cleaned those rifles until we knew them inside and out. We also learned how to shoot. Now, I was a good hunter growing up, but the Army taught me to shoot a completely different way.

I remember one very hot July afternoon; we had probably been there about two weeks at this point. We had been up since about 0430. We hiked about ten miles with packs, dry fired our guns on the range for a couple of hours, and had just finished chow.

What’s chow? I thought that was a kind of dog. interrupted Ellie, who was a little bored with the story, and hoping for a chance to do something.

"Chow is what we called food. You see we didn’t really get to sit down and enjoy a meal. We just had to chow down as quickly as possible before getting back to training. Anyway, after lunch we formed up for drill. Drill is what we called marching. Our platoon, about forty men, was on the drill field – which was really like a big parking lot. We marched out to the middle of it and stopped. I think the Drill Sergeant who was in charge of us forgot we were there. It was July, middle of the afternoon, in Louisiana. We were standing on blacktop in green fatigues with heavy black combat boots; it must have been 120º and humid. We felt like we were standing in a soup pot without a breath of wind, and there we were just standing at attention. You can’t move. You can’t turn your head. You can’t scratch your ear. You are just supposed to stand as still as possible."

Matt, hand me that 3/8 inch wrench over there, if you would. Mr. Ed directed as he motioned toward a small trailer with his greasy hands.

Is this the one? Matt asked, holding up a silver metal wrench.

That’s the one! Matt passed it to Mr. Ed, who paused for a moment, scratched his chin and asked, Now, where was I?

You were standing at Attention! Ellie announced.

"Oh that’s right. Well, like I was saying, it was HOT and after a few minutes, the sweat started rolling down our foreheads and stinging our eyes. I could see sweat stains growing on the men in front of me. Then the mosquitoes came. It is hard to see a skeeter land on your nose and not swat at it. Somewhere to my left, somebody did just that. Out of nowhere, three Drill Sergeants surrounded the poor fellow. They called him every name in the book. After a few minutes of yelling, one of the sergeants told him to fall out of the formation. He then proceeded to run, not jog, but run back to the barracks, which were about a half mile away, to retrieve his pack and entrenching tool, or E-tool, which is like a small shovel. We continued to stand at attention in the blazing sun.

"The asphalt burned our feet. I thought for sure my boots would melt right into the pavement. Once they got back with the pack and e-tool, we marched to the edge of the drill field. It felt good to move for a few minutes. The sergeant hollered at us, ‘You were given the chance to eat chow. Now, it’s the mosquitoes’ turn. Private Jones decided he did not like that and killed one of my mosquitoes. Now you must attend its funeral. Every funeral needs a grave, so Private Jones will dig a grave for our lost mosquito with his E-tool, while you watch. Now, Jones, dig!’ Jones broke out his E-tool and dug into the sandy soil maybe a foot or so deep and wide before standing at attention and stating that he was ready to bury the mosquito. Boy, oh boy, the Sergeant did not like that. No, he did not like that too much at all. He laid into Jones with words and insults that I didn’t even imagine existed."

But Mr. Ed, why was he so mad? It’s just a mosquito, and it sounds like that hole was plenty big. Matt asked.

"Well, Matt, you see we were being taught to follow orders, and it turns out this was another lesson. Jones was told to dig. He had not been told to stop or how big to dig the hole. He was just told to dig a grave. Now a normal grave is six feet deep by about six feet long by two feet wide. If he had dug one that size, he may have not gotten in trouble.

"Once the sergeant stopped yelling, he instructed Jones to dig a proper grave, six by six by two. The rest of the platoon stood at attention and sweated while he dug. Maybe thirty minutes into this, men started passing out. They would be standing there at attention one second, and the next they would be face down on the pavement. Once they fell, one of the Drill Sergeants would roll them over and make sure they were still breathing. Most people would wake up a minute or two later and looked dazed. Once they had their bearings back about them, they would run around the formation a few times, before rejoining the group at attention.

"It took a long time for that hole to be dug, but once it was to the Sergeant’s satisfaction he jumped down into it. He took a matchbox out of his pocket while saying, ‘Here we lay an innocent mosquito to rest, struck down in the prime of life while getting a simple meal.’ He climbed out of the hole and told us to sing ‘the Army Goes Rolling Along,’ which is the Army’s hymn. Our mouths were so dry that the first few lines came out cracked and strained. The sergeant did not like that, ‘Stop!’ he yelled.

‘You are butchering my favorite song! Get on your faces, now.’ We knew what that meant—push-ups and a lot of them."

"‘Begin, one – two-three,’ called out the Sergeant.

"One," we shouted in unison.

One-two-three

"Two"

One-two-three

"Three"

"On and on it went. I cannot remember how many we did that afternoon. I do remember my hands going numb and my shoulders aching for days. The sergeant yelled, ‘recover,’ so we jumped to our feet.

"‘Not fast enough - On your faces!’

"This meant more push-ups. I think it took three or four times to get up fast enough.

"‘Now sing.’ We were out of breath from push-ups and dehydrated from standing at attention in the sun for hours, but we belted that song out with more spirit and volume than you can imagine.

"‘Now that we’ve honored our fallen companion he must be buried. Jones, fill in the grave.’ We stood at attention and watched him shovel dirt back into the hole. Part of me wanted to be Jones so I could move around. Another part of me was embarrassed for him, but I knew that I would not hesitate to follow instructions to the best of my abilities from that moment on. The sun was setting when we finally marched away from that mosquito funeral. We were exhausted and beaten. Later that night one of the men who had done marching band in high school told some of us that you never ‘lock your knees’ while standing at attention. If you keep your legs straight, you can trap blood below your knees, causing you to black out. The trick is to gently bend your knees from time to time and keep the blood flowing the right way.

That doesn’t sound nice at all. Why were those sergeants so nasty? Ellie said, looking upset.

Mr. Ed sat down on an upside down five-gallon bucket and rubbed his chin for a moment, leaving a streak of black grease on his graying beard.

"Well, Ellie, we were at war. You need to be strong, both physically and mentally. If your spirits are weak, you will not do very well in a war zone. In the Army you are part of a team, and the team is like a chain – it is only as strong as the weakest link. You do not want to be the weakest link, so you work very hard to stay strong and sharp. They were just doing their job trying to make us stronger. They were not being mean.

Towards the end, it all became routine; we were a team. We were becoming soldiers. . . . Mr. Ed trailed off for a few minutes and stared across the street into the woods, before resuming. . . . A lot of those guys didn’t make it back. Their names are on The Wall. When we graduated, most of my platoon went on to Advanced Infantry training. Since my scores had been so high and I had the College Option, I got orders for OCS, or Officer Candidate School, at Fort Benning, down in Georgia.

Excuse me, what wall? asked Ellie. Her brother jabbed her on the shoulder and interrupted.

You remember the long black wall we saw in Washington, DC? That wall! It’s got the names of all the men killed in Vietnam written on it.

Matt! Ellie! shouted their mother from next door.

Yeah? responded Ellie.

Hold it, Mr. Ed scowled. That’s your mother. Show her a bit of respect, say ‘yes ma’am.’

Ellie looked embarrassed. Her cheeks flushed, and she hung her head, sad to end the day on a sour note. Yes ma’am? she responded half-heartedly.

It’s time to come home for supper, Mother shouted from the porch.

They both were disappointed. Hurry on home now. We’ve got more work to do tomorrow, and maybe you will get your first flying lessons! Both kids grinned and quickly helped put away the tools they had been passing back and forth.

Thanks Mr. Ed, see you tomorrow!

The next day was cloudy. Matt and Ellie worked hard in school that morning, but it started raining shortly after lunch. They both wandered around the house, half focusing on their chores, half watching for a break in the weather. Matt took out his notebook with the OH-6 notes from the first night and started reviewing them. He made a few quick searches on the internet and was able to see several pictures of Loaches in action and different paint jobs on the helicopters. There were ghosts, swords, teeth, and girls; some just had numbers.

Hey Dad, check this out! This is a helicopter with a big yellow hornet on the nose, just like Mr. Ed’s jeep! I want to ask him about that sometime! Do you think that each pilot got to paint their own helicopter?

I don’t know buddy. There is a long tradition in the military of something called nose art. Aircrews would paint a design to mark their aircraft. It built teamwork and ownership. Sometimes it was used to mark a certain unit, or even try to scare the enemy, plus it kind of looks cool. Dad answered before heading into the other room.

About an hour later, the rain started easing off and the kids asked, Can we go next door?

Mother checked the clock, Just for a little while. We’ve got to go out tonight. Matt and Ellie shot through the door and ran into the yard. Close the door! their Mom called, as they headed outside.

Mr. Ed was sitting on his front porch, sipping a soft drink when they ran up his stairs. Hi, Mr. Ed! What do we need to work on today? the kids asked in unison.

Well guys, we need to clean inside the Loach, but the weather is not going to hold. I don’t mind chatting for a few minutes here, if that’s ok? They both found chairs on the porch.

Mr. Ed? Ellie asked, Did you all really count together when exercising? When we try to exercise together during PE class everyone winds up counting on their own.

Yes ma’am! It is a lot easier to keep everyone doing the same thing if you count and practice at staying together. In a way, it is a team building exercise. That’s what a lot of Army training is about – building the team.

You said something last time about socks? Matt interjected, wanting to move the conversation along.

I do not remember socks. Mr. Ed said, scratching his beard again and cocking his head.

You know? The school you went to after training.

Oh! You mean OCS, Officer Candidate School! Sure thing! I can tell you about it if you want.

Yes, sir, that’s what I meant!

"At OCS, we did many of the same things we had learned in Basic Training, except we were better prepared for them now. We were strong and in tip-top physical shape, and we were used to the Army way of life. Our mental toughness made dealing with OCS much easier. We even had some fun, if you can believe it!

Now, I remember a pillow incident that I think you’ll like. He said, gesturing toward Ellie with an open hand.

"At Fort Benning there was this old three-inch field gun near the main flagpole. The Commanding General of the Fort had ordered that the cannon fire a blank shot every morning and every evening for colors. This told everyone on the fort that the flag was in motion, and we were supposed to stop what we were doing, stand at attention, and salute the flag. We Officer Candidates took turns providing the firing crew and color guard, or people who raised the flag. We would march out to the cannon and load it while the color guard attached the flag. Once we fired the cannon, they would raise the flag. It was usually a pretty easy job.

One day, about half way through OCS, I was on the flag detail. The crew put the blank charge in the breech while we hooked the flag up. They pulled the string. . .boom! He gestured outward with his hands, mimicking an explosion.

My back was to the cannon, but the man across from me turned his head toward the cannon. That was the first sign that something unusual had happened. Remembering his job, he turned back and pulled the string to raise the flag. He was grinning like a mule eating briars. I wanted to turn and look so badly, but I was sure that if I did I’d be caught and get in trouble.

What happened? Ellie asked.

"Well, once the flag was up and secured to the pole, we had to turn and march away