Scout pilots were a special kind of crazy. One Vietnam War joke went something like "How do you find the cavalry? Easy, just follow the burning Loaches." Scout pilot and author Hugh Mills demonstrates that in spades. He was shot down 16 times and wounded three times, earning three Silver Stars, the Legion of Merit, four Distinguished Flying Crosses and three Bronze Stars, not to mention the Vietnamese Cross of Gallantry with Silver Star and Palm, the Vietnamese Honor Medal First Class plus 93 lesser decorations. But he also truly loved the mission, and that love come through in his stories of hair-raising escapades.

In Vietnam, scout pilots flew the OH-6 Loach, a tiny egg shaped helicopter that normally flew with a pilot, a crew chief hanging out the left side, and a 7.62 mm minigun. The mission was descended from the ancient job of a cavalry scout, getting out in front of the main force, locating the enemy, getting word back to HQ, and fixing the enemy long enough for heavy firepower to arrive. The job required intelligence and sharp eyes, to read trailsign and spot hidden bunkers through triple canopy jungle while orbiting at 70 knots, and stone-cold bravery to troll the enemy, and let their own fire reveal them. Then it was a matter of doing what damage you could with the guns, marking a target with smoke, and getting out of the way of the Cobra gunships rolling in with rockets, and finding an LZ for the aerorifle platoon.

When the mission went well, scout pilots could have an outsized impact. When it went poorly, it meant that helicopters went down in hot LZs, the aerorifles engaged way over their heads, and Mills having do crazy stuff, like land and evac wounded pilots in overloaded birds, drop blood to men who couldn't be evaced, and generally going the kind of things that get you three Silver Stars.

Mills seemed to enjoy his war, despite the extreme personal danger, and I think this was because as a pilot he felt like he was in control of his destiny. Infantry faced dangers like mines and bullets which felt very impersonal, an illusive enemy, and a command structure which demanded more than they could give. Scout pilots had the illusion that they could evade danger. They had a mobile edge over the ground-bound VC and NVA. Their war was still very personal, close enough to look into a man's eyes as the minigun strafed him, but once the day's flying was done, they were safe enough behind the wire. Of course, only the most aggressive pilots volunteered for Loaches, and an elite force is going to do better than the reluctant draftees on the line.

And as always, I enjoy the lighter bits. Like when the scouts were entertaining a couple of new Rangers, who spent the night bragging about their snake-eater credentials, and then had them put to the test when a pilot brought a toad. The Rangers gagged, but one of the scouts ate the thing alive, and kept it down long enough for the Rangers to be laughed out of the O-club. Strange times in II-Corps.