When the battle began on 10 May, the hill was covered with a dense growth of triple canopy jungle. When the hill fell to the American troops on 20 May, the entire top and upper slopes of the hill were bare except for a few broken and shattered stumps. It was as lifeless as the surface of the moon.
The 17th was a particularly hectic day. I flew three times for a total of 8 hours. In the morning I directed air strikes on the north side of the hill, supporting the 3rd Battalion. The battalion commander, call sign Blackjack, told me they were the most effective air strikes he had seen. That afternoon I switched to the south side of the hill, where a company of the 1st Battalion was trying to advance up a ridgeline toward the top of the hill. They were encountering heavy opposition from several lines of bunkers, which were placed across the ridge. The company commander, call sign Malay, kept calling for the bombs to be placed closer and closer to his position. We had rules about how close we could place various kinds of ordinance to friendly forces, and I was already pushing the limits, but Malay was begging me to move the bombs in even closer. Finally, I was down to my last target-marking rocket, the last fighter was down to his last napalm canister, and it was getting so dark we were having a difficult time seeing the target. Seventy-five meters was my legal limit for placing napalm near friendly troops, but I placed my last rocket 50 meters from the friendlies and told the fighter to “Hit my smoke.”
This was long before the days of “smart bombs,” with their deadly accuracy. The ones we used in those days were very much “dumb bombs.” Napalm canisters tumbled when released and were certainly not as accurate as we desired. My blood ran cold when I saw the napalm explode very near to where I believed our troops to be. I called Malay on the radio. Silence. I called again. Terrifying silence. Finally he came on the radio and said “Hey Bilk, that was great, right where I wanted it. Standby for a minute while I put out these fires.” The napalm had splashed right up to their position, but it ended the enemy opposition and allowed the company to take the ridge. Almost a year later, I was awarded the Distinguished Flying Cross for my actions that day.
The silence on the radio I experienced when trying to contact Malay after the near miss with the napalm was truly terrifying, but it wasn’t the most terrifying silence I experienced over Hamburger Hill. They say that silence is golden, but a sudden unexpected silence in flight caused by all the engines stopping simultaneously is not golden. It is terrifying. Especially if you are only about 500 feet above the ground where a battle is raging. And on that ground are large numbers of enemy soldiers who are really ticked off with you because you have been causing fire and destruction to rain down on them.
As I recall, it happened this way. The O-2 had a main fuel tank and an auxiliary (aux) fuel tank in each wing, with a fuel selector valve for each wing, used to select which tank to use and which engine to supply from that tank. Our practice was to use the main tanks during takeoff and then switch to the aux. tanks. After using all the fuel in the aux. tanks we would switch back to the main tanks for the remainder of the flight. The aux tanks did not have fuel quantity gauges, so we would use an aux tank until the engine sputtered, at which time we would select the main tank and the engine would catch. We made a point of not changing from main tanks to aux tanks on both wings at the same time so both engines wouldn’t sputter at the same time. But I was very busy directing air strikes and apparently switched both tanks at the same time, because both aux tanks ran dry at the same time. It happened just as I was pulling up from a rocket pass. Just as I pulled up there was a sudden silence. Both engines had quit. They didn’t sputter; they quit! At times like this you are thankful for the instructor who forced you to review your emergency procedures over and over until they were second nature. As the airplane glided closer and closer to the ground I got busy restarting engines. Meanwhile the F-4s were calling and asking where I wanted the bombs placed and I was saying, “Stand by. I’m kind of busy right now trying to get some engines restarted!” Obviously I did get them running again or I probably wouldn’t be writing this.
I did learn something from this experience. While I am normally somewhat deliberate in my actions; with the proper motivation I can move pretty fast, and I had plenty of motivation that day.
On the way back to Camp Evans I asked myself, as I had before and would again, “How did I get here?” I’m just a farm boy who had no particular ambitions except to live a quiet life on the farm as my parents had; and here I am flying my little, slow, fragile, unarmed airplane over the battlefield every day and raining death and destruction on those below. Life can take some strange and unexpected turns sometimes.
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