The engine came alive.
For people who knew helicopters only from movies, takeoff could seem dramatic. To Mercer, it was a series of checks, pressures, sounds, movements, and decisions.
The aircraft became light on its skids.
Mercer felt the controls.
The Huey rose into the dusty air.
Below them, the base shrank quickly.
Tin roofs became rectangles.
Vehicles became dots.
Roads cut pale lines through the landscape.
Then the Central Highlands opened ahead.
Vietnam from a helicopter could be beautiful enough to make a man forget what was happening below.
That contradiction bothered Mercer.
Mountains folded into one another under afternoon haze. Streams reflected sunlight. Fields appeared as clean geometric shapes. Forest covered large areas in dark green.
Then the radio would speak.
Coordinates.
Contact.
Wounded.
Fire.
Smoke.
The landscape changed instantly.
The escort gunships found them several minutes before they reached the valley.
The lead gunship pilot gave Mercer the situation.
Enemy fire had come mainly from the tree line on the northern side.
Friendly troops controlled a small area near the landing zone, but control was a generous word.
Nobody knew exactly how much enemy force remained nearby.
The ground commander wanted the wounded moved before darkness.
Mercer listened.
“How big is the hole?”
“Big enough.”
“That usually means small.”
The gunship pilot laughed once.
“Pretty small.”
Mercer looked at Hale.
Hale said nothing.
The Huey continued toward the valley.
The sound of the rotor seemed louder when everyone stopped talking.
As they approached, Mercer began building a picture in his mind.
Ridgeline.
Tree line.
Wind.
Slope.
Smoke.
Possible approach.
Possible exit.
Where the enemy had fired from.
Where friendly soldiers were located.
Where the aircraft could go if the engine lost power.
The last question rarely had a good answer.
The valley appeared ahead.
Smoke rose from several places near the trees.
Mercer saw one patch of bright signal smoke closer to the landing zone.
The gunships moved first.
Their presence did not make the area safe.
It made the danger slightly less unknown.
Mercer descended.
Hale called altitude.
Beck watched the left side.
Ortega watched the right.
The landing zone looked worse the closer they got.
It was narrow.
Tall grass surrounded the center.
The ground was uneven.
Mercer could see soldiers crouched near the perimeter.
One waved him toward a strip of flattened vegetation.
Then somebody fired.
Mercer did not know exactly where the first rounds came from.
Ortega opened fire toward the tree line.
The gunships answered almost immediately.
A sharp sound struck the aircraft.
Then another.
Beck shouted from behind them.
“Left door took one.”
Mercer kept descending.
Hale looked at him.
Mercer did not need to explain the decision.
They were already committed.
The Huey touched down hard enough for the skids to flex.
Soldiers moved toward it.
Some carried rifles.
Others carried men.
The cabin filled rapidly.
One wounded soldier climbed aboard with help and collapsed against the floor.
Another was carried on a poncho because no litter was available.
Mercer kept his eyes forward while Beck managed the loading.
The engine remained at power.
The aircraft shook.
Dust rolled through the open doors.
Someone outside was shouting.
Mercer could not hear the words.
He watched the tree line.
One man appeared near the front of the aircraft and held up fingers.
Five.
Mercer thought he meant five more seconds.
Then the man pointed behind him.
Five still out there.
Beck yelled.
“Seven aboard!”
The ground soldier waved both arms.
Go.
Mercer pulled power.
The Huey lifted.
Another burst of firing came from the trees.
Ortega answered.
Hale watched the gauges.
Mercer lowered the nose and accelerated.
The clearing disappeared behind them.
The helicopter climbed away carrying seven wounded men.
For the first minute, nobody discussed returning.
There was too much happening inside the aircraft.
One soldier needed attention.