U.S. Army Captain Thomas Pienta: Firsthand Account of a Vietnam War Helicopter Pilot

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That particular day I was not wearing my two-piece NOMEX flight suit because I had worn it about a week. It stood in the corner of my hootch, and even the rats stayed away from it. For all the money spent on that war, they still only issued us one set of NOMEX. I really don’t think the NOMEX would have helped, however. When fire reaches the kinds of temperatures we had that day in that helicopter, I believe NOMEX breaks down and disintegrates. My aircraft commander was wearing NOMEX flight gloves, and he almost lost his left hand. I believe years later he did lose it after more than 60 plastic surgery operations. I was wearing gray kidskin-leather gloves, and although my hands were still severely burned, I’m glad I had them on. Asbestos was the only thing that would have prevented injury, but pilots couldn’t dress like bomb-disposal experts.

My aircraft commander, Warrant Officer Bob Trezona (in the helicopter, experience took precedence over rank), told me to pick up the helicopter out of the sandbag revetment. Those revetments were built by the Army to provide some protection for the Hueys should we be hit with rockets or mortars while waiting strip alert. I glanced back at our crew chief, Specialist James Brady, who gave me thumbs up. We were on our way.

Although I had been in-country only seven weeks, I had logged 153 hours of flight time, most of which was combat assault time, and I was now addicted to the adrenaline flow. Trezona was just back from rest-and-recuperation leave, and I believe he requested that I be his pilot, since I had not been scheduled on the chalkboard the night before to fly that day. I felt proud that I had been accepted by the more experienced pilots in the unit. Trezona had been with the Crusaders more than eight months and was one of the unit’s finest pilots. He taught me a great deal about ‘airsense.’ I loved flying with Trezona not only because of his skills but also because of his ability to convey a feeling of calmness in the cockpit. Brady and Trezona were both about 23 years old, had been in-country the same amount of time and were good friends. They had just been issued a brand-new Huey with about 110 total hours of flight time. Trezona felt the chopper wasn’t developing the power that it should have had, but he was still pretty happy with it.

Leaving Dau Tieng in the afternoon, our first platoon formed into an echelon left, and we headed for the pick-up zone to load up with soldiers from the 25th Infantry Division. During flight we switched to trail formation and landed at the designated area, where the infantrymen got aboard. Each time I glanced back at their faces it occurred to me that this war was being fought by the cream of America’s youth — 18-, 19-, 20-year-old infantrymen carrying M-16s, grenade launchers, machine guns and various other weapons. These brave infantrymen will always have my utmost respect. I had been an infantry rifleman for almost two years before graduating from officer candidate school, and I knew these men not only fought the enemy but also faced the elements 24 hours a day. As aircrewmen we were constantly exposed to enemy fire, but at least we could take a shower most every night, drink some whiskey, and sleep in a bunk with a Colt .38 as a pillow.

Loaded with six ‘Electric Strawberries’ (as the 25th Infantry Division troops were known), our Huey lifted off and headed for the designated rendezvous point (RP) to form up with the second Crusader lift platoon. As we orbited over the RP at 1,500 feet, we could see the LZ in the distance being pounded with artillery. We hoped that those 105mm and 155mm high-explosive rounds were finding their targets. Our command and control (C&C) ship then ordered us to fly into a trail formation, with the second platoon in the lead and the first platoon following.

As we flew into our assault formation, my mind raced back to two weeks earlier, when I had pulled bunker line officer duty for the perimeter of Tay Ninh base camp. In the command bunker with me that night on guard duty had been Jim Brady, the crew chief. We had talked about our mothers and fathers, our brothers and sisters, and our feelings about the war. I felt very close to him after that night. We were young and brave, and we loved our country even though we knew that some American people, in their stupidity, were spitting on soldiers who were returning to San Francisco from Vietnam.

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Tags: 20th - 21st Century, Airborne Operations, Historical Conflicts, Historical Figures, People, Vietnam War

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