When you were slotted for Albatross 07 it was nearly a day off. We got a day off from flying once a month whether we needed it or not, when I say nearly a day off what I mean is,short of something big happening in the province one could laze around the 9SQN crewroom and catch up on little jobs such as bringing a flying log book up to date or write a letter. As long as your aircraft captain knew where you where one could even toddle off the Concession shop at back beach Vung Tau for a bit of shopping. But not today.

My crew had a game of 500's going. The squadron crew room was situated in the roof of the main aircraft maintenance hanger accommodating both Iroqouis and Caribou (Wallaby) squadrons. The Plexiglas windows vibrated as a Bronco sniffer plane poured on the power for take off almost drowning out the rattle of the ancient air conditioner that half filled it. I grabbed my cup of coffee before it vibrated off the end of the home made low boy table liberally covered in cigarette burns and stains of various hues plus the odd dog eared Playboy magazine.

The landline buzzed irritably. Flt.Lt. Frank Riley, 07's boss threw down his hand, ambled over and picked up the hand set. The monosyllable conversation, which followed, was enough to stir us into movement, we wandered down the stairs and out to the revetment where Albatross 07 sat gunned up and ready to go. Frank filled us in on the mission as we strapped in.

It seems a 300lb bomb had been located a half a click off the end of the main North South runway, either jettisoned or dropped off. The Royal Australian Naval EOD (explosives and ordinance demolition) team needed it moved to a safe stretch of beach where they would then make it go bang. Our job was to lift it there as an external load by cargo net. We informed Air Traffic Control we were airborne, who promptly diverted all air traffic to the East West runways. We were pleased with that vote of confidence, no sweat. We orbited the 'Fishheads' who were scattered in various positions all horizontal around a big, ugly looking piece of ironmongery at the bottom of a large hole.

Landing at a respectful distance in a direction indicated by someone who's only evidence of rank was that his shorts were clean and a tin hat with a badge on the front. "She's right to go" he yelled at Muff Mulholland, the co-pilot " we just have to roll the bugger into the net" so saying he hauled the cargo net from the cabin floor and meandered back to his troops. The conversation, while we waited was mainly to the affect of why anyone would be stupid enough to go around defusing unexploded bombs, or swimming in a harbor in the middle of the night looking for mines to play with, especially when one saw what floated around in that harbor.

Shortly, one of the navy types appeared from the hole and stuck his thumb up, they were ready for the lift. Peter Flynn, my door gunner and myself adopted prone positions on the floor at our respective doors to guide the aircraft over the load. As soon as the cargo net slipped on the hook we lowered the chopper to allow the EOD team to climb into the aircraft and began to lift the load.

Frank Riley must have been one of the finest pilots I have ever flown with and when he began to run out of pedal and the tail began to rotate beneath the rotor he was starting to struggle to keep control. Fortunately a breeze off the beach made it's timely arrival and the aircraft sluggishly began to fly. " thought you blokes said it was a 300lb" Frank yelled at the bloke with the clean shorts." "Could be a bit bigger" returned the fishhead laconically. These blokes where positively ecstatic over the bang they were about to make.

We gently lowered the big brute on to the selected piece of beach and slipped the net, then found a spot to park while they packed the bomb with C4 and a timer. Scrambling back on board like big kids after doing something naughty we became airborne again and notified the tower of the pending explosion and got out of Dodge. We were orbiting near Lon Son Island when the brute went up, there was a colossal thump and shit crap and corruption flew everywhere leaving an enormous hole in the beach, dirty black smoke billowed into the blue Vietnamese sky. Cheers filled the chopper and high fives where exchanged among the team as we flew them back to their Radar Hill base.

The CPO, (clean shorts) replaced his tin hat with a headset and plugged into the aircraft intercom.

"That went well" he said to Frank.

"Yeah" replied the boss "much trouble getting the fuse out before we got there?"

"Nah" grinned the fishhead " Left the bugger in"!

It was four, very, subdued aircrew who wandered back from the flight line on that particular day.
Allan Jones

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