Comments in the email


    I was a crewchief my first tour and on second tour a crewchief/Platoon Sergeant of the 114th Aslt Hel COBRA gun platoon.  We flew “B” and “C” model Huey armed helicopters.  The name COBRA is a little misleading, except for the guys that flew with them at Vinh Long.  ACTUALLY the COBRA AH-1 helicopter got its name from our platoon name.  That is a proven fact.  It is still the only helicopter that doesn’t have an Indian name.  I completed a 1 year tour from Jan 65 – Jan 66 and then came right back to them in May 66 – Mar 67.  Jul 66 – Feb 67 as Platoon Sergeant.  We had some outstanding Gunners come to us from the 25th.  My first gunner was Eddie Lee Coke who sent me this website.  Lee taught me, as he was the Gunner on the acft when I took it over.  Acft UH-1B 63-12942.  We lost that old gal in June 66 up by Moc Hoa.  After Lee, I had a couple of Smith’s as my Gunner. 

    When I returned to the states in Feb 69 I was assigned to Ft. Rucker where I was an instructor in aerial gunnery for two and a half years training door gunners.  Well my flying friend, I hope I didn’t bend your ear to much, But you asked.

    I have been forever thankful to have flown with those men.


Mike “Daddy Snake” Schrumpf




Whew, bro thanks for taking the v out, like I was saying I want only to aide you in your effort to divulge the true stories of the warriors from the misty Kukus Mts. where hell had another definition to our young very youthful minds LOL. We were the warriors who came running out of the Kukus willingly to fight battles for a little relief from hell no brother. The Blue Collar Division that is hidden in the mists of the Khukus so no one sees us and only to be brought out in case of war. These are the true tales of our state of minds when JR. Walker and the All Stars big hit “Shotgun” in the spring/summer of 1965 as life in the quads came slowly into a buzz of high energy when tales of warriors filled the air in the quads as we sat on the verge of complete deployment. Young hearts thirsting for a far off adventure as the war drums beat in our hearts the warriors of democracy going off the only warriors in history to do so, fight for ideals of world freedom. Beating deep within me at least because my father welded into my heart and mind that this country is “GODS” gift to the world, so be it, I am an “American Warrior” now descendent from a long line of “Mongol Warriors”. To be one you must “fear being a coward more then you fear death”, thus the Wolfhounds and I were destined to be with their motto of “No Fear On Earth” it’ll work close enough. I just never tell them I fear being a coward.

Wolfhounds forever

Your Wolfhound Bro

A1/27 3/65-12/66

Webmaster Note: I remember all the running we had to do in training and the singing of “Shotgun”. Seems Silver Wings was also a big while running hit.  Try running five miles while singing those songs now!

I remember Jr.’s Shotgun,  was a big hit back then Here is a link to Jr. Walker and the The All Stars click on the Shotgun link to play the song



Doug Wilson


The good thing about reunions such as the 145th CAB is having your own “Shotgun Mini Reunion”. Its up to you to invite all your Shotgun program friends reguardless if they ever was in the 145th or not.Jim Bodkin wont mind.The 145th selects the hotel, provides the dinner ect. All Shotgun has to do is show up and pay. The 335th & 155th started out at the VHCMA reunion. The Casper Aviation started out at the VHPA reunion. After you get big you can branch off or just continue to gather at the 145th reunions. Its just a thought.


Here is the link to the 145th reunion  click on reunion on the left side bar,  webmaster.



We went to Camp Holloway Pleiku and flew with the 52nd Av. Bat 119 AML (Crocs and Gators) the gunships were crocs. I flew the first half on gunships, then I flew on slicks. I was in a slick when we helped lift the seige at DuCo Special Forces Camp and carried out their dead. I was in a gunship escort mission when LT. Ball’s chopper got hit. It was there and then it wasn’t the first empty feeling unfortunately there many more to follow.  Johnny R. Triplett and I spent the last weekend at Ft. DeRussey together in the same room on a three day pass before we left for Vietnam.

Wolfhounds forever

Mike Moschkin []



From Richard Cacioppe former Shotgun Platoon Leader


Be sure to click on the 118th Assault Helicopter Co. link provided by Richard for some great stories.  The site also has a good history of the Shotgun Program and early door gunners.



  Good to hear from you.  Thanks for your efforts on preserving the ‘Shotgun’ experience.  I was the Shotgun platoon leader with the 118th Avn Co. at Bien Hoa from September to December 1964.  My platoon was made up mostly of troops from my battalion in the 25th ID, 1st Bn, 14th Infantry.  I had a few folks from artillery batteries as well.

  I do have some orders I can fax or mail to you for my platoon and one or two others.  I’m sure you know about the 118th web site which has some good info.  It has an entire section on ‘shotgun’.  It also has an article I wrote in 1968 about a mission we flew in Ban Me Thouet during a Montagnard uprising in 1964.  You can get there by ‘googling’ me, Richard Cacioppe or going to  That page will let you access their ‘Shotgun’ section.  My story is in the I Remember section under the title, “I flew It Ban Me Thouet.”

  After I returned to Hawaii from Shotgun the entire 25th ID was sent back to RVN.  My Brigade went to Pleiku, the other two Brigades went to Cu Chi.  I spent most of my 11 months this time with the 1/14th on the Cambodian border.  I got a one month curtailment because of my ‘shotgun’ time.  After I returned home, I was assigned to a Basic Training unit at Fort Dix.  After being told I was going back for a third time, (they were hard up for Infantry officers) I reluctantly resigned.  I loved the Army, but I just didn’t want to be away from my family any more.  I finished up my career in the Guard and Reserves, retiring as a LTC.

  Incidentally, the guy that followed me in the next Shotgun platoon from my battalion was Terry Scott, who retired as a three star and was the head of Special Ops for awhile.  The last email I have for him is:

  I now own a business that sells construction and survey instrument in the midwest.  How about you?  Were you a 25th ID guy?  What did you do after the war?

  Send me an address and I’ll send you copies of the orders.  I have a ton of slides.  If I can find them and figure out how to copy them to a disk, I’ll send them to you.  Thanks again for your efforts.

    Best wishes,


 P.S. I got your info from Anna, the ‘little’ sister of Sgt. Jesse Harris who was in my Shotgun platoon, but was later KIA when we returned to RVN in 1966. 



I was on Shotgun # 8 out of Camp Hollaway,Pleiku. I was there from late 64 to early 65. I was there when Camp Hollaway was attack by the VC 2/7/65. I was awarded 3 Air Medals & a Purple Heart. My next tour was with A/co/1st/ 35th 12 months as lead FO. Two more purple Hearts and many other medals& awards. A D Ramsey—-( OLD CACTI MAN)


I was in Shotgun IV. from May 1964 to Sept 1964 at the 119th Helicopter Co, Camp Holloway, Pleiku,RVN,

I serve with B Troop 3rd Sqdn, 4th US Cav, from jun 1963, went to Viet Nam with the 3/4 Cav, tranfered to A co. 25th Aviation Little Bear, in Cu-chi when the unit came in from Ft Benning, until Feb 1967.  E-5.Roberto L. Molinary-Martinez. did received my wings with the G, still have it. Thanks for this site,, WELCOME HOME..  Im Native of Puerto Rico, Reside in Columbis, SC.


This had to come from a grunt, anyway he said thanks no name.

The Man In the Doorway
They came in low and hot, close to the trees and dropped their tail in a flare, rocked forward and we raced for the open doorways. This was always the worst for us, we couldn’t hear anything and our backs were turned to the tree line. The best you could hope for was a sign on the face of the man in the doorway, leaning out waiting to help with a tug or to lay down some lead. Sometimes you could glance quickly at his face and pick up a clue as to what was about to happen. We would pitch ourselves in headfirst and tumble against the scuffed riveted aluminum, grab for a handhold and will that son-of-a-bitch into the air. Sometimes the deck was slick with blood or worse, sometimes something had been left in the shadows under the web seats, sometimes they landed in a shallow river to wash them out. Sometimes they were late, sometimes…they were parked in some other LZ with their rotors turning a lazy arc, a ghost crew strapped in once too often, motionless, waiting for their own lift, their own bags, once too often into the margins. The getting on and the getting off were the worst for us but this was all he knew, the man in the doorway, he was always standing there in the noise, watching, urging…swinging out with his gun, grabbing the black plastic and heaving, leaning out and spitting, spitting the taste away, as though it would go away…

They came in low and hot, close to the trees and dropped their tail in a flare, rocked forward and began to kick the boxes out, bouncing against the skids, piling up on  each other, food and water, and bullets…a thousand pounds of C’s, warm water and rounds, 7.62mm, half a ton of life and death. And when the deck was clear, we would pile the bags, swing them against their weight and throw them through the doorway, his doorway, onto his deck and nod and he’d speak into that little mic and they’d go nose down and lift into their last flight, their last extraction. Sometimes he’d raise a thumb or perhaps a fist or sometimes just a sly, knowing smile, knowing we were staying and he was going but also knowing he’d be back, he’d be back in a blink, standing in the swirling noise and the rotor wash, back to let us rush through his door and skid across his deck and will that son-of-a-bitch into the air.

They came in low and hot, close to the trees and dropped their tail in a flare, rocked forward, kicked out the boxes and slipped the litter across the deck and sometimes he’d lean down and hold the IV and brush the dirt off of a bloodless face, or hold back the flailing arms and the tears, a thumbs-up to the right seat and you’re only minutes away from the white sheets and the saws and the plasma.

 They came in low and hot, close to the trees and dropped their tail in a flare, rocked forward and we’d never hear that sound again without feeling our stomachs go just a bit weightless, listen just a bit closer for the gunfire and look up for the man in the doorway.