Sketch by Cliff Wheeler
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First Lieutenant Ned Richard Heintz10th CAB, 17th CAG, 1st. AVN BDE |
Sketch by Cliff Wheeler
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 Ned graduated from Riverside High School in Loga  n County, Ohio in 1964 and from Ohio State
University in June 1968. He was the student council president in high
school, and played on the schools varsity football and basketball teams.
Being from an agricultural family he was especially proud of the special
honor he received as being named the F.F.A. State Farmer of Ohio in 1964.
Ned was married on
September 15, 1968 to Karen Bishop of Arlington, Ohio. His Widow, Docto Flight School Graduation Class 69-36 Hunter AAF Mother Ethel, Wife Karen, Ned, Father Vernon Heintz  Ned practicing his golf swing, Nha Trang, RVN 1970
On May
11, 1970 The 281st AHC established a forward operations base at
Camp Holloway, Pleiku, RVN in preparation for aerial operations into
Cambodia. At approximately 8:55 p.m. on May 11, 1970 the base at Camp
Holloway came under enemy rocket attack and Ned was seriously wounded when
a rocket exploded in the immediate area of his living quarters. The same
rocket also killed four crewmembers of the Wolf Pack gun platoon that were
in an adjoining tent. They were Sgt. Joseph W. Cunningham, Sgt. Scott
E. Sutherland, Sgt. Daniel J. Vaughan and Specialist 4 Danny J. Taulbee.
Also seriously wounded was 1st Lieutenant Jared H. Bahre of the
1st Platoon (Rat Pack). Ned was immediately taken to the 71st
Evacuation Hospital in Pleiku, RVN. There, despite the efforts of doctors
and skilled medical personnel, Ned succumbed to his wounds at 3:20 p.m. on
May 16, 1970. In December 1970 at
ceremonies on the Bowling Green State University campus, Ned's widow, Mrs.
Karen Heintz was presented posthumous awards by the University's ROTC
department. Mrs. Heintz was presented with the Bronze Star Medal, Air
Medal with Second through Tenth Award and the Purple Heart. She also
received decorations, which were awarded to her husband prior to his
death, including the National Defense Service Medal, Vietnam Service
Medal, and Vietnam Campaign Medal.
Ned’s brother Larry
Heintz of 11620 West Elmore East Rd, Oak Harbor, Ohio and nephews Matthew
and David Heintz, and a niece Camille Heintz survive him. Biography Prepared
by: IN REMEMBRANCE OF NED HEINTZ
Roger C. Green, Jr.
When Ned Heintz arrived at the 281st
in early 1970 he was assigned as assistant platoon leader in the "Bandit
Platoon". I was the platoon leader at that time. Like most young officers
fresh out of flight school he wanted very much to fly, and make Aircraft
Commander. The only duty I gave the assistant platoon leader in the
Bandits was to learn to fly and to survive. Having what I felt were the
best pilots in the 281st, I knew it would not take him more
than a few months to gain the experience and expertise to be an AC.
Ned was a very enthusiastic outgoing
person and it didn't take him long to fit in with the platoon pilots and
crew chiefs. At that time we had four or five new Lieutenants and they
did tend to hang together and did some serious partying.
The 281st BOQ had the officers
living on the first floor and the Warrants lived on the second. The rooms
were small but had enough space for two occupants to live comfortably. On
the first floor CPT Jim Brown took the wall down between two rooms and
made a party room with a small plywood bar and big refrigerator (borrowed
from the 5th Group). This became a gathering place for any of
the pilots night or day, when not on a mission. After Jim left, Steve
Bovio and I inherited the room and expanded it to three connecting rooms.
Eventually Ned and Jerry Bahre moved into the room and it continued to be
a party area. Some local musicians such as John Korsbeck and Bob Edgley
often gave impromptu concerts there. Late one night during one of our get
togethers, someone remembered that the 5th Group field grade
quarters had a nice lounge area with a bamboo bar. It was decided by a
unanimous vote by all present the bar could be better utilized in our
room. At that time I believe it was Ned and about eight other pilots that
quietly sneaked into the field grade BOQ, also where our commander MAJ
Stevens lived and borrowed the bar for out room. I kept waiting for MAJ
Stevens to say something about the missing bar. It was never missed.
I will never forget how glad I was to see
Bob Mitchell, Ned and their crew chief Ron Lee when they picked us from a
very hot LZ one morning. They performed in the true 281st
tradition, bravely and as a team.
The last time I saw Ned was on 11 May
1970. Ned, Jerry Bahre and myself had packed our bags and were getting on
the helicopter headed to Pleiku to participate with the unit in the
Cambodia invasion (Operation Binh Tay I). The unit was already setup in
Pleiku and MAJ Stevens, the CO was flying additional pilots up for the
operation. At that time I was the Company Executive Officer and the
Commander decided that I should stay in Nha Trang and run the rear
operation. I reluctantly got off the helicopter. That day we lost five
outstanding soldiers to a rocket attack on our base camp at Pleiku.
Ned clearly had his future laid out after
the Army. He and his wife Karen were both schoolteachers and had a farm
in central Ohio where they were going to make their life together. He
thoroughly enjoyed flying but farming was his real passion.
Ned was a friend and an outstanding
officer who I will always remember. Not a day goes by that I don't
remember those soldiers I served with in the 281st. They were
my friends and comrades who I trusted and was willing to die for if
necessary.
Roger C. Green Jr.
To: 28lst AHC members and their
families:
I'm submitting this letter to our Book of
Remembrances for Ned Heintz, but also for all our guys who died in Viet
Nam.
Ned, Jim Kelly, and I were assistant
platoon leaders in early l970. That's a status that marked us clearly as
not in command of the platoon, and not in command of the
ships in the air (the clear venue of the warrant officers). We were
acutely aware that we were expected to achieve both platoon leader and AC
status within a period of months. Consequently, we, along with one or two
other stray lieutenants, were the most comfortable and formed the
strongest bonds with each other.
Ned was the most athletic member of the
company that I can remember. When we all had an uneventful night in Nha
Trang, we'd have a midnight basketball game, either against each other or
some SF headquarters people. Most of us took up space under the basket,
while Ned scored points off his hook shot.
Another thing I remember is the day Steve
Bovio died. Many of you who were my close friends were there. I
wasn't. Ned was.
I left Viet Nam abruptly in May, l9070,
wounded by a rocket that killed five of our guys. While in the hospital
at Qui Nhon, I had been informed of the other casualties. When I returned
to the States and was discharged, I knew that I had lost a lot of friends,
and I had the impression that there were probably more, and I didn't need
to know that.
That is not to say that I didn't think
about our company. Here, I can count maybe twenty people who would drive
five miles in a snowstorm to get me if my car broke down. There, it goes
without saying, each of us risked or sometimes lost his life to save
another.
So, I didn't have any contact for thirty
years with the 28lst, until June, when Roger Green called me and told me
about the Memorial Service in D.C. My wife and I attended. It was a
wonderful thing. First and foremost, to honor and remember our fallen.
And second, to re-establish ties with our company.
Ned Heintz was my friend. So were
several of the others remembered here. The ones I knew and the ones I did
not know personally, I am proud to be in the same company with them.
Sincerely, NED HEINTZ
Marshall Hawkins I was asked to write
my memories of Ned Heintz some 30 years after my acquaintance with that
fine young man. What follows is my best recollection of the events leading
up to and including the evening of May 11, 1970 particularly in regards to
Ned. All matters mentioned herein are subject to correction by “facts”
which aren’t necessarily part of my memories. (In other words, I also am
subject to the CRS disease). The purpose of the story, although perhaps a
bit long-winded, is to describe the conditions under which Ned lived the
last days of his life and the rocket attack, which claimed it. I arrived at the 281st
a day or two after New Years, 1970 and was assigned to Rat Pack. During my
newbie period, I ran into a number of people I had known in flight school,
including Jerry Bahre who introduced me to a long tall LT named Heintz. We
were all in about the same condition, all FNG’s, all trying to get our
check rides, get in the air and learn what was expected of us. All the
while trying to figure out how to stay alive. The unit had just lost a
full crew a little over a month before we got there and was still the
subject of considerable talk in the barracks, BOQ and WOPA Alley.
Additionally, the unit had a workload that was staggering in terms of
hours flown. It took me two weeks to get an in-country check ride because
they couldn’t free up one of our IP’s from mission assignments.
In February or
March, Roger Green was kicked upstairs to become the XO and I took over as
Platoon Leader of the Bandits. I don’t remember the TOE for the platoon
but remember there was 1 or 2 other Captains, 4 or 5 LT’s, 20-30 Warrants
and probably as many NCO’s and EM for the 11 helicopters and assorted
ground vehicles, tentage and such. Ned, like all the other LT’s, was
primarily a main line flyer, utilized pretty much like the warrant
officers. Again, we were all flying 100 hour plus months, which didn’t
leave much time for anything else. Important things like vector control
officer, unit fund advisory committee, and the like. Ned, like all other
LT’s, was flying his butt off. If
my memory serves me, 90 hours was all you could fly a month without a
medical waiver. Those waivers became routine and at 140 hours we were
supposedly grounded. I remember plenty of nights, sitting in Operations
analyzing all mission assignments, trying to estimate the number of hours
it should take for each mission and then, assigning a crew that could fly
that number of hours without exceeding the 140. It wouldn’t have surprised
me if Ned had flown 600 hours in the 6 months he was there.
Also, during that time, the unit was
experiencing a large number of casualties. It seemed like every other week
we were losing people in combat and non-combat operations. We lost eight
people during the month of February alone. I believe Ned was part of the
flight that heard Steve Bovio as he was hit. I was flying PP toward the
rear of the flight when Steve was hit by a bullet that had somehow came
through the wing window (really wasn’t a wing window in that it did not
open but was positioned like a wing window in an old model car) missed the
armor plating and then missed his “chicken plate”. It doesn’t look
possible but it happened. The bullet went through his spine causing
immediate paralysis and as his foot was on the floor mike, we heard his
groaning for several long minutes before the flight leader finally came up
on an alternate channel and had us change frequency. Steve died a couple
of days later. Ned, like the rest of us, was scared but got up the next
morning, strapped in and flew another long day.
I don’t remember the exact date but
sometime during February/March, I woke up to a hellacious noise in the
hallway of the BOQ. I walked out of my door to find out “what the hell was
going on” (indicates my mood) and was promptly doused with a bucket of
water. I punched the person holding the bucket-Lt Ned Heintz. (For thirty
years that I’ve been telling this story, I could have sworn that he was
celebrating the birth of his child- but Karen tells me it must have been a
nephew or something because she had no children by him) After finding out
the cause for celebration, I apologized to him and joined into their
merriment.
Sometime in early May, I was awakened by
an operations clerk and informed that the missions I had just assigned a
couple hours before had been cancelled and that we were told to standby
for a new mission. Finally about 3:00 am, we were told to take about half
the company to Camp Holloway (Pleiku) and get a mission briefing from the
52nd (?) Aviation Battalion there at 6:00 am. We scrambled our crews and
equipment and arrived on time, even though it was a 2-½ hour flight. The
mission-support of ground operations in Cambodia.
Even though we got there on time, many
other units had arrived before us. As such, all habitable structures were
taken. We had revetments for the aircraft but had to pitch GP medium tents
to sleep in. We placed them in two rows, three tents in each row on a
baseball field complete with backstop. We had an aircraft lighting set (a
set of lights with generator that was generally used to work on aircraft
at night) placed to shine light down the center aisle. Also, due to our
lateness in getting into the Cambodian operation, there were no sandbags
or 55 gallon drums (which could be filled with water) left to provide
protection. The plan was to get to the ditch surrounding the baseball
field during mortar or rocket attacks.
In thirty years of retrospect, I believe
that we had a serious disrespect for rockets and mortars. In Nha Trang, we
would get on top of our bunkers, drink beer and watch the VC mortar Camp
McDermott (?) (Army installation at Nha Trang over next to the mountains).
Our facilities were out of range for the VC and as such we didn’t have any
first hand experience with that. Also, I believe most of us had developed
an attitude that we would only die by that “bullet with our name on it”
and when it was our time, nothing you could do would prevent it. As I got
older, I realized that there were a large number of bullets addressed “to
whom it may concern” but they don’t send old guys to war, do they? We were up there several days and flying our asses off. May 11th was a particularly hard day for me. I had been in the air like 8 of the 14 hours out as a Charlie-Charlie (Command and Control) with a full Colonel from the 4th Infantry Division who couldn’t read a map. He wanted to put his people into the valleys (he thought they were ridgelines) and my PP was an FNG who couldn’t be relied on to fly a given course or heading. Upon my return (about sunset), I headed for the tents to drop off my gear before I attempted to find a good meal and cold beer. I don’t remember now just which tent I slept in but was right between the backstop of the baseball field and the first tent in that row when the first rocket came in. My map bag went one direction, my helmet the other and I went to the ground. The rocket landed down in the revetments. I jumped up and ran over to the ditch surrounding the field about 10 meters from the doorway of the second tent in that row. I remember a warrant officer (Schulz?) was there before me. He was a second tour guy having spent the first year as a grunt. He said “you had better get those guys out of there” and I said, “Why, aren’t they coming?” He said, “No, they are putting on their boots and getting dressed.” At that point, I started hollering for them to get a move on it. I don’t think there was as much urgency in my voice as there should have been, because I, like they, believed it would be a one round attack and that we would probably lay in the ditch for a while before getting up and going about our business. If I remember right, we had had a couple of those type attacks in previous nights. At any rate, I was in the middle of one of those “coaxing’s” when I heard the whistle of the next round. I barely had time to drop my head before one hell of a blast tore through area. After the dirt and debris had stopped falling, I lifted my head and looked toward the tents. The second tent had sustained the most damage. The shrapnel had cut the corner post, allowing the top to drape down. The lighting set shining down the center aisle silhouetted all of the holes in the second tent. I jumped up and ran toward the tent and stumbled into the crater the rocket had left. It was about 10 ft long, 2 ft wide and 2 ft deep. I regained my footing and made my way into the tent. Immediately to my left was Cunningham, still in his sleeping bag with a large piece of shrapnel lodged in his chest. Cunningham was a previous member of the Bandits, having transferred to the Wolfpack only a couple of week’s prior. His eyes were open and obviously dead. Immediately to my right were a couple of guys I didn’t recognize that had chest wounds. I forgot the name but there was a warrant officer there who had taken charge. He sounded like a medical doctor with his specific directions on what to get and how to dress the wounds. About that time, someone was shouting that we had no way to get ambulances or corpsmen. I knew there was a phone down in the end tent on the other row of tents so made my way through the rubble, noticing several other people down and some walking wounded. (One Staff Sergeant from the gun platoon was walking but had some very colorful words to say about his situation) I got to the location of the field telephone and found a sharp young operations clerk (Jewish kid from New York) who had the TOC on the line but he didn’t have a whole lot of information to give so I got on the phone and told him we had 8 or 10 down, send all ambulances and if they sent too many we would send them back the ones we didn’t need.
I headed back for the second tent. There,
lying well out of the tent was Jerry Bahre. I didn’t even know Jerry was
up there, apparently arriving that day. Jerry and I had been in flight
school together and had even had him over for supper. (He was a bachelor).
Jerry was propped up on his elbow, holding his crotch and in his quiet,
gentle manner saying something about this had better be a wound that would
send him home or he was really going to be pissed. I looked at his wound
and assured him that he would be back in the unit within two weeks.
(Fortunately for him, I was not his doctor because he got a medical
retirement and went on to marry his college sweetheart, become a lawyer
and then own a construction company.)
I left Jerry and went to the second tent.
Lying in the doorway of the tent was a large fellow covered in dirt and
blood. Another guy and I pulled him on clear of the door and rolled him
over on his back. He was still conscious from the look in his eye but
could not speak. I told him to not try and that he would be out of there
in a few minutes. He had taken shrapnel in the leg and lower stomach. He
was bleeding badly, particularly from the leg wound. I tried a compress
bandage but it didn’t hold so used my belt for a tourniquet, which seemed
to work. About that time the ambulances arrived. One of the medics had
apparently been shaving because he still had soap on his face. I hollered
at him to get this one out first and there were two more on the other side
of the tent that needed to go next and the rest were either dead or less
severe. The medic laid down the stretcher next to him and grabbed his
feet. I lifted his shoulders and we put him on the stretcher. Another
medic got there then and together they carried him to the ambulance. I
then went back in the tent to direct traffic, clear aisle ways, etc. It
was only later when trying to put together a list of casualties that I
found out Ned Heintz was the big guy in the doorway.
For several days thereafter, as our
flying would permit, a group of us would get in an old ¾ ton and drive
over to see him. He wasn’t conscious but we would talk to him anyways. The
doctors explained to us (as I remembered it) that they just couldn’t stop
the bleeding. He had so many wounds that he had virtually lost all of his
original blood and the coagulants from some one else’s blood wouldn’t work
with him. Anyway, I believe they did everything they could do for him and
that he was in no pain.
Ned Heintz was a good soldier. He did
everything that was expected of him and then some. During some very trying
times, he persevered. He loved flying and the people around him. He was as
solid as a rock.
Marshall Hawkins Bandit 26
Ned's Remembrance He
loved to play any kind of ball on Sunday afternoon with buddies. He was
always on winning teams. Baseball in Pony League, his team won several
championships. Basketball his Jr. and Sr. years in high school. His team
was League champs and went to the Regionals. Football his Senior year,
the coach switched him from tight end after the first few games when they
couldn't score to fullback and put the fullback at halfback, and they
finished the season unbeaten and 1 and 2 in scoring and won the conference
title. He was truly a team player, not caring what position he played, so
long as he could contribute to the team. He just seemed to be a natural born leader who was a people person who loved to voice his opinion. In high school, he was Student Council President both his Jr. and Sr. years and was President of the Future Farmers of America for 3 years and became a State Farmer. His Senior year, he led his Student Council in a debate in front of the student body on school finance before a much-needed school levy was to be voted on. Needless to say, the levy passed very easily. After our trip to D.C. for the 281st Reunion and Memorial Service last July, Karen and I visited Ned's hometown, DeGraff, Ohio and met with his Senior Class Secretary who stated that their classmates have maintained a $500 per year scholarship in his honor for the past 30 years.
Just before he left for Viet Nam, he and
his wife, Karen, bought a farm about 2 miles from Mom and Dad, and he was
planning on farming and maybe doing some crop dusting or spraying when he
returned. He spent his last 6 weeks before he left working on his farm
and making plans. HE ALWAYS HAD A POSITIVE ATTITUDE.
Being nearly 5 years older than Ned, our
interests were at a different level. I regret that we could not share our
adult lives together. Even with the age difference, we did have a fierce
competition in anything we participated in. HE WAS ONE TOUGH LITTLE
BROTHER. Larry Heintz,
Brother
A Letter From Mrs. Ned Heintz A
heartfelt thank you to all the 28lst for including us in the Remembrance
Ceremony held in Washington, D.C. last July. We were a little shocked to
hear from Roger Green after so many years and were so glad to be invited
to attend the ceremony. It was a very emotional time for everyone present
and, yet, very reassuring to see that you guys still have a bond that even
years cannot break and that you have always remembered the ones you left
behind.
Ned and I met in September, l967, when he
was a student teacher in the Agriculture Department at a high school in
Ohio, and I was a first-year Business teacher. I can still picture this
tall, handsome man walking into my classroom after school early in
September and confidently introducing himself and asking me to show him
around town. We seemed to immediately mesh together and continued to date
when he returned to Ohio State University in January to complete his
senior year. We became engaged in April, l968 and shared pinning on his
2Lt. bars at his ROTC commissioning and graduation in June, l968.
Ned started flying fixed wing aircraft
while still a student at OSU and was hooked from day one. We married in
September, l968 and began "our" Army life in November, l968. Ned always
called me his "co-pilot" (as if I flew the plane). Our first posting at
Fort Knox, Kentucky from November, l968 to March, l969 for Armor Officer's
Basic School was a new experience for both of us. We spent hour’s spit
shining his boots, polishing his brass, learning how to "read" military
rank and how military protocol works. The 4 months was a new adventure
during the winter for newlyweds freezing in a WWII-vintage trailer
off-post. Love conquers all.
Our next assignment was to start flight
school at Fort Wolters, Texas (March, l969 to July, l969) and celebrate
the check rides and the first solo that was accompanied by opening a
bottle of champagne that had been chilling in the refrigerator for the
occasion. Then, in July, off to Savannah, Georgia, for the completion of
flight school. It was a VERY proud moment to pin those wings on Ned in
November, l969 and have him say, "WE made it! Being a part of "the
military family" was a good life, and we both enjoyed it very much. The
friends we made have been in my thoughts all these years, and I often
wonder where all of them are now.
Ned and I planned to move back to Ohio
eventually and settle on the farm we bought while he was on leave before
departing for Viet Nam. As much as he loved flying, he loved farming
more. Before we left for the airport in Dayton, Ohio in December, l969
for his departure for Viet Nam, we made one last stop at our farm to walk
around the snow-covered fields. This is where we were going to settle
down, raise children, and forge out our future. It was very difficult to
see our farm this summer and see someone else living our dream. Ned
always had a plan and was determined to meet every goal with a stubborn
will that never let up until "the job was done." His enthusiasm,
optimism, and love of life and people always were there and rubbed off on
everyone around him.
I feel very blessed to have shared those
precious years with such a wonderful man. He will always be in my
thoughts as he was a very special person who is missed by so many people
Good memories do last forever.
God bless all of you and keep the flame
going. We all need each other so that we will never forget the things we
all shared. All of you are truly "such good men". Ned would be proud!! Karen Heintz Forcht
SO NIGH IS GRANDEUR TO OUR DUST
Ralph Waldo Emerson
1st Lt. Ned Richard Heintz was
Twenty-Three years and Eleven months old when he gave his life for his
country and his fellow soldiers. Ned was a true hero and an Intruder that
we are proud to call our Brother. A MAN IS NOT DEAD UNTIL HE IS FORGOTTEN |
ONCE AN
INTRUDER....ALWAYS AN INTRUDER
