“He backed the tail end of the plane into this tree, the tail rotor broke off and it hit me across the head… it sent me blowing.”
Jungle warfare in Vietnam was perilous for the 172 personnel in New Zealand’s Victor 3 Company, with firefights, booby traps and tropical disease.
Nelsonian Don Shand was one of those brave men, serving as an infantryman and a platoon medic in one of the most decorated New Zealand units in the Vietnam War.
A 20-year-old Motueka tobacco worker when he signed the dotted line to join the Army on July 10, 1967 “to see the world”, Don was met with an unprecedented form of danger, “a bloody disaster” that could’ve been fatal.
He’d been based at Nui Dat between 1968 and 69, searching and destroying areas believed to be enemy strongholds.
Malaria-stricken comrades had prompted a Bell UH-1 Iroquois to be called in for their evacuation, and its unfazed pilot attempted to land in thick scrubland after recommendations to winch from 40ft.
“I was giving the sign ‘get up’, and [the pilot] was nodding at me, and I was pointing at the tree and the tail of the Iroquois and he’s nodding and next thing, ‘bang, it all happened’,” he says.
Don was instructing from the ground around 10 metres from the helicopter’s tail rotor.
“He backed the tail end of the plane into this tree, the tail rotor broke off and it hit me across the head… it sent me blowing,” he says.
“It was a big thump, I was a bit lucky, the blade must have hit me on the flat side… In my mind, I remember doing these backward flips, but I was obviously knocked out.
“They had to bring another chopper in to take us out, then they had to bring another chopper in to take out the one that had crashed, it held up the platoon there for the rest of that day, guarding it against any Vietnamese activity that might come around.”
Don says the pilot’s “broken” intercom system likely caused the crash. A bruise, and “a lot of hair missing” weren’t the only things left when Don recovered, the disconnected tail rotor which put him out of action was on the ground beside him.
“I gave it a kick, and I said, ‘that would make a good souvenir’,” he recalls.
“When the guys moved on, they took it with them, and one of the guys was a bit of an artist and he drew these little cartoons on it, and some of the people that were there signed it, and I still have it to this day.
“There’s always highs and lows [in war], and I think that you just override the lows, and after a while, you learn to switch off.”
The 78-year-old says he’d attended local dawn services since returning from Vietnam in 1969, and every Anzac Day falls in with his ilk followed by a gunfire breakfast - a coffee with a tot of rum.
