Watching The War Unfold Below

We all watched the war in Iraq unfold before our eyes, like no other war before it. Lara Logan's report offers a different camera angle -- from the sky.

This is the story of the risks faced by Apache helicopter pilots from a company in the 101st Airborne division, told in their own words.

"A lot of people don't understand that this isn't Hollywood. I mean, yeah it's cool to be an attack pilot and all this," says helicopter pilot Matt Johnson. "But man, this is so far away from Hollywood."

Johnson is usually a man of few words, the kind of person you would barely notice in a group. But he agreed to share his personal thoughts about the war, talking to a camera that CBS' Jeff Newton, who was embedded with the unit for more than a month, mounted in an Apache cockpit.

"This is deadly serious and real, and here you are doing it," says Johnson. "I guess the reality of my profession has pretty well kicked in too."

Johnson's unit of AH64 attack helicopters, known as the Eagle Warriors, provided close air support for coalition forces on the long, and sometimes lonely, march to Baghdad.

"I don't think the American public has any idea what it's like to be separated from everything you know, everything you love -- your family, your everyday life -- and stuck in the middle of nowhere in some desert like this," says Johnson. "I don't think the general public has any clue what that's like."

These young men found out for themselves. The very day the ground war began, they entered Iraq. They flew their first mission behind enemy lines in the fight for Karbala.

"The night before we went into Karbala, I discovered just how terrified I could be," says 31-year-old Mike Bollen, who has never flown into harm's way before.

It was up to Lt. Colonel Stephen Smith, Bollen's commanding officer, to put his men's fear aside and focus their minds on the mission.

"Our rendezvous with destiny is Karbala," says Smith, who led his team in prayer before they left. "I think you're ready for it. And I'm damned proud to be leading you all tonight."

However, the battle for Karbala turned into one of the bloodiest of the war.

The night skies were illuminated with slow motion flares so that ground artillery could find and destroy Iraqi targets. Flying under those conditions is dangerous for Apache pilots, because it's easier for enemy forces to spot them from the ground. Many helicopters returned from the mission riddled with bullet holes.

But for the Eagle Warriors, the fight for Karbala turned out to be less traumatic than just getting to the battlefield, and back to extreme desert conditions.

"Taking off and landing in day or night is always, always stressful, uncomfortable and damned scary," says Johnson. "As time goes on, you get more comfortable the more takeoffs and landings you do in the desert. But I'd much prefer a runway."

In four weeks of war, Apache units all over Iraq destroyed over a hundred enemy tanks, armored personnel carriers, and ammunition dumps.

Apaches also flew low over Iraqi cities, acting as the eyes and muscle for infantry on the ground, and attacked the positions of regular Iraqi soldiers and Saddam's Fedayeen fighters.

None of the Eagle Warriors Apache units were shot down. But in a little more than a week, three of the battalion's helicopters crashed.

"I was the first guy on the scene. I was there before the dust settled. I came out of the dark and into a dust cloud, and onto a wadded up piece of what used to be a helicopter," remembers Johnson.

"I pulled my buddies out of the cockpit. Later after that, another helicopter from a different company landed on its top. It was surreal. I couldn't believe what was going on. It scared the hell out of me."

Pilot Jeff Wellington crashed his helicopter during take-off.

"I've spent 18 years achieving certain goals gaining respect confidence of others in me as an instructor pilot," says Wellington. "I feel like I let everybody down. I was extremely embarrassed."

News that an Apache from the Army's 227th aviation regiment had been shot down came as an even greater shock. Iraqi television reported that a lone farmer, using only with an old army rifle, had blown it from the sky. The two pilots - missing for more than two weeks - were rescued after 22 days as Iraqi prisioners.

The men who shared their thoughts with our camera in the cockpit are camped out about 50 miles from Baghdad. Now, their dangerous night missions may be behind them.

They learned to treat their Apaches – armed with hellfire missiles and 30-millimeter heavy machine guns -- with respect. The Apache is not invulnerable. It's a fierce killing machine with a very thin skin. And it doesn't tolerate mistakes.

"There's no way you can get on the phone and call your mom or your dad or your brother and explain to them what it feels like flying over tree tops at night – and how on top of this airplane you have to be," says Johnson.

"It is not tolerant for one second of inattention. It's very unforgiving. It's a sweet airplane, but it's unforgiving."

The conditions in the Iraqi desert were as unforgiving as the helicopters. The unit had to endure severe dust storms, gale force winds, frigid nights and scorpions. Johnson described the whole experience for our camera with language he'd usually use with his fellow pilots.

" It sucks, it really sucks being here, it sucks doing what we gotta do," says Johnson. "Like I said, we gotta do it but I would much rather be at home with my wife, hanging out doing the things we like to do together."

Despite the trying conditions, the Eagle Warriors did not suffer any combat casualties in dozens of sorties.

"Americans seem to be happy when casualties are minimal," says Johnson. "I'm not happy when there are casualties at all. It bothers me, and that goes for the enemy too."

"I see targets but I cannot validate if they are hostile or not," adds Bollen. "But I guarantee you if I see a tank, it's dead. I don't care who's on it or who's around it. If you are driving a piece of military machinery, if you're supporting this regime, you're dead."

"We're out here as Apache pilots to go and destroy equipment, not mow down troops in the open," says Johnson. "That's the infantry's job."

But that's exactly what the Apache pilot did on this mission -- to the man you can just make out in a cockpit video, a man moving toward us.

"I don't want to go home and tell my family and friends what I've seen here. I've never been one to take anything for granted, but I'll tell you what," says Johnson, sighing. "I will be different when I go home. This will change me. It already has."