Spoiler alert. It does have typos.
Sunday, April 22, 2018
Monday, February 5, 2018
ROLL ON BROTHER, ROLL ON
The air is cold, but the sky is hot with the hammer of rotor blades. Pilot in the front says, Give em all you got, boys
We dive to towards the ground and sink our lead into the Hot LZ We're spitting support and giving it out best shot.
Wild eyed men sitting around us wonder if we've gone mad. And I'm thinking, Welcome to Nan.
Popping ammo boxes left and right, we're yelling to them get out and stay low. Plenty of brush out there. And if they heard us, they'll live the drop off.
Our tracers paint a line to the edge of the perimeter and then left and right.
We lift away amidst the rain of enemy fire and watch the Cobras come down from the sky in a furious roar follow those tracers and wax the area with strafing and 2.75 inch rocket pounding so viciously well that at 500 foot long, 2 foot wide newly formed creek bed.
We're clear of the enemy fire. But then look at each other confused, "Okay, sir, what are we doing?"
"Playing medevac, one of ours took a round in the leg. He'll bleed out before a real one gets here."
Ground chatter gets crazy. Seems like when heaven opens its doors, bravery doesn't have to knock.
F-4s were our angles this day as they filled that creek bed with napalm. We could feel the heat from left and right. Hear Charlie Cong's screams into vaporization.
Karama is a bitch.
The extraction took 10 seconds. Lying him down and raising his leg, my belt just above the wound helped to slow the bleeding. But his heart pounding too hard. Field expediency took care of that.
The pilots looked back and laughed. "Well that's one way to get it done."
"Figured I didn't have to ask permission, sir"
"For what, we didn't see anything."
The pilots switched radio channels. Just off the coast of Phu Bai was a white ship with a red cross on it.
"Sanctuary, this is hotel one nine six seven. We have an wounded soldier with a whole through his main artery in his leg. We're running low on fuel."
Do you know that ship turned and gave us a straight in approach to the back of the ship. And in less than five minutes we landed, the gurney was pulled over and the wounded unconscious solder on the gurney and we were gone.
Few months later, I'm polishing up the Plexiglass on my bird and I see his reflection, I turned around.
"Can I help you, Sir?"
"You've got a hell of a left hook, Sergent."
I chucked nervously, "That's what they tell me, Sir"
I hit a Captain? Damn, I should have hit him harder.
"They tell me that punch saved my life. They also told me that your belt also helped to stop the bleeding. So I'm writing you up. Not for assaulting an officer, but for an act of bravery."
"Sir, I was just trying to help another American solder from being sent home in a body bag."
"I understand, but the way I see it, if I don't write you up, you'll never remember my name and I want you to remember my name."
I said, "yes, sir".
We saluted each other. As he walked away, "Sir, how did you find me?"
"It was on your belt. A name I will never forget."
Thirty years later, I'm flipping through my Facebook page and there he was. A West Point retired Four Star and he's speaking to a West Point graduating class. I click on the link.
He starts with, "You may, as I have had to do, put men into harms way. Honor these men with as much respect and dignity as you expect them to respect the orders you give.
"And there may be times in your career when you find yourself totally depending upon them who hold the balance of life or death in their hands. Karama is unyielding.
"When we went into the field in Vietnam, we officers knew our rank was what the North Vietnamese were trained to look for so it came off during insertions.
"I took a round out there. Went clean through my leg but nicked an artery. Two brave pilots, a door gunner and a crew chief by the name of Sergeant Billy Martin decided that I was going to bleed out."
About that time, in the kitchen the plate drops by my wife who thought I was full of it when I'd tell her about the story.
"Under the protection of F-4s hitting the edges of the enemy perimeter with napalm, they come in, pick me up. The crew chief pulled out a rolled up belt he had in one of the pouches he was carrying and put it above the wound. He made sure I was flat on my back and raised my leg.
"He checked my pulse, smiled down at me and with a mean left hook, he knocked out. Plum out of my misery. Hell, I didn't remember a thing past that until after surgery. That was the meanest left hook that ever took."
After the laughter. The General continued.
"Well, thanks to his belt, I knew where to find him. At first, I think he thought I was going to throw the book at him. Write him up for hitting an officer. But I was there to think him for saving my life. Told him I was going to write him up for an act of heroism.
"I never did. I don't think that was what he wanted. In fact, I don't think any of the enlisted soldiers really want to have to explain to others the things that they did that measure up to an act of bravery.
"What I believe young solders want it to go home in one piece both mentally and physically. And in Vietnam, I think we were too brazen to think of our young enlisted soldiers as anything but a human machine being told what to do and how to do it.
"So, today, I'm ending this with a warning. You hold the rank of an officer and and in battle, you hold your life in the hands of our enlisted soldiers. Why should they honor you with respect if you don't honor them with yours? Theses are men and not machines.
"As for me, I am forever in debt to the man who saved my life by knocking me out with meanest left hook that ever took.
"Thank you for your time, may god be with you all."
Wife whispers, "That was really you." with a new found air of respect.
And all I could think about is his eyes staring through the camera at me while saluting the class and what I wanted to say back to him in person, "roll on brother, roll on."
Thursday, January 11, 2018
AH-1G Cobra Rebuild: The Middle
Some things have got to pass. Like gas. Sometimes, when you think one's coming and you don't just get it over with all at once, it comes out sounding like a fog horn and clears out the hanger.
Luckily for me, I just did mine outside of ear shot while smoking my pipe. Wild Cherry smoke perfumes over it pretty well.
But I wasn't outside the hooch that night just because the guys didn't want to smell my exhaust system but because the men were having a full fledged Dear John pity party complete with a stand around the center of the room confined fire as the popped tops on their favorite cold brew and burnt their cum coated letters and pictures of the girls who played them for fools.
After all, Christmas was fading towards the New Years and whatever these men sent to the gals for Christmas was becoming obvious that the letters were part of a national scam to get GIs to shell out money for their poor little family who desperately needs their little boy with an assortment of ailments not humanly possible.
Then it happened. At first, I thought I was hearing things. A single M16s firing on semi-automatic was firing at something outside of our perimeter. Next came the flairs and more M16s started making noise. Off in the distance you could hear the whine of the Cobra turbines and the blades picking up speed.
While the sirens share a reality I was already aware of, a sobering silence replaced the pity party and the sounds of putting on flak jackets, combat helmets and and slamming clips of 16 rounds into their M16.
Then some serious 40mm tracer rounds were being fired back into Camp Eagle and they were red, white and blue. The Cobras started shutting down and the night got quiet again. The all clear sirens sounded and the men went back to burning their bitches.
I didn't even bother with breakfast. Dogs with hangovers wasn't worth messing with. They sure as shoot you and ask questions later. I grabbed a bartered for smokes John Wayne bar and headed for a hanger.
I was beginning to understand why what I was doing down at the hanger was far more important than playing social games with men from the south and more importantly, a Georgia Red Neck. Not saying I'm prejudice. But they had their ways of letting you know they were.
Why am I in Vietnam with the hostiles all around us and we, as Americans could stand each other?
When they signed you up, they never said it was going to be easy. I got that. But when the hostiles were Americans, it made you wonder what war was really being fought here the Vietnam or the Civil War?
I jumped the mud filled drainage ditch and head for my salvation: An AH-1G Cobra now torn down to just the body. No tail boom, no engine, no transmission. It was time to put her back together again from the ground up.
By the time Sergeant Solomon came to me, the new skids were under the Cobra an bolted on. Before I could start that, Sergeant Solomon has something to say.
"You need to go over to S1. A Captain Franklin needs to talk to you ASAP."
Well, that sounded pretty serious, so I stopped everything, cleaned up my hands and headed over to S1 and had no idea what or why he'd want to talk to me.
Walking up the stairs, opening the door to the office I was greeted by a familiar face. So this is where that PFC at the mess hall works.
"Ah, PFC Edwards, one moment and I'll tell Captain Franklin that you're here."
He got up, knocked on the officer's office door and was told to send me in.
I walked into his office, proceeded to salute him and stood at attention.
"At ease, PFC Edwards. Do you know what a Congressional is?"
"No sir I don't."
"Well, it boils down to the fact that any civilian -- in this case, your father -- can contact a public official from his state and voice a complaint that, in your particular case, you were being treated unfairly."
"Sir, I'm at a loss for words."
"Apparently your father wasn't. Says here that he, as an x US Army Recruiter himself, he knows the Army spent a good chunk of money training you on being a helicopter repairman, becoming a Cobra mechanic and wanted to know why you weren't working in your field of expertise. Citing washing vehicles, burning human waste and other unrelated activities as being demoralizing for a relative of John Clark."
"Sir, excuse my ignorance, but who the heck is John Clark?"
"Didn't they teach you about the Louis and Clark Expedition?"
"I pretty much slept through High School with two jobs and a flying club to run, sir."
"Explains why your GT score is only 105.
"There was also something else. He said he was there when the recruiter said you were signing up for 3 years, is that true?"
"Yes Sir."
"And you thought you were signing up for fixed wing training."
"Yes Sir."
"Do you really want to be in the Army, PFC Edwards?"
You know, if this question was asked of me three weeks prior before I had seen those 37 Cobras flying over, I would have said no. But with all that has happened since then and where I was at with the rebuilding of a Cobra, you'd have to hand cuff me to the bird heading stateside.
"No, sir."
"Then as I see it, you have 30 days to find a Cobra unit that will accept you as a Cobra mechanic or you're heading home. Dismissed."
I did a salute, and walked out.
Notes to self.
Just because your mother hates your father doesn't mean the two if them aren't talking.
Don't give mom anymore ammo, she already packs enough heat of her own.
What goes around, comes around.
Time to get the cobra done.
"Sergeant Solomon wants to see you in his office."
"Didn't know we had a celebrity among us."
"You don't and why do I get this sneaky suspicion that you know my father."
"We were the ones responsible in Korea for flying all the USO shows around Korea. I meant him when he was working with them and taking pictures of Debbie Reynolds in pig tails."
"I am nothing like my father."
"No," he agreed, "You are not."
"Then let me get this Cobra done."
"Who said I wasn't? What I am going to tell you is I know for a fact that B Battery, 4th Battalion, 77th Field Artillery is losing 80% of is enlisted and that's where you should be able to transfer over to it. When you're waiting for the tail boom hangers to come in, go over there and tell them that Sergeant Solomon thinks you would be a good fit.
"In the mean time, rebuilt the Cobra."
I smiled at that and walked out of his office.
I tore this bird from the top down. Its time to rebuild it for the bottom up.
Where's those safety wire pliers?
Luckily for me, I just did mine outside of ear shot while smoking my pipe. Wild Cherry smoke perfumes over it pretty well.
But I wasn't outside the hooch that night just because the guys didn't want to smell my exhaust system but because the men were having a full fledged Dear John pity party complete with a stand around the center of the room confined fire as the popped tops on their favorite cold brew and burnt their cum coated letters and pictures of the girls who played them for fools.
After all, Christmas was fading towards the New Years and whatever these men sent to the gals for Christmas was becoming obvious that the letters were part of a national scam to get GIs to shell out money for their poor little family who desperately needs their little boy with an assortment of ailments not humanly possible.
Then it happened. At first, I thought I was hearing things. A single M16s firing on semi-automatic was firing at something outside of our perimeter. Next came the flairs and more M16s started making noise. Off in the distance you could hear the whine of the Cobra turbines and the blades picking up speed.
While the sirens share a reality I was already aware of, a sobering silence replaced the pity party and the sounds of putting on flak jackets, combat helmets and and slamming clips of 16 rounds into their M16.
Then some serious 40mm tracer rounds were being fired back into Camp Eagle and they were red, white and blue. The Cobras started shutting down and the night got quiet again. The all clear sirens sounded and the men went back to burning their bitches.
I didn't even bother with breakfast. Dogs with hangovers wasn't worth messing with. They sure as shoot you and ask questions later. I grabbed a bartered for smokes John Wayne bar and headed for a hanger.
I was beginning to understand why what I was doing down at the hanger was far more important than playing social games with men from the south and more importantly, a Georgia Red Neck. Not saying I'm prejudice. But they had their ways of letting you know they were.
Why am I in Vietnam with the hostiles all around us and we, as Americans could stand each other?
When they signed you up, they never said it was going to be easy. I got that. But when the hostiles were Americans, it made you wonder what war was really being fought here the Vietnam or the Civil War?
I jumped the mud filled drainage ditch and head for my salvation: An AH-1G Cobra now torn down to just the body. No tail boom, no engine, no transmission. It was time to put her back together again from the ground up.
By the time Sergeant Solomon came to me, the new skids were under the Cobra an bolted on. Before I could start that, Sergeant Solomon has something to say.
"You need to go over to S1. A Captain Franklin needs to talk to you ASAP."
Well, that sounded pretty serious, so I stopped everything, cleaned up my hands and headed over to S1 and had no idea what or why he'd want to talk to me.
Walking up the stairs, opening the door to the office I was greeted by a familiar face. So this is where that PFC at the mess hall works.
"Ah, PFC Edwards, one moment and I'll tell Captain Franklin that you're here."
He got up, knocked on the officer's office door and was told to send me in.
I walked into his office, proceeded to salute him and stood at attention.
"At ease, PFC Edwards. Do you know what a Congressional is?"
"No sir I don't."
"Well, it boils down to the fact that any civilian -- in this case, your father -- can contact a public official from his state and voice a complaint that, in your particular case, you were being treated unfairly."
"Sir, I'm at a loss for words."
"Apparently your father wasn't. Says here that he, as an x US Army Recruiter himself, he knows the Army spent a good chunk of money training you on being a helicopter repairman, becoming a Cobra mechanic and wanted to know why you weren't working in your field of expertise. Citing washing vehicles, burning human waste and other unrelated activities as being demoralizing for a relative of John Clark."
"Sir, excuse my ignorance, but who the heck is John Clark?"
"Didn't they teach you about the Louis and Clark Expedition?"
"I pretty much slept through High School with two jobs and a flying club to run, sir."
"Explains why your GT score is only 105.
"There was also something else. He said he was there when the recruiter said you were signing up for 3 years, is that true?"
"Yes Sir."
"And you thought you were signing up for fixed wing training."
"Yes Sir."
"Do you really want to be in the Army, PFC Edwards?"
You know, if this question was asked of me three weeks prior before I had seen those 37 Cobras flying over, I would have said no. But with all that has happened since then and where I was at with the rebuilding of a Cobra, you'd have to hand cuff me to the bird heading stateside.
"No, sir."
"Then as I see it, you have 30 days to find a Cobra unit that will accept you as a Cobra mechanic or you're heading home. Dismissed."
I did a salute, and walked out.
Notes to self.
Just because your mother hates your father doesn't mean the two if them aren't talking.
Don't give mom anymore ammo, she already packs enough heat of her own.
What goes around, comes around.
Time to get the cobra done.
"Sergeant Solomon wants to see you in his office."
"Didn't know we had a celebrity among us."
"You don't and why do I get this sneaky suspicion that you know my father."
"We were the ones responsible in Korea for flying all the USO shows around Korea. I meant him when he was working with them and taking pictures of Debbie Reynolds in pig tails."
"I am nothing like my father."
"No," he agreed, "You are not."
"Then let me get this Cobra done."
"Who said I wasn't? What I am going to tell you is I know for a fact that B Battery, 4th Battalion, 77th Field Artillery is losing 80% of is enlisted and that's where you should be able to transfer over to it. When you're waiting for the tail boom hangers to come in, go over there and tell them that Sergeant Solomon thinks you would be a good fit.
"In the mean time, rebuilt the Cobra."
I smiled at that and walked out of his office.
I tore this bird from the top down. Its time to rebuild it for the bottom up.
Where's those safety wire pliers?
AH-1G Cobra Rebuild: The End
I'm not sure what was more fun. Taking it apart or putting it back together.
I do know one thing, the more challenging phase of this was, indeed, putting it back together.
Since Sergeant Solomon gave me two days off, I put the second in over at B Battery, 4th Battalion, 77th Field Artillery.
Seemed like everything over there spoke to me as being home.
It felt like the place had a mission to do and a keen sense of purpose. Where pure testosterone was standard operating procedure. Where a ball busting mix Warrant and Artillery Officers pushed their Cobras to the limits and back. And where the maintenance hanger was a buzz with all kinds of maintenance personnel putting back together what they broke.
There was a tall lanky Lieutenant in maintenance operations whom which I saluted and asked who would I have to talk to so I could transfer over to this unit.
He pointed to a Captain and said that would be Caption Kramp. I went up to him, saluted him and told him I wanted to transfer over to his unit. He looked at me with one of his usual are you crazy looks and said, "So who sent you over here?"
I told him Master Sergeant Solomon over at A Company, 5th Transportation. "He told me to tell you to call him if you have any questions."
"He did, did he?"
"Yes sir."
"What's your MOS?"
"67Y20, Sir"
Have you ever had one of those moments when you said something and everyone around you got deathly quiet? This was one of those moments.
"Your not the one rebuilding that Cobra all alone, are you?"
"I have had help, Sir. But yes."
"Welcome to the El Toros." I saluted, turned and walked away. I felt like a hundred eyes were watching me. What the hell was going on?
The next morning, I cornered Sergeant Solomon.
"You need to see this, please," I said with a sense of urgency. "Do you see anything wrong with these blades?"
He studied them for a moment. "No."
"If I were to take a string and go from blade tip to blade tip, you would probably see it. They aren't in line. In fact, using an eye ball estimate, there's somewhere between 4 and 6 degrees forward. And this is what most like cause the accident."
"You can see this?"
"I took 5 years worth of mechanical drawing in High School, I'm a stickler for accuracy."
"Okay, take it down to prop and rotter and let them balance it. We have to put it back on anyway. Let them tell us just how far out of alignment it was."
Came back as being 4.5 degrees off alignment. One of those more shiny moments.
A week later, I was told my move was approved and a week after that, I was packing my duffle bag with my belongings. The same day the Huey team took to the task of checking all of what I did on the Cobra now standing proud and complete.
"PFC Edwards, Sergeant Solomon wants to see you before you go."
"I'm on my way."
I put my duffle bag down and walked across the street to the hanger where Sergeant Solomon was waiting for me.
"I want you to take a look. A real hard, long look."
There was a Huey mechanic about to put the flag up so the rotor blades would hit the mooring tips against the duct tape with red and blue markings. That's how we balanced rotor blades.
"The normal estimated time to go from where that Cobra entered our hanger to this moment in time is 320 man hours."
"So, I was right on time?"
"For 6 men doing the main frame work."
"Oh."
"Edwards, I don't want you going anywhere."
"You are serious, aren't you?"
"As a heart attack. You know when you first arrived, I labeled you as a dud. I was seriously wrong. And I don't admit that often. I'll let you work on anything you want to work on."
"What about that congressional?
"We can work around it, please stay."
I thought about it for a moment. "Sergeant Solomon, you gave me a chance to prove myself and I appreciate that, but my heart if telling me a change with a fresh start is something I need to do."
"Well, if you ever change your mind, you know who to come to."
I smiled, shook his hand and said, "Thank you, Sergeant Solomon for everything."
That would be the last time I would ever see him again.
It was the longest, loneliest 15 minute walk of my life going to the Headquarters building of the 4th Battalion, 77th Field Artillery.
But you know what the biggest complement was? I saw that AH-1G Cobra come in for refueling. I watched it fly smoothly over my head, transition and move with precision sideways and then just as clean, touch the ground smooth as glass.
It gave me goose bumps. And I almost dropped my bag in amazement.
It was then that I vowed, no matter what happens over the course of then next 6 months. No one could take away what i know I did and saw what I just saw.
It was time to write a new chapter.
I do know one thing, the more challenging phase of this was, indeed, putting it back together.
Since Sergeant Solomon gave me two days off, I put the second in over at B Battery, 4th Battalion, 77th Field Artillery.
Seemed like everything over there spoke to me as being home.
It felt like the place had a mission to do and a keen sense of purpose. Where pure testosterone was standard operating procedure. Where a ball busting mix Warrant and Artillery Officers pushed their Cobras to the limits and back. And where the maintenance hanger was a buzz with all kinds of maintenance personnel putting back together what they broke.
There was a tall lanky Lieutenant in maintenance operations whom which I saluted and asked who would I have to talk to so I could transfer over to this unit.
He pointed to a Captain and said that would be Caption Kramp. I went up to him, saluted him and told him I wanted to transfer over to his unit. He looked at me with one of his usual are you crazy looks and said, "So who sent you over here?"
I told him Master Sergeant Solomon over at A Company, 5th Transportation. "He told me to tell you to call him if you have any questions."
"He did, did he?"
"Yes sir."
"What's your MOS?"
"67Y20, Sir"
Have you ever had one of those moments when you said something and everyone around you got deathly quiet? This was one of those moments.
"Your not the one rebuilding that Cobra all alone, are you?"
"I have had help, Sir. But yes."
"Welcome to the El Toros." I saluted, turned and walked away. I felt like a hundred eyes were watching me. What the hell was going on?
The next morning, I cornered Sergeant Solomon.
"You need to see this, please," I said with a sense of urgency. "Do you see anything wrong with these blades?"
He studied them for a moment. "No."
"If I were to take a string and go from blade tip to blade tip, you would probably see it. They aren't in line. In fact, using an eye ball estimate, there's somewhere between 4 and 6 degrees forward. And this is what most like cause the accident."
"You can see this?"
"I took 5 years worth of mechanical drawing in High School, I'm a stickler for accuracy."
"Okay, take it down to prop and rotter and let them balance it. We have to put it back on anyway. Let them tell us just how far out of alignment it was."
Came back as being 4.5 degrees off alignment. One of those more shiny moments.
A week later, I was told my move was approved and a week after that, I was packing my duffle bag with my belongings. The same day the Huey team took to the task of checking all of what I did on the Cobra now standing proud and complete.
"PFC Edwards, Sergeant Solomon wants to see you before you go."
"I'm on my way."
I put my duffle bag down and walked across the street to the hanger where Sergeant Solomon was waiting for me.
"I want you to take a look. A real hard, long look."
There was a Huey mechanic about to put the flag up so the rotor blades would hit the mooring tips against the duct tape with red and blue markings. That's how we balanced rotor blades.
"The normal estimated time to go from where that Cobra entered our hanger to this moment in time is 320 man hours."
"So, I was right on time?"
"For 6 men doing the main frame work."
"Oh."
"Edwards, I don't want you going anywhere."
"You are serious, aren't you?"
"As a heart attack. You know when you first arrived, I labeled you as a dud. I was seriously wrong. And I don't admit that often. I'll let you work on anything you want to work on."
"What about that congressional?
"We can work around it, please stay."
I thought about it for a moment. "Sergeant Solomon, you gave me a chance to prove myself and I appreciate that, but my heart if telling me a change with a fresh start is something I need to do."
"Well, if you ever change your mind, you know who to come to."
I smiled, shook his hand and said, "Thank you, Sergeant Solomon for everything."
That would be the last time I would ever see him again.
It was the longest, loneliest 15 minute walk of my life going to the Headquarters building of the 4th Battalion, 77th Field Artillery.
But you know what the biggest complement was? I saw that AH-1G Cobra come in for refueling. I watched it fly smoothly over my head, transition and move with precision sideways and then just as clean, touch the ground smooth as glass.
It gave me goose bumps. And I almost dropped my bag in amazement.
It was then that I vowed, no matter what happens over the course of then next 6 months. No one could take away what i know I did and saw what I just saw.
It was time to write a new chapter.
Wednesday, January 3, 2018
Some Cobra Pilots were USA certified gung ho crazy.
I have come to the conclusion that there were three kinds of Cobra Pilots in Vietnam. Those who wanted to come home in one piece, those who wanted to curl up in a corner and wanted to be left alone, and those who were just plain out and out freaking A grade gung ho crazy.
These guys were so gung ho, they made John Wayne look like a poster child for the lame duck society.
These guys invented, patented and perpetuated road rage.
Get Lt.Jeffery Johns -- a relatively mild mannered -- supercharged with a fire mission and you better not slow him down. Yes, this is the same guy I went down to Da Nang with while headed to R&R together and that started a bond.
Yes, he chewed my ass off when I tell him to get out of the Cobra after he witnessed a midair collision over Firebase Nancy on a practice red alert and continues to do so going to and from the field medical tent.
And yes, we became the best of friends after that.
But when he was in one of those moments, I really didn't care for the Mr.Hyde version.
Three days before going home, we watch him check out some armament personnel because they were stopping him from getting into the chopper and flying off -- once again -- without a front seat. LT
Craig Gies and I were watching the drama unfold..
So he takes off. Returning minutes later with that same pod dangling for dear life on the back hook and securing apparatus. 18 rockets staring -- would the vector increase lift and spin? -- at the ground, protesting one pilots' inability to wait until the pod was correctly aligned.
I'm laughing. Craig Gies has a smirk on his face.
The thought of karma was making my ability to not stop laughing almost impossible to contain.
Trying to be a bit more composed, he walks by me, puts his hand on my shoulder.
"They're trying to kill me."
Any thoughts of composure left Vietnam.
These guys were so gung ho, they made John Wayne look like a poster child for the lame duck society.
These guys invented, patented and perpetuated road rage.
Get Lt.Jeffery Johns -- a relatively mild mannered -- supercharged with a fire mission and you better not slow him down. Yes, this is the same guy I went down to Da Nang with while headed to R&R together and that started a bond.
Yes, he chewed my ass off when I tell him to get out of the Cobra after he witnessed a midair collision over Firebase Nancy on a practice red alert and continues to do so going to and from the field medical tent.
And yes, we became the best of friends after that.
But when he was in one of those moments, I really didn't care for the Mr.Hyde version.
Three days before going home, we watch him check out some armament personnel because they were stopping him from getting into the chopper and flying off -- once again -- without a front seat. LT
Craig Gies and I were watching the drama unfold..
So he takes off. Returning minutes later with that same pod dangling for dear life on the back hook and securing apparatus. 18 rockets staring -- would the vector increase lift and spin? -- at the ground, protesting one pilots' inability to wait until the pod was correctly aligned.
I'm laughing. Craig Gies has a smirk on his face.
The thought of karma was making my ability to not stop laughing almost impossible to contain.
Trying to be a bit more composed, he walks by me, puts his hand on my shoulder.
"They're trying to kill me."
Any thoughts of composure left Vietnam.
The Night MASH GOT A TRASHED RATING
There was a Chinook Company --- I think it was B Company, 159th
Aviation Battalion but I'm not sure -- directly across the street from
Headquarters, 4/77th -- I got assigned to it as the Battalion Stringer
in the middle of July.
Sometime in August or September -- I lost my mind by then -- we wanted to watch MASH.
I mean WE ALL REALLY WANTED TO WATCH MASH.
So, there were in front of the silver screen, the projector almost as loud as the speakers. The smell of excitement in the air. Eyes focused on the screen.
On a planet known as Chinook field far, far away, the single whine of the small hydraulic turbine comes on line.
Eyes glued to the silver screen. Temperatures rising.
The twin engines come alive.
Hooping and hollering begins.
The blades increase in speed.
Naked, Naked ladies.
You hear the blades take to the task of lifting the Chinook into the air.
Then silence.
More naked, naked ladies.
KA WHAM!!
Listen, if was just a 122, we would have been really pissed and probably continued watching!
But NO metal was flying everywhere! whizzing by, hitting metal all around us. OH, my gawd, this is it!
Some new way Charlie was coming at us with a new type of weapon none of us was yet familiar with and WE were in the middle of it and had no idea whee it came from.
125 men went from sex starved to craw daddy mode in an instant. The projector took a direct hit. Not clear if that was friend or foe.
It took what felt like ten minutes for all the metal to stop banging against things and three hours for us to wait for an all clear and realize it wasn't coming.
We all went to bed wondering what the heck happened.
Question, what does a Chinook look like landing upside down on top of where the rotor blades used to be?
Like a totally busted Chinook that landed upside down where the rotor blades used to be.
Sigh.
We never did finish MASH. So, I guess the knock, knock Chinook jokes was a satisfactory compensation.
Sometime in August or September -- I lost my mind by then -- we wanted to watch MASH.
I mean WE ALL REALLY WANTED TO WATCH MASH.
So, there were in front of the silver screen, the projector almost as loud as the speakers. The smell of excitement in the air. Eyes focused on the screen.
On a planet known as Chinook field far, far away, the single whine of the small hydraulic turbine comes on line.
Eyes glued to the silver screen. Temperatures rising.
The twin engines come alive.
Hooping and hollering begins.
The blades increase in speed.
Naked, Naked ladies.
You hear the blades take to the task of lifting the Chinook into the air.
Then silence.
More naked, naked ladies.
KA WHAM!!
Listen, if was just a 122, we would have been really pissed and probably continued watching!
But NO metal was flying everywhere! whizzing by, hitting metal all around us. OH, my gawd, this is it!
Some new way Charlie was coming at us with a new type of weapon none of us was yet familiar with and WE were in the middle of it and had no idea whee it came from.
125 men went from sex starved to craw daddy mode in an instant. The projector took a direct hit. Not clear if that was friend or foe.
It took what felt like ten minutes for all the metal to stop banging against things and three hours for us to wait for an all clear and realize it wasn't coming.
We all went to bed wondering what the heck happened.
Question, what does a Chinook look like landing upside down on top of where the rotor blades used to be?
Like a totally busted Chinook that landed upside down where the rotor blades used to be.
Sigh.
We never did finish MASH. So, I guess the knock, knock Chinook jokes was a satisfactory compensation.
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