Chapter 33: BRING EM BACK

Not only did Colonel Robinson recommend I be decorated, he praised and promoted me on the spot.

“A young man with your courage and presence of mind under such difficult circumstances needs to be in the lead. You are a full pilot as of now and you’ll have the very next ship available for your own.”

Would he believe me if I told him the truth? Probably Colonel Robinson would misinterpret and wrongly accuse me of modesty as well.

On the bright side, with my own ship, I get to decide if the risk is to great and if I need to abort the mission. I suspect most missions will be too risky.

First day, yesterday’s fiasco was touch and go. Land the reinforcements who are to enlarge the force on the ground, and as soon as they’ve hopped off, take the chopper away fast. Blink and you missed it.

Today is my first full day in country, first full day on the job, and they changed the mission parameters on me. Now the Slicks are spread farther apart, arriving at the LZ in a more leisurely sequence. Today’s cargo’s of fresh young faces are replacements. Fresh meat for the grinder.

The choppers come in less frequently to allow the time necessary while the already ground meat is loaded on before we can zoom off to safety. Means sitting on the ground for several minutes or longer, instead of several seconds. A sitting duck!

The ground meat I refer to is, of course, the dead, dying, and wounded! They’re being evacuated. Medevac. They’re the former recently healthy young soldiers the replacements are here to replace.

It’s an indication things aren’t going too well for our side. Usually, I quickly learn, it means an even hotter LZ. Consider this tidbit as well. Don’t you think the VC have figured out by now, which side the pilot is sitting on? Who would you aim at? It also means you can’t refuse the mission. The wounded can’t wait for fairer weather or a less risky situation. It’s do or die trying.

I got married to avoid being sent on suicide missions! Where’s the damn rule book? Somebody is cheating, making up new rules as they go along! I’m tempted to pull up my pants and go home, if they’re going to play THIS nasty. If only it was as simple as soldiers resigning because it isn’t fun anymore, the war would finish up today. For both sides I suspect.

Flying seven to eight missions a day, day after day, each round trip mission requiring an hour and a half more or less, gets wearisome. I’ve been in this war five days. What idiot said you can get used to anything?

Thank gawd it’s Friday. I can either sleep in late or watch Saturday morning cartoons tomorrow. Wrong. The war doesn’t stop for weekends and holidays. Who created that stupid rule? What about our reliefs? What are weekend warriors for? Isn’t it to take our places on weekends and give us regular Army GI Joes a break? I need some time off from war. The rest of my life would be good.

One of my missions today, really horrified me. A bullet pierced the floor of the Huey and passed up between my legs, barely missing my crotch. The daylight is gone, flying is done, and it’s time to rest until dawn breaks tomorrow. First I have to finish this letter to my wife. I’m requesting she talk to the High School football coach and ask for a football cup to send to me. I need armor on my precious organs.

Three hundred sixty more days to survive before I can go home again.

Please vote and/or comment.

Yob