Chapter 37: COURTMARTIAL

Colonel Robinson has returned and asked I be reassigned to him. I’m also ordered to produce copies of all my flight logs during the time I was his aide and pilot. I am also notified, I may be called on to testify.

The whisky carton containing sensitive secret files is finally revealed. All those parties at the ARVN Colonel’s palatial mansion, now an ARVN General, were officially sanctioned investigation infiltrations by Colonel Robinson into the ARVN Colonel’s black marketing of US Military supplies and arms, given by our government to the Vietnamese. General P-----? is charged with theft and treason and Colonel Robinson is giving evidence at the General’s court-martial. His own Army is court-martial-ling the General, with one American General sitting on the court-martial board as a courtesy to their allies. Probably a US demand.

I hoped I might see Tham again, but didn’t happen.

It is gratifying to know, Colonel Robinson wasn’t abusing his authority for unauthorized play time. The danger to him, bearding the lion in the lions own den, was considerable. I’m grateful I was unaware at the time, of the risk we were taking. If Colonel Robinson was discovered and eliminated, his aides would be silenced too.

“It was an honor to serve with you, Sir.”

“You too, son. Take care.”

We parted at the Saigon airport, and I never saw the Colonel again. General P----? was found guilty and executed by firing squad. I heard, didn’t witness.

Back to flying missions, my days are growing short. The closer I come to my scheduled rotation home, the more tense and anxious I become. Survive an entire year of war, only to be killed the last day? I can see death’s skull smiling and waiting for me in the corner of my peripheral vision when I’m awake and always in my dreams.

The stress of the tension makes me want to scream! I do scream while the machine guns are filling the Huey with their chattering racket and smoke and I know no one can here my maniacal battle cry, defying death, not above the ear drum numbing guns firing. Even the guns firing sound like, ping, ping, pinging to my traumatized ears. I refuse to surrender to death now! Fuck you Boney! I’m going to live and go home. It’s THERE at home I’m doomed to be run over by a truck the first week I’m back. I know it, as sure as I was born! I’m effectively deaf for hours after a fire mission. All I can hear is a steady hum.

Getting a physical the final week before leaving reveals I have a twenty percent loss of hearing in my left ear and seventeen percent in my right. Prognosis is my hearing will further deteriorate as I age. My ear drums have scar tissue that will thicken as I grow older. Medical disability? Forget it. Nobody promised me I would be in perfect shape after Vietnam. Live with it, or ask the VA for a medical evaluation after discharge. That’s the advice I’m given by the physican reading out the news of my physical to me. Gee doc, such pretty thanks for my service.

The good news is, I’m grounded. Pilots need to use radio communications and my hearing is impaired beyond acceptable limits. My last few days in Vietnam is spent at a desk rejecting request forms for family emergency leaves. That isn’t me being petty. I was ordered to approve none of the requests.

Boarding the MAC flight to start my journey home, I view the ancient looking airliner skeptically. How long has it been since her last full inspection? How am I to know if she’s airworthy? This is ridiculous, get on board. Go home. What if we crash in the Pacific ocean? There’s a lot of ocean to cross. If we crash, I’ll be eaten by sea critters. I’m more afraid of being eaten, than dying! ARGH!