Crew Chief
by
Jesse T. McLeod

To Molly and Galen.  May this book in some small way help you to
understand why I'm so emotional and sometimes cry without explanation.

Contents

1.  Guard Duty

2.  It Begins

3.  You Do What You Have To Do

4.  R&R

5.  You Did It, Then You Talked About It, But Only Once

6.  Just For The Fun Of It

7.  Another Single Ship Night Mission

8.  So You Want To Play Games

9.  To Hunt And Be Hunted

10.  Games, Games And More Games

11.  Situation Ethics

12.  What's In A Hund?

13.  Sure I'm Mean But Don't Make Me Prove It!

14.  Is This Really What We Fight For?

15.  From The Depths of Terror To Euphoria...

16.  "But I Don't Want To!"

Epilogue

Introduction

I fell out of bed one night in the midst of a nightmare.  My wife asked
the obvious question, "Were you dreaming?"

"Yes."

"Would you like to tell me about it?"

"I don't remember what it was about."

That was what came out of my mouth.  Oh, how I wanted to pour out my
heart, to share my memories, to release what was locked within me, yet,
I could not.  To talk about Nam, the real Nam, the Nam of pain and
suffering and fear was, for me, an impossibility.  Sure, I could tell of
an occasional funny experience or of the long hours of boredom, but not
the stuff nightmares are made of.

Not long after that, I was at a luncheon meeting where one man seated at
my table seemed to be doing all the talking.  "Why can't these guys from
Vietnam just forget about it and get on with their lives?  Why do so
many of them have marriage problems?  After all, a lot of those guys
have been back for ten years or better, and it's time to quit crying
about it.  They're just a bunch of cry babies."

I looked up from the table top I'd been staring at and saw the one man
in the group (a WW II vet) who knew I was a Vietnam vet.  He looked me
in the eye and I knew he wanted my approval to speak.  I shook my head
ever so slightly as if to say, please don't tell him, but he spoke
anyway.

He asked the first gentleman, "Have you heard any of their stories? Have
you felt their fear or experienced their humiliation at the hands of
people like yourself?  If you haven't walked in their shoes, then maybe
you should keep your big mouth shut."

The thing that bothered me most was, "How were people ever going to
understand if no one told them what we went through?"  Sure, the vast
majority of guys who served in Nam never saw that first minute of
combat.  There was only a small percentage of us who were exposed to
combat almost every day.  How do you explain to someone what it was
like?  The ups, downs, the harassment, the fear, the constant fatigue.
These aren't things one tries to explain in a half hour.

After much thought and encouragement by a high school history teacher, I
decided to write this book.  My goal is to help those who wish to
understand us to come a little closer to that end.  For me, it has been
very painful to remember and write about and I apologize if the content
of the stories or language offends anyone.  I ask the reader to remember
that the average age of the Vietnam Vet was only 19, and many pray like
David, "Remember not the sins of my youth and my rebellious ways;
according to Your love remember me for You are good, O Lord," Psalm 25:7
NIV.

Some of the story is my own, some of it belongs to others I've known,
but most all of it has a basis in fact.  I will begin during the 1968
Tet Offensive.  My personal experience was that Tet was a time of the
most vicious and most intense fighting during my tour.  I didn't like
living part of it.  You may find parts of it you don't like reading.
Yet, these are some of the stories locked in our memories, so I ask you,
"Is it worth remembering?"  To me, it was necessary.

I have talked with fellow Vietnam veterans who were in companies similar
to mine.  Some of these men have only good memories of Nam and consider
it to have been a "good gig."  One former pilot told me he'd never been
shot at, let alone taken any hits or been shot down.  The one thing that
is obvious to me as I speak with other vets is that no two men had the
same experience.  As I thought about it, I realized that each company
had its own rules and those rules changed with a new commander.  The
constant moving of men from spot to spot and the shifting of personnel
from company to company caused a stirring that made it impossible for
one vet to say whether or not another's stories were true.  For example,
I had three different "permanent" pilots and countless spot pilots
during the time I flew.  The copilots changed on a daily basis as did
(for the most part) the door gunners.  I did have several permanent door
gunners on my ship, but none lasted more than thirty to forty days.  My
point in all of this is that there are combat veterans who didn't
experience any trauma and some are questioning those who did.  Every
person alone knows what he went through, and for some it's impossible to
explain or discuss those feelings.

Chapter One

Guard Duty

Jim MacLaughlin enjoyed his job as a crew chief on a UH-1 Huey about as
much as he hated pulling guard duty.  He took a great deal of pride in
his work.  As a result, he was well-liked and respected by most of the
officers and enlisted men in his company.  He always did his best to be
as clean as possible and to present himself as a soldier who was proud
of his uniform.

He had been "in Country" since May and had been flying since early
October.  It was January, to be exact, the twenty-ninth of January.  The
first day of the Vietnamese New Year would start tomorrow.  In honor of
that event, both sides had declared a thirty-six hour truce which would
start at 1800 hours that night.

Pulling guard duty in Jim's company was a fact of life for everyone
whose rank wasn't sergeant or higher.  On this night, Jim had two more
hours before he had to report for guard.  Of all the different types of
duty he had pulled, guard was second only to KP (Kitchen Police) in
terms of undesirability, although, guard wasn't so bad if you were lucky
enough to be assigned to interior as opposed to bunker duty.  Of all the
times he had pulled guard duty, only once had it been interior duty. The
rest of the time (about every ten days) he'd been stuck on the bunkers.
Interior duty was preferred because one never had to leave his own
company area and thus, could sleep in his own bed when not on duty. The
responsibility when on interior duty was simply to walk around the
company area looking for anything or anyone who wasn't supposed to be
there.  This walk occurred sometime during the night and usually lasted
only two hours.  The officer in charge of guard duty hardly ever checked
on the interior guards once they started their duty-primarily because he
usually couldn't find them.  There wasn't any assigned pattern they had
to follow.  Each man was responsible for waking the next person and was
not supposed to leave his post until the replacement had dressed and
relieved him.

Bunker duty was a lot different.  The bunkers were musty little one room
hollow mounds made out of sandbags.  The outside of the bunkers looked
like they wouldn't withstand a good, big, healthy wind, let alone an
enemy attack.  The sandbags were so deteriorated that many had broken
open, spilling their contents.  Since the bags had been filled with
local soil, the bunkers gave the appearance of large gray warts that had
died after hemorrhaging from various ulcers and open sores.

Some of the guys called the local soil, "laterite".  Jim was sure it was
some type of red clay with a high mineral content and just enough small
stone to make it hard to shovel.  Filling sandbags with it when it was
wet required two shovels-one shovel to dig the soil and the other to
scrape it off the first.  When the bags and their contents dried out, it
was like one solid block of concrete.  Filling sandbags with it when it
was totally dried out required the use of a pick first.  But then, one
of the first things a soldier learned about sandbags was to never, ever,
put sand in them.  Sand is simply too easy to shovel and put into bags,
plus it doesn't require all the extra work of the locally available
soil.  It wasn't hard to look at a bunker and tell which part had been
built with wet soil and which with dry.  When the wet soil in the bags
dried, the bags themselves rotted away and a solid block remained.

To enter the bunker, one walked through the open doorway, made
an immediate right turn, took three steps, turned left, took three more
steps, turned left again, and arrived in one large room.  The entrance
way had wood pallets for flooring, which had two purposes: first, they
kept the guards out of the mud during the rainy season, and secondly,
they made it impossible to enter the bunker quietly.  Once in the
bunker, one had all the comforts of home.  The walls were
decorated with leaky sandbags, and there was a twenty-five watt bulb in
the middle of the six-foot ceiling.  Each bunker came equipped with a
set of bunk beds and mattresses, with barely enough space between the
top and bottom to turn over.  The mattresses looked and felt like they
were left over from WW II.  The floor was dirt and there was the ever
present musty smell one would expect from a medieval dungeon.  In the
wall that faced 'no mans land' was a series of three small openings,
through which one could shoot or simply look out.

Jim decided he should quit thinking about the bunkers and start getting
ready.  He still had a lot to do and only two hours before reporting for
guard.  One good thing about bunker duty was that it meant getting the
next day off and as much as Jim enjoyed flying, he was more than ready
for a day off.  Being a crew chief with the 187th Assault Helicopter
Company had provided him with a lot of different experiences. Some of
the things he did, he enjoyed; others he found to be disgusting,
nauseating parts of the war.  He badly wanted and needed a break, even
if for only a day.  His body felt tired and his mental alertness had
begun to slip noticeably from the long, stressful hours.  He had been on
more single ship night missions in the last two weeks than during the
whole time he'd been flying.  Single ship night missions were usually
death-defying feats of bravery with a high casualty rate and,
consequently, were hated by most guys.

Jim had several misgivings about this cease fire.  The first was that if
they could stop the fighting for thirty-six hours, why couldn't they
stop it forever?  His second and primary concern was that everywhere he
looked, he saw signs of a massive build-up by the enemy and, almost
everyday, his company saw North Vietnamese Army Regulars (NVA), or at
least some signs of their existence.  American troops were involved in
more sustained fighting-something the Viet Cong wouldn't do under any
conditions.  The NVA alone would stand and fight.  Only a month ago,
American troops were complaining that the Cong wouldn't fight, they just
melted away.  Now, almost every day, they were seeing heavy action and
were taking some pretty severe losses.  The enemy fire directed at Jim's
company was a lot more accurate of late, and it seemed that everyday at
least one chopper took a hit.  A month ago that was unheard of.  The M16
in Jim's bunk had been completely broken down and cleaned, a job he
performed almost every night.  When in a hurry, Jim cleaned only the two
spots that would inevitably cause jamming: the firing chamber and the
trap door spring.  If the firing chamber had sand or dirt in it, the
bolt wouldn't seize onto the shell and eject the spent cartridge, a
situation that had cost more than one GI his life. As Jim reassembled
his M16, he made sure each part was spotless and would thus pass the
inspection that was always a part of guard duty. Jim put the reassembled
rifle in his wall locker, got out the shoe polish and started on his
boots.  The easiest way to stay out of trouble on guard duty was to be
very sure every part of his uniform was perfect before reporting for
duty.  Jim finished his boots, stripped, put on a towel and his shower
thongs, picked up the soap, and headed for the showers.  He had just
recently started to wear the thongs to the enlisted men's showers.  No
one had thought it important until one of the guys from maintenance
stepped barefoot on a scorpion.  He was taken to the hospital screaming
with intense pain.

The water was nice and warm as usual in the early afternoon.  Jim looked
around and saw that some of the other guys going on guard that night
were already present.  All the showers in Tay Ninh were of the same
construction: large black water tanks mounted on overhead platforms,
which allowed water to flow by gravity to the shower head below.  This
arrangement worked fine unless one was unfortunate enough to be taking a
shower when the water ran out.  Then, not only was there not enough
water to finish, but one also got covered with sand and dirt drawn from
the nearest river by the transport truck earlier that day. Having
finished his shower and brushed his teeth, Jim headed back to the hooch
to dress.

Jim's hooch was like all the rest, a building about 16' by 30' with a
cement floor, wood sides half way up and wire mesh up to the metal roof.
Inside was one large room with an aisle through the entire length and
doors at either end.  On both sides of the aisle, spaced every so often,
was a foot locker.  Behind each foot locker was an army bunk with green
mosquito netting held up by four, three-foot poles.  Beside each bunk
and, against the wall, was each man's wall locker.

He could smell the sickeningly sweet aroma of pot almost from the moment
he entered the hooch.  His company was in the process of drawing up
battle lines between the pot users and the non-users.

Jim had never been a user but, like most guys, had simply kept his mouth
shut and looked the other way.  Now, he was falling more and more into
the camp of the radical non-users.  He'd heard all the arguments from
both sides, yet, when he sat back and looked at it, it was only the
users who claimed what a great thing it was and how it didn't affect
their personalities or performance.  Jim didn't agree, for he had
witnessed more than one GI who had been a good soldier, proud of himself
as reflected in his dress and conduct, until he'd started smoking pot.
Once on pot, there seemed to be a gradual change in his conduct and
general outlook on life.

In fact, he had seen it enough times that he could draw up a typical
transition profile of a user.  The almost undetectable change in users
started with neglecting little things like haircuts.  Progressing into
heavier use, it seemed to cause a kind of laziness exhibited by neglect
of one's personal appearance and surroundings.  Little things, like not
sweeping up their area each morning or making their bunks, were usually
followed by personal degeneration.  Wearing clean clothes became
unimportant, hair was left unwashed and often showers were skipped
altogether.  Eventually, a user became a general slob and his vocabulary
dwindled to a handful of words.  Their performances on the helicopters
were much the same.  Jim disliked flying with a pot head, regardless of
his job or rank.  More often than not, the door gunners didn't clean
their guns, and one never knew what a stoned pilot was going to do. Crew
chiefs really into pot flew in ships that Jim wouldn't get into for
anything.  Fortunately, he now had enough time in the company and enough
respect that he rarely had to fly in someone else's plane.  He knew from
observation that some of the pot heads didn't change oil filters, pull
inspections, grease bearings or do a lot of the things a crew chief was
supposed to do.  Sloppy maintenance was easy to get away with as long as
one took the time to adjust the log book accordingly.

If a crew chief didn't feel like pulling his fifty hours inspection,
which took about two hours by himself, and included such things as
engine and transmission oil Filter inspection and oil changes, he could
get away without being caught by turning in his log book as though it
had been done.  As a result, it was nearly impossible for anyone other
than the crew chief, whose ship was parked next door, to know if the
inspection had been pulled or not.  So Jim knew who around him was and
was not pulling inspection.  After all, if he spent two nights a week
pulling inspections and performing other tasks on his ship, it wasn't
too hard to figure out why the guy on his right never did.

It was the crash about a week ago of a chopper in Jim's platoon that had
really brought things to a head and started the conflict between the
users and non-users.  Things had been really slow that day when,
suddenly, the next to the last ship in the flight went down.  The flight
had just dropped off troops and started to climb, when at about one
hundred feet, a MAY DAY came over the radio.

"May Day!  May Day!  This is Chalk Nine going down!"  That was all the
pilot had time to get out before the ship crashed.  The chopper behind
Chalk Nine circled and landed but found no one alive.  Since there
hadn't been a fire or explosion, the wreckage had been sling loaded back
to Tay Ninh.

Late that night, a group of guys collected at the club to discuss it
over a beer.  During the conversation, the company clerk said he had
been ordered to fill out paperwork as though they had been shot down by
enemy fire and were, thus, listed as "killed in action".  The crew chief
on Chalk Ten reported that it looked to him like Chalk Nine's main rotor
had quit turning, but he really wasn't sure.  The fellows from
maintenance thought that made a lot of sense, since one of them (against
orders), sneaked out to the wreckage and pulled the transmission and
engine oil filters.  He claimed the engine filter looked okay, but the
transmission's internal filter had so much metal in it, he could hardly
get it out to look at it.  As the crew chiefs talked about it, no one
could remember seeing the crew chief do any recent maintenance.  No one
in the group disputed the fact that their dead comrade was a lazy pot
head.  The next day the wreckage was sling loaded to Saigon.  The cause
of the crash was supposed to be determined there, but no one heard
anymore about it.  If it hadn't been for the fact that one of the most
well-liked pilots in the company had been killed in that crash, nothing
more would have come of it.  As it was, that crash was the constant
topic of conversation, and a lot of the guys blamed the pot heads for
his death.  Things that were tolerated a few days earlier, no longer
were, and a lot of the men were making it tougher on the users.

Pot had a smell all its own, and once Jim walked into his hooch he knew
it was in use.  Slowly he walked down the aisle looking in each bunk for
the perpetrator.  There wasn't anyone in the hooch, but Kenny's bunk
looked like someone had spent the day in it.  Jim figured it must have
been Kenny, but whoever had been smoking before he walked in must have
walked out the other door only seconds before.  Since no one was around,
he headed back to his own bunk to finish getting ready for guard.

Jim put on a clean uniform and the boots he had just polished.  As he
dressed, he began to wonder if he would get stuck with perimeter duty
tonight or get to pull interior duty, where he could sleep in his own
bed.  By now he was ready to go.  His watch told him he still had
fifteen minutes before time to report.  This was a good time to add a
few lines to a letter.  As he sat down on his foot locker, the platoon's
main flunky, Bob Kenny, came in the door with his pet monkey.

Sp/4 Kenny, a short, stocky man with round features, had been a door
gunner who hadn't taken very good care of his guns.  As a result, he
rarely flew and was put on details such as driving water trucks, picking
up the platoon's gunners after the flight had landed, and supervising
the Vietnamese civilians doing manual labor in the company area.

"Hi, Mac, I see you've got guard tonight."

"Yes, in about fifteen minutes.  Put on a record, would you please?"
Kenny put the monkey down, got his record player out and put on The
Supremes.  Kenny's favorite record started right out with, "I Hear a
Symphony".  The monkey had climbed unnoticed into the rafters and
started squawking.  Jim couldn't help but laugh, thinking that Diana
Ross wouldn't appreciate that accompaniment.  Suddenly, something hit
Jim on the left shoulder.  He turned his head to look and by reflex his
hand went up to brush it off, when the foul smell and sight of monkey
shit on his clean uniform hit him.

Jim's face went red with anger!

"Dammit, Kenny, that sorry-ass monkey just threw shit at me.  Man, I've
told you before, I'm going to kill that son-of-a-bitch and this is the
day."

"Mac, don't use your M16.  You'll have to clean it again before guard.

Besides, you should be leaving right now."

Jim was so mad he couldn't see straight.  He knew Kenny was right.

It was time to leave and now he had to change shirts and wash his hands.
He hurriedly changed as he told Kenny, "I hate that damned monkey and
everybody else in the hooch does too.  You'd better get rid of it before
it does something to the Captain or one of the pilots."

The monkey sat in the far corner of the rafters screaming with delight.
"Mac, twenty years from now you'll think about this and laugh. You'll
remember it as part of the good times."

"Kenny, there is nothing about this place that is worth remembering.
Especially you and that damn monkey!"

Jim fell into formation just as his name was being called by the
Sergeant of the Guard.  He was assigned bunker duty, and it wasn't long
before the inspection was over.  The OD didn't seem any happier about
being on guard than any of the enlisted men.  He made sure each man knew
what was expected of him and that his weapon was clean.  After chow they
would be given the code.

Everyone but the officer ate together.  So Jim asked around until he
found someone from the OD's company.  "What's Lieutenant Tetley like?"

"Oh, he's fair enough, doesn't believe in pulling chicken shit on you.
Do your job and he won't bother you, screw up and he'll hang ya?'

Jim's bunker was at the west end of the flight line.  Everything that
took off and landed had to fly over his bunker.  He was really kind of
glad it worked out that way.  All he had to do was listen for the
gunships to take off and land and he would have a pretty good idea of
how the truce was holding up.  If the gunships were constantly going in
and out, it wasn't going to be a quiet day tomorrow.  He wasn't too
concerned, though.  He had tomorrow off.

There were four men in the bunker with Jim.  They cut a deck of cards
one guy had brought to determine who had what shift.  When Jim pulled
the card that gave him the one o'clock shift, he thought the only way
for things to get better would be for him to go to bed at once. He'd had
a monkey throw shit on him, got stuck on perimeter duty, and then got
stuck with the worst time slot possible, one to three in the morning.
Jim found a bunk and laid down.  "Hey, man, wake up.  It's your shift."

"I'm not on until one o'clock."

"It is one o'clock, get up so I can go to bed."  Jim got out of bed and
asked what had been happening.  "Not a thing."

"Phone hasn't rung, no flares, nothing?"

"You got it."

"How about the choppers, they been flying?"

"Yeah, they've been going in and out all night.  The guy with the shift
before me said it started about ten or ten-thirty, and it's been going
on ever since.  Why did you ask about the choppers?"

"It's my company and, if there is that much activity, the truce has to
be long since over."  Jim picked up the starlight scope and looked out
through the darkness in front of his bunker.  The ghostly green light
that enabled him to see into the darkness showed him that nothing was
moving out front.  He looked for the orange strip on the claymores'
backs, found each one and felt a lot better at once.  He knew the orange
strip was put on a claymore's back so the defender could tell where the
mines were after dark.  Jim had heard more than one grunt tell about
watching an orange strip slowly turn, or look out and see their
claymores still there but no orange strip.  The VC had turned them
around so that when the GI blew the claymore, he blew it at himself.

Jim placed his M16 where he could grab it to fire in a hurry, then
pulled the blackout curtain before turning on the light to check the
M60.  It checked out okay.  So Jim again killed the light and opened the
blackout curtain, then turned on the starlight scope and looked around.
Nothing, absolutely nothing, was moving, and the orange strips were all
still where they should be.  Suddenly, he could hear, then see, two
gunships coming in.  Looking at his watch he saw it was only ten after
one.  What in the world was he going to do to stay awake 'til three?  He
played with the starlight scope for awhile, mentally broke down and
reassembled the M60, and it was still only one-twenty.

Boredom rapidly set in and he found his head bobbing as he started to
fall asleep.  He got up and did some jumping-jacks and would continue
until three if he had to.  It certainly was a lot better than going to
jail for six months if he got caught sleeping on his shift.  He spent
some more time playing with the starlight scope and still it was only
one-thirty.  An hour and a half to go yet.  How in the world was he
going to make it 'til three?

The whop, whop, whop of the helicopters taking off helped wake him. He
watched the flight take off and counted each ship 'til all ten passed
over.  There was only one reason the whole flight would be leaving at
one-thirty in the morning; some troops somewhere were getting the hell
kicked out of them.  There was no question about it, the truce had to be
over almost before it started.  He counted three more choppers taking
off and could tell by their sound that they were gunships.  Almost
immediately, two more ships took off.  Jim wondered if the flight was
taking both a heavy and a light fire team with them or if the guns were
being sent someplace else.  Boredom.  It was without question the worst
thing about guard duty.

It was one of the few times he really wished he smoked, just so he would
have something to do to stay awake.

Suddenly, Jim heard the wood pallets squeak telling him someone was
coming in the bunker entrance.  He picked up his M16 and pointed it at
the entrance, pulled the blackout curtain, put his hand on the light
cord, and said, "Halt."

The intruder stopped and his frame was now visible to Jim.  He pulled
the light cord and could faintly see an American uniform.  He wished the
lightbulb was more than twenty-five watts.  He decided to give the
password.  After all, the GI was probably getting nervous looking at the
business end of his M16.

"Black"-the response came back-"Velvet."  It was right and he sure was
glad.  "Enter and identify yourself."  In walked a PFC followed by
Lieutenant Tetley.  Jim snickered to himself that the gutless lieutenant
made his driver walk in first.

"I'm Lieutenant Tetley, the OD.  Everything okay?"

"Just fine, Sir."

"Good.  We'll stop by later.  Let's go, Private."

"Lieutenant, is the truce over?"

"Just about.  How did you know?"

"I'm with the helicopter company and the only time we fly night missions
is in an emergency.  I just watched the whole flight leave. How bad is
it?"

"It begins to look like almost everybody but us has been hit.  Keep your
eyes open.

The two men turned and left.  Jim looked at his watch.  It was one
forty, another hour and twenty minutes to go.  At least he was wide
awake.  Jim shut off the light, opened the blackout curtain and looked
out.  Nothing but black.  He turned on the starlight scope and looked
around, checked the claymores and started praying that Tay Ninh didn't
get hit.

The time really dragged on until just after two o'clock when the
artillery opened up.  Jim walked out the back door long enough to see
the shells hitting across camp with three.flares scattered above the far
perimeter.  Jim hurried back to his starlight scope and stayed there. He
knew Tay Ninh had been hit.  Probably just a probe at first, with the
real threat coming later.  As the artillery continued to fire, he knew
he wouldn't have any trouble staying awake the last hour.  It was
two-fifteen when the phone that connects each bunker to the command post
rang.  "Bunker number forty-three.  Specialist MacLaughlin speaking,
Sir."

"This is Lieutenant Tetley.  Manchu Company's bunker line is under
severe pressure.  I want two men awake until further notice.
Understand?"

"Yes, Sir."

The phone went dead and Jim had to decide who to wake up, the man before
him or the one after him.  For no particular reason, he woke the man
after him and told him what was going on.  There was still some
artillery firing when Jim saw the slicks come in.  He counted nine ships
and looked at his watch, two-fifty.  Wherever they went, it wasn't far
in order to get there and back in only one hour and twenty minutes.  The
one missing ship didn't overly concern him since it was common to have
one sent off by itself.  At 0300 hours Jim decided he might as well stay
up for another half hour since two people had to be awake.  Besides, he
found it a lot easier to stay awake with the second man up.  The only
trouble was this guy smoked and it wasn't long before Jim decided to
step outside for some fresh air.

He had been outside only a short time when a jeep stopped on the road
parallel to his bunker.  The man beside the driver hurriedly jumped out
and moved quickly toward Jim.  Jim decided to challenge him just in case
it was the OD again.  "Halt!"  The man stopped moving and Jim spoke
again, "Black."

"Velvet.  I'm the Sergeant of the Guard.  I'm hunting for Specialist
MacLaughlin."

"That's me.  What's up?"

"We got a call from your CO.  He wants you back ten minutes ago."

"Why?"

"I don't know.  Just get your gear and let's go."  Jim and the Sergeant
went back in the bunker, told Private Khalid what was happening, picked
up his gear and left.

Once back in his company area Jim found Gillett, a tall New Yorker with
thinning hair, and asked what had happened that the C.O.  had pulled him
off guard.

"Mac, all hell has broken loose out there.  We've been pulling Manchu
out of forward encampments since about one-thirty, and in the process
we've run out of crew chiefs.  If anybody else gets hurt, I'm going to
have to fly myself.  Get your flight gear and let's go.  925 (pronounced
Niner Two Five) is waiting on you."

"Well, so much for days off."

When Jim got to his ship, Blackhawk 925, he found the rest of the crew
there waiting.  Mr. Walker, a tall well-built warrant officer, was the
ship's pilot.  Mr. Glass, the copilot or peter pilot as everyone called
them, was already in the right hand seat.  Jim thought to himself that
was typical of a peter pilot.  Climb in and sit down.

A short plump Sp/4, Mike Polaski, had already started untying the main
rotor blades.  Polaski was an excellent door gunner.  He didn't mind
helping a crew chief out and always took good care of his guns.  If you
flew with Polaski, you knew the two M60 door guns weren't going to jam.

Jim put his gear in the ship and checked the logbook.  Mr. Walker
started to crank the engine and Jim could hear the familiar whine of the
turbine as it began to turn.  He put the logbook back, put on his
chicken plate and flight helmet, then turned on his intercom.

"Mr. Walker, you on line?"

"Yeah, Mac, welcome back.  We ready to go?"

"The log checks out okay.  How thoroughly did you preflight this thing?"

"Polaski and I went over it just like you taught me.  So if we didn't do
it right it's your fault."

Jim laughed and the two men looked each other in the eye.  Their faces
showed the respect they felt for each other.  Mr. Walker gave the thumbs
up sign and Jim responded the same way saying, "Okay, let's fly."

Mr. Glass saw Polaski connect his intercom and said, "Climb in Polaski.
It's time to go play war."

Chapter Two

It Begins!

As the chopper grabbed sky Jim looked at his watch, 4:15 am.  It was
going to be a long day.  Mr. Walker came over the radio.  "Blackhawk
Lead, this is Blackhawk 925.  Do you copy?  Over."

"This is Blackhawk Lead.  What's your status, 925?"

"We picked up MacLaughlin, refueled, and are south bound out of Tay
Ninh.  Where do you want us to join you?  Over."

"Pick us up at Cu Chi, 925.  Lead, out."

Polaski's familiar nasal twang came over the intercom.  "What time did
you start guard last night, Mac?"

"One o'clock, and I want to tell you I thought I'd never stay awake.
What'd you do last night?"

"Oh, the usual.  Played a little golf, went swimming, watched TV, and
read the evening paper.  What the hell do you think I did?  I got drunk
and went to bed until a little after one when Gillett got us up. That's
what!"

Jim laughed to himself.  He liked flying with Polaski.  He had a real
sense of humor.  He remembered the time Polaski had turned on his radio
to broadcast outside the ship and shouted across the company frequency,
"I'll take a banana cream pie a Ia mode to go, please."

The Blackhawks had already made several extractions before Jim's ship
joined up.  So once in the flight they became known as Chalk Nine. They
continued to pull troops out of forward positions to beef up base camps
and almost every extraction turned into a hot LZ.  Fortunately, all the
hits taken were in noncritical areas.  Jim could tell from the radio
traffic this was a major offensive.  Saigon and Ben Hoa both were having
house to house fighting with the American Embassy and the Cholon
district being major confrontation points.

The Blackhawks were now on their way to make the last extraction from
this outpost.  These were always the worst because there weren't any
ground troops left for protection and, in this case, they started
receiving fire before they'd even gotten on short final approach.  The
flight was in a staggered right formation to give it more concentrated
fire from their door guns.  In only seconds they were in and out and the
last of the grunts were safely on board.  The only trouble was that they
weren't out of reach of enemy fire yet.  Jim and the other three crew
members heard it-it almost always sounded the same: the sharp THUNK of
metal hitting metal.  Polaski not only heard it, he felt it.  His first
thought was that he had been stung by a bee.  But when he looked down at
his left leg, his pants were turning red.  He began to feel the warm
flow of blood down the side of his leg as he looked down and saw his
blood already becoming a part of the dirt that covered the chopper
floor.  He thought of the phrase, "from dust to dust..."  In that same
moment a controlled but tearful Polaski keyed his mike.  "Mr. Walker,
I'm hit!  Mac, HELP ME!  I got it in the leg!"

"Sit tight, Polaski.  I'll be right there."  Jim looked for a way to get
to his door gunner, but the grunts were in his way.  There was a
lieutenant seated with his back to Jim.  He grabbed the surprised
lieutenant by the collar and pulled his body backward and shouted in his
ear.  "My door gunner's shot, get him up here!"  The lieutenant shouted
orders, and in only seconds, Polaski was on the ship's floor with a PFC
putting direct pressure on the open wound while another applied bandages
to his leg.  From the moment Polaski had made his plea for help, Walker
had been busy.

"Lead, this is Chalk Nine.  We're breaking formation for Cu Chi medical;
Polaski's been hit, Chalk Nine out."

The only sound in reply was the click click of Lead's mike being double
keyed in response.

"Mr. Glass, dial Cu Chi Tower.  Get clearance for the medical pad, then
dial the medical unit and tell them we're in bound with one WIA." As he
was talking, he broke the ship from formation and increased the ship's
airspeed until it was red lined on the airspeed indicator.  Jim heard
Mr. Glass call Cu Chi Tower and get clearance for the medical pad. While
Mr. Glass was changing radio frequencies, Jim came over the intercom.

"Mr. Walker, as many hits as we took, you better keep an eye on your
gauges."

"Oh, shit, Mac, we're losing hydraulic pressure!"

"Mr. Walker, if that gauge is correct, you're going to start feeling it
in the stick shortly.  We'll have to land on the runway instead of the
medical pad."

"Well, the gauge is correct.  I'm starting to pick up some vibration.
Mr. Glass, you work the pitch and R.P.M.  I'll take the stick.  Mac, get
up here and read instruments."

Jim worked his way through the ship and grunts and over Polaski, who
smiled at him, as he carefully stepped over his prone body.  By the time
Jim had positioned himself behind the radio console between the two
pilots, the ship was shaking violently from the loss of hydraulic assist
on the controls.  It was all the two pilots could do to maintain
control.  Each was required to use both hands on their respective
sticks.

"Mac, dial 41.8 Cu Chi Tower on the UHF radio and tell them what
happened and ask for a new landing spot."

"Roger."  Jim dialed 41.8 and changed his controls to broadcast outside
the ship.  "Cu Chi Tower, this is Blackhawk 925.  Over."

"This is Cu Chi Tower, 925.  Over."

"Roger, Cu Chi Tower.  We've lost hydraulic assist and have one WIA on
board.  We will not be able to land at the medical unit as previously
requested.  Will you give us an alternate landing spot and advise
medical unit to have transportation for wounded meet us."

"Roger, 925, I'll advise medical.  You can land direct at far end of
helicopter maintenance area.  Please advise your E.T.A. Over."

Walker came over the intercom, "Two minutes, Mac."

"Roger, Cu Chi.  Our ETA is zero two minutes.  Over."

"925, be advised winds are steady at zero two knots from the west. Make
direct approach and we now have you on visual.  Also be advised extreme
pressure on east perimeter from Charlie.  Cu Chi out."

"Did you get that, Sir?"

"Yea, thanks Mac.  How's Polaski?"

With a quick glance backward Jim responded, "He'll make it-if we do."

The two pilots worked together to bring 925 into Cu Chi.  Jim read off
airspeed, altitude, engine RPM, and main rotor RPM all the way down. The
three men worked together like the team they should be; each did his job
and trusted the others without question to do theirs correctly.

Once safely on the ground the grunts helped load Polaski into the
ambulance.  Jim opened the pilots' doors, slid back the bulletproof
plating for pilot protection and spoke.  "Mr. Walker, I should be able
to fix this thing if there's not too much wrong.  Suppose you could get
that lieutenant to give us one of his men to take Polaski's place?"

"No.  But I can ask."  Mr. Walker walked over to where the lieutenant
was standing.  "Could I speak to you, Lieutenant?"

"Sure.  By the way, you did a great job of landing this crate. What's
wrong with it, anyway?"

"We lost hydraulics, which makes it a lot like driving a car with the
power steering out.  Plus, as you noticed, the rotor blades turning
causes a terrible vibration."

"I noticed.  I thought we were going to bounce out of the ship. What can
I do for you, Chief?"

"I need a door gunner.  Could you give me one of your men who knows how
to use and work on an M60?"

"You're not going to fly that thing like that are you?"

"Oh, no, Sir.  My Crew Chief thinks he can fix it without too much
trouble."

The lieutenant walked over to where his troops were standing around
smoking.  "Hey, any of you guys want to fly as a door gunner?"

PFC Green's hand went up in a flash.  "I will, Sir."

"Okay, Green.  Get your gear and report to that warrant officer."

"Yes, Sir."  Green was all smiles.  He figured being a door gunner was
the easiest job in Vietnam.  "Sir, PFC Green.  The lieutenant told me to
report to you."

Mr. Walker returned Green's salute and told him where to put his gear.
Jim was busy inspecting the ship and, as he walked around the left side,
Mr. Walker spoke.  "Mac, this is PFC Green.  He's our gunner 'til we get
back to Tay Ninh.  Private Green, meet Jim MacLaughlin. He's the crew
chief on this ship.  If you have any questions ask him. He's one of the
best."

"Sir, I'm going to have to crawl under this ship and get up in the hell
hole.  I can't find any broken lines out here.  Why don't you tell Green
what his job is and what's expected of him."  With that, Jim lay down on
his back and started to crawl under the chopper's belly and up into the
hell hole.  "Mr. Glass?"

"Yeah, Mac.  What do you need?"

"Get my tool box out of the storage compartment and give me a 3/4 inch
open end and a crescent wrench, please."

Mr. Glass found the two wrenches and crawled under the ship.  He placed
them in Jim's visible hand reaching out from the hell hole. "Find the
problem, Mac?"

"Yes, Sir.  Evidently a bullet just grazed this line, causing a slow
leak.  You should see this place.  It's a mess, and I'm covered with
oil."  Jim took off the ruptured line, handed it to Mr. Glass and
crawled out.  "OK, Mr. Glass, here's what I want you to do.  Take this
line over to the parts tent.  Here's my book.  I'll open it to the page
where this line is shown.  Sir, take the book also and you shouldn't
have any trouble getting the correct part.  Bring me back the new line
and enough hydraulic oil to completely refill this thing-please.  In the
meantime, I'll finish checking out the ship.  Okay?"

"Hey, I'm a warrant officer.  I don't run errands for enlisted men."

"Look, Mr. Glass, I'd send the new door gunner but he doesn't even know
what type of helicopter we're flying.  I can't send him after parts. Mr.
Walker and I can finish inspecting this thing.  You wouldn't know what
to look for.  Besides, as a warrant officer, you shouldn't have any
trouble getting the parts I need, just act like you know exactly what
you're doing and nobody will question you.  Work it right and you might
even get a jeep ride back."

Mr. Glass looked at Walker who was now standing beside Jim.  Mr. Walker
smiled and waved bye-bye.  Mr. Glass slowly shook his head and picked up
the part and book and started to leave.

"Hey, Mr. Glass, don't forget the oil and bring me some rags to wipe off
with also, please.  Mr. Walker, get a Phillips screwdriver and open up
that inspection panel in the floor where the bullet hole is, please. I'm
going to climb on top and check the rotor head and blades?" The new door
gunner stepped forward and said, "Specialist, what do you want me to
do?"

"You can start by calling me, Mac, just like everyone else.  I'll tell
you what, why don't you check out those M60's?  All of Polaski's stuff
is under his seat on the left side.  Green, just one thing to remember
while you're going over those guns: if we ever get this thing flying
again where we're going, I guarantee you, you'll want 'em to work."

Each man went to work.  It didn't take Jim long to determine that
everything was okay on top.  As he started down the chopper's side, Mr.
Walker spoke.  "Mac, I got all except two of those screws out, but they
just won't come."

"Okay.  You put some constant pressure on em and let me tap the top of
your screwdriver at the same time with a hammer.  Sometimes that will
break them loose."  In this manner the last two screws were removed and
then the inspection plate.  Jim had really expected to find a control
rod with a bullet hole in it.  To his amazement, not one thing had been
hit except the aircraft's skin.  The inspection panel was replaced and
the three men sat down.  Mr. Walker kept glancing at his watch. Finally,
Mac said, "What's the matter, Mr. Walker, you got a hot date this
afternoon?"

Walker laughed as he responded, "Why?"

"You can't keep your eyes off your watch."

"Oh, just thinking.  Six is going to be wondering where we are."

"See if you can raise him on the radio.  Besides, it'll take me, oh,
about a half hour yet after Mr. Glass gets back."

"Yeah, I think I will."  Mr. Walker put on his helmet and turned on the
radio.

"Mac, I got a question."

"What's that, Green?"

"How do you get away with talking to officers like you do?  I mean, you
give them orders just like some PFC and they do it.  You don't say 'Sir'
all the time or anything.  They would court martial your butt in a
second in the infantry."  Jim laughed and looked to see that Mr. Walker
still had his helmet on.  "I'll tell you, Green, it's all a matter of
timing.  Do it at the wrong time and you're in trouble.  It's that
simple.  For example, I'm the guy who knows how to make this thing fly
again.  If they want it to fly and, if I need help, then they do what I
say.  Of course a lot of it's in the tone of voice I use.  I never use a
tone that says I'm the boss.  It's always a tone that says you're the
boss but I need some help from you.  As for saying 'Sir' all the time,
well, it just gets in the way.  Most all the pilots are pretty good
about it.  Again, as long as the tone of voice implies 'Sir' they don't
really care.  Just say it once in a while to show them that you're
willing and you'll be okay.  Remember, too, that we spend an awful lot
of time together.  Like Mr. Walker and I.  We've been together for ten
to twelve hours a day every day for the last couple of months.  We're a
lot alike and we have a lot of respect for each other.  In fact, we've
become very good friends.  You just have to be very careful with an
officer you don't know.  Also, I say, 'please'."  Mr. Walker finished
his radio conversation and the three men sat down to eat their C-rations
and shoot the bull.

After what seemed like hours, Mr. Glass arrived.  He had the part and
the oil, but no rags.  "Mr. Glass, thanks for getting this stuff."

"No problem, Mac.  By the way, Mr. Walker, I stopped by operations. They
had word that Charlie had broken through one of the walls."

"Which wall?"

"I don't know.  Everyone started getting excited so I left."  As the
three men looked at each other, it dawned on them what they had been
hearing.

Mr. Walker was the first to speak.  "Mac, hurry up and get that line on.
That small arms fire we've been hearing has to be what this is all
about."  Jim crawled under the ship and up into the hell hole.  The
three remaining men moved to the side of the ship where the firing was
coming from and could see rapidly approaching American troops.  Mr.
Walker shouted at a staff sergeant to find out what was going on.  He
could hardly believe it when told the place was being overrun and to
fall back to the maintenance area drainage ditch.

Instantly, Walker started shouting instructions.  "Mac, get out from
under the ship!  Green, Mr. Glass, get the guns and ammo off the ship!"

They now found themselves on the edge of a major fire fight and in the
thick of the retreat.  Jim picked up his M16 and all the M60 ammo he
could carry.  Mr. Walker had already taken one M60 off its mount and
wrapped as much M60 ammo around him as he could carry.  Mr. Glass had
the other M60 and some ammo and Green had his M16 and the rest of the
M60 ammo.  As the four men retreated, the two pilots took turns firing
cover with their M60's.  They had been joined by several other GI's but
now were being pursued by an even larger number of NVA.  They were only
about fifty feet from the drainage ditch when it happened; the spine
shivering scream of Mr. Glass as he fell to the ground.  Jim shoved his
weapon and ammo in someone else's hands.  An unknown GI picked up Mr.
Glass's M60 as Jim bent down.  The adrenalin in Jim's body was flowing
in abundance, so it was with relative ease that he threw Mr. Glass over
his shoulder in a fireman's carry.  In this manner, he ran as well as he
could the rest of the way to the ditch, with the warm trickle of Mr.
Glass's blood running down his back.  As the American troops jumped in
the ditch, they cleared a field of fire for those already there.  The
ensuing discharge of lead caused the pursuit to drop off.  Jim laid Mr.
Glass down in the bottom of the ditch.  He didn't have to check for
life.  He knew Glass was dead.  Mr. Walker and Green came over and gave
Jim his M16.  It was then that Jerry Green saw the blood soaked dead
American.  Green looked up and, before he knew what was happening, he
had thrown up all over himself and Mr. Glass.  Mac took him by the arm
and turned him away.

"Don't be embarrassed, Green, it happens to a lot of us the first time.
We just don't have time for it now.  Get that M16 off your shoulder and
start firing."

Jim said a quick prayer and looked up, his own eyes moist and one cheek
wet.  The enemy pursuit stopped soon afterward.  The same staff sergeant
came by and gave everyone orders.  He put Mr. Walker and Jim on one M60
and, about twenty-five feet away, Green and another GI on the other M60.
The sergeant got everyone placed and shouted, "Get ready, because the
next time they come, it will be a mass suicide charge."

"Mr. Walker, you fire, I'll feed the gun."

"Okay.  Oh, shit!  Mac, I just peed my pants."

"Hey, don't worry about it.  No one will notice.  Mr. Walker, we're
going to make it."

"Yeah, but if I don't, who wants to be sent home with pee in his pants?"

Both men could now hear the familiar whap, whap, whap of approaching
Hueys.  Turning to look, they saw two gunships approach just as they
banked to make their run on the gathering enemy troops.  Jim recognized
the boomerangs painted on the noses of the choppers.  The Blackhawks had
worked with this company before.  The first gun run finished, both ships
made a sharp bank and came right back in.  Both were mini gunships and
Jim knew the 6000 rounds per minute that the miniguns fired had to be
taking a fierce toll on Charlie.  All the American troops in the ditch
were cheering.  Mr. Walker shouted, "That a boy!  Go get 'em."  Then,
"Mac, they're leaving.  Oh, shit.  They must be out of fuel or ammo.

Someone shouted, "Here they come!"

Jim looked back down in time to see enemy troops charging at them. Their
screams sent shivers down his spine.  Bullets were hitting all around
them but no one seemed to notice.  Every man in the ditch was firing at
the human wave charging his way.  Both Jim and Mr. Walker were too busy
to feel fear; with each totally in control of himself now.  All of their
thoughts and energies were directed to the task before them. The fire
coming from the ditch was taking a terrific toll, but it was the two
M60's from Jim's chopper that were holding the line and making the real
difference.

(Several years later, Jim visited the battlefields of Gettysburg. As he
stood at the high water mark of Pickett's Charge, looking out over the
open space those southern boys traversed, his chest swelled with emotion
and his eyes broke with the tears of a day gone by.  His knees buckled,
he sat down and wept as his mind raced back to that ditch and the stand
he'd made half a world away.  One of the guys he was with at Gettysburg
sat down beside him and asked if he was okay.  Jim nodded his head yes.
He was unable to speak.  He shrugged his shoulders, blew his nose and
said, "Sometimes it just happens like that.") The human wave charging
their way had been reduced to just a handful of NVA by the time it
reached Jim's ditch.  Jim ducked a fixed bayonet and a screaming NVA who
lunged by his head.  As if by instinct, he'd known the action was too
close for an M16.  His hand reached into his pocket and, in a flash, he
held the Army issue switchblade.  In that same moment the enemy soldier
turned and Jim buried the blade in his chest.  Jim prided himself on
keeping the heavy blade very sharp-as a result it slid smoothly between
the ribs with surprisingly little effort.  In the same movement he
pulled it out and stabbed again, this time in the guts.  He heard Walker
scream and turned in time to see an NVA about to thrust his bayonet into
Walker.  Jim's knife found its mark in the NVA's back as Walker side
stepped the pained man's thrust.  Jim grabbed the man's hair, yanked his
head back and, with his blood drenched knife, slit the NVA's throat. Out
rushed a mixture of air and blood that bubbled down his chest. Walker
looked at Jim, "Thanks".  Jim simply nodded his head. It was over
quicker, by far, than it had begun.

American reinforcements were jumping over the ditch in hot pursuit of
the few remaining NVA troops.  Neither man spoke.  Jim wiped his knife
and hands as clean as possible.  He picked up his M16, grabbed the M60,
and climbed out of the ditch without speaking.  Medics busied themselves
with the wounded as reinforcements continued to arrive. There was
nothing left to be done at the ditch so Jim simply turned and walked
away.  Green, with his guns, found Mr. Walker and the two men turned and
followed Jim.  They were all still hyped up from the events just past
and, about one hundred feet from the ditch, Walker put his arm around
Jim's shoulder and gave it a squeeze.

"Mac, you want to fly right seat back to Tay Ninh?"

"Sure.  You know I just had a thought.  Why didn't they blow our ship?"

"It probably didn't occur to them or they didn't have time."  The three
men put their weapons and ammo down.  Mr. Walker and Jim walked around
the chopper-their eyes scanning every inch of the ship.  "Mr. Walker,
they took the time to pull the soundproofing down and to take the first
aid kit out but not to blow it.  Why?"

"You think it's booby trapped?"

"Yeah.  There has to be something under that soundproofing they took
down."

"Hey, Mac."

Jim looked up to see Green pointing at the front end of the skid. There,
wedged under the curved part of the skid, was a fragmentation grenade.
Jim reached down and removed it, being careful not to allow the handle
to spring loose.  "Okay, you two.  See if you can find the pin laying
around someplace."  After searching and coming up empty handed, Jim
decided to take it to a clearing and give it a toss.  "Hey, here it is.
You know what they've done?  They've pulled the pin and given it a
toss!"

Jim carefully worked the pin back in the hole and bent the end over
slightly.  He gave the grenade a toss to Green and looked at Walker.
"I'll still bet there's something under that soundproofing.  Probably
another frag."

"Probably.  But what if there isn't.  What if it's something else? At
least with a frag, if the pin pops, you have a couple of seconds to pick
it up and give it a toss.  If it's something else, you're not going to
know what it's going to do or how to handle it."

"Sir, they're not going to be carrying anything special.  It's all going
to be dual purpose stuff."

"True.  Can't you gently feel for something solid under it?"

"Why do you automatically assume me?  Green, how long you been in
country?"

"Not quite a month.  Why?"

"I just thought maybe you might have worked with booby traps before."

"Nope."

"Okay.  I'll do it.  If nothing else, I can always run like hell."
Slowly, and very gently, Jim felt the soundproofing blanket for
something solid.  Every instinct he had told him something was there. He
just hoped it was a frag and only one.  As he felt the blanket he
prayed.  "Lord Jesus, help me please, please help me."  There it was!
He'd hit something solid.  With great care he tried to determine what it
was.  The all too familiar pling told him all he needed to know.  With a
frag you had only seconds.  With one hand, Jim tore off the blanket and,
in one fluid movement, he grabbed the frag and threw it.  Jim said
another prayer, this time in thanks, that it had blown harmlessly on its
way to the nearby clearing.

Jim walked over to where Green and Mr. Walker stood.  He sat down on a
thirty gallon drum and took a long deep breath.  Mr. Walker spoke first,
"This is turning into one hell of a day!  Mac, you know I've never
really believed that story you tell-that you have a guardian angel.  I
just want you to know.  I believe!"

Jim looked him in the eye and, at that moment, the realization of all he
had recently been through caused him to lose his composure. Fatigue,
stress and emotional strain swept through his body.  He bent over and
lost muscle control, the convulsions and weeping almost knocked him off
the barrel.  It was Mr. Walker who stopped Jim's fall and cradled his
head to his chest.  The two men shut out all time as they wept together
and embraced, drained of emotion.  It was a full ten minutes before Jim
felt he was in control of himself again.  He got some C-rations and sat
down for a snack.  The pound cake, cheese and crackers tasted good.  He
ate and then checked the ship for more grenades.  He found none.  Green
had left to get some of his personal gear while Walker put the
soundproofing back up.  He also mounted the door guns and put the ammo
back in the left seat box, since there wouldn't be anyone flying behind
the right door anyway.  Jim crawled back under the chopper and up into
the hell hole.

"Mr. Walker, I just had a thought.  Get my flashlight and look in the
fuel tank for a frag, will you?  If there's one in there, it'll have a
rubber band around it instead of a pin in the handle."

"Sure, Mac.  What do I do if I see one?"

"Well, say so and I'll get the hell out from under here, for one thing!"

"I don't see anything, there isn't anything in there.  Did you hear me,
Mac?"

"Yeah, thank you."

By the time Jim had finished putting the line on and filled the
hydraulic reservoir, Green was back.  Mr. Walker was the first to see
him coming, carrying a foot locker over his shoulder and a duffel bag in
one hand.

"Green, what are you doing?"

"I packed all my stuff and moved out."

"You what?  You can't do that!  We just borrowed you for one day. I'm
not sure we can keep you that long now that I don't have a peter pilot."

Green's face showed every bit of the disappointment he felt. Laying his
stuff down he looked at Walker.  "Sir, I thought I was to be a permanent
part of your crew."

"Look, Green, you need orders to change companies.  We lost a gunner
and, to keep from flying back to Tay Ninh just for a gunner, your
lieutenant let us borrow you.  Now, I've got to go get a copilot."

Jim felt really sorry for Green.  It was obvious he really wanted to
fly.  "Mr. Walker, Gillett told me this morning that the only people he
had left to fly were Kenny and himself.  So unless you want Kenny as a
gunner, we'd better find a way to keep Green."  Mr. Walker looked at Jim
with dismay.  Jim slowly nodded yes.  Walker shrugged his shoulders and
said, "Okay, Green, put it in the ship, I'll see what I can do. Mac, we
ready to go?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Okay.  Let's go get a peter pilot."

He gave him a chicken plate and helmet.  He showed him how to work the lip mike and how to
turn his radio on and off.  Mr. Walker had climbed in and started to
crank the engine before Jim had Green strapped into his monkey harness.
Walker had the ship running by the time Jim climbed in the peter pilot's
seat and, after putting his helmet on, heard Green say, "Can everybody
hear me?"

Walker looked at Jim and laughed.  Green came over the intercom, "Gee,
Mac, this is neat."

Walker casually reached down and switched his and Jim's radio to
private.  "Mac, he's like a kid with a new toy."

"Give the guy a break.  Remember how excited you were the first time you
climbed in one of these things!  Besides, it wasn't him who peed his
pants back in that ditch."  They both laughed.

Walker spoke, "Man, I'd never been so scared in all my life.  I couldn't
control myself anymore than a bitch in heat."

"Oh, but you did, not your bladder obviously.  But you controlled your
mind enough to make the rest of your body do what it had to do. You sure
made that M60 sing."

"Mac, while we're on the subject, I may never get another chance. Thanks
for saving my life.  If it wasn't for you and that switchblade, I'd be
dead."

They looked at each other and Jim nodded his head.  "You're welcome.
Although it's not me you should be thanking.  But I do appreciate it.
You should be thanking Jesus Christ.  Without Him we both would be dead,
I don't even remember getting the knife out of my pocket."  As the two
men looked at each other, they knew a special bond had been formed.

Walker turned the radios back to the previous setting and made contact
with the tower for clearance to taxi to the runway and leave.

Once airborne and headed for Tay Ninh, Walker contacted "Six"

in C and C.  Walker spoke briefly about what had happened and stated
they could rejoin the flight after picking up a copilot.  "Six" said
that he would advise operations so there would be a copilot ready.

Chapter Three

You Do What You Have To

No one spoke as they landed at Tay Ninh and taxied as close as possible
to operations.  Somewhat miffed at not having a copilot waiting on
them, Mr. Walker headed for operations.  Jim helped carry Green's foot
locker and duffle bag into the hooch, where Gillett was in the process
of cleaning out Polaski's gear.  Introductions were made and Gillett
told Green that he might as well have Polaski's spot.  They were giving
Gillett a quick account of what had happened when a Sp/4 came in.

"I'm from Operations.  I'm looking for a PFC Green."

"That's me."

"We're going to try to get some orders cut, but we need some
information."

"Let me put this stuff away and I'll be right over."

"I'd appreciate it if you make it as quick as possible. Furthermore,
don't get too settled in, because I'd be very surprised if we can keep
you.

"Okay, I'll be right there."

The Sp/4 left as Green stuffed his duffle bag in the wall locker.

Once this was finished, Jim and Green headed for Operations.  As they
walked across the company area, they heard someone shout, "MacLaughlin."

Jim turned to see Mr. Halsey headed their way.  "Oh, great, here comes
trouble!  Green, just keep on walking and tell Mr. Walker that Mr.
Halsey has me.

"Mac, you.

"Get out of here before he gets you, too!"  Jim turned and waited for
Mr. Halsey.

"MacLaughlin, where's your hat?"

Jim looked the tall, thin, sunken chested, acne-scarred warrant officer
in the eyes and knew it was harrassment time.  "In the helicopter, Sir."

"Specialist, you know perfectly well you're supposed to have on a cap.
STAND AT ATTENTION when I speak to you, Specialist!"  Halsey's voice
expressed the hatred he felt.  His face was twisted as he made a real
effort to look mean.  Jim came to attention but couldn't help smiling as
he watched Halsey's face, "You find something amusing, MacLaughlin?" Jim
just stood there without answering.  "Answer me, Specialist!"

"What makes you think I find anything amusing, Sir?"

"Don't get smart with me, Specialist!  By the way, don't you salute
officers anymore, Specialist?"

"Yes, Sir."  Jim brought his right hand up in salute.  "That's better.
Now, what is it that you find so funny?"

"I'm not laughing, Sir.  I find nothing funny."

"MacLaughlin, you've got oil and dirt and who knows what else all over
you!  You look like hell, you know that soldier?  Your personal
appearance is disgusting.  How long has it been since you changed
fatigues?  Your boots need shined, plus you need a haircut."

Jim thought, so do you, you SOB, right below the chin.  "I put on clean
clothes this morning, Sir."

By this time, eight or ten people had gathered at a safe distance. Some
were maintenance people, some were platoon sergeants like Gillett, and
some were the walking wounded.  Halsey walked around Jim checking his
uniform.  Jim stood at attention wondering, "What's next?"

"Specialist, your back pocket is unbuttoned."  Jim couldn't help but
smile.  After what he had just been through he really didn't care if it
was unbuttoned.

"MacLaughlin, just what is it that you continuously find so funny?"

"Nothing, Sir."

"Soldier, when you stand at attention, you don't smile.  So, I'm going
to take that smile off your face.  Get down and give me fifty."

Jim's smile disappeared alright.  In its place was a look of pure
hatred.  Halsey thought for a moment that he finally had him.  All he
had to do now was push MacLaughlin just a little more, and he would do
something that he could be sent to jail for.

"Don't you find that funny, MacLaughlin?"  Jim just stood there and
looked Halsey in the eyes.  "I'm giving you a direct order, Specialist.
Get down and give me fifty."

Jim sat down and started to count, "One, two "What the hell do you think
you're doing?"

"I'm doing what you told me, Sir, giving you fifty.  You didn't say
fifty what, so I'm counting to fifty for you.

"You insubordinate, smart-mouthed, little bastard.  I'm going to bust
your ass to an E-fucking-nothing!"

"On what grounds, Sir?  I've done everything you told me to do!" Halsey
knew he was right.  MacLaughlin had beat him again.  Maybe.  In a
perfectly calm voice Halsey made one last try.  "Okay, MacLaughlin, I
want you to do seventy-five pushups and count out loud as you go.  If I
hear one word otherwise, I'll court martial your ass."

Jim sat there on the ground and looked up at Halsey.  Each man showed
the hatred he felt for the other.  Jim thought about what he had just
gone through a short time ago.  He tried to stare Halsey down as he
wondered why creeps like him lived, while the nice guys like Glass got
it.  However, Halsey could hold his own and said, "Now, MacLaughlin, not
ten minutes from now.

Jim took a deep breath, looked around and saw Gillett standing by the
hooch door with a look of disgust on his face.  Jim rolled over very
slowly and even more slowly started the pushups.  "One...  Two..."

Suddenly, Jim heard Walker's voice shouting from across the company
area, "MacLaughlin, what are you doing?  The XO has been waiting on
you."

"Sir, Mr. Halsey thought I should do seventy-five pushups first." Walker
had walked up to where Halsey was standing and shook his head. "Mr.
Halsey, would it be okay if my crew chief went on a mission with me-or
should I tell the XO what you're doing is too important to interrupt?"
Jim laughed to himself.  Man, you could cut the sarcasm with a knife.

Halsey spoke as he walked away, "He's all yours."  Jim stood up, brushed
himself off and said, "Thanks.  What took you so long?"  They laughed
together as Walker gave Jim's shoulder a squeeze with his hand. "Mac,
you're just lucky I got here at all.  Green waited until I got finished
talking with the XO before he told me Halsey had you."

"Mr. Walker, we both know there's no such thing as luck.  Jesus Christ,
yes; luck, no.  By the way, what was the XO's problem?"

"He needs a ship to go pick up some ARVN's (Army of the Republic of Viet
Nam) at Chon Thanh and take them to An Loc."

"We're not going back to the flight?"

"Nope."

"Who do we get as a Peter Pilot?"

"Ratcliff."

Mr. Ratcliff was a short chunky man with a roly poly face.  He wasn't
one of the best pilots by a long shot, but he was still new in the
country and fresh out of flight school.  When they got to the ship,
Green couldn't wait to ask, "Hey, Mac, what was that officer's problem?"

"Oh, he's a hard nose, Green.  He believes in harassment for the fun of
it.  Just forget it."

They untied the ship and hovered to the fuel dump.  From there, they
went to the ammo bunker and re-armed.

Once airborne, Green couldn't contain his curiosity any longer. "Mac,
tell me about you and Mr. Halsey."

"Not now, maybe later tonight."

Ratcliff spoke up, "Hey, don't worry about me.  I don't like the guy
anymore than most of the EMS do.  Besides, I'd like to hear your side of
the story.  Halsey claims you screwed him."

"Yeah, and he didn't even get a kiss."  There was a pause as Jim
wondered if he should.  "Okay, everybody, it's story time.  First you
have to understand Halsey.  He's the kind of person who never had any
responsibility, authority, or respect before in his life.  Once he did
get a little authority, he couldn't handle it.  One look at him and you
know he never was involved in any kind of sports; in fact, I wonder how
he ever got in the Army, let alone made officer.  Once he became an
officer, he simply didn't get respect, so, he figured he could order
people to give it to him, and, of course, that just doesn't work.  Then,
to show how mean he is, he started harassing the EM.  "I didn't have any
more trouble with him than anyone else did.  Oh, the usual, shine your
boots, button your buttons, and get a haircut until I had to fly with
him one day about two months ago.  We had a single ship mission that we
had to leave on before daylight.  It was just getting light when Halsey
decided to do some low level flying through the Hobo Woods, of all
places!  That was right after they'd gone through the Hobo with plows
and knocked down trees and everything.  Well, of course, I objected to
putting it on the deck and said so.  Halsey told me not to get smart
with him, that he was an officer and would make the decisions on the
ship, that I was a stupid enlisted man and my job was to sit behind my
M60 with my big mouth shut.  Now, understand, I didn't object to flying
on the deck.  I objected to it because we didn't have enough light, and
because we had no idea what was still sticking up, or had been put back
up.  Basically, I think Halsey is a hot dog without the skill of a hot
dog.  So, he takes it down.  He starts flying so low that I'm looking up
at some of the bushes.  I figured surely he'd get us all killed,
especially when I looked at the airspeed indicator and saw it sitting on
110 knots.  We were just about out of it when WAPP!  Well, to make a
long story short, Halsey had hit a twig that was still standing and
busted out the plexiglass bubble covering his foot pedals.  In the
process, he got his leg cut up.  The jerk tried flying without the foot
glass but the wind kept blowing dirt up in his face, so he had to go
back to Tay Ninh to get a new bubble.  When we landed, he gave everyone
strict orders that we were to say we took a hit when we landed at Duc
Hoa.

"The maintenance officer took one look at the bubble and knew a bullet
hadn't done it.  Neither Polaski nor I felt like lying for the guy so
when the maintenance officer asked how it happened, I told the truth.
This made the Major as mad as a wet hen.  He left Polaski and me,
swearing he would make Halsey pay for that bubble.  The best part was
that Halsey had gone to change his pants and clean up his leg. While he
was in the shower washing it off, the flight surgeon came in and, of
course, asked how it had happened.  Halsey told him that we had taken a
hit in his foot window, that it had shattered the plexiglass and a piece
had cut him.  Well, the flight surgeon insisted on treating him and
filling out the papers for a purple heart.  So Halsey didn't have any
choice but to go along, or to tell the truth.  By the time he got back
to the ship, it was ready to fly and the flight surgeon and maintenance
officer were converging on the CO's office at the same time. Man, I have
to laugh just thinking about it.  There must have been so much smoke in
that office it's a wonder the place didn't burn down.  To make things
even better, neither Polaski nor I told Halsey what we had done to him.
He flew the rest of the day so darned happy with himself you would have
thought he was the cat that ate the canary.

"When we landed that night there was a jeep waiting for him. Before he
got out of the chopper, he asked if we were all going to report it like
he told us to.  Polaski and I both said, 'right', that's all, just one
word, 'right'.  He took it just like we wanted him to. Plus, the peter
pilot was so busy kissing his ass that if Halsey had turned real quick,
he would have broken the dude's nose.  The jeep driver took him straight
to the CO.  I'm not sure what happened there other than he got an
Article 15 and fined two hundred dollars, plus he had to pay for the
window and labor to replace it-no purple heart and reduced to peter
pilot status for thirty days.  Which is, of course, the ultimate insult,
and he figures it's all my fault.  Now, any little chance he has to get
even, he takes.  "I think the guy figures I'm stupid enough to do
something during one of his little harrassment sessions, that he could
use to get me court martialed.  Then, he could have the last laugh by
sending me to jail."

"Mac, I don't understand why the CO lets him get away with it. It's
pretty obvious what he's doing!"

"I don't know, Mr. Ratcliff, unless the CO figures he treats all the EM
that way.  Which he does, I just get it more severely.  What do you
think, Mr. Walker?"

"I think we're about ready to land at Chon Thanh and I need the radios.
We'll finish talking about it on the way to An Loc."

It wasn't long until the ship was on the ground at Chon Tharh. Sitting
there waiting for them was a South Vietnamese Major and three NVA
prisoners.  Each of the NVA's were bound; their hands were tied in front
with a stick wedged against their backs and between their elbows. Their
feet were tied together with a rope running from the stick to the
bindings on their feet.  Each prisoner had to be partially lifted up and
put in the chopper.  The Major sat facing the three NVA's who were
kneeling on the chopper floor with their backs to the pilots.  Jim found
it a little unusual that the Major would spend so much time and effort
obviously placing each of the three in the chopper and on the floor,
exactly in the location he wanted them.

As the chopper took off, Jim looked at the four passengers.  The ARVN
Major was no bigger than his three prisoners, the biggest of which
couldn't have been over five feet tall.  In fact, they looked almost
identical-short and skinny.  The helicopter was high enough that Jim
allowed his M60 to drop into the rest position, that way he could watch
what was going on.  The Major was ranting and raving at the three NVA on
the floor.  It didn't take a student of psychology to see they were
three distinct personalities.  The one seated on the far end was a hard
nose, whose mere presence kept the other two from telling the Major what
he wanted to know.  On the other end was your basic follower, who
probably didn't know anything anyway.  It was the man in the middle who
was getting most of the Major's attention.  Jim figured he probably was
an officer, but not as high ranking as the Hard Nose.  He, more than
likely, knew what the Major wanted to know but was afraid of Hard Nose.
The Major was screaming at the three in Vietnamese, Jim wished he could
understand what was being said.  The poor guy in the middle looked like
he was scared stiff but wasn't going to talk with Hard Nose sitting
there.  That's when it happened.  The Major simply grabbed one end of
Hard Nose's stick and gave it a flip.  Hard Nose disappeared out the
cargo door.  Jim was stunned.

"Green, did you see that?"

"Yeah, and I think he's getting ready to do it again to the dude on the
other end."

The Major was really putting the pressure on the two remaining NVA and,
in fact, was threatening to do the same to each of them if they didn't
talk.  It was Walker who came over the radio next.  "Mac, what are you
two talking about back there?"

"That ARVN Major just threw one of his gooks out the door, and I think
Green's right, he's about to do it to this other dude."

"Well, don't let him.  We're not barbarians!"  Jim really didn't know
what to do, so he shouted, "Hey, Major!"  At the same time the Major
grabbed one end of the stick and with little effort, rolled the
resisting NVA out the door.  He then turned to Jim, "No problem, GI.  No
problem, all done."  He turned back to the one remaining NVA, smiled and
asked a question.  The prisoner was terrified and his pants showed the
dark spot of a man who had just lost control.  It didn't affect his
tongue, though, as he began to talk so fast the Major had to slow him
down.  There was no more hesitation in answering questions when the
Major asked.

The rest of the way to An Loc, Jim thought about what had happened. He
even shut off all his radios except the inter-ship conversation.  It was
almost as if he were being mentally ripped in half, one half said so
what, especially after what he had been through.  Besides, what was the
difference?  The enemy was the enemy and if he died being thrown out of
a helicopter, it wasn't any different than if he got shot.  Further, the
third dude did sing like a canary, which was, of course, the whole
purpose.  But his other half told him that what had been done just
wasn't right.  Jim looked down at his clothes with dried blood all over
them and thought of the morning at Cu Chi.  Yet, the look of total
terror on the two men's faces as they went out the door caused a shiver
to go up his spine.  How could he condone what had been done.  Still, he
couldn't bring himself to feel truly sorry for the dead NVA.  The
fatigue, pressure, stress and general conditions were beginning to get
to him.  He found himself praying to God that he would get shot-a nice
clean wound that wouldn't do any permanent damage but would send him
home, and he meant it.

When the chopper landed at An Loc it was met by a jeep.  Out stepped an
American full bird colonel who wore a Big Red One shoulder patch.  He
returned the Major's salute and it became quickly evident the two men
knew each other.  Jim had to snicker at the Mutt and Jeff contrast
between the two men: the colonel's six and a half foot, two hundred
fifty pound frame really made the Major look like a midget. Walker shut
the chopper down and Green let Walker out of his door before the blades
had completely quit turning.

"Colonel, my name is Mr. Walker, I'm the pilot.  I would like to have
charges brought against this man for throwing two NVA prisoners out of
my helicopter at 2000 feet."

"Mr. Walker, I don't really give a damn what he did just as long as he
got results."

"Colonel, I.
"Mister!  I don't have time to worry about two dead NVA.  Listen, the
truce started at 1800 hours last night and was called off by 0900 this
morning.  We've been getting the hell kicked out of us since 2300 last
night.  Just in case you aren't aware of it yet, Mr. Walker, we are in
the middle of the biggest battle of the war.  They've thrown everything
they've got at us, and we're going to be very lucky to hold our base
camps.  It wouldn't surprise me in the least if we get kicked completely
out of the country, lock, stock and barrel.  To help prevent that, I
need to know some very important information about the enemy troops in
this area and I need it now.  I don't have time for niceties, and I
don't have time for stupid court martials.  Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, Sir."  Mr. Walker saluted, turned and met Jim's eyes with his own.
Jim saw, 'I tried', just as Walker saw the response, 'I know, and it's
okay." The flight back south to join the rest of the company was quiet.
Jim turned Saigon back on and listened to whatever music was playing.
Green daydreamed, Ratcliff and Walker were busy driving and getting
artillery and air strike clearances.

It was almost midnight when the flight finally landed for the night. Jim
introduced Green to Kenny and asked him to show Green where to clean and
store the guns.  He pulled his daily inspection as quickly as he could,
filled out the log book, so he could turn in the daily log sheet and
headed for the hooch.  He had just walked in the door when Gillett
yelled at him, "Mac, you had anything to eat lately?  The CO has the
mess sergeant fixing supper for the flight."

"Man, that sounds good!  Come on and eat with me, Gillett, I want to
talk to you."  The two men went through the line filling their plates
with mashed potatoes, gravy, corn and roast beef.  The coffee tasted
like burnt acid, but there wasn't any ice for water and, without ice,
the water always reminded Jim of recycled piss.  The food didn't have
much taste but was hot and therefore good, Jim had long ago decided the
mess hall food was good if it was hot and bad if it was cold.

A short time later, Green and the rest of the gunners came in. Gillett
asked, "What in the world have you guys been doing, spit shining those
guns?"

One of the gunners answered, "No, Gillett, the CO ordered the guns left
on the ships tonight, so we had to get them out of armament and get
Kenny to take us back out.  Hey, Gillett, what's going on anyway?  We
never left the guns on before."

"All I know, fellows, is Charlie has evidently decided to play for
real."

After the flight crews finished their meals, most of the men headed for
one of two places, the club or the showers.  On the way out of the mess
hall, Green asked Jim where both were located.  "Let's get a shower
first while there's still some water."  The showers weren't quite full
of guys when they arrived.  The shouts as the ice water hit bare skin
bounced off the shower walls and into the night.

"Hey, Mac, is it always this cold?"

"Only late at night.  Just be glad there's still water.  When it runs
out, the last bit of water is full of sand and grit, and you never know
when it's going to hit you."  They had just left when the obscenities
started.

"That, Green, is what it sounds like when the water has just run out."

Back in the hooch Green spotted Jim's shirt, "Hey, Mac, you going to
keep that shirt?"

"Of course I'm going to keep it.  It'll wash out and you'll never be
able to tell it from any other."

"No, no, I mean why don't you keep it like it is and send it home? You
could have it framed and wouldn't even have to stretch the truth to
impress all the girls."  Kenny spoke up, "Mac, I'll tell you what I'll
do, I'll buy that shirt for ten bucks."

"What for?"

"I know a guy in supply who really goes in big for that kind of stuff.
You should see some of the letters he sends home.  He's a real Saigon
warrior.  He would probably rip your name tag off and sew his on, then
send it home with some cock and bull story, I mean really, the thing
looks like you've been through hell with it."  Kenny held the shirt up
to get a good look at it.  "I'll tell you what, since the thing is
almost totally covered with blood and oil, I'll give twenty bucks top
for it."

Jim looked Kenny straight in the eye.  "Go to hell, Kenny.  I wouldn't
sell it to you for a hundred bucks!"  With that, he grabbed the shirt
from Kenny's hands and stuffed it into his dirty clothes bag.

It was almost one-thirty a.  m.  when Jim got into bed and pulled his
mosquito netting down.  Sleep came the instant his head hit the pillow.

Jim's eyes felt it first-then his brain seemed to explode with the
blinding light in his face.  "Mac, wake up, I need a crew for a single
ship night mission.  You want it?"

"Yeah, I'll go, but get that flashlight out of my face, please. What
time is it?"

"Almost two-thirty.  I'll get Green up and drive the two of you to the
flight line."

"Two-thirty!  Gillett, I've only been in bed an hour."

"I know, Mac.  You want me to get someone else?"

"No, I'm awake.  I'll go."

Jim could really feel the fatigue; his chest felt heavy and it was
almost more than he could manage just to crawl out of bed.  Gillett
helped put their gear in the truck and it wasn't long before they were
at the aircraft.  Jim was untying the main rotor when the two pilots
arrived.  They looked like they came out of the same mold: tall, dark
and skinny.  John O'Neal was from Wyoming and Dave Gabrys was from
Colorado.

"Mr. O'Neal, Mr. Gabrys, how did you two get stuck flying tonight?"

As O'Neal placed his gear in the chopper, he turned to answer Jim. "We
both had yesterday off, so they figured we would be in the best shape
for tonight.  Besides, Walker has enough hours that if he flies tonight
he'll be over the hour limit.  Is this crate ready to fly, Mac?"

"Yes, Sir, I always preflight before I quit for the night."

"Okay, I'll take your word for it, especially since it's so dark." In no
time at all the ship was airborne and headed east of Tay Ninh.

"Mr. O'Neal, where we going?"

"Mac, we're headed for Xom Bau Dau, Manchu company had a couple of
snipers on Nu Ong who sniped on more than they could chew.  They're
supposed to be headed north on Highway 14 in an effort to stay alive."

"How in the world are we going to spot them at this time of night?"

"They have a radio and a M-14 with a starlight scope on it, so they
should be able to contact us, for that matter, they should see us a long
time before we see them."

"How long they been on the run?"

"I'm not real sure.  Evidently, they got in trouble about 0100 and have
been trying to get picked up ever since.  Let's cut the chatter now so
we can raise 'em on the radio."

Mr. Gabrys had already tuned into their frequency and was listening for
their transmission.  The wait seemed forever as the single Huey glided
silently east over Highway 13 toward the point where 14 and 13 met.
O'Neal looked over to Gabrys who was studying a map and asked, "How much
further 'til we meet up with Highway 14?"

"About four miles, yet."

It was then that they all heard it, very faint, almost a whisper: "This
is Frog calling Lizard.  Do you read me?  Over."  O'Neal spoke at once,
"Roger, Frog.  This is Blackhawk 925.  We're inbound to your location.
By the way Frog, Lizard sends his regards, Can you give me your exact
location?  Over."

Again, in a voice that betrayed his exhaustion, they heard a whisper,
"Negative, Lizard, on the Location.  Charlie is on this frequency.  Can
you lock on this frequency if I leave my mike on and find me?  Over."

"We can come close.  I understand you should be able to see us.

Is that correct?  Over."

"Affirmative.  Over."

"What highway are you now on, Frog?  Over."

"Negative, Blackhawk, be prepared to decode.  Wait one!  Okay, look,
Charlie is getting hot again.  I've gotta leave this location. I'll
leave the mike on, DO NOT, I repeat DO NOT contact me.  I see you. I'll
call you.  Out!"

O'Neal spoke, "He's crazy as hell if he thinks I'm going through that
decoding garbage.  If he wants a ride he can just tell us where the hell
he's at."

"Dave, can you use that radio direction locator?  He must be on 13
headed west."

"Yeah, you're probably right!  I haven't used a beacon locator since
school though."  After about two minutes Gabrys spoke, "Okay, I've got
him dead ahead.  It's a pretty strong signal so we must be close."

"Blackhawk 925, this is Frog, land on the flashlight signal, out!"

"Mr. O'Neal, that wasn't the same man was it?"

"No, but, Dave, they said there were two of them."

"Blackhawk, (huff,huff), this is Frog, (huff, huff).  Disregard that
transmission (huff, huff).  It was Charlie (huff, huff).  We have (huff,
huff) you on visual (huff).  Charlie is about two hundred meters back
(huff, huff).  You just flew past us (huff).  Do you have us? (huff)"

"What direction are we turning, Frog?  Over."

"To your (huff, huff) left.  Come get me, PLEASE!"  (Huff, huff). "John,
we did fly over the signal and it is now behind us.  He also got the
left turn right, but then he had a 50-50 chance."

"Okay, let's go get him.  You two in the backseats awake?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Yes, Sir."

"And, Green, don't fire your M60 until we are on the way out.  If
Charlie is only two hundred meters back, he's close enough to hear us
but not see us.  However, the flash of that gun will give them a spot to
aim at."

O'Neal came over the radio, "Okay, Frog, we're on our way down. Give us
a talk down."

"Roger, you are directly to my north (huff).  Now (huff), you're flying
by me (huff).  You're over the highway and fifty meters (huff) in front
(huff).  Set it down.  I'll come to you.  Out."

"Sir, what if it's Charlie?"

"Then cut loose with that M60."

"Green, don't worry about it.  If it's Charlie, you'll be dead before
you know otherwise."

"Mac, you really know how to encourage a guy."

"I love you too, Green."

"Cut out the chatter back there.  Damn, it's dark.  I wish I could turn
on some lights.  I don't even have our navigation lights on.  Can
anybody see how close the ground is?"

"No, Sir."

"Can anybody see anything?"

There was total silence as every eye searched for some clue to the
ship's proximity to earth, tree or, hopefully, highway.  Finally, Jim
spoke as Mr. O'Neal slowly eased it downward.  "Sir, Frog said we were
directly over the highway.  All you can do is ease on down."

At that point they felt the skids touch down.  Instantly, two men jumped
on board and Jim could see one raising his arm upward.  Jim almost
screamed as the adrenalin pumped through his body.  "They're on. Let's
go!"  With that, O'Neal put everything he had into it and the ship
jumped upward and away.  Jim could see plainly the flashes of enemy fire
and hear the all too distinct thunk, thunk as his chopper took hit after
hit.  It was all he could do to keep from blindly spraying the area, but
he knew every fifth round he fired was a tracer.  The trail it left
would be like saying, here I am, everybody, shoot.  In only seconds,
they were out of the area and on their way back to Tay Ninh.

"Mr. O'Neal, we took some hits, so keep a close eye on your gauges."

"Got you covered, Mac."

Their two passengers had begun to regain their breath and had taken
seats on the bench.  One was seated close to Jim.  He placed his hand on
Jim's shoulder and pulled the crew chief towards him.  Looking at the
grunt, Jim realized he wanted to say something.  Placing his face only
inches from the grunt's, he keyed his mike so everyone could hear.  The
voice was full of emotion and all knew he had to be crying, "Thank you.
Thank you for coming to get us.  We've been running almost all night
trying to stay ahead of them.  Every time we thought we had lost them
they would turn our direction and we had to start moving again.  You
guys looked like a chariot from heaven sent to pluck us from death."

Jim shouted back at the man so he could hear, "Who did you shoot? Ho Chi
Minh?"

"We got their CO."

With that the conversation ended and both men leaned back to rest. The
next voice Jim heard was O'Neal's.  "No wonder they spent so much effort
pursuing those two.  Look, Mac, these gauges read just fine and we're
about five minutes out of Tay Ninh.  Where do you want me to put it
down?"

"Just take it right on in to maintenance and park it.  I know it took
several hits that will have to be patched."

It was 0433 when Jim took off his boots and shirt and lay down on his
bunk.  Sleep, as always, came instantly for him, but it didn't last
long.

"Mac, wake up, it's 05:15, What time did you get back last night?"

"Gillett, it was four-thirty this morning.  That's forty-five minutes
sleep I got last night and the night before I was on guard duty. That's
only five or six hours sleep in the last forty-eight hours."

"Mac, if I had someone else to fly in your place, I'd set you down, but
I just don't.  In fact, I've got to send Green to Cu Chi for a flight
physical today.  Come on, I'll eat breakfast with you and you can tell
me about last night."

"Man, that was something else.  We picked up these two guys, one was a
radio man, the other a sniper.  You should have seen this guy's rifle,
Gillett.  He had an M14 with a starlight scope on it and a silencer on
the end that must have stuck out a foot.  I don't know how much that
thing weighed, but he had to think it was a ton after running up Highway
13 from Nu Ong and then down 14, 'til we picked them up. Come on.  Let's
go eat and I'll tell you all about it."

Breakfast was the same as always: eggs done to your choice, toast
sometimes donuts, and the ever present coffee.  Whenever the cooks were
fixing omelets Jim always had one.  His favorite was ham and cheese, but
any omelet had flavor, and that was more than he could say for eggs
sunny side up or over easy, which usually ended up being over hard.
Unlike a lot of guys, he always took his malaria tablet.  But then he
didn't get the diarrhea like some of the other guys, so he really didn't
mind.

The two men were about finished with their meals when Gillett poked Jim
with his elbow.  Pointing to a guy at the end of the table putting
Tabasco sauce on his eggs he said, "Mac, what septic tank do you suppose
that guy lived in that taught him to put Tabasco sauce on his eggs?"

"Mexico!"  Both men broke into laughter.  They looked at each other and
laughed that much harder.  Before long, they had the whole mess hall
Looking in their direction.

Jim placed his steel pot with the ice cold shaving water on his bunk
between himself and his mirror.  He was well lathered and had started to
shave when he saw it.  There in the rafters was Kenny's monkey directly
over Bob Athia's bunk.  It didn't dawn on Jim what was happening until
he turned around and started laughing at the spectacle above.  Bob Athia
was a well-built man of about 5 '7, and one hundred fifty pounds.  An
OKLAHOMA boy with brown hair and eyes, he already had a big dislike for
Kenny's monkey.  "Hey, Bob, Kenny's monkey's about to come all over
you."  Athia looked up to see the masturbating monkey directly over his
bunk.  Grabbing a combat boot, he threw it at the monkey and shouted,
"I'll kill you, you son of a bitch."

The boot missed but caused the monkey to move just as he ejaculated,
spreading semen on Bob's bunk, the floor and Dick Hunter's wall locker.
Dick Hunter stood six feet, weighed about one hundred ninety pounds, and
like most of the other men in the hooch, he didn't have any love for the
monkey.  So with the mess on his wall locker that now confronted him, he
picked up his M16 and with the actions of a man who meant business, he
jammed in a full magazine and pulled back the bolt.

Kenny, who had been watching with Gillett and Jim, jumped on Hunter
before he could take aim.  Athia's temper was on full boil.  He jumped
on Kenny and a full scale fight was under way.  Gillett started forward
to break things up when Jim grabbed his arm and said, "Let 'em fight.
It'll do Kenny good.  Maybe he'll even decide to get rid of that damn
monkey."  Gillett ignored him and moved forward shouting, 'Alright, you
guys, I'm giving you a direct order: break it up.  I mean it.  Stop it."
The three separated as Gillett shouted, "attent-hut", and came to
attention facing Gillett, who started his lecture, "Kenny, Mac thought I
should have let them beat the hell out of you and believe me I would
have if I was sure that Athia and Hunter would be flyable.  You just
might have gotten lucky and really hurt one of them, so I had to stop
it.  However, Kenny YOU WILL get rid of that monkey and YOU WILL clean
up the mess he just made!  Do you understand me?"

Kenny nodded his head, "Yes".

"Hunter, you know perfectly good and well it's an automatic Article 15
for unauthorized discharging of a weapon in the company area.  So you
should be glad Kenny stopped you.  Okay, let's get Finished up in here,
you're supposed to be on your ships shortly."

The truck ride to the flight line was filled with conversation and
bet-taking on when, if at all, Kenny would get rid of his monkey.  One
thing about a group of GI's, they were willing to take bets on anything.
Once at the ship, Jim started his preflight inspection.  It wasn't long
before the gunners were dropped off.  They usually went to the armament
bunker for ammo and smoke grenades before going to their ships.  Jim's
ship had been fixed and moved out of maintenance and into its revetment.
The first thing he checked was the log book to see what maintenance had
been done.  As he had suspected there was no major damage to the ship,
only superficial wounds which required some simple skin patching.

Jim was almost finished with his preflight when Gary Broadnex, his
gunner for the day, showed up.  Gary was a short, five-foot-five, stubby
fellow with a roly poly disposition.  Yet his one hundred sixty-five
pounds of mostly muscle made him very physical, "Hi, Mac, I heard that
new guy has to go get a flight physical today.  My ship's in
maintenance, so for today, I fly with you."

"I'll tell you, I'm glad to see you.  I was afraid I'd get stuck with
Kenny or one of our pot head friends."

"How are you betting on Kenny's monkey?"

"Oh, it'll still be there tonight."

It wasn't long before Mr. Walker and Mr. Valadores walked up.  Mr.
Valadores looked every bit the Spaniard his name indicated.  A full
faced man of medium height and build, Valadores hoped to be a comedian
once out of the service.  Everyone enjoyed flying with him because of
his great sense of humor.

In another twenty minutes, the flight of ten ships and two gunships was
airborne.  Their mission for the day was to put troops in position to
start a sweep in the direction of fire support base, BURK.  BURK would
then act as a blocking force, along with troops from the First Infantry
Division.

BURK was located alongside a dirt highway surrounded by trees, except
where the engineers had cleared them to allow for a good field of fire.
No one liked flying in or around trees.  They were hard to get over on
take off and harder still to find a safe place to land in case of power
failure or other emergency.

It was a long, boring flight from Tay Ninh to the drop sight, although
no one was in a real hurry to get there.  Jim pulled the sun visor down
on his helmet and pulled his seat belt tight to take a nap. The boredom
and exhaustion was putting him to sleep.  He awoke when he heard
Valadores say, "Is that our L.Z.?"

Walker's response was only to shake his head in the affirmative. Jim
looked out the door and saw they were on long final approach to the hour
glass.  It was called the hour glass because, from the air, that's what
it looked like.  In reality, it was a grass clearing surrounded by
trees.  Every time the Blackhawks had landed there they had been shot at
and this time wasn't any different.  It started with small arms fire as
they came in on short final.  The bottom right side of the hour glass
suddenly looked like a fire works display.  Jim could only guess at what
it looked like from the ground as all twenty M60's opened up, each
firing a tracer every fifth round.  Unfortunately, the worst was to come
as the ships touched down.  Out of the hour glass's neck came fire that
Jim couldn't see but Broadnex announced, "We're getting shot at by a
bunch of 50's.  There are four, no eight of them.  That thing must be a
dual quad fifty As the flight started to lift off, Jim could see fire
coming from his side of the bottleneck.  It was Valadores who asked the
question first, "My Lord, those look like basketballs coming at us! Mac,
what is that thing down there?"

"It's got to be an anti-aircraft gun."  Jim continued to fire his M60 at
the ack-ack gun, hoping to silence it long enough to get past. His voice
was full of agitation and emotion as he related to the others what he
saw as he looked backward.  "Oh, shit, Chalk Seven just took a direct
hit from that ack-ack.  It just literally blew up."  Jim hadn't finished
speaking when the intership radio cracked, "Lead, this is Chalk 10.
Chalk 7 just took a direct hit from anti-aircraft fire.  He went down
out of control and is on the ground in flames now.  There appear to be
no survivors.  Trail, out."

The mike clicked twice.  The big question on everyone's mind now was,
who was in Chalk Seven?  It was a First Platoon ship, so no one on 925
knew who was in it.  Of course, it just wasn't right to go on the radio
and ask.

"Trail, this is Lead.  How many ships did we leave behind?  Over."

"Lead, this is Trail.  Two by my count.  Over."

"Six, this is Lead.  Do you copy?  Over?"

"Roger, Lead.  We're over the L.Z.  in C and C.  Take the flight back to
BURK and pick up troops there and insert them ASAP.  I'll get Saigon and
see if we can't get some fixed wing help up here.  Six out."

The flight had already turned to head for the dirt road alongside BURK.
In no time, troops were on board and headed back to the hour glass. This
time, though, there was more prepping of the L.Z.  for their landing.
The first time in the gunships had made a couple of runs but drawn no
fire, which meant, of course, the NVA troops on the ground were well
disciplined.  So this time the L.  Z.  was also prepped with artillery
fire from BURK's 105MM guns.

All the friendly troops were supposed to be on the left, so only those
guns on the right side of the ships opened fire as they approached the
L.  Z.  On command, the right side guns opened fire with each person
expecting at any second to see the basketball sized tracers start
blowing them out of the sky.  The ships were on the ground and the
troops out and nothing-not even small arms fire.  The flight took off
and was gone without receiving that first sign of enemy fire.

"Mr. Walker, you know I'm enormously glad we didn't get shot at again,
but I don't understand why."

"The only thing I can figure, Mac, is that when they started getting
artillery fire on them they packed up and left."

"But, Sir, with those two guns working together they could have blown
every one of us out of the sky, then taken the troops on the ground at
their leisure."

"Wouldn't you guess that was their plan to begin with, but the guys they
had operating the fifty and ack-ack were such poor shots they didn't get
the job done.  I mean, after all, the 50 only got one ship and the
anti-aircraft one, and either one of them alone should have gotten all
ten of us.  But at the worst, both together should have knocked down
seven or eight of us.  When that didn't happen, they figured correctly
that we would be right back with more troops, and it did only take us
about thirty minutes turn around time.  You can bet they didn't want to
lose those two guns, so they figured since plan A didn't work, use plan
B.  Pack up and leave."

"Yeah, you're probably right which means two things: one, someone in
Saigon told them where, when and with what we were coming, and two, they
also knew where the trap was laid and were not about to get caught in
it."

"You got it, Mac.  We'll put a little red apple on your tree tonight and
send you to the head of the class."

"You're so kind."

Valadores broke in, "Hey, you guys, I've had my UHF on.  Six has been
talking to Tay Ninh.  They're going to let us get fuel this time but
that's it.  No more fuel except for gunships until they can get the
bridges the NVA blew fixed to get a convoy through.  And, of course,
they'll probably have to have the Air Force fly in fuel first."  Jim
reached up and flipped his UHF and VHF switch on just in time to hear
Six calling Lead, "I read you loud and clear, Six.  Come on in."

"Roger, Lead.  You can only get the flight topped off once at Tay Ninh.
I've tried Quan Loi, and Dau Tieng and they're both out of fuel except
for gunships.  The next closest place is Cu Chi.  They said they have a
reasonable supply, but with everyplace else running low, Cu Chi won't
last long either.  I'll keep you advised.  Six, out."

It wasn't long until the flight landed at the fuel pumps, refueled and
picked up troops.

Jim always thought that, in many ways, the ferrying of troops was one of
the worst parts of the war.  It was the boredom, hour after hour of the
same patch of sky to look at, the same jungle or rice paddy, the same
trees and water from eighteen hundred feet was very monotonous. Boredom,
long, long hours of boredom combined with the ever present fatigue, made
it extremely hard to stay awake.

It took about thirty minutes to get to the L.  Z.  with American troops
on both sides of the hour glass.  There wasn't any firing of the ship's
M60's.  It was a routine landing and take off.  Now they had to make the
forty-five minute flight to Cu Chi, then up to Tay Ninh to pick up
troops and back to the L.Z.  Jim figured it would be an easy two hours
before they got back to the L.Z.  again.

He could hear Lead asking Six what kind of resistance the grunts had
met.  The response didn't surprise Jim.  No contact with the enemy. Of
course, the American troops hadn't moved until the second lift had been
put in.  By that time, the NVA had broken down their big guns and split.
By the time our troops got there, they could see by the crushed grass
the spot where both guns had been.  No other sign of their existence was
present: no shells, nothing.  The walk to BURK would be just as
uneventful.  No question about it-the NVA had planned on a very big
slaughter.  Lack of skill by the guys working the fifty and ack-ack had
caused a very quick change in plans.  Jim realized their plan was good
very, very good.  If the NVA had as few as one hundred fifty troops in
the area, it would have been easy pickings because there couldn't have
been more than fifty or sixty U.S.  troops on the ground, depending on
how many of the flight crews survived in fighting condition.

The tension seemed to release as Jim leaned back, allowing the fatigue
to consume him.  Before falling asleep he said, "Thank you, God."

Jim awoke to hear Broadnex and Walker talking.  Cu Chi was in sight and
before long, the flight had refueled and then relocated on a side road.
Jim was glad he hadn't gotten caught sleeping and, also, that there'd
been a change in plans, even though he didn't know what or why. The
flight was now in Cu Chi sitting on a side road shutting off the
engines, which meant they were going to be there for a while.

Almost as quickly as the engines were shut down, the crews broke out the
C-rations.  The pilots took their C's and walked up to lead ship to
discuss the day and get instructions from Six.  Jim had tied down the
main rotor blade and started to open his C-ration box, when a Chaplain
stuck his head in the ship and said, "I've got a jeep over there in the
clearing," as he pointed in its direction.  "I'll be holding services in
three minutes and I'd like to have you men join me."  With that, he
turned and walked down the line of choppers and made the same invitation
to each man he saw.

Jim turned to Broadnex and said, "Come on, let's go."

"Mac, that's sissy stuff.  I'm not going over there."  Without
responding, Jim gulped his C-ration and walked over to the jeep taking a
seat on the ground along with some grunts who had come over and the
handful of Blackhawks.  There were about a dozen men present.  The
chaplain started, "In the name of the Father, Son and Holy Ghost.  Amen.
Men, I've only been in country a few weeks, but in that short time, I've
learned these impromptu services are often more meaningful to you than
the regular Sunday services I hold.  I've also learned those choppers
won't wait for me to finish, so I better get the most important part
done first.  Is there anyone here who hasn't been baptized and would
like to do so now?"  The chaplain looked quickly around and seeing no
response moved on.  "Is there anyone here who already knows the Lord
Jesus Christ and believes in Him?"  This time the response was unanimous
as each man raised his hand.  "In that case, is there anyone here who
would like to receive Holy Communion?"

The response was slower but, again, several hands went up, Including
Jim's.  It would be his first communion since he left the states and he
knew he had many sins of which to repent.  His first thought was of R &
R and all he had done there.  The chaplain's voice continued.  "Very
well, men, all I have is a canteen of water and some C-ration crackers.
Under the circumstances, though, I don't think the Lord will mind their
use."  He then placed the canteen and crackers on the jeep's hood and
said, "Let us pray.  'Our Father, who art in heaven. Hallowed be Thy
Name.  Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven.
Give us this day our daily bread; and forgive us our trespasses as we
forgive those who trespass against us and lead us not into temptation,
but deliver us from evil.  For Thine is the kingdom and the power and
the glory.  Amen'.  Men, our Lord Jesus Christ on the night He was
betrayed took bread and when He had given thanks, He broke it and gave
it to His disciples saying, 'Take, eat, this is My Body which is given
for you, this do in remembrance of Me.  After the same manner also, He
took the cup, when He had supped and when He had given thanks, He gave
it to them saying, 'Drink ye all of it, this cup is the New Testament in
My Blood which is shed for you and for many for the remission of sins.
This do, as often as you drink it, in remembrance of Me.  The Peace of
the Lord be with you always.  Amen.  The table of the Lord is ready.
"Men, those of you who believe in the Lord Jesus Christ as your personal
Savior and who truly repent of all your sins, rise and receive the
Lord's table."

Jim and most of the men rose and moved forward.  The words just spoken
rang in his ears, emotion filled his chest and a tear fell from his eye
down the side of his face as the chaplain handed him a small piece of
stale cracker and said, "Take, eat, this is the Body of Christ given for
you."  Each man was served and the chaplain picked up the water canteen,
passing it to each man as he spoke, "Take, drink the Blood of Christ
shed for your sins."

After all the men had been served, he had them take their seats on the
grass again and spoke once more, "The Body of our Lord Jesus Christ and
His precious Blood strengthen and preserve you in true faith unto
everlasting life.  Amen."  After a short pause, he addressed the group
as though giving a sermon.  Jim's eyes were full of moisture and the
emotion he felt at that moment would haunt him always.  He wanted to
weep openly but forced back the tears, not wanting to seem unmanly.  He
had just received the most meaningful communion of his life.  It was the
chaplain's voice that brought him back from his own deep thoughts. "Men,
like me, some of you have only been in country a short time, others are
probably about to rotate home."  As the chaplain spoke he could look
over the men in front of him and see the helicopters parked behind them.
The pilots in the first chopper were climbing out and quickly moving
back towards their ships.  Knowing he now had only seconds before the
fly-boys in his group would have to leave, his message now became
shorter, "I can never know your trials because, like millions of others,
I'll never walk in your shoes."  He could see the main rotors being
untied, "There will be times when you think Christ has forsaken you.
However, take a lesson from the old Jews.  They sinned and the Lord
punished them but he never forsook them.  He always loved them and was
always with them just as he will always be with you.  That doesn't mean
you won't be killed.  St.  Paul and Peter were killed because they loved
Jesus.  He will always be with you, even in death, and for that reason,
LIVE without fear!"

The all too familiar whine of the chopper engines starting to turn
reached their ears.  The fly boys all stood at once and started to leave
but were stopped and turned around by the chaplain's words.  "Men, give
me only one second more."  He raised his right hand and said, "The Lord
bless you and keep you.  The Lord make His face to shine upon you.  The
Lord lift His countenance upon you and give you His peace.  Amen."

With his still raised hand he waved them on.  To a man, they turned and
ran to their respective ships.  Watching them go he was reminded of a
phrase he had heard before, but couldn't quite bring to mind, something
about the flower of American Youth.

Broadnex had already untied the rotor and Walker had started to turn the
engine.  Jim quickly put his chicken plate on and then his helmet.
Having plugged his helmet in he spoke.  "What's happening?"

Walker responded, "To make a long story short, there was only one way
out of our trap at BURK.  Naturally, that's the way the NVA are going.
Since we now have to go to Saigon to get fuel, we're simply going to let
them go and pull our own troops out.  It seems the turn around time will
be too great to chance putting in a blocking force."

The flight back to BURK and the Hour Glass was uneventful, giving Jim
time to think about the chaplain's words.  They picked up the same
troops they had dropped off earlier along with the flight crew that had
been shot down.  The charred remains of the other ship still lay in a
broken, ugly heap.  The second ship had been chinooked out earlier. What
little was left of the four men, who had been burned in the chopper hit
by anti-aircraft fire, lay on the ground beside their ship.

"Mr. Walker, did you see those bodies as we took off?"

"Yeah, Mac, I did.  Not a nice way to die."

"Sir, where are we dropping these troops?"

"Since the pressure is off at BURK, they're going all the way to Saigon.
We're supposed to put them in a polo field the French built. In fact,
it's alongside a building used as a French Academy.  Evidently the
Cholon district of Saigon is catching hell.  We heard on the radio that
the M.P.'s have finally secured the U.S.  Embassy."

The flight down to Saigon seemed to take forever.  Jim was overwhelmed
as they approached the old French polo field.  He had no idea that any
such place existed in Vietnam.  Old world money and lots of it was very
evident.  A brick fence surrounded the polo field and a brick two-story
building that might have been a barracks or school at one time stood
just outside the field.  Half round red tile roofing lay broken on the
ground beside the building.  Grass was growing in the cracks around the
old flag pole in what had once been an area where ceremonies were held.
The grass on the field had been recently mowed like someone expected to
play one day this week.  Only the trash on the field told of the
departed army that had used its grounds as a camping area.

The flight landed on the edge of the polo field not far from the old
barracks.  There were still signs of the recent heavy combat that had
taken place in and around the field but the flight didn't draw any fire.
From the polo field they went to the fuel dump to put on fuel.

"Flight, this is Lead.  A jeep will approach one of our ships; whoever
the lucky one is that they pull up beside, you're to get four rubber
bags and take them back up to BURK with you."

As Jim put fuel in his chopper, he listened to the radio and hoped that
jeep driver didn't pick his ship.  Broadnex's voice told him he hadn't
hoped hard enough.  "Oh, shit, why us?  Eight choppers sitting here and
that bastard has to pick us."

Valadores spoke, "Broadnex, this is just your lucky day.  Stop bitching
and go get the bags."

When Jim climbed back on board, there in the cargo area were four neatly
folded black rubber bags.  He hated those bags and if he never saw a
black rubber bag again, it would be too soon.

The flight back to the Hour Glass seemed to take forever.  It was the
routine of the long flights and the boredom that once again made it
really tough for Jim to stay awake.  Once at the L.  Z., Walker hovered
their ship over to where the bodies lay.  Two grunts ran over to give
assistance as Broadnex and Jim stepped out of the chopper, each carrying
two bags.  It was the close-up sight of the bodies that first made Jim
look away.  He tried not to look but the sickly sweet smell violated his
nostrils and tightened his throat almost to the choking point, forcing
him to look at the badly charred body before him.  The sight and smell
was almost more than he could stand.  He put his handkerchief to his
mouth and tried to block out the smell as the other hand unzipped the
bag.  The flies were all over the bodies, like bees on honey.  Already
swollen considerably, the bodies looked and smelled worse than words
could describe.  Jim bent over and with Broadnex's help, tried to roll
the first body on top of the opened bag.  It was as if on cue they both
turned and vomited.  Gagging and choking and vomiting, they finished the
gruesome task and zipped up the bag.  The second body was just as bad as
the first; both started dry heaving when Broadnex pulled off a large
chunk of cooked flesh and meat in his hand.  Unable to pick up the
charred remains, they tried to push the body into position.  Finally,
the job was done and with the grunt's help, they were loaded onto the
ship.  All four men tried to wash the bitter taste out of their mouths
with ice water from Jim's cooler, to no real avail.  They swished it
around, gargled and spit, Only the air rushing over their bodies as the
ship flew along prevented them from smelling the odor that had attached
itself to their clothing.

Jim settled back in his seat for the long flight back to Saigon. It was
already starting to get dark, and the total exhaustion that overcame him
was more than he cared to resist.

"Mac, you awake?  Mac, wake up!"

"I'm awake, Mr. Walker.  I'm awake!"

"You were, like shit, MacLaughlin!  Now, stay awake, damn it! There are
too many other choppers around, plus jets.  I don't have to tell you
that a phantom's nose wouldn't look at all good sticking out of our
cargo door."

"Mr. Walker, do you know how much sleep I've had the last few days? Not
more than three hours.  I'm beat.  Besides, these sixty minute lifts are
boring as hell back here.  Not to mention the fact I just had the dry
heaves."

"MacLaughlin, there are millions of people in the world you could never
convince that flying in a helicopter and getting shot at is boring.  Get
another drink of water and you'll feel better."

"Sir, I could care less what people think and I'm not thirsty."

"Okay, Mac, let's change the subject.  I'm supposed to have R & R next
month.  You just went.  Tell me about it."

Jim figured why not, it'd take his mind off everything, "Okay, it was
January 17 through 21. I went to Manila but you could care less.  You
just figure that if I'm talking, I won't go to sleep."

"That's not true, I really want to hear about it, and if it helps keep
you awake, so much the better.  Start with picking up your orders."

"Okay, I don't mind telling you about it because I had a great time.

In fact, if I can work it out, I'm going back.  I picked up my orders
from the company clerk that morning, I was all on my own as far as
getting there and back, so I hopped a ride on the courier flight down to
Cu Chi.  At Cu Chi I had to do some processing out of country and get my
shots updated.  I spent most of the time standing in line.  You know the
Army, hurry up and wait.  Since it was night by the time I got done, I
stayed with the 116th Flight Platoon.  The Hornets had an empty bunk."

Chapter Four

R & R!

Yes, Jim thought to himself, it had been quite an experience, but he
didn't want to tell Walker the whole story.  His mind drifted back to
that first day of R & R.  He remembered checking in and taking his
sheets to the hooch he'd been assigned for the night.  He found an empty
bed, decided that it looked as flea infested as any of the others
available, and unrolled the mattress to lay the sheets down.  Someone
touched him on the arm and said, "Aren't you Jim MacLaughlin?"

Jim turned and, seeing a slightly familiar face, shook his head and
said, "Yes."

The other GI laughed and said, "I'm John Seiko."  Jim was stunned. He
hadn't seen John since high school, where they had been classmates
almost two years ago.  John had grown at least four inches and had lost
all his baby fat.  In school, John had been at least one hundred pounds
overweight.

"Jim, you didn't recognize me!"

"John, I hate to admit it, but I didn't.  Man, you have changed!"

"I know!  Joining the Army was the best thing that ever happened to me.
Look, Jim, you coming or going on R & R?"

"I'm going, how about you?"

"I just got back from Hong Kong and have the day to kill; then tomorrow,
I check out of here and head back to the Big Red One over at Di An.
Look, let's check in your M16 and ammo and go get a drink?"

"John, that sounds great, but I have to check in at reception in about
fifteen minutes."

Together, they made Jim's bunk and walked over to check in his ammo and
M16.  From there they headed to the reception center, where Jim was
given a list of do's and don'ts and a departure time for the next day.
From there they hopped a ride on a jeep to Saigon.  The staff sergeant
driving turned out to be a nice guy who took them to a bar and told them
to have a good time.  The place was packed with people, and it didn't
take long until they decided to leave.  Once on the street Jim
remembered why he hated Saigon.  The place was a pigsty and the people
were barbarians.  The two GIS hadn't gone fifty feet down the road, when
a little boy about six years old, with bare feet, ragged shorts and no
shirt approached.

"Hey, GI, you want number one woman?"

"No, kid, we're not interested.  Now beat it!"

"Come on, GI, you want layed?  Buy my Mama San, she virgin, number one
lay, GI.  Number one, you like, you like!"

John decided to have a little fun with this kid, so he said, "Hey kid,
your mother good looking?"

"Number one, GI, number one, you like."

"You sure she's a virgin, kid?"

"Sure, GI, she virgin, you like, number one, number one!"

"Beat it, kid!  We're not interested in your mother.  Go on, get out of
here!"  John laughed and laughed.  "I'll tell you, Jim, this is some
country where little kids try to sell you their mother and sisters."

"Yeah, and look at those kids-the streets and the buildings."

"Hey, GI, you no want Mama San?  But sister, she pretty."

"She a virgin too, kid?"

"Sure GI, she virgin, number one, you like very much."

"Hey kid, how many kids your Mama San have?"

"Eight, you want sister?"

"No!  No!  No!  Now beat it kid, go on, git!"  Jim pulled on John's arm
and pointed down the alley.  There, beside a bunch of old crates and
boxes, squatted a Vietnamese man with his pants down having a bowel
movement and the whole area smelled like it wasn't the first time it had
been used as a toilet.  Jim wasn't really surprised, though, as there
was garbage and trash all over the place and the streets were covered
with dirt and sand.  From the same alley, an old woman came out of a
restaurant with a pail of slop and gave it a sling into the gutter.  The
street was lined on both sides with bars, restaurants and open-air
shops.  The shops were Filled with varied and sundry goods.  Some had
meat hanging that was covered with flies, some were filled with black
market goods.  Everything from guns, ammo and other weapons of war to
booze and C-rations was available.  As the two men walked by the bars,
they were accosted by men and sometimes women.  Each tried to sell the
age old folly of soldiers in any army: drink and girls-girls on stage,
all nude girl reviews, all nude go-go dancers, strip shows, topless
waitresses, girls for sale by the ejaculation or by the hour, day or
week-girls were definitely available.

As they walked, they were stopped by a very attractive girl in the
doorway of a bar, who was pleasant and spoke fairly good English.  As
she talked, she put her arm around John's waist and began to rub his
crotch.  As she worked on John, Jim couldn't help but be stunned by her
beauty.  She was a small woman, of about sixteen, he would guess.  Her
hair and makeup were perfect and her oriental dress, slit to her hips,
showed enough of her petite figure in a provocative sort of way to cause
both men to give consideration to the offer she proposed.  She had John
sold and knew it from her hand, so skillfully manipulating his engorged
shaft.  In a sexually playful gesture, John began tickling her under the
arms and on the tummy.  It was this that caused both men to lose
interest instantly in her and move on.  "My God, Jim, did you see those
teeth when she started to laugh?"

"Unfortunately, yes.  I have never seen such a disgusting mess in my
life.  Those teeth were half rotted away with just stubs sticking up and
what was left had a sickly black and green color.  I thought I was going
to gag."

"Jim, you thought you were going to gag, how about me?  I could just see
myself screwing that broad and me laying a few French kisses on her.  I
think I'm going to be sick.  Come on, this looks like a half way decent
place.  I'll buy you a beer."

It was a typical small bar, not much space, with only three tables and
bar stools running the length of one wall.  The table they took was made
of wood, but didn't look like it would hold the two beers they ordered.
The bamboo walls showed various sized holes and cracks.  The floor was
dirt and was probably raked out once a week, whether it needed it or
not.  They ordered only American beer in cans and insisted that they
remain unopened before being placed on their table.  Time slipped by
quickly as the two old friends discussed their high school and Army
days.

Very late that night when they left, the kids were still selling their
female relatives and the men on every street corner were still selling
watches and cigarettes.  Both GI's were in a silly, drunken condition
and when Jim asked to see a watch hawker's selection, they literally
fell over each other laughing.  The watch hawker had pulled up both
sleeves.  Watches covered both arms from his wrists to his elbows. Then
he pulled up both pant legs exposing more watches on each leg from the
ankles to the knees.  From there they caught a taxi back to the base and
left the Saigon shanties behind.

(In three years, Jim MacLaughlin would attend his high school class
reunion, where the emcee would tell that John Seiko had been killed in
action in South Vietnam at some place called Hobo Woods.  Jim
immediately recognized the date as being only days after they had been
together in Saigon.  Jim's chest would fill with painful emotion, his
head would drop into his hands and on down to the table.  Tears would
fill his eyes until, finally, overcome with emotion he would weep
openly.)

Wake up time for Jim was 0500/hours.  He watched for Seiko, but didn't
see him.  So he decided to try to look him up again when he got back
from R & R.  When Jim reported in at the reception center, he was told
to turn in his bedding and be ready for departure at 1000/hours. He
already had his bedding, so he could go straight to the supply hooch,
and from there to the mess hall for the predictable Army chow which he
knew was as big a mess one place as another.  Jim arrived back at the
orientation center at 0945/hours with khaki uniform on, suitcase in hand
and ready to go.  At 1035/hours, an Army sergeant began the briefing by
saying they were going to hurry, as they were running late.  The
sergeant checked everyone's orders and, when finished, told the group
they would be met in Manila and given a briefing.  From there the
sergeant led the group to the finance center where their M P.C.'s
(Military Pay Currency) were exchanged for real American green backs. As
each person walked through the finance center door, the sergeant
directed him to a waiting bus.

Jim found himself somewhat amused at how tough some tours of duty were
in Vietnam.  Here there were numerous soldiers doing nothing more each
day than driving a bus and directing other people around, but he knew
this was nothing new.  He had often been told that it took eight or more
support people for each combat soldier.  Still, he couldn't help but
wonder if these Saigon Warriors wouldn't be the ones to tell the biggest
war stories back home.  The bus arrived at Tan Son Nhut airport at
1200/hours.  The group was led by the same sergeant from the customs
area.  Going through customs wasn't any real problem: It was a simple
matter of opening one's suitcase for inspection and then passing through
the turnstile.

Once more they followed that fine old Army tradition, "Hurry up and
wait."  At 1245/hours, the group finally was ready to board an Air Force
DC-6 for Manila.  Standing in line, it occurred to Jim there weren't any
officers or women in the group of about thirty enlisted men.  He decided
they probably sent officers in separate groups, but he wondered how
women went on R & R.
When Jim got on the plane he was horrified!  There weren't any seats!
Halfway panic stricken he looked around to see what the others were
doing.  They, for the most part, were looking around to see what
everyone else was doing.  One Sp/5 had started unfolding the plane's
fold down benches from the walls.  Jim's only thought was, "You have got
to kidding me!", as he sat down and looked for the seatbelt that wasn't
there.

The Sp/5 seated next to him said, "They could have at least told us it
was a no frills flight."  Jim laughed and commented, "With the
no-expenses barred treatment we have received so far, I'm afraid to see
what the stewardesses look like."

He didn't have to be concerned.  There weren't any.  Somewhat to his
surprise, the plane managed to get off the ground.  It landed at Clark
Air Force Base, Manila, at 1805/hours.  As they disembarked, they were
led into another customs center and from there to the briefing room.

The staff sergeant entering the room looked like a hundred other young
men.  He was about twenty-one, tall, thin, with a fair complexion.
Despite his squeaky voice, he tried his best to sound like a nail biting
drill sergeant.  "Good evening, men.  My name is Staff Sergeant Pedro.
I'll be giving you a lot of information, so listen up.  First, each of
you must pick one hotel from the list on the blackboard.  Write the name
of said hotel in the space marked hotel on the white sheet of paper you
were given as you entered this room.  If you don't know anything about
any of the hotels, just pick a name that sounds good and write it down.
We are not allowed to give out any more information about the hotels."

Jim looked at the list and wrote down Shoreline Hotel.  He wished he
knew more about it than just the name.  Sergeant Pedro explained what
they could and couldn't buy (mostly what couldn't be bought and taken
through customs), and where they could not go in Manila, since part of
the city had known Communist sympathizers.  They were not to wear their
uniforms at all, from the time they arrived at the hotel until the
morning they dressed to return.  If they became ill or needed any other
services, such as legal or medical, they were to call the base operator
or present themselves to the M.  P.  at the gate.  Sergeant Pedro also
stressed the importance of not being arrested by the local officials.

Finally, he had the group finish filling out the required paperwork. "In
conclusion, gentlemen, I welcome you to Manila and assure you that there
is no reason each of you shouldn't have a very nice visit.  To help you
enjoy yourselves we have compiled a list of bars that we strongly
recommend.  You can visit them tonight.  At these bars you can buy
drinks and female companionship without fear of M.  P. disapproval. The
girls are checked out on a regular basis by a doctor. We also recommend
that you pay in advance for your room for the duration of your stay.
That way, if anything happens to your money, you have a place to stay
and you can eat here on post.  If there are no questions, pick up your
suitcases and file outside.  You are to get on the bus marked with the
name of the hotel you chose.  Have a good time men. Move out."

The bus ride to the hotel took about thirty minutes.  In no time at all,
Jim had checked in and arrived at his room on the tenth floor.  He was
pleased with the room.  It was clean with one large bed, a bath and
shower, dresser, desk and chair.  In general, this is what he would
expect in a nice but older hotel in the states.  Jim quickly showered
and changed.  He wanted to eat and then find a bar.  He walked out the
hotel door and saw several taxis.  One of the drivers approached and
asked, "You need a taxi, Sir?"

"Yes, I do."

"Get in, Sir, get in.  My name is Joe.  Where you want to go?"

"I'm here on R & R.  I'd like to get something to eat and drink."

"I know the exact place, sir.  And let me add, I would consider it a
privilege to be your personal guide and driver while you're here." Joe
started the '58 Ford he used for a taxi and drove off into the night,
and Jim started on an adventure that would affect his relationship with
women and his future wife more than he could possibly realize.

"Joe, I'm not sure I understand your offer.  How much do you want for
this service?"

"Nothing, Sir, except the usual taxi fee.  You see, it works out good
for both of us.  You have me for a guide around the city, and I'll take
real good care of you-even give you some advice and answer all your
questions.  You'll want to go various places and I know the best.
Besides, you won't have to worry about a taxi.  I'll always be there as
your personal driver, not taking any other fares while you're here. It's
a good deal for me, also; I can count on your using my taxi, so I'll
have a fare each day.  You simply tell me what time to be at the hotel
in the morning and I'll be there waiting."

"Joe, how do you charge?  By the mile, day, or hour?"

"By the mile, Sir.  Look, business is bad right now and I know how much
the average GI travels on R & R.  So, I know I'll make more money
working for you than by trying to hack it, and you get a good deal in
return."

"Okay, Joe, you've got a deal under one condition.  Stop calling me,
Sir.  My name is Jim MacLaughlin.  Call me Jim or Mac, or MacLaughlin,
but don't call me, Sir.  Okay?"

"Okay, okay, Jim.  You've made a wise decision.  Here we are, Howard's
Bar and Restaurant.  I'm sure you can find everything you want in there.
When you're ready to leave, I'll be here waiting.  You're going to like
it here."

Jim got out of the taxi, a little unsure of himself.  He had never done
anything like this before, but he sure wasn't going to miss his chance
now.  He just hoped he didn't lose his nerve.  Upon entering, he noticed
several young girls standing around.  As much as he hated it, he knew he
blushed when they smiled at him.  The maitre'd met him and asked if he
would like to go to the bar or the restaurant.  Jim chose the restaurant
and dined on the best steak, mashed potatoes and peas he'd had since the
States.

After dinner, he paid his bill and proceeded to the bar.  He was shown
to a table where he ordered a whiskey sour.  A short, heavy set
Philippino man approached the table and sat down.  "Hi, my name is
Manuel Romulo.  You're here on R & R?"

"Yes, I am.  My name is Jim.  Have a seat, make yourself at home."

"Thank you.  Are you interested in a girl, Jim?"

"Sure, you the boss?"

"Yes, I am.  Do you have a girl picked out?"

"No, and I have to admit I've never done this before."

"Jim, my good friend, that's no problem."

Manuel slapped his hands and shouted to no one in particular in a
language that Jim didn't understand.  In a routine that was obviously
standard procedure, all the girls who weren't sitting with a man moved
to a bench along one wall and sat down.  There must have been fifteen
girls on that bench.  Each was different in many ways.  They ranged in
age, from what Jim guessed to be about fifteen, to what must have been
forty-five or forty-six.  Some were just plain ugly, some homely, some
plain, some attractive, and some were very, very pretty.  There were fat
girls, skinny girls, and everything in between.  All but a few were
dressed in western clothing.  Manuel gave Jim several minutes to look
the girls over and make a selection.  Finally, Jim smiled and looked
over at Manuel, who had been in the business long enough to know that
this is where he should take the lead.

"Jim, would you like to go up and take a closer look?"

"No, I don't think so."

"Is there one that you would like to have come over?  Would you like to
talk to her?"

"How about the one with the deck of cards in her hands?"

"An excellent choice, Jim.  She is one of my very best girls." Manuel
motioned to the girls and directed the one Jim had picked to his table.
The rest of the girls dispersed and Jim watched the slender, young
beauty walk to his table.  She had a graceful walk and held herself in a
manner as if to show that she had grown up in an above average home. She
had a light complexion and dark hair and eyes.  Her skirt ended well
above her knees, revealing two beautiful legs.  As she sat down she
smiled at Jim.  He realized instantly she hadn't shown any teeth. Manuel
spoke first.

"Jim, this is Rose.  Rose, I'd like you to meet Jim."  Rose looked Jim
in the eye and said, "Hi, you're very nice looking."

"Thank you, and may I say, you're the most beautiful Rose I've ever
seen."  Jim paused for a moment and said, "I know this sounds strange,
but could I see your teeth?"

Rose flashed him a very toothy smile and a very puzzled look. Manuel
spoke, 'Is everything okay?"

"Yes, just fine, thank you."

"Would you like to use the bed in the back room before you decide?" Jim
shook his head and said, "No, that won't be necessary."  Manuel and Rose
exchanged several words in the local dialect.  This irritated Jim, but
he didn't think it wise to demand they speak English.  It was obvious
that Manuel was giving Rose instructions, since he was doing most of the
talking.  She simply responded with one or two words or a nod.  Finally,
she left and Manuel turned to Jim and said, "Now then, we can talk
business.  Do you want her for all four nights that you're here, or do
you wish to change girls each night?  Let me add, there is less cost if
you keep her for the duration of your stay."

"I'll keep her for all four nights.  How much?"

"Twenty dollars a night, that is eighty dollars for the four."  Jim was
shocked and it showed on his face.  Manuel saw it and responded at once,
"I told you she is one of my very best girls, and she costs
accordingly."

"Okay, no problem.  When do you want paid?"

"You can do it right now.  Would you also like some herbs to smoke?"

"Herbs?  You mean pot?"

Manuel held out his hand to take the money Jim was counting and said,
"Yes."

Jim's response was a curt, "No!"

"That's perfectly fine.  Now if you have any problems with her of any
kind, please let me know.  If you wish for any reason to change girls at
any time, feel free to do so.  There won't be any additional cost."

The two men shook hands.  Manuel turned and motioned to Rose, who, at
some time during the discussion, had taken a seat on the bench.  She
picked up a small handbag and approached them.  Jim, watching her
movements in the very short dress, was filled with great anticipation.

"Let me carry your bag, Rose."

She handed him the bag and took his extended arm.  Outside, Jim looked
around for Joe and he spotted him getting out of his taxi parked just
across the street.  Joe hurriedly crossed the street, took the bag from
Jim, and led the couple to his taxi.

Once inside the couple made small talk.  Jim learned that English is
taught in the schools along with their local dialect.  That explained
why everyone he met spoke English, and why many of the signs were in
English, also.  At the hotel they got on the elevator just behind an
older Philippino couple who appeared to be in their fifties.  As the
elevator started its rise, the older couple looked Jim and Rose over
closely.  The man spoke very curtly to Rose in the local dialect.  Her
response was one or two short words with her head down looking at the
floor.  Finally, the elevator stopped at Jim's floor.  He took Rose's
hand and started out the door.  The man shouted at them as they left.
Rose turned and responded very sharply.  As the elevator doors closed
between the two antagonists, the man spit on the floor at Rose's feet.
Jim took her arm and led her down the hall.

"I take it he doesn't care much for you, or me-and neither of our
professions."

"Oh, he likes yours alright.  He still thinks General Macarthur is God's
second son.  It's me he doesn't approve of."

Jim unlocked the door, put the bag on a chair, closed the curtains and
embraced Rose.  Their kiss was long and passionate.  Jim's hand moved to
the top of her dress and pulled on the zipper.  Rose wiggled and the
dress dropped to the floor leaving her in only her very lacey bra and
small bikini panties.

She was very pleased with herself for having spotted him when he first
entered Howard's.  She had smiled and shuffled her cards as he shyly
glanced her way, and watched as he blushed and moved on past.  She liked
these American boys who blushed.  They always turned out to be very kind
and gentle.  The fact that this one was also very nice looking made it
just that much better.  It had been a simple thing to make herself
scarce until he moved to the bar.  Then, to make sure he noticed her
again, she had moved by his table shuffling the cards, before Manuel had
sat down with him.  Once Manuel ordered the girls to the bench for his
scrutiny, she'd made sure she got the seat directly in front of him.
Thus, the first girl he saw would be her.  And, she knew that the
shuffling of the cards would subconsciously attract his attention.  All
she had to do then was to give him her most inviting smile.  If his
choice was close, the cards would tip the balance in her favor, and this
would also make his description of her to Manuel that much easier.

Sometime later Jim opened his eyes and watched her dry him with a towel
before laying down beside him.  "You know, Rose, you're beautiful and
Manuel was right, you're very good."

"Thank you.  I like you, Jim, and I'll try to make you very happy while
you're here.  We'll make love more than you ever made it in your life."

Jim laughed and said, "That wouldn't be hard to do.  I'm a virgin, or
rather, I was.  Wow, is that an embarrassing thing to admit."

"It doesn't matter.  In fact, I'll make you a promise: before you leave
Manila, I'll be so implanted in your mind that you'll think of me on
your wedding night."

"That, Rose, is some promise.  Come on, let's take a bath."  Rose moved
off the bed and wrapped a large towel around her.  Jim had already
started the bath and climbed in when Rose entered.  She picked up a wash
cloth and a bar of soap.  Then she got down on her knees.

"Come on, Rose, get in, it really feels good."

"Later, Jim.  First, let me bathe you."

She started scrubbing his back and shoulders and watched his muscles
roll under his bronzed skin as she rubbed.  She sensed that he possessed
a great deal more strength than his stature indicated.  He lay back in
the tub completely relaxed and allowed her to start on his feet. The
pleasure he felt at that moment was indescribable.  "Rose, this feels
wonderful.  How did you ever learn to bathe a man?"

"My mother died when I was thirteen and I assumed her duties, one of
which was bathing my father."

Jim looked up at her, "You said her duties.  Does that include sleeping
with him?"

"Of course not.  I assumed only her jobs and responsibilities.  Of six
children, I was the youngest and only daughter."

"What did you do, run away?"

"Oh, no.  My father was fairly rich and I had a good life until he was
killed in a car crash when I was almost sixteen.  Then, I came to Manila
to live with my oldest brother and his family.  Once here, I started
dating American boys from the base, which my brother didn't like.  We
got into a real big fight one day, and he kicked me out.  I'd already
met Manuel a few months earlier through one of the guys I was dating,
and he'd extended me an offer to work for him.  So, there I was with no
money, job, or place to stay and only in Manila about six months.  There
wasn't a whole lot I could do.  Besides, the money's good and I do enjoy
my work."

The excitement that had started to stir in Jim disappeared after hearing
Rose's story.  He simply lay there totally relaxed and touched by her
story, while her soft hands finished scrubbing his body.  She rinsed him
off and helped him rise from the tub and step out.  "Jim, I'll take a
quick bath and be right out.  Okay?"

"Take your time, Rose."

Jim closed the bathroom door behind him as he heard her step into the
bath.  He put on a shirt and sat down at the desk to look through the
pamphlets provided by the hotel.  Suddenly, he began to feel very tired
and it occurred to him that it must be pretty late.  He had left his
watch on the bedside table, so he rose and started in its direction,
intending to check the time and go straight to bed.  He dropped the
shirt to the floor and picked up the watch.  He was shocked: it said
2:35 a.m.

Jim awoke, and for a moment was disoriented.  He moved just slightly
and felt Rose's body beside him.  With that touch, he realized where he
was, and why.  It was pitch dark so Jim figured it couldn't be time to
get up yet.  Reaching for his watch, the luminous dial said 5:05.  He
lay there trying to go back to sleep but couldn't.  About ten minutes
later he decided it was useless, got up and went to the bathroom.

Jim really didn't know why he was taking a shower, but it sure felt
good.  He washed and then just stood there letting the water beat down
on his fatigued body.  The pounding water massaged and relaxed him
until, finally, it took an enormous effort to shut it off.  He dried
slowly and contemplated shaving but the watch said only 5:45, and he
really didn't feel like doing anything but going back to bed.

Awakened by Rose pulling the sheet from his body, he opened his eyes
enough to see that it was daylight.  Thinking it couldn't be more than
6:00 or 6:30, he glanced at his watch and was surprised at the 10:45
reading.  He felt Rose enter the bed and glanced down at her naked body.
She bent over and kissed him.  Immediately, a shiver went up his spine.
He watched with both surprise and pleasure as Rose kissed her way up his
leg.

Jim again stepped out of the shower.  It was already past 12:30. He had
shaved while Rose showered, and it was a good thing.  He'd told Joe to
be out front at 12:00.  Opening the bathroom door he could see Rose
seated at the dresser fixing her hair.  As he dressed, he found himself
thinking what a beauty she was, even the morning after.

"Ready to go get something to eat, Rose?"

"Anytime you are.

Jim rested his hand on her shoulder and directed her through the door.
Then he allowed his hand to slide gently down her back to her bottom,
where he gave her a little pat.  What he was really doing was checking
for a bra and panties.  The bikinis were there, but no bra. With the
pat, Rose turned her head toward him and each gave a knowing smile.

Jim was glad no one else was in the elevator, especially after last
night's encounter.  It also gave him a chance to look Rose's dress over
a little more closely.  It was about three inches above her knees and
very clingy.  It was a red silk-like fabric with a large yellow floral
print.  It had a mandarin collar and buttoned to her waist.  Rose had
left the top two buttons undone, and it looked very appealing.

"Well, do you like what you see?"

"I was just admiring your dress.  It's very pretty, almost as pretty as
what's in it."  Rose couldn't help herself as she reached up and gave
him a kiss on the cheek.  She was beginning to like this American GI. is
boyish innocence and charm, the combination of honesty, shyness, and his
sexual vitality all began to tear at the invisible wall that usually
protected her emotions in these situations.

As they reached the sidewalk, Joe pulled up with his taxi.  Rose wasn't
surprised when Jim held the door for her and allowed her to enter first.

"Where to, Jim?"  Joe asked.

"I don't know!  Rose, you pick a place.  As long as it's a place with
good food, I don't care what kind."

"Joe, take us to the Jade Palace, please."

"Okay, Rose.  Well, Jim, did you sleep well last night?"  Jim broke into
laughter: long, hard, and deep laughter.  When he finally got control of
himself he looked at Joe through the center rear view mirror and said,
"Somehow, I just don't believe that's what you really wanted to ask."

There was a long silence during which Joe decided he had been put nicely
in his place.  Jim wasn't going to volunteer any information. So, how
was he to report to Manuel?

"Jim, it'll take about an hour and a half at the Jade Palace.  Is there
something you would like to do after lunch?"

"Yeah, Joe, I'd like to shop for some clothes, maybe a suit."

"Okay, no problem.  I know just the place.  I'll even give you some free
advice: when you find what you like, let Rose deal for a price. Here we
are, at the Jade Palace.  Have a nice lunch!"

Before he could get out, Rose gently pulled on Jim's arm and said, "I'll
need $5.00 for the head waiter."

Jim wondered why, but gave her the five spot and got out.  He opened the
door to the Jade Palace and followed her in.  Rose greeted the head
waiter politely, trying not to show her familiarity with him or the
place, yet it was obvious she'd been here frequently.  Jim smiled to
himself as the two haggled in the local dialect.  Rose opened her hand,
showed the five, and ended the argument.

The head waiter led the two through the main dining room which had a
Polynesian decor.  After winding their way through the tables they
entered a hallway.  On each side were four doors, all closed.  The head
waiter opened the third door on the left and Jim followed Rose in.

After seating them, the head waiter gave each a menu, asked if there was
anything they desired and left.  Jim looked around.  It wasn't much more
than an enclosed private booth.  The only light was from a single candle
placed in the center of the table.  The walls were painted with a
continuous mural which included the door.  The painting was of
fishermen, boats, islands and birds.  It was really quite good.  The
tablecloth was scarlet with a velvet texture.

"This is quite a place, Rose."

"Do you like it?"

"So far, although I've never been in a private dining room for two
before."

"You'll like it.  The food and service are excellent and the privacy
allows us to do most anything we wish.  The walls are all soundproofed
so there won't be any distractions from the people on either side of us.
You know, these booths are used by some very important people both in
and out of government."

"I'm surprised you could get one for only $5.00."

"Oh, you couldn't during their busy hours-it would cost $20 or $25
during lunch or dinner.  As late as it is now, though, he more than
likely had a couple of them empty."

"How do you call the waiter?"

"You see that handle on the door?  You pull it up and it drops a little
green flag.  Each door has one at a different height so the waiter can
see them all at once.  What would you like to eat?"

Jim looked at the menu.  "You're obviously familiar with this place,
what would you recommend?"

"Well, you said you like all kinds of seafood.  Why don't you try the
filet of flounder stuffed with crab meat?  It's sauteed in butter and is
delicious.  You get rolls, butter and a tossed salad, with the dressing
of your choice, plus tea or coffee."

"I'll take the coffee and French dressing on my salad."  Rose laughed
and shook her head slightly.  "They have an excellent house dressing.
Why don't you try it?"

"No, thanks.  I really like French.  If they don't have that, then I'll
try the house special.  What are you going to have?"

"Tea, house special on the salad and I believe I'll take the monkfish."

"Monkfish?  I've never heard of monkfish."

"It's a type of saltwater fish.  I'll give you some and you can see how
you like it."

"Would there be a problem, Rose, if you ordered for the both of us?"

"No, I can do that if you like.  In fact, it probably would be easiest
that way.  Are you ready?"

Jim nodded his head yes and Rose flipped the handle up.  In about thirty
seconds there was a knock and the handle dropped down.  Rose spoke and
the door opened.  The waiter entered, smiled and took their orders.  He
didn't speak the first work of English.  He placed a pitcher of ice
water and two glasses on the table and left closing the door behind him.

"Why won't he speak English?"

"The owner won't let anyone speak English during work.  I don't know
why."

"Do we have to drop our flag again in order to get our food?"

"No, he should be back shortly with the salads, then he'll be back in
about ten minutes with our meals.  Once he leaves the meals, you'll have
to drop the flag to get him back."

The waiter knocked on their door and waited for Rose to speak.  He
placed their salads, smiled at them and left.  In a few minutes the same
procedure was repeated for the main course.  Along with the meal the
waiter brought pots of coffee and tea.

Jim's meal was excellent.  He hadn't eaten crabmeat before, but found it
very tasty.  Rose's monkfish was absolutely delicious, and he decided to
remember monkfish when he got back to the States.  During the meal the
conversation centered around the usual small talk of weather and food.
As both finished eating, Rose slid off her shoes and rested her feet on
the bench beside Jim.  Jim had refilled both cups.  "I hope you didn't
mind my waking you this morning."

"No, it was past time to get up, and I had told Joe to pick us up about
12:00.  Besides, I loved the way you woke me.  You can wake me every
morning the same way."  Jim placed his hand on Rose's leg and started
caressing her calves.

"I'm glad you enjoyed it."

She placed her foot between Jim's legs and with her toes began to
massage him.

"Rose, you keep that up and we'll have to go back to the hotel instead
of shopping."

"Why would you want to wait 'til then?"

The surprised look on Jim's face asked, "Here?  You've got to be
kidding?"

Rose smiled seductively and put her feet back on the floor.  The next
thing Jim knew she was under the table.  The emotions that swept over
him at that moment were shock, surprise, disbelief, and fear. However,
they were soon displaced by great excitement and anticipation. He felt
her hands working his zipper.

When they left the restaurant, Joe was seated on a bench just outside.
In the taxi, Joe spoke first, "Well, how did you like the Jade Palace?"

"Hey, okay, I really liked that place.  The food was excellent, the
service just right, I'd certainly recommend it-I can't wait to see where
she takes me tonight."

"You still want to do a little shopping?"

"Yes, I do."  Jim watched the city slip by as Joe drove.  He was amazed
at the four lane super highway on which they traveled; for some reason,
he hadn't expected Manila to be a city of expressways.  Joe stopped the
taxi on a small side street.  Now this was what Jim thought Manila would
look like: the shops were so close together they shared sidewalks.  It
was obviously an older part of the city, for the store fronts showed the
effects of time and age.

They walked a short way down the street and entered a men's clothing
store that had large plate glass windows with protective iron bars. Once
inside, Jim was really surprised at how small it was.  Each wall was
stacked to the ceiling with bolts of fabric separated into types of
cloth and again into colors, plaids, checks, and stripes.  Jim was
amazed.  He had never seen so many different selections in one place
before.  The center of the room was only about five feet wide and had
two tables, each about three feet wide and five feet long.  The room
couldn't have been more than thirty feet long, with fourteen or fifteen
foot ceilings.  As Jim looked around a tall, well built Philippino man
of about forty-five approached.

"May I help you, Sir?"

"Yes, you may.  I'm interested in having a suit made."

"Well, we can certainly help you in that department.  What type of
fabric were you interested in?"

"I don't know.  I hadn't thought that far."

"Why don't you let me show you some fabrics and we can go from there?"

Jim spent considerable time looking at the fabric.  Finally, he decided
on a light blue cashmere and asked the shop owner, "How much?"

"Well, Sir, that depends.  Do you want a vest?  How many pairs of pants?
And what type buttons, single or double breasted?"

"Single breasted, vest and one pair of pants."

"Ninety dollars should cover it."

At that point, Rose and the shop owner got into a heated discussion. Jim
figured Rose was trying to get him a lower price and that the shop owner
wasn't giving much.  Finally Rose took Jim by the arm.  "Come on, we're
leaving.  There are other clothing stores."

As they started out the door, the shop owner said, "Okay.  I'll go
forty-five, but no more."

Rose nodded approvingly, and Jim said, "Deal."  At that point, the owner
pulled out a tape and started measuring Jim.  As he did so, they
discussed fabrics and before Jim left, he'd bought a second suit of a
wool blend, with two pair of pants.

When they left, Jim asked Rose if they could just walk and browse for a
while.  Rose took his arm and they started down the street.  By the time
Joe found them, Jim had bought an onyx bull for his father, a jade
Buddha for his mother, and various charms and trinkets for his sisters.
Once back in the taxi, Joe asked, "Where to?"  Jim glanced at his watch.
"I'm hungry.  Rose, pick a restaurant!"  When Jim got out of the taxi he
looked at the sign, "The Bay Restaurant."  They were seated outside a
boardwalk-type area.  The brightly lit harbor loomed in front of them.
Jim ordered lobster, baked potato, peas and salad.  Rose ordered oysters
on the half shell with rice and clam chowder.  As they ate, Rose
explained that this was Manila Bay and Harbor.  She gave him the history
of the harbor and even told him from where some of the ships had come.
Jim was surprised.  There was even a rich man's yacht about a half mile
out in the harbor, all lit up just like in the movies.

Jim's meal was excellent though Rose had tried unsuccessfully to get him
to try an oyster.  Every time he looked at one, all he could think of
was trying to swallow snot!

The room at the Shoreline Hotel looked mighty good to Rose, who was
tired and had done more walking than she cared to think about.  After
all, they'd walked about four hours and then, after dinner they'd walked
around the harbor.  Now, all she wanted to do was to go to sleep.
However, she was out of luck for Jim felt good and wasn't at all sleepy.

Sometime later Rose awoke and realized Jim wasn't in bed.  Looking
around the room she could see him sitting in a chair gazing out the
window.  "Something wrong, Jim?"

"No, I just couldn't sleep.  You know, Rose, this is quite a view." She
got up, put on one of Jim's shirts and knelt beside him.  By moving her
hand along Jim's thigh, she could tell that he, too, had on only a
shirt.  She had learned a long time ago there was one surefire way to
make a man tired, this time sleep came quickly and restfully for both.

Rose woke before Jim and decided she would shower and attend to her
toiletries before he awoke.  The next thing Jim knew he was dreaming, or
so he thought.  Opening his eyes, he saw Rose once again waking him with
her mouth.  He felt good, refreshed and he certainly enjoyed waking up
this way.

By 12:30 they were in a little oriental restaurant.  Jim's plate of
sweet and sour pork was very good.  He was glad he hadn't taken more
than one of Rose's stuffed mushrooms, though.  Unlike the small, crisp,
firm mushrooms back in the States, these were a soft mushy variety that
Jim did not care for.

After eating, they went back to the tailor's where he made some final
alterations.  Jim was very pleased with both suits and looked forward to
picking them up the next day.  From there Jim wanted to visit the
American cemetery.  Joe asked if he had a relative buried there.

"No, Joe.  I just want to see it.  Okay?"

Neither Joe nor Rose was happy about the trip to the cemetery as their
silence showed.  Once there, Rose asked if she could wait in the taxi.

"Have you ever been here before?"  Jim asked.  "No."

"Well, maybe the walk would do you both good.  After all, if not for
these men and thousands like them, you would be speaking Japanese now.
In fact, you, Joe, would be driving Jap men around, while Rose would
still be Rose.  Come on, Rose, the walk will do you good."

They walked through the entrance and followed a path into the midst of
many crosses.  The military precision was perfect; no matter which way
they looked the crosses formed a perfectly straight row.  Jim was
reminded of a poem he was supposed to have memorized in school.  It was
something about Flanders Field and row on row, the poppies grow.  The
quiet beauty was magnificent and he could feel a special presence,
something he would never be able to describe.

"Come on, Jim.  Let's go."

"No, Rose, I need to stay a while.  You know, I can feel their presence.
It's strange, I know, but I can feel them.  You don't understand, do
you?"

She looked him in the eye and shook her head.  "You see, they're my
brothers.  We're comrades, these men and I bonded together by our
country and its love of freedom.  It's hard to explain.  Most people
don't understand what we, these men and I, have in common is mostly
boredom.  One could describe our jobs as long hours of boredom
interrupted by short moments of total terror.  At any moment we know
that we could join our brothers in a place like this; yet none of us
really accepts the fact that we could be killed.  It's always the other
guy who gets it.  Only in very special moments would you find any of us
willing to admit that each of us could die."  After several minutes of
silence Jim looked down at Rose.  "Go on back to the taxi, Rose."  She
gladly left.  To her, the place was beautiful but morbid, a place where
only old people visited.

Jim walked alone among the rolling hills, the crosses in perfect
formation, the trees and bushes placed in equally perfect locations.  He
came to an oval with a tower at one end.  The tower had an alter and was
obviously there as a place of worship.  The oval was broken into
different sections by walls, with the names of the men buried there
carved in the stone.  It was very impressive, but most impressive of
all, were the rooms on the end.  Using different colors of stone,
various battles were mapped out on each wall.  Jim spent a lot of time
reading and looking at the maps.  It was beginning to get dark when he
finally returned to the waiting taxi.  "Joe, tomorrow I want to go to
Corregidor."  Joe shook his head slowly.  "You don't have time, Jim. You
have to pick up your suits tomorrow afternoon and Corregidor is an all
day trip.  You can't pick up the suits the following day because you
have to be at the R & R center by seven in the morning."

"You sure we can't get back in time to get the suits tomorrow night?"

"No way, Jim.  I'm sorry."

"Okay, let's go get something to eat."  Jim was bitterly disappointed
and even considered taking a chance on the suits but decided Joe should
know best.  After all, he lived here.

Once again, Rose took them to a seafood restaurant, where she ordered
shrimp and Jim ordered red snapper.  After their orders had been taken,
Rose started the conversation.  "I'm really glad I had the opportunity
to spend these last few days with you.  It's been very enjoyable and, in
this short time, I've grown to like you very much."

"That's nice of you to say, Rose.  I've really enjoyed Manila and the
days we've spent together.  But most of all, I've liked the nights and
you."

"Jim, I love you.  I don't want you to leave me.  Take me back with you,
please."

Jim was shocked.  He hadn't expected this and didn't know what to say.
He liked Rose, but he didn't want to marry her, however, he certainly
didn't want to hurt her feelings.

"Rose, I can't do that!  I leave day after tomorrow."

"We could go to the U.S.  Embassy tomorrow and make application for
marriage.  Then, when you get back to the States, you could send for me.
I'd make you very happy.  I'm an excellent cook.  I'd make love to you
whenever and however you wanted.  All the American men I've known say
that American women won't make love except when they're in the mood.
According to the Americans I know, that isn't very often.  I'll do it
every night and even during the day if you want.  I'll even wake you in
the morning just like I've been doing.  I could fix your breakfast while
you shave.  Jim, you'd love it.  I'd make you so happy."

"Rose, no one can make someone else happy.  Each person must be able to
do that for himself.  Besides, I don't love you, and when I marry, I'll
love the girl.  End of subject, okay?"

"Okay.  I'm sorry.  I just thought, well, I..."

"Rose, forget it.  I like you, I really do.  You're a nice person, great
in bed and you have many other fine qualities.  You'll make some lucky
man an excellent wife.  You're very pretty and before this war is over,
you should be able to find an American husband, if that's what you
really want.  But, not me, okay."

Rose felt like a fool and was sure Jim figured all she wanted was a
ticket to the States.  The fact that he was partially right was the main
reason there was very little conversation for the rest of the evening.

Later that evening, they had sex in different positions until Rose told
him they had just 'pointed the compass'.  He didn't tell her that he had
never heard of pointing the compass.  All he wanted to do at that point
was go to sleep.

Jim awoke first and was relieved, though he didn't know why.  By the
time he was finished shaving and showering, Rose was also awake. They
ate in the hotel dining room and Jim was surprised that their ham, eggs,
coffee and orange juice cost almost as much as their lunch had the day
before.  After breakfast, they visited Old Fort Santigo, where Jim was
impressed by the twelve foot thick walls.  From there, they went to pick
up Jim's suits.  He tried each one on before paying and found both fit
perfectly.  As he looked at himself in the mirror he glanced at Rose
standing behind him.  The smile on her face told him he looked good, so
he couldn't resist asking, "Well, how do I look?"

"Stunning, absolutely stunning.  You'll have all the girls back home
chasing you."

It was almost 2:00 when Jim asked the shop owner if he would keep the
suits while they got some lunch.  Not too far up the street they found a
sidewalk cafe.  Rose ordered a rice ball and shrimp for the two of them.
When it came, the shrimp, rice and indistinguishable vegetable was all
rolled into a softball sized wad.  Jim's first thought was, "That looks
awful."  But he decided he should try it.  Much to his surprise, it was
very good and had a sweetness that he hadn't expected. After lunch, they
went back and picked up his suits and from there Joe took them back to
the hotel.

Jim had already decided he was going to have Rose one more time and then
take her back to Manuel.  Once in the room Jim hung up his suits. Rose
started packing his bags, since she had packed hers while he had been in
the shower that morning.

Rose was bent over at the end of the bed folding clothes when he took
hold of the zipper on the back of her dress.

They were in Joe's taxi on the way back to Howard's when Jim decided
that this was the best time and place to say good-bye.  "Rose, I want to
thank you for a wonderful time.  I really enjoyed myself, largely
because of you.  I wish you the very best and honestly hope you'll
someday find the husband you need."

"I'd be happy to take you.  I love you and I could make you happy. I'm a
great cook and I really enjoy it when we make love."

Jim felt like a rat.  He liked Rose, he really did.  And she was always
ready and willing to make love, which greatly pleased him. "Rose, I'm
not going to, so please just quit."

At Howard's they ordered dinner.  As they were finishing, Manuel
approached.  "Good evening, I trust you have enjoyed Manila and Rose's
company."

"Manila has been very nice, thank you.  As for Rose, well, she has been
an experience beyond words.  She has been truly wonderful...a delight to
be with and a very nice person."

"I'm pleased you liked her.  I'm also curious.  Why did you bring her
back one night early?"

"Simply because I have to get up at four-thirty tomorrow morning and I
would like to get a good night's sleep."

"You're sure that you don't desire her services tonight?"

"I'm sure."

"Very well.  Rose, we have a new R & R group in tonight.  Time to go
back on line."  Rose and Jim's eyes met for the last time.  "Good-bye
Rose, and thank you."

"Good-bye Jim.  I really enjoyed being with you.  Remember me."

"Oh, I will.  Of that you can be certain.  Good-bye."  Manuel held out
his hand to Rose.  She took it, stood, and walked into a hidden corner
of Jim's mind, where she would be remembered by him forever.

Four-thirty came before Jim was ready.  In one hour, he was back in the
R & R center going through customs.  His suits were already packed in a
shipping package.  That way, once he got back to Vietnam where postage
was free, he could send them home.  At 0745 the DC-6 left Manila and
arrived four hours later in Saigon.

At the airport, he sent his packages home and went to the R & R center.
Jim picked up his M16 and, as he started out the gate, a jeep stopped.

"Hey, GI, need a lift?"

Jim looked at the M.P. driving and figured, 'Why not'.  "Sure, if you're
going the direction of Hotel Three."

"Sure, that's my area.  Hop in."

Once at Hotel Three, he headed for the dispatcher's office and asked
about a possible ride to Tay Ninh.  If not, were any of the Blackhawk
ships in Saigon air space.

"Sorry, Specialist.  No on both accounts."

"How about Cu Chi?  Anything headed that way?"

"No."

Jim was beginning to wonder what to do next when a Major General walked
up.  "Specialist, you with the Blackhawks?"

"Yes, Sir.  I'm a crew chief.  I just got back from R & R this morning
and thought maybe I could catch a ride back to Tay Ninh from here."

"Well, Specialist, you're in luck.  I'm going to Nui Ba Den, I'll give
you a ride."

"Thank you very much, Sir."  Jim picked up his gear and followed the
General out the door and said a silent prayer of thanks for once again
making things work out so well.

It was 1430 hours when he walked into the hooch.  After getting clean
bedding, the rest of the day was spent in the club drinking beer and
writing letters.  He wrote one long one to his parents telling them all
about the things he saw.  Then he allowed R&R to retreat into his
subconscious mind.  However, it would affect him in many ways for years
to come.

Chapter Five

You Did It, Then You Talked About It, But Only Once

Once at Saigon, no one seemed to know they were coming; so again, the
flight had to sit and wait.  Finally, the bodies were loaded onto a
quarter ton pickup.  The flight back to Tay Ninh took even longer than
usual, with artillery fire coming from most every fire base.  Finding a
route home around it was tough.  The cloud cover made it even darker
than usual that night, but the flash of the big guns reflecting off the
clouds was unmistakable as they flew along.

Jim shut off all his radios and turned his intercom switch to private.
This allowed him to hear himself talk without anyone else listening,
unless someone else on the ship had also turned his intercom switch to
private.  Then there would be a hot mike situation between their
respective head pieces.  Jim was mumbling to himself about nothing,
interspersed with a short song every now and then when he heard, "Hey,
Mac, is this a private party or can anyone join in?"

"Come on in, Broadnex.  You getting lonely, too?"

"Yeah, I guess.  It's funny how people get to the point where they
simply need to talk to themselves and hear themselves respond."

"Especially after a day like today."

"Yeah, isn't that the truth.  I'll tell ya, Mac, I still have that burnt
flesh taste in my mouth."

"Me too, I keep wishing I could brush my teeth.  I hope I never have to
do that again."

"Yeah, look, could we, uh, change the subject?"

"Sure, Broadnex, that suits me just fine.  What do you want to talk
about?"

There was a long pause before Broadnex said very softly, "Look, Mac, I'm
sorry about calling you a sissy for going to that chaplain's service
earlier today.  I know that's your way of coping mentally, and getting
by, and I shouldn't make fun.  Besides, there might be something to it?'
"There is something to it, Broadnex, and thank you for the apology?'
Once the flight was on the ground, Jim pulled the necessary inspections
and headed for the showers.  Much to his disgust, there wasn't any
water, so he put on clean clothes and headed for the enlisted men's
club.  He got a beer and joined Green, who was already seated at one of
the big tables.  "Hi, Mac, I heard about your day."  Jim gave him a
surprised look, "How?"

"Broadnex was here, in fact, he just left."

"Well, Green, you can be glad you had to take a physical today. Which
reminds me, did you pass?"

"Sure, the only time I had a problem was when this doctor put on a
rubber glove and said, 'bend over." I'll swear, Mac, that man had a
twelve-inch finger.  You wouldn't believe the hand this dude had on him.
He wouldn't have any trouble palming a basketball.  I'll bet he got
picked for the job just because of the size of his hand.  Of course, he
just had to make a big production of putting this glove on and then
sticking it over his finger.  I'm telling you, that finger grew an inch
right before my eyes.  I almost asked if I could have something to bite
down on when he told me to bend over.  I don't know what he was feeling
for, but I thought for a moment he was going to push it out my belly
button."

As Green told his story, several other guys joined them at their table.
Soon they all found themselves laughing so hard it hurt.

Two of the guys now joining the group were Hunter and Athia.  Green
decided to have some more fun.  "Hey, Hunter, I see your favorite monkey
is still around."

"That son of a bitch Kenny, I knew he wouldn't get rid of that damn
monkey.  Green, how did he get out of it?"

"I don't know, other than he was telling Gillett when I got back that he
couldn't catch it."

"Well did he at least clean up my wall locker?"

"Oh, you mean you don't want to keep that little present that came this
morning?"

Hunter's glare made everyone at the table laugh that much harder.
Another round of beer was ordered and a general round robin started.

"Well, what are we going to do about that monkey?"

"I vote, kill him."

"Look, Hunter, I don't think anyone here would object to that.  The
question is how?  We'd never get away with shooting him.  Hey, Barkeep,
bring us another round."

"We could put poison in its food."

"Okay, Genius, where you going to get poison?"

"I've got it!  We could lace his food with enough pot to kill him."

"How about, if every time one of us walks in the door, we throw a couple
of combat boots at him.  Maybe he'll get the idea and leave."

"No, it would be our luck the bastard would think it was a game.

I can just see it now, we throw a boot at him and he throws a fist full
of shit at us."

"Look, Mac, you're Gillett's friend.  Why don't you talk to him about
it?  Maybe you can get him to do something."

"Athia, don't you think I have?  I've been trying to get him to make
Kenny get rid of it for I don't know how long.  However, if you're
buying another round I'll have another talk with"

"You got it.  Barkeep, another round please."  While the barkeep was
collecting Athia's money, Jeff Stihl came in and joined them.  Jeff was
probably the best looking crew chief in the company; 5 '10, 185 pounds,
blond hair and blue eyes with just enough of the man coming through the
boy to make him a very striking person.

Dick Hunter turned the conversation in another direction by asking,
"Jeff, weren't you in the chopper that was shot down today?"

"Yeah, talk about a day not worth remembering, this is it."

"Didn't you enjoy being a grunt for a day?"

"Not in the least."

"Well, come on, Jeff, tell us all about it!  By the way, did you see
that anti-aircraft gun?"

"Hey, look, if I'm telling the story, somebody else is buying the beer."

"Barkeep, set 'em up again!"

"To be honest, we were already on the ground when that gun opened up.
The fifty was on the other side so I didn't see it, but, man, did I hear
it!  We were unloading when he first got us.  He must have hit us a
dozen times.  Then, almost at the same moment, the flight lifted and
must have diverted his attention from us.  I'll tell you, I can still
hear that ship's skin rupturing, thump, thump, thump.  He had to have
hit the engine.  I could hear it die, and Mr. Marshall said, 'We lost
the engine.  Let's get the hell out of here." I got the door open for
Mr. Barr who was flying peter pilot.  Just as he stepped out, Chalk
Seven got it direct.  Man, I was so scared I didn't know what to do
first, crawl in a hole or check to see if I had shit my pants.  Of all
the days to get stuck flying with a couple of pot heads, you'd know this
was it.  I had Conrad for a gunner and he and Barr were so stoned,
Marshall and I had to practically drag them to safety.

"I really had to laugh at Barr, he had left his camera in the ship and
was going back after it.  Marshall wouldn't let him, since the flight
was gone and that fifty was taking target practice on my ship.  I
expected it to blow any minute, but it never did, and Barr was sitting
there arguing with Marshall to let him go get his stupid camera. Anyway,
I'm getting ahead of my story.  Did any of you guys see Chalk Seven get
it?"

Several of the men including Jim said they had.  "Talk about an
explosion, those guys never knew what hit them.  One big boom followed
by a fire ball and a bunch of burning pieces all over the place."

"Well, Jeff, what did you do all day?"

"Sat around mostly.  When we first got in the woods we helped set up
defensive positions with our M60's.  The Captain in charge of the grunts
was positive Charlie was going to come get us.  When you guys put in the
second lift and didn't draw any ground fire, the Captain didn't know if
he should shit or play with himself.  I don't know how long it was
before he sent a scout team out, but it was quite a while.  When they
didn't make contact, he moved everybody out.  There was absolutely
nothing to show anyone had been there but us, no shells, nothing.

"I went back and checked out my ship.  That poor baby looked like swiss
cheese; you guys should have seen that thing.  Every window in it was
shot out.  I counted thirteen holes in the tail boom and was ready to
start on the cargo area when some lieutenant came up and told me Conrad
and I had to lay the guys from Chalk Seven out.  Man, talk about a sick
job, that was it."

Jim said, "Hey, I know all about it.  Broadnex and I had to put them in
bags."  Jeff pointed his finger at Jim as he said, "I'll tell you, Mac,
you couldn't have had it as bad as us, other than they had already
started to swell when you got them.  At least when you bagged them,
'rig' had already started to set in.  When Conrad and I tried moving
them, they weren't stiff yet, which made it twice as tough.  Plus the
smell, I don't think I'll ever forget that smell.  I got so sick I ended
up with the dry heaves.  That damn Conrad was so high on pot he was
making sick jokes.  I'll tell you, I've had it with those pot heads. I
don't know what I'm going to do, but I'm going to do something."

Gillett had entered and approached the table unnoticed.  Laying a hand
on Stihl's shoulder he asked, "You're going to do something about what?"

"Gillett, I didn't see you.  Grab a chair and sit down!  Want a beer?
I'll buy."

"Sure, I never turn down an offer like that."

"Barkeep, set 'em up again, please."

"Come on, Stihl, you didn't answer my question!"

"Oh, I was just talking about Conrad and the rest of the pot heads in
this company.  I'm getting awfully tired of flying with these guys,
Gillett.  Sooner or later, one of them is going to get someone killed
besides himself."

"Well, there isn't anything I can do about it unless I see one of them
with a joint in his mouth."

"Come on, Gillett, if they're stoned they're stoned and you know it as
well as anybody else."

"That's right, but I can't prove anything.  Even if I could, the Brass
isn't going to do anymore to them than they are to you guys.  Look at
you, every one of you is drunk on your butts.  Not one of you is fit to
fly.  If we had to scramble in ten minutes you'd all be a health hazard.
Yet, you'll get in those choppers and go and do your job.  The Brass
figures there isn't any difference between you guys who are drunk, and a
stoned pot head, just as long as you or they get the job done."

Hunter spoke up, "Look, Gillett, why do we have to fly with them at all?
Why can't you put the pot heads on one ship and us on another?"

"The biggest reason is, I don't assign the officers.  What are you going
to do when a stoned pilot walks up to your ship and says, 'Hi, I'm your
A.C. for the day?"

"Okay, Gillett, I've got a question, and I'm not being funny.  I want an
honest, serious answer!"

"With a prep like that I can hardly wait.  What's your question, Athia?"

"What could they do to us if we all stuck together and refused to fly
with any pot head?"

"Other than throw your asses in jail, not much, I suppose."

"Come on, Gillett, if all of us at this table stuck to it, do you really
think they would press it, especially since pot is illegal?"

"No, I suppose not.  It would be very touchy though, and you guys would
have to watch your mouths.  Man, I'll tell you, the more I think about
this, the less I want to do with it.  I'm going to bed.  You guys just
forget I was in this conversation."  Gillett drank the rest of his beer
in one gulp and stood to leave.  Jim finished his beer at the same time
and also stood.

"Come on, Gillett, I'll stagger back to the hooch with you."  Jim looked
back towards the table, "If you guys decide to blackball the pot heads,
I'm with you all the way.  I think if we stick together, we can beat
'em."

The two men walked out together and headed for the urinals, which were
two fifty-five gallon drums cut in half with each half buried to an inch
of the top, then filled with rock and covered with a fine mesh screen.
The whole thing had a roof over it with wood walls on both ends and on
the side facing the prevailing winds, leaving the back side open. After
all, one would not want to pee into the wind.  The two friends stood and
relieved themselves as they talked.

"Gillett, I see everybody's favorite monkey is still with us!"

"Yeah, that damn Kenny, I don't know what I'm going to have to do to get
rid of that thing."

"Put Kenny in the air one day and give it to the gook house maids."

"That's fine except for two things.  One, since this Tet thing broke
out, there are no more Vietnamese on post.  Two, do you want to fly with
him tomorrow?"

"Hell, no!"

"That's right, and nobody else does either.  By the way, I wish you
would have kept your big mouth shut back in the club.  You gave them
just enough encouragement, I'll bet they try it.  If you hadn't piped up
with, 'count me in', it would have died right there, but not now."

"How come they're not letting in the hooch maids?"

"Somebody up there figures they'll give aid to the enemy.  So until this
offensive dies down, no more hooch maids, K.P. workers or detail
people."

The two men finished their business and started to walk to their hooch.
They both heard it at the same moment.  The sharp, shrill whistle of the
Soviet made 122MM rockets.  Their reaction was instantaneous and without
hesitation.  They dived for the ground and covered their ears as the
grumbling and grating sound started, telling them it was going to be
close, real close.  The explosions shook the ground they lay on severely
enough that Jim could feel his body bouncing.  He looked up in time to
see one hit about ten feet from the officer's shower.  The concussion
and shrapnel were enough to blow the shower walls down.  Another rocket
hit, almost at the same time, just outside one of the officers' hooches.
The screams of pain and calls for a medic left no doubt that one of the
pilots had been hit, probably while still in bed.  One of the enlisted
men's hooches took a direct hit and blew up like the proverbial match
box.

Jim was scared, this was the heaviest bombardment in which he had ever
been; plus, laying out where he could see everything didn't help any. It
seemed like hundreds of those 122MM rockets were dropping on his company
area.  The sound was deafening.  He closed his eyes and tried to get
closer to the ground.  Suddenly, it stopped.  Jim's eyes felt like they
were going to burst out of his head and his ears ached from the ringing.

"You okay', Mac?"

"Yeah, other than I've got a terrible headache.  I'm just thankful I was
leaving the pisser instead of heading for it.  You okay?"

"Yeah.  I was just thinking, you don't suppose we were lucky enough that
Kenny's monkey was in that hooch that got it?"

"That's about as much wishful thinking as hoping it's not going to start
again any second.  You want to try to make it to the bunker?"

"No, Mac, didn't you notice?  Almost all of 'em hit in the hooch area.
They probably have a spotter in that church steeple at the end of the
runway again.  They had one up there earlier today, until a gunship put
a rocket in its bell tower.  We're probably safest right where we are."

Just as he finished speaking the shrill whistles started again. "Mac, in
case we don't make it, I want you to know your name in on the list
coming down tomorrow for promotion to E-5."

The company's buildings were once again the main targets. "Gillett, why
the devil didn't you tell me that at the pisser?  I could have been
happy about it then!"

"I thought about it, but figured you might get so excited you'd pee down
your leg!"

The two looked at each other and started laughing.  Rockets exploded all
around and they lay there laughing so hard at each other, their stomachs
hurt.

After twenty minutes, the rockets stopped and almost immediately someone
went running through the area shouting, "Gun crews, man your ships."

"Gillett, they'll just about get to those ships, and it'll start again."

"Yeah, but if they can get off the ground, they'll get it stopped."

"They'll have to go to Cambodia to do that and you know it."

"Ten bucks says they go, plus they'll probably make a run on that
steeple again on the way out."

"I hope they blow the bastard down.  Well, at least we stopped laughing.
I'll bet we look like the drunken fools we are."

The gun crews were running across the area headed for their ships when
it started again.

Jim and Gillett were still lying in the same spot watching when the
whistles started sending shivers up their spines.

"Here they come, Gillett, this'll be the big one!"

"It can't be bigger than that first group."

It was.  Rockets started dropping all around, not only in the living
area, but also along the flight line.  Jim watched one of the gun crew
members running to the flight line, run right into the path of a rocket.
One moment he was there, the next he wasn't.  The noise was deafening as
the rockets screamed and grated, followed by an explosion. Jim watched
as three guys from maintenance tried to run from the club to a bunker.
He couldn't believe they were up and moving.  He kept thinking, why
didn't they get down.  Finally, they made it to the three foot deep
drainage ditch in front of the hooches.  Jim sighed with relief as he
saw each man jump in.  Then wincing with pain, he saw a rocket jump in
behind them, throwing their body parts back out.  Gillett poked Jim in
the ribs and pointed with his head to what had just happened.  His
gesture was his way of asking if Jim had seen it happen. Jim looked him
in the eyes and shook his head yes.  Jim's ears began to hurt even worse
and the ringing in his head was getting louder and more painful, so he
pressed his hands even tighter against his ears in an effort to block
out the spine shattering noise, and to help keep his head from
exploding.  He began to think that nothing could live through this
pounding when, suddenly, off to the northwest corner of the post, it
started to look like the Fourth of July: fire balls, flares and rockets
were going off.  He knew that it could only be one thing.  What a
magnificently beautiful display of grandeur, unlike anything he had ever
seen.  But the fact that he knew only the ammo dump going up could make
such a display, caused a certain amount of anxiety to pass over him.
After almost thirty minutes, the rockets stopped, just as though someone
had shut off a water faucet.  One moment rockets were exploding all
around, the next, it was perfectly quiet.

"Mac, you okay?"

"Yes, you?"

"Yeah, other than I've got a splitting headache and my ears hurt."

"Gillett, some of those things didn't hit more than ten feet from us. At
least that should be the last of it for tonight."

"I hope.  Come on, let's go help clean those guys out of the drainage
ditch."

"Okay, let me go take a leak first, though."  Gillett headed for the
ditch and Jim for the urinal.  Once at the urinal, Jim relieved himself
again and then walked around behind the club.  Staying in the shadows,
he made his way to the back door of the hooch.  He'd had all the bagging
of bodies he could take for one day.  Opening his wall locker, he found
his box of post cards and thought, 'why not'.  Using a flashlight to
see, he addressed a card and wrote "free" where the stamp would go.
"Dear family, Not much seems to be happening here, though I understand
there's some trouble down at Saigon.  I'm fine, enjoying flying,
although it does get boring a lot of the time looking at nothing but
rice paddies.  Gillett and I just got back from having a beer at the
club.  Nothing new happened today.  Spent day flying troops in and out
of L.Z.  Didn't draw any fire.  Hope all is well with you, also.  Love,
Jimmy."  He stripped, threw his clothes into the wall locker and was
asleep within seconds of pulling the mosquito netting down over his
bunk.

Deep within his subconscious, Jim heard an explosion, but it took the
second one to bring him fully awake.  Now, he was aware they were being
hit again, and with that awareness, he simply rolled over and out of his
bunk onto the concrete floor.  As he hit the floor he heard Gillett call
from the floor beside his bunk, "Mac..."

"I'm right behind you, Gillett, let's go!"

The two men low crawled out the door, around the corner and into the
bunker.  Like everyone else, they were dressed only in olive drab boxer
shorts.

"Mac, you got your watch on?"

"Yeah, it's quarter 'til five.  The bastards could have waited another
fifteen minutes 'til it was time to get up."

By this time the shelling had stopped and the bunker slowly started to
empty out.  "Gillett, did all these guys spend the night in there?"

"Yeah, did you know we got hit again about three o'clock?"

"No!  Really?"

"That's what I thought.  You went to bed after going to the pisser last
night, didn't you?"

"Sure, I was tired, I came in and went to sleep."

"Well the rest of the company worked 'til about two thirty cleaning up
Charlie's mess.  We lost the three guys in the ditch, plus Lolofft, and
I don't know how many officers were killed in the bunker.  Evidently a
rocket hit right in their doorway; it killed a half dozen or more, and
seriously wounded several others.  There was also the pilot that got it
right to begin with.  He was still in bed.  We saw that one hit, it got
the officers' shower at the same time.  We had to clean up the hooch to
the south of us that took a direct hit.  Anyway, we were just about done
when it started again and everybody got in the bunker.  They only hit us
for two or three minutes, but everybody had decided to spend what was
left of the night in the bunker.  Everybody but you, that is.  I
couldn't find you.  Finally, I looked in your bunk and sure enough there
you were sleeping like a log.  I figured I couldn't leave you there all
alone in case we got hit again.  You might sleep through it forever.  I
figured, 'what the hell', I couldn't have better company to go out with,
so I stripped down and went to bed."

"Gillett, you're a real friend.  Here, mail this for me please, while I
go take a shower."  Gillett looked at the postcard and laughed. "Mac,
you jerk!  Your parents will hear on the six o'clock news that Tay Ninh
got the hell kicked out of it last night.  Especially since the NVA
overran part of Manchu's bunker line."

"No shit, how far in did they get?"

"Clear into their company area.  You mean you slept through that also?
You couldn't have been in bed.  That happened shortly after we split up
last night.  They even sent officers through all the hooches moving
everyone out."

"Well, I didn't see anybody or, at least, nobody saw me.  Back to the
postcard, Gillett, who are my folks going to believe?  Somebody they
never met on TV or that postcard?  Besides, they won't get it for four
or five days."

Gillett Just shook his head as Jim headed for the showers.  'Mac, wait a
minute, there isn't any water."

"I know, I'm going over to the hospital."

"Don't get caught."

Much to his surprise, there was still water but it was very cold. He got
in and out as quickly as possible and was glad none of the good doctors
saw him.

There wasn't anyone at the mess hall, which allowed Jim to move right
into the serving line.  As he picked up a malaria tablet a voice behind
him spoke, "Those things will give you the shits."

Jim laughed as he turned, "Green, if you've got the squirts you don't
have to fly.  Besides, after you've taken them as long as I have, they
don't bother you."

"I better take two or three in that case.  I didn't get any sleep at all
in that bunker last night.  We were packed in so tight you couldn't lie
down or stretch your feet out.  Where did you spend the night?"

"In more than one place.  Hey, what did you guys decide about the pot
heads after Gillett and I left?"

"They decided to refuse to fly with 'em.  As for me, I'll do whatever
you do.  By the way, did you hear two of 'em got killed last night?"

"No, who?"

"Holiday and Gomes, I'd just met them yesterday after I got back."

"How did they get it?"

"We had to clean up the hooch that took a direct hit and also the guys
in the ditch.  But Holiday and Gomes climbed up on the roof of the next
hooch down the line.  They were sitting up there watching the ammo dump
go up.  You know that place had fireworks all night.  Mac, you should
have heard those two.  Gillett was trying to get them to come down and
they were going on about this being the best Fourth of July fireworks
display they'd ever seen.  Anyway, they wouldn't come down. We started
getting hit with rockets again so everybody else went to the bunkers.  I
don't know who found them this morning, but they were on the ground
dead.  The fireworks must have gotten too close."

"Come on, Green, eat!  We have to get going."

Chapter Six

Just For the Fun of It

Jim picked up the day's C-rations and his gear.  On the way out to the
chopper he couldn't help but feel good for being alive.  He'd gotten a
fair amount of sleep last night, so maybe things would go better today.
He stowed his gear and had just finished pulling the preflight
inspection when Green showed up with his guns, mounted them and helped
Jim clean up the ship.  They were finishing when Jim spotted Halsey
approaching.  "Oh happy day, Green, here comes Mr. Halsey, commonly
called the Admiral.  Let's hope he walks on by to another ship."

"Looks like he's drawn a bead on this one, Mac."

"Well shit, let's look like we're busy.  Go fiddle with your M60, I'll
climb on top and mess with the rotor head."

Both men went about their busy work in hopes Mr. Halsey would see their
activity and not take time to harass them.

Jim's heart sank as it became obvious Halsey would be their copilot. Mr.
Halsey put his helmet in the peter pilot's seat, and turning back
around, his eyes lit upon an object laying on the ground next to the
revetments wall.  "MacLaughlin, what the hell is that laying there?"

Jim knew without turning around to what he was referring.  "What's what,
Sir?"

Mr. Halsey reached down and picked it up.  Jim halfway expected him to
put it to his mouth and blow it up like a balloon.  As Halsey held it in
front of his face giving it close examination, Jim had a terrible time
not laughing as he answered, "I believe it's called a rubber, Sir."

"What do you find so funny, MacLaughlin?"

"Nothing, Sir."

"This is your revetment isn't it, Specialist?"

"Yes, Sir, but I didn't put that there."

"If you didn't, who did?"

"Sir, I can only guess that some officer has brought one of the nurses
who sells it out here to my ship and screwed her.  When he finished, he
ripped that rubber off and gave it a chuck against the revetment."
Halsey's face took on an even greater expression of disgust.  "Why
didn't you throw it in the trash, MacLaughlin?"

"Because, Sir, I just didn't like the idea of picking up someone else's
old used rubber."

"Look, MacLaughlin, this is your revetment, it's your job to keep it
picked up.  Here, put this thing in the trash!"

"Sir, it's right behind you.  Would you please put it in the trash for
me?"

Halsey looked Jim in the eye and threw it on the ground.  As Jim saw his
response he thought, "You bastard, you probably put it there to begin
with."  In fact, he wouldn't have been surprised if Halsey had picked
his ship to use just so he could hassle him with it.

"I'm giving you an order, Specialist.  Pick it up and throw it away!"
'Yes, Sir."  Jim slowly climbed off the helicopter roof, picked up the
rubber and threw it in the trash.  "You happy now, Sir?"

"You're a real smart mouth aren't you, Specialist?  Green, front and
center.  I want the both of you at attention."  Halsey walked slowly
around the two men standing side by side.  "You two are a disgrace to
the uniform you wear.  Neither of you has a hat on.  Where's your head
gear?"

Jim responded, "In the helicopter, Sir.  I was under the impression we
were about to put on helmets and fly."

Halsey looked Jim in the eye.  "Specialist, did you shave this morning?"

"Yes, Sir."

"You must not have used a blade in the razor.  I've half a mind to send
you back to shave again."  Jim thought he had one thing right, he only
had half a mind.  "Your left breast pocket is unbuttoned, you need to
button your blouse, and you have a pants pocket unbuttoned.  Where do
you think you are, MacLaughlin, back on the block?  That's a uniform
you're wearing.  There is a correct way for it to be worn, but you don't
seem to understand that, do you?"  Jim made no response as anything he
said at this point would be wrong.  "How long has it been since you had
a haircut?...  Answer me, Specialist."

"I don't know, Sir."

"MacLaughlin, get a haircut tonight.  I don't care if you have to shave
it off, it's too long.  Get it cut."

"Yes, Sir."

Halsey then turned to Green.  "Private, you obviously haven't changed
uniforms in the last week."

"Sir, I put it on clean this morning."

"You couldn't have put it on clean unless its been wadded up in a duffel
bag for a month, which is about how long it's been since your boots have
seen any polish.  I'm afraid to stand close to you for fear your boots
will rape mine for their Kiwi.  Here come the pilots now or so help me,
I would send both of you back to the hooches to straighten up your acts.
Button your buttons and you're dismissed."  As Jim buttoned up he saw
Mr. Walker put his gear in his seat.  "Good morning, Mac, how are you
this morning?"  Jim saluted and said, "Morning, Sir.  I was fine a few
minutes ago.  Mr. Halsey, could I ask you a question?"

"Sure, what is it?"

"Are you flying peter pilot on my ship today?"

"Yes, I am."  Halsey had a great big smile that told Jim he was looking
forward to the day.  Jim didn't say a thing.  He just picked up his
helmet, rifle and water jug and started to walk away.  He could hear
Halsey shouting at him as he continued to walk down the flight line.
"Specialist, where do you think you're going?"  Jim just acted like he
didn't hear him.  "Specialist, come back here.  That's an order!"

Jim made no response, he didn't even turn his head.  "Specialist, I'm
giving you a direct order!  You come back here or, damn you, I'll court
martial you!"  Jim just kept on walking down the flight line.

The thing to do now was find Gillett.  He walked over to Athia's ship
and asked if he had seen Gillett.  "Yeah, Mac, I just saw him over at
Captain Wolf's ship."  Jim turned and headed for the captain's
helicopter.  As he approached he could see Gillett and Captain Wolf
talking.  Gillett turned to him with a look of surprise.

"Mac, what are you doing here?"

Jim saluted Captain Wolf as he spoke.  "Captain Wolf, Gillett, I've got
a problem.  Mr. Halsey is flying peter pilot on my ship and the first
thing he did was start on me.  So I walked off because I'm not flying
with him.  You can put me back in maintenance.  I don't care. I'm not
getting in the same helicopter that Mr. Halsey is."

Gillett turned to Captain Wolf.  "Sir, could we switch crew chiefs with
you for the day?"

"Sure, although I've got a better idea, let's switch copilots. It'll
give me a chance to find out what Mr. Halsey's problem is." Captain Wolf
walked around to the left side of the chopper where Mr. Gabrys was
lacing his boot.  "Hey, Dave, I want you to go with Mac and fly right
seat on 925 today.  Tell Mr. Halsey he's flying with me today. Okay?"

"Yes, Sir.  Dave Gabrys picked up his helmet and without showing any
signs of displeasure for being switched, looked at Jim.  "Where you
parked, Mac?"

"I'm on my way if you want to walk with me."  The two men turned and
started back down the line.  Once out of Captain Wolf's hearing Jim
started the conversation, "I'm sorry about causing you any
inconvenience, Sir."

"Oh, that's okay.  For a West Point man Captain Wolf isn't bad. There's
just something about flying with the boss that makes a person uneasy."

"It's been my experience, Sir, that the guys from West Point are usually
pretty nice and easier to get along with than a lot of the 'ninety day
wonders' walking around."

"I guess if a person puts up with four years of harassment at the Point
they have a better understanding of what the troops go through.

What's your problem with Mr. Halsey, Mac?"

"We have what's called a personality conflict.  It's not just me, Halsey
has problems with all the enlisted men.  The only difference is, since I
refuse to fly with him, he feels it's his duty to break me."

"Why won't you fly with him?"

"Because my life and the lives of everybody in that ship depend on our
ability to get along with and respect each other's opinion.  Halsey and
I don't respect each other and that's a prime ingredient for making four
dead men."  They walked the rest of the way in silence.  Once at 925 Mr.
Gabrys spoke to Mr. Halsey, who gave Jim a hate look and started
collecting his gear.  Jim wondered what Mr. Gabrys had told him.  It was
obvious he wasn't supposed to hear, or Mr. Gabrys wouldn't have taken
Halsey aside and spoken softly into his ear.  Mr. Walker and Green both
welcomed Jim back and inquired as to how he had managed to get Mr.
Halsey switched.

After Mr. Walker walked over to where Gabrys and Halsey were standing,
Green looked at Jim and shook his head.  "Mac, back in the infantry they
didn't put up with guys like Halsey."

"Other than shooting him in the back, what would they do?"

"Oh, you could frag him, or almost as good, a fake fragging."

"What's a fake fragging?"

"That's where you fix a fragmentation grenade so it's a dud, then throw
it at him."

"Throw what at whom?"

Both men turned in surprise to see Mr. Walker standing there, but it was
Jim who responded without hesitation and thus convincingly, "Throw an
open can of cold beans and weinies in Halsey's face."  Walker laughed
and said, "That's a good way to get busted for sure."  As Mr. Walker
climbed in his seat he shouted back, "Untie it, Mac, Lead's starting to
crank."

The familiar whine of turbine engines starting to turn reached Jim's
ears at the same time he released the rotor blade from its tie down
strap.

The day started off much the same as many others with the flight flying
resupply to various outposts.  As with the previous day, there wasn't
any fuel anywhere except in Saigon, so it wasn't long before the flight
headed south for Saigon and fuel.  Artillery strikes were such that it
was necessary to go around to the west and come up the Saigon River.  As
they approached Saigon, flying at about twenty five hundred feet, Green
came over the intercom, "Why do I suddenly smell something rotten?"

It was Mr. Walker's laughing voice that answered, "Why, Green, that's
the Paris of the Orient you smell, usually called Saigon.  We just flew
into its upper air currents."

"Sir, why does it stink so bad?"

"Because, Green, they're burning their shit.  That's how all the
military posts get rid of their shit from the day before.  You obviously
haven't been on many details yet.  When you take a crap in the latrine
it falls into half a fifty-five gallon drum.  The next morning some
private drags it out, pours a couple gallons of fuel on it and lights
it.  With several hundred of them burning at once around Saigon it makes
a pretty bad smell up here.  In fact, on a clear day when there isn't
any wind you can see the smoke rising up from Saigon at fifteen hundred
feet over Cu Chi.  It's strange though how it does just suddenly hit
you."

The flight had started its descent as they crossed the Saigon River. Mr.
Walker spotted an island floating down stream that gave him a thought.
"Hey, Green, what do you suppose that island floating down the river is
made op"

"I suppose moss and sticks and various debris that float in any river."

"Wrong, it's shit.  What happens is the good people of Saigon crap in
the streets and alleys.  Next time you're in Saigon notice the gutters
in all the streets.  Those people do their thing in the gutters, or else
in a pan and then throw it in the gutter, then a rain comes along and
washes it all away.  Just like magic they have nice clean streets again.
The only trouble is it all gets washed out to the Saigon River, where it
collects along the banks until a bunch breaks off and floats out to that
big septic tank called the South China Sea.  The best part is, Mac and I
have been flying along the river before Tet broke and could see people
water skiing around that stuff.  I checked it out after the first time I
saw it.  Come to find out, there used to be a French resort on the river
here in Saigon which the Americans have turned into an officers club
where all the male and female officers in Saigon can go to socialize
and, as it turns out, to water ski and swim."

"Sir, do they know what they're swimming in?"

"I would certainly think so."

It only took a short time to refuel and the flight was back in the air,
flying more resupply.  As with most of these missions the boredom of
landing, taking off with supplies, flying for a half hour, dropping off
the supplies and then back again began to wear on most everyone. Jim
looked at Mr. Walker who was driving, from there his eyes shifted to Mr.
Gabrys.  He was sitting there smoking a cigarette with his right arm
stuck out his window.

"Hey, Green, what are you doing?"

"Oh, just thinking, Mac.  Why?"

"What are you thinking about?"

"To be honest, last night.  Tell me something will you?  How long does
it take till you quit thinking about getting killed?  I mean, I lived
through last night, but will I live through today and tonight, and if I
do will I live through tomorrow, or is tomorrow the day I get it?" Mr.
Walker spoke first, "All I can say is get used to it, Green, because
it's part of life over here."  Mr. Walker looked back at Jim who shook
his head slowly.

"I don't agree.  It is true there are times when we're all sure we're
going to die.  There are times when we look back and think that by all
rights we should have been killed.  It's also true we have to deal with
death most everyday, though not our own, others will have to deal with
that.  Green, I look at it this way, there is a book in heaven with my
name in it and along side my name are many items including the time and
date of my birth, also the exact time and date of my death.  That is set
by God.  When my time is up, my time is up and there is nothing I can do
short of suicide to change it.  To spend time and energy worrying about
it is a waste, since there isn't any difference where we're at when our
time is up, it's up.  Back in the States or here, we're still going to
die and there isn't anything we can do to prolong it.  It's up, it's up,
you're dead, your family weeps, but life goes on."

The long period of silence that followed left each man to his own
thoughts.  Jim's were broken by something moving across the floor.  He
turned in time to see Mr. Gabrys' cigarette flutter across the floor and
out the cargo door.  Jim looked up to see Mr. Walker who looked at him
and winked.  Walker's hand reached down and switched his radio to
private.  Jim knew instantly that was his cue to do likewise.  Reaching
up, he switched his intercom over to private.  "I'm on, Sir."

"Mac, let's give Mr. Gabrys a hard time about that cigarette."

"Okay."

Both men switched back their radios and Mr. Walker started.  "Hey! I
smell something burning!"  Jim picked it right up.  "Yeah, me too!  I
just thought it was my imagination, we're on fire!"

"No, none of my instruments show it.  It's getting stronger though."

"Mr. Gabrys, I think it's coming from you.  Are you on fire?"  Mr.
Gabrys spoke up, "I sure the hell hope not."  Mr. Walker decided to turn
the screw a little tighter.  "Dave, what happened to that cigarette you
were smoking?"

"It was right here in the ashtray a moment ago."  Jim spoke, "Mr.
Gabrys, your seat must be on fire, I can see smoke coming from it.  I'll
bet that cigarette is down there."

Mr. Gabrys hurriedly unbuckled his seat belt and frantically tried to
climb out of his seat.  He looked at Jim and Mr. Walker who were both
about to burst with laughter.  Mr. Walker was laughing so hard he could
hardly drive.  It was a good thing Jim was strapped in, or he would have
laughed himself right out the door.  Mr. Gabrys still wasn't sure if his
seat was on fire or not, but seeing no smoke or flames, he decided to
sit back down.

"Well, I hope you two had a real good laugh at my expense.  Just out of
curiosity, where did the cigarette go?"

Mr. Walker had gotten control of himself enough to say, "On the floor
and out Mac's cargo door.  You should have seen yourself, Dave. There
you were at two thousand feet flying along with your ass stuck up in the
window.  It's a good thing you didn't fart just then, or you would've
scared yourself right over the radio console and out the cargo door."

Gabrys spoke, "Well, at least we're not talking about getting killed
anymore."

Chapter Seven

Another Single Ship Night Mission

Lunch was to be in a remote staging area just outside Saigon.  All the
pilots were to report to Lead ship, so each took a box of C-rations with
him.  Jim was glad he wasn't the crew chief on Lead's ship.  He didn't
like the idea of playing garbage man for all the pilots.  Jim looked for
Green but he wasn't to be found, so he picked up a C-ration box that
read, 'ham and eggs' and headed for Hunter's ship.

Jerry Green had known for the last hour what he was going to do if time
and chance permitted.  On the next to the last lift he had talked a
grunt into giving him a fragmentation grenade.  Once on the ground for
lunch, Green grabbed the frag and took off.  He needed a place far
enough from the flight that they wouldn't notice the bang from the
percussion cap.  It didn't take long to find a secluded spot where the
engineers had piled up some dirt.  Jerry climbed half way down a slope
and sat down.  He pulled out the grenade and, leaving the pin in place,
very carefully unscrewed the top, thus separating the percussion cap
from the explosive body of the grenade.  He then sat the body down
beside him and holding the percussion half so that the spring wouldn't
pop, he pulled the pin.  Jerry placed the pin beside the grenade and,
watching for the spring, he gave the top a flip about twenty feet in
front of him.  The ensuing 'pop' attracted no attention and in a moment,
Jerry had collected the top and the spring.  He replaced the spring,
folded the handle back over it and reinserted the pin.  That done, he
then screwed the body back into the exploded percussion cap and wiped
off the powder burns.  Jerry held it out in front of him and gave it a
good inspection.  He was pleased but a bit nervous.  He hoped no one had
seen what he had just done and that the grenade would pass visual
inspection.  Placing it in his pocket, he calmly walked back to the
flight and his ship.  Nobody was in his helicopter so he picked up the
last carton of C-rations.  Beans and weinies was the label on the box,
and the idea of the cold, grease coated beans didn't really excite him,
so he ate everything except the beans and weinies, cleaned up his mess
and stretched out on the chopper floor for a nap.

Sleep came quickly and easily for him.  The next thing he heard was
Jim's voice.  He came to as Jim shook his foot and said, "Wake up,
Green, time to earn your pay."

Green slowly lifted his head and said, "I'm awake, Mac, we leaving?"

"Yeah, the pilots are on their way back to the ships.  Hey, Green, where
did you disappear to after we landed?"

"Oh, man, you wouldn't believe how bad I had to pee.  I began to think
my back teeth were going to float out."

Jim laughed so hard he had to hold his stomach.  After all, he'd had the
feeling in the past himself.

Mr. Walker approached and said, "Untie it."  Once in the helicopter and
ready to take off, Mr. Walker spoke up, "Well, we've got a new mission.
The Brass thinks Charlie is retreating from the Saigon area back towards
Cambodia, so we're to put in a blocking force in the Hobo Woods and the
Michelin rubber plantations just south of Saigon."

Jim had been listening to Saigon radio and had just heard the news
broadcast before they had landed.

"Mr. Walker, from what I've heard on the radio, the Cholon District of
Saigon must still be getting hit pretty good."

"Yeah, I know, Mac, there's still house to house fighting in parts of
Saigon.  However, the people who should know, think it will be only rear
guard personnel left by tomorrow with most of the NVA trying to slip
back over the border."

The first two lifts were taken into the Hobo Woods.  On the first
insertion, they had received some small arms fire, but nothing that
anyone considered out of the ordinary.  Their last three lifts for the
day were to go into the Michelin rubber plantation.  They were completed
without incident and the flight was released for the day.  They flew
north along Highway One up to Go Dau Ha where they would pick up Highway
22 to Tay Ninh.  Jim started to think out loud.  "Mr. Walker,
considering where we put troops in this afternoon, would it be correct
to assume that tomorrow we're going to be working in the Iron Triangle
area?"

"They were talking about tomorrow during lunch today, and there are
three possibilities; all are for putting in blocking forces outside
Saigon.  Someplace in the Iron Triangle is one, the sugarcane fields
around Dong Hoa, or someplace in the Plain of Reeds between the Song Vam
Co Dong River and the Parrot's Beak."

"Sir, the Parrot's Beak is in Cambodia.  Were they talking about
crossing the border?"

"No, unfortunately, there isn't much chance of that happening.  The sad
thing is we could end this war if we could cross.

It was well after dark when the flight landed for the night.  Jim pulled
his post flight and headed for the club.  Green pulled his guns off the
ship and took them in with the rest of the platoon gunners and started
to clean them.  He had just finished when Mr. Euclid walked up. Mr.
Euclid was a tall, lean, black man who looked like the former high
school basketball, football and track star he had been.  He was also one
of the better liked peter pilots, because of his easy going attitude.
Several of the crew chiefs who didn't have permanent pilots were hopeful
that Mr. Euclid would be assigned to their ship once he made pilot. "You
Green?"

"Yes, Sir."

"I've been looking for you.  Your ship's got a night mission to fly.

Come on, I'll help you carry your guns back out."

"Okay, Sir, they're both ready to go, you going with us?"

"Yeah, I've got the privilege of riding right seat.  Gillett is looking
for Mac and I don't know who's flying AC or left seat.  It won't be Mr.
Walker though, he left for the other side of the post to see somebody he
knew."

Each man picked up an M60 and walked towards the waiting helicopter.

Meanwhile Gillett had found Jim in the club along with several of the
other crew chiefs.  Gillett had just come from Operations and figured
this would be as good a time as any to pass the bad news.  "Good
evening, men."

Hunter turned and said, "I hope this is a social visit, Gillett."

"Yes and no, do you want the good or the bad first?"

"The good."

"Okay, I'll have a beer.  Now for the bad."

"Wait a minute, where's the good news?"

"My drinking a beer with you guys is it."

"Oh, great, I just can't wait for the bad news."

"In that case, I'll get on with it.  First, Mac, you have a night
mission to fly.  Before you go, though, I have to tell everybody: as you
all remember last week, we had to take all the cargo doors off the
helicopters.  Well, this week the Colonel has decided that you should
put them all back on."

The vulgarity that followed wasn't totally unexpected by Gillett. Athia
spoke up, "Hey, Gillett, you can't be serious."

"Unfortunately, I am.  The old man wants all the doors put back on."

"Well you can give him a message for us.  Tell him to go screw himself,
he's doing more to destroy morale than Charlie has done since I've been
here.  What the hell does he do, lay awake nights thinking up things for
us to do?"

"Okay, okay knock it off.  It's not going to do any good to get all
upset about it, just do it.  End of discussion, okay!  Mac, I don't know
anything about your mission except operations wanted a ship, so you had
better get going."

Jim got up and headed out the door.  As he walked across the company
area Hunter joined him.  "Hey, Mac, you going to put your cargo doors
back on?"

Hell-l-l, no!"

"How you going to get out of it?"

"I'm going to go to supply and order the neoprime rollers that hold the
doors on.  Since supply hasn't had any call for those in the past,
they're not going to have them in stock.  And, since they're not
critical to the ship's safety or flying ability, they're not going to be
put on rush order, so it should be three to four weeks before they come
in.  Once they're in I'll go back to supply and order the door tracks.
If I'm asked, I can just say, 'gee whiz, I didn't realize I needed both
'til I got the rollers and saw how worn the track was." It should take
another three to four weeks to get the track into supply.  Since it's
going to take sheet metal work to put on the track, they'll wait 'til my
ship comes in for a P.E. to put it on.  Since I've been having a P.  E.
about every six to seven days lately, it could end up being seven to ten
weeks before my ship's got its doors back on.  In that time span a lot
could happen.  I mean, I could have two or three helicopters by then. Or
the old man could forget all about cargo doors and be hot on something
else for us to do.  For that matter, he could decide to take 'em all
back off again in two months time.  Just one thing, Hunter.  If you do
that, make sure you've got it written up in your log book that you have
the parts on order.  You could write something like, 'cargo doors
removed due to excessive wear of gromlets, parts on order." Make sure
you put the order number in there also, Okay?"

"Sounds good to me, have a good time out there tonight, Mac."

"Right, see you later, Hunter."

The two men entered the hooch and went to their respective areas. Jim
picked up his helmet and M16, then headed for the flight line. Hunter
sat down on his foot locker and started to write a letter.

With pad and pen in hand, he paused to think before starting and
happened to look up.  There, watching him very intently was the monkey.
"You son of a bitch, I'd like to cut your sorry ass throat."  It was
almost as though the monkey understood his every word.  Instantly, he
spread his lips, showed his teeth and gave off a loud screech.

He took his fist and started pounding against the rafters while shaking
his head in every imaginable direction.  Chattering wildly, the monkey's
whole body went through contortions and gyrations.  Hunter decided it
would be easier and safer to write his letter in the club. Collecting
his writing paper, he put the pen in his pocket and started down the
aisle of the hooch.  As he went by Kenny's bunk, he very smoothly and in
the blink of an eye, reached down and picked up one of Kenny's combat
boots and in the same motion, he raised and threw the boot in the
monkey's direction.  He missed, but the mere gesture was enough to cause
the monkey to go wild.  Hunter ran out the door, letting it slam shut
behind him.

When Jim got to his ship, there sitting in the cargo area was Green and
Mr. Euclid carrying on a conversation like old buddies.  "Good evening,
Sir."

"Hi, Mac."

"Where's Mr. Walker?"

"On the other side of the post, visiting some old friends."

"In that case, who's driving?"

"I don't know yet.  Captain Wolf was trying to find someone who wasn't
too close on their hour limit."

Jim turned on the inside lights and started to write in his log book
when Mr. Hill walked up and said, "Ya all ready to go?"

Mr. Hill was one of your basic good ole southern boys from Georgia who
had lost most of his accent, but not the drawl.  He was well liked by
both the enlisted men and the officers.  His general attitude was you
don't cause me trouble, and I'll not cause you any', and he'd built a
good rapport and working relationship with the enlisted men.  His five
foot eleven height was built around a small-boned, petite frame that
gave the first impression of belonging to a feminine-type person.

Jim looked up and closed the green, plastic covered log book as he
spoke, "Mr. Hill, you driving tonight?"

"Yep."

"Aren't you supposed to rotate home tomorrow morning?"

"Yeah, well I just couldn't stand the idea of leaving without one more
time in the sky."

"Mr. Hill, that's the dumbest thing I ever heard."

"Well, there isn't much I can do about it."

"You could refuse, you don't have to fly.  My God, man, you're supposed
to go home tomorrow; not get killed on some stupid ass single ship night
mission."

"Look, Mac, I can't refuse and you know it.  Captain Wolf came up and
said he needed me to fly one last mission.  One simply doesn't tell
Captain Wolf, no; although I did kind of try by telling him I didn't
have any flight gear-no helmet or gloves, nothing.  He just told me to
borrow some.  So, I've got my roommate's."

"Mr. Hill, if you don't get killed tonight it'll be a miracle, you know
that, don't you?"

"Look, I don't have any more choice than you do, so stop telling me I'm
going to get it!  Okay?"

The expression on Jim's face told all of them he truly thought Mr.
Hill's flying was stupid.  He had one more thought.  "Sir, tell you what
I'll do.  Give me your left hand and I'll break your index finger for
you.  Just tell Wolf you fell down in the dark on the way out here and
did it.  That way, you'll still go home tomorrow without having to fly
tonight."

"Mac, just shut up and untie this thing!  Will you?"

"You're really going to fly it?"

"Yep.  Look, Wolf said it's a simple resupply mission.  All we have to
do is go to Dau Tieng, pick up a load of beehives and take them up to
Loc Ninh, that's it.  We should be back in a couple hours."  A look of
surprise came over Jim's face.  Goose pimples rose on his arms and a
shiver went up his spine.

Almost shouting he said, "Beehives!  Mr. Hill, there's only one reason
Loc Ninh needs a night resupply of beehives and that's because they're
catching hell.  Captain Wolf doesn't care about you.  All you are to him
is a warm body in the pilot's seat."

"Mac, that's enough!  Captain Wolf is just like the rest of us.  He has
a job to do and he did it.  Now go untie the rotor blades and let's go!"

Jim shook his head in a slow no motion as though to say one last time,
"this is dumb," and stood up to go untie the rotors.  The two pilots
climbed into their seats and Green strapped on his chicken plate.

Dau Tieng was only a few minutes flight time away.  The area between Tay
Ninh and Dau Tieng was densely wooded forest with heavy underbrush.  It
looked during the day like a big, puffy, green canopy. At night, it was
just one huge black expanse.  Jim had often thought in the past it would
be a most unpleasant place to go down, especially since the highway
between Tay Ninh and Dau Tieng had become known as Ambush Alley.  Like
many of the military posts in Vietnam, Dau Tieng was named after the
village next to it.  The military complex was located directly on top of
the mountain, with only a few two seat observation choppers stationed at
Dau Tieng.  Its main purpose was as a forward staging area for the 25th
Infantry Division.

One of the interesting things about Dau Tieng for Jim, was a little
house that looked like it was only big enough for one room.  It had
white, freshly painted walls and a bright red tile roof with a big white
swastika painted on the red tile.  Each time Jim saw that house, he
wondered why a Nazi swastika would be painted on it.  It was almost a
month after he had started flying, that he found out that it was also a
Buddist insignia.

Mr. Hill dialed 36.8 for Dau Tieng control, "Dau
Tieng control, this is Blackhawk Niner Two-Five, we're inbound to your
location.  ETA, zero five minutes.  Over."

"Roger, Blackhawk Niner Two-Five, you're clear to land.  Winds are calm
and there is no artillery fire at this time, over."

"Roger, Control, we're supposed to pick up a load of beehives, could you
advise us as to their location, over."

"Roger Niner Two-Five, try the truck parked on the east side of the
runway, over."

"Roger Control, Niner Two-Five, out."

Mr. Hill keyed his mike, "Well, Mac, if that truck really has our
beehives on it, this part of the trip will have been easy enough."

"Yes, Sir, but then this isn't Loc Ninh and we both know Charlie is in
love with Loc Ninh.  To change the subject, I was just thinking things
are looking up, I mean we could be going to Saigon for fuel if the Air
Force hadn't brought up those fuel wheels today."

"Wonderful outfit, the Air Force.  Did you hear, Mac, that the first day
of Tet, Charlie had a gun set up at the end of Tan Son Nhut's main
runway, so the Air Force had their F-4's taking off and dropping their
payloads almost as soon as they were off the ground."

"No, I hadn't heard, but for that matter, I haven't heard much of
anything in the way of news.  Man, that would have been something to
see."  The deuce and a half waiting at the end of the runway was loaded
with beehives, and three GI's, who hurriedly loaded Jim's ship.  Once
loaded, the artillery sergeant Supervising gave Jim a thumbs up sign,
and Jim waved good bye as he spoke into his mike, "Mr. Hill, I just got
a thumbs up, let's go see what's happening at Loc Ninh."

"Roger, Mac, have they got those boxes balanced and secure?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Okay, Dau Tieng control, this is Blackhawk Niner Two-Five at the
northeast end of the runway, requesting clearance for takeoff and
artillery, over."

"Roger Niner Two-Five, you're clear to take off and we now have
artillery firing from the east end of post at a maximum altitude of two
thousand feet going into Tango November.  Out."

Mr. Hill spoke, "That'stay Ninh.  I wonder which bunker line is under
attack tonight?  Well, we can always look on the bright side.  We could
be back at Tay Ninh sitting in those damn bunkers, huh, Mac?"

"Mr. Hill, that's why I fly all these night missions.  It's better than
getting my ass blown off in a ditch.  Besides, I get the message, Sir,
and I'll tell you what, nothing would make me happier than to say at the
end of this flight, 'I was wrong and you didn't get it." I really,
honestly, hope I get to say that."

"Believe me, I hope you can, too.  Okay, we've got clearance to leave.
We can fly east around those guns and then head north.  Mr. Euclid, I'll
drive, you keep us clear of artillery."

Niner Two-Five was airborne and headed north before anyone spoke again.
Mr. Hill, like all the short timers, couldn't help rubbing it in. "Well,
you guys, in about forty-eight hours I'll be on that big freedom bird
heading home.  You poor saps still have all that time left. Mac, how
long you got yet?"

"Oh, about three months, too long to start a 'short timers' calendar.
It's Green and Mr. Euclid that you should work on, neither one's been in
country three months yet."

"Nine months, man, if I had nine months left over here I'd walk in to
the club tonight and get so drunk I wouldn't wake up the whole time.

"I'll tell you what I'll do, just for you guys, in memory of this flight
tonight.  It takes about twenty minutes to get home from the airport, so
just for you guys, I'll let my wife suck me off all the way home and, I
promise, I'll not once think of any of you.  Man, just think, in about
seventy hours I'll be fucking my wife in my own bed. Oh, wow, I can feel
her legs up over my back now."

Mr. Euclid broke in, "I hate to interrupt when you're just getting
started, but I've checked Quan Loi artillery.  They must have every gun
in reach of Loc Nin firing on it, they also have a Puff operating in the
area.  I've got him on UHF and he'll give us a lead in.  However, the
only way I see we can get in and out is to come up along the Fish Hook
and swing in almost directly from the west.  Loc Ninh sits at about two
hundred feet altitude, so we'll have to maintain at least three thousand
feet.  The artillery is all going in on the south and east side of the
air strip.  With the Special Forces camp on the west side of the air
strip, we shouldn't get within two hundred meters of any artillery. Now,
did you get all that, Mr. Hill?"

"Yeah, three thousand feet, come in from the west and if I cross the
airstrip we get blown to hell by our own artillery."

Mr. Hill moved the control stick so the aircraft would head toward the
west and the Fish Hook.  Unseen from the ground, it glided like a giant
bumble bee, carrying its cargo of death northwestward into the night sky
and the destiny that awaited its four masses of pollen, called humans.

Jim's voice broke the silence, "You know, this will be the first milk
run I've ever been on where we had Puff give us an escort in. Besides,
anybody got a coat I can use?  Three thousand feet is going to be very
cold."

"That's a fact, that's why I'm not taking her up there 'til I have to."

Green spoke next, "I hate to be showing my ignorance, but what's Puff?"

Mr. Hill answered, "Green, it's an Air Force C-47 with three mini guns
stuck out one side, each firing six thousand rounds per minute. There's
no real way to describe what it looks like, other than it does look like
a dragon spitting fire.  It's quite a sight!  Three thousand feet, here
we are, Mr. Euclid, what's that thermometer read?"

"Five degrees centigrade, which would be about forty to forty-two in
normal temperature."  Mr. Hill turned the ship sharply eastward and made
a straight line for Loc Ninh.  Jim sat there shivering, he was freezing.
Between the temperature and the wind, it seemed like time was clicking
by all too slowly.  He was on his way and would just as soon get there,
get it over with and get out.  If Puff was there, plus all that
artillery, he knew it wasn't going to be a pleasant visit.  As they
approached,they could see the flares light the night above and around
Loc Ninh.  Jim listened as Mr. Hill talked to the driver of Puff and to
the radio operator on the ground in Loc Nin.

"Loc Nin control, this is Blackhawk Niner Two-Five, we're about ten
minutes out.  What is your status at this time.  Over?"

"Niner Two-Five, this is Loc Ninh.  We've had a few uninvited guests try
to drop in, nothing we can't handle with the help of your cargo.  We
will get a C-130 drop first light.  See you in zero nine minutes, winds
are steady at five knots out of the south.  Your approach should be from
the west straight in and down, land with your nose on the flashlight and
turn off all lights.  Over."

"We're on our way, Niner Two-Five.  Out.  Mr. Euclid, where's Puff?"

"I don't know.  I just talked to him and he'll give us an escort in.  He
said he has us on visual and promised not to shoot us down. Also, he had
me dial up an air traffic controller in a Bird Dog I'm on hold now."

"Well, at least we've got a friendly Puff."

"Blackhawk Niner Two-Five, this is Bird Dog One over Loc Nin.

I monitored your call to Loc Nin and there are some things you need to
know that they didn't tell you.  To start with, the place is under
extremely heavy attack; Loc Ninh Village and the ARVN Camp have already
fallen, and the American Special Forces camp has had its perimeter
breeched once already.  I have two F-4's, one light huey fire team and
Puff up here, plus artillery.  To make a long story short, I think I can
get you in!  I'm not sure, and I won't promise, but I think I can put
down enough fire power to get you down there.  I will, however, almost
guarantee you, if you get in, you'll not fly out!  Charlie has several
mortars firing on 'em, and there is a dual quad fifty set up and well
sand-bagged in what used to be the Frenchman's swimming pool right
beside the main house.  I have two F-4's dropping napalm and five
hundred pounders on it, do you understand what I'm trying to say to you?
Over."

"Roger, I understand.  Wait one."  Mr. Hill then spoke to the crew of
his ship.  "Well, crew, I assume you all heard, so what do you think?"
Several seconds passed before anyone spoke.  Finally Jim said, "Sir, we
came here for a reason, if we don't take 'em their beehives will they be
able to hold?  I guess I vote to do what we came up here for.  Let's
take 'em their beehives and, what the hell, if we can't fly out, I
always wanted to be a Green Beret-but I'm not the one going home
tomorrow!"

Green and Mr. Euclid quickly agreed leaving the decision to Mr. Hill who
said, "Well, what the hell, it might be fun."

Mr. Euclid said, "What about your wife?"

"Hey, she's done without this long, she can wait a couple more days if
we don't make it out."

Keying his switch to broadcast outside the ship, Mr. Hill said, "Bird
Dog One, if you can get us in we'll take our chances on getting out.
Over."

"Roger, Blackhawk, follow same approach as given by Loc Ninh control.  I
have you on visual at about thirty five hundred feet and circling just
west of Loc Ninh.  Is that correct?  Over."

"That's affirm.  Over."

"Roger, most aircraft are in position, shut off your navigation lights
at this time.  Thank you.  Begin descent on my command."  There was a
short pause.  Both Green and Jim checked their monkey harnesses and
pulled their M60's up into firing position.  Mr. Hill spoke, "You two
ready?"

"Yes, Sir.  Yes, Sir."

"Blackhawk, this is Bird Dog One.  Go!  And good luck!"

"Okay, here we go.  Mac, there's nothing friendly out there on your
side.  Green, you've got the village down the hill plus the ARVN camp.
Don't be afraid to hit either one.  We're at twenty five hundred feet
and I don't hear either gun firing back there."

Both men knew that was their cue to open fire.  Each pulled his trigger,
bringing a small smile to Mr. Hill's face.  Loc Ninh was now only a
short distance away and Mr. Hill could see the star shaped perimeter by
the light from the flares.  Niner Two-Five was now on short final
approach.  All four men could see the flashes from the ground as the
enemy troops opened fire on them.  Jim had just decided that it would
take a miracle to get them in and out when it happened-out of the black
sky came a steady stream of red fire streaking towards the ground. Green
came over the intercom with the almost typical response to the first
time observer of Puff.

"What the HELL is that?"

Mr. Hill laughed and said, "That, Green, is Puff the Magic Dragon."

"I don't think Peter, Paul, and Mary would approve," said Green as he
watched the tracers race to their destination below.  He really couldn't
believe anything could live through that onslaught, if unfortunate
enough to be caught in its path.  He watched as the last stream of
burning hail balls streaked towards the earth just like a giant hand had
shut off the flow of fire and was now pushing the last breath from the
dragon's mouth downward with open palm.  He realized his own gun was
still firing into the darkness and that Mr. Euclid was calling out
altitude and airspeed for Mr. Hill.  Both Green and Jim stopped firing
at about the same moment as the chopper settled gently down into a
blanket of dust.  Instantly two men dressed in combat gear and
camouflage paint appeared on each side of the helicopter and started
unloading the crates of beehives.  Their movements were strained, and
showed a forced hurriedness as they jerked the crates, weighing
approximately one hundred sixty pounds each, out the door.  Jim heard
the pop but didn't make the connection until he heard the second pop at
the same time he saw the explosion, followed by another and another as
the mortars were slowly walked their direction.  All four Special Forces
soldiers were now lying prone on the ground, starting to low crawl to
protective cover.

"Mr. Hill, this place is getting mortared and we're empty, let's get out
of here."

Mr. Hill turned up the RPM and started to talk to Bird Dog One. Mortar
shells were falling all around them as Bird Dog One came over the radio.
"Roger, Blackhawk, please wait as the gunships aren't yet in position."

Jim could feel the chopper leap up and forward as Mr. Hill shouted,
"Fuck you, Bird Dog!"

"Puff, this is Blackhawk Niner Two-Five, we're on our way out, give 'em
hell!"

"This is Puff, Niner Two-Five, hell's on its way," and indeed it was as
the dragon's breath spewed forth lead and fire.  Mr. Hill had Niner
Two-Five red lined as he tried to make good their escape.  Tracers
flashed over their ship as it sped away giving them the necessary
protective lead curtain.  Jim, looking back, could see the explosion at
the swimming pool and two gunships starting their run with rockets and
mini guns blazing.

"Puff, Bird Dog One, everyone, this is Niner Two-Five, we're homeward
bound, thanks for the help out."

"Niner Two-Five, this is Bird Dog One, we were all glad to be of help.
Too bad you can't stick around for the show."  Mr. Hill was ready to get
back and had nosed it over to the one hundred twenty knot red line; with
any luck he could get back before midnight.

"Loc Nin, this is Blackhawk Niner Two-Five, we're out safe and homeward
bound, sorry we couldn't stay for the party, but your uninvited guests
weren't being very nice.  Niner Two-Five, out."

"Niner Two-Five, this is Loc Nin.  You're always welcome here at sunny,
scenic Loc Nin.  Come back again and thanks for the supplies, without
them, we wouldn't make it.  Loc Ninh out."

"Thanks for the invitation but I go home tomorrow morning, I'm SHORRT."
Mr Hill laughed as he yelled short, short, short into the mike.  "Well,
Mac, we made it much to your chagrin."

"My chagrin?  Bullshit!  I'm just as happy we made it as you are,
besides, where did you get that ten dollar word in this land of the
fifty cent vocabulary?"

"Hey, I'm almost a civilian again, I've got to start acting like one.
"You know, gentlemen, there are a lot of reasons I'm glad to be leaving
this place, not the least of which is our new XO.  Any of you guys met
that man yet?"

All three said, "No."

"No."

"No."

"Mr. Hill, I didn't even know we had a new XO; what happened to the old
one?"

"He got promoted and given a command someplace down in the Delta. I'll
tell ya, Mac, you E.M.  are just going to love this guy."  The sarcasm
in Mr. Hill's voice was obvious as he continued, "I met the man this
afternoon in the officers' club, he's a Major.  I can't remember the
name but the guy thinks he's John Wayne.  I'll give him this much, he is
a big dude, about six foot six and I'd guess two hundred fifty pounds,
blond hair with a flat top and he eats nails for breakfast."

"Mr. Hill, could I ask a question before I forget it?"

"Sure, Green, shoot."

"At Loc Nin they said something about a Frenchman.  What Frenchman?"

"Didn't you take history in school, Green?  This place belonged to the
French.  A handful stayed on after the French Army got kicked out,
primarily to run the various plantations.  There's one that lives in a
mansion at the far end of the runway.  He's got a swimming pool located
between the house and the Special Forces camp, or at least, he used to.
Next time you're up there during the day look for it.  There's a pretty
good sized little village on down the hillside with his mansion about
halfway up the hill.  Anyway, the Frenchman who lives there runs the
rubber plantation that's all around Loc Ninh.  He, of course, pays the
Viet Cong protection money.  Whenever they're going to have an offensive
against the Special Forces camp, he gets the word.  Then he moves all
his valuables into the basement, drains his pool, packs his bags and
climbs in his little yellow airplane for a few days vacation."

"Sir, how does he know when to come back and where does he go?"

"Oh, they probably tell him how long the offensive will last and he
probably goes down to Saigon or Vung Tau.  You see his plane around
every now and then.  He could even go over to Bangkok.  I've heard that
the Special Forces guys know if he's leaving on business, or if he's
getting out before an attack, by whether he drains the pool first or
not, but that's not important.

"There is one thing, Green, you should remember about tonight.

In fifteen or twenty years when you tell this story, no one will
understand or comprehend what it was like seeing all those tracers going
by you.  In fact, most people won't even believe we went in there with a
helicopter.  There are a lot of pilots who wouldn't have gone close to
Loc Ninh tonight, let alone landed there.  For that matter, in this
company you'll go a lot of places people won't believe you've gone.
Isn't that right, Mac?"

"Yes, Sir, we'll fly into a hornets nest if someone needs help. Just out
of curiosity, Mr. Hill, tell me more about our new XO."

"Oh, he's got more good ideas than a cat has lives."  The sarcasm in Mr.
Hill's voice was obvious as he continued, "I think the one all you guys
will like the most is, he wants all the cargo doors put back on the
ships."

"That's where that idea came from!"

"Oh, you've already heard about that one?"

"Yeah, Gillett told us about it tonight before sending me to the flight
line."

"You going to do it, Mac?"

"Why, Mr. Hill, you know I'd never disobey an officer's order."

"Yeah, just like I'm not going home tomorrow.  You'll do whatever you
damn well please.  The thing I want to know is how you are going to get
away with it.  Cause I know you're not going to put those doors back
on."

"Well, you're right.  I'm not happy about it, they are a big pain in the
neck.  I have to shut the right door every time I put fuel in, then open
it again and snap pin it open, plus I'll have to unhook the ammo belt
and then hook it back up again every time the doors are opened or shut.
Of course, every time I want into the engine or storage compartments,
I'll have to shut the door.  It wouldn't be so bad if it wasn't for the
fact the machineguns are on the outside and the ammo is inside."

"So, how'll you get out of it?"

"Hard to say, Sir, something may come up.  What else does he have up his
sleeve for us?"

"Oh, cute little things like painting the rocks, raking the sand, police
call before the flight takes off, washing and waxing the helicopters and
their blades.  He's got this idea that waxed rotor blades give a chopper
ten percent more lift.  He was saying in the club today that Colonel
Appleton and he decided to split the duties. Appleton would have the
flights, and he would have the company area.  It will be his mission to
clean the place up and make it look like the first class unit it should
be, which means a lot of painting, raking and shoveling."

It wasn't quite midnight when Mr. Hill sat Niner Two-Five down in its
parking revetment.  Everyone was in a hurry to get back.  Mr. Euclid
immediately climbed out and walked off, while Jim was tying the main
rotor blades down.  Green came around to the tail of the ship and asked,
"Mac, do I have to take those guns in tonight?"

"You're supposed to, but why don't you hide them in the corner of the
revetment?."  Jim walked forward to the pilot's door.  He wanted to talk
to Mr. Hill before he left and was glad to see he was still there
writing in the log book.

"Well, Sir, I was wrong.  We made it, you made it,and I'm glad you did.
You've been a good officer and a good pilot.  I always enjoyed flying
with you."

"Thank you, Mac, that's very nice of you to say.  For the most part,
I've enjoyed the year I've spent here, but then I've been really lucky.
You know I wasn't shot down that first time, although I have to admit, I
really figured we'd never get out of Loc Ninh tonight. Speaking of Loc
Ninh, did we take any hits tonight?"

"Not that I know of, but then I haven't really checked it out yet. You
know, Mr. Hill, it's kind of strange how we can fly through Hell like we
did tonight, not take any hits and yet be in a flight of ten and come
out looking like a peg board."

"Yeah, that's one of the benefits of being a member of an all combat
assault team.  We go places and do things other general purpose units
wouldn't touch."

The two men shook hands and said good bye.  Mr. Hill headed back to the
company area and officers' club while Jim started his post flight
inspection.  Green had already hid his guns and headed back.

Aircraft parked on flight line.

Local kids were always a welcome sight as it meant there were no vc
around.

Chapter Eight
So You Want To Play Games?

On the way to the company area, Green fingered the grenade in his
fatigue pocket.  He knew what he was going to do, he just didn't know
quite how to go about it.  He knew if he got caught, he'd go to jail. So
he just didn't dare make any mistakes.  Suddenly he had to pee something
terrible.  Squeezing all the way to the urinal, he still almost wet his
pants while trying to get it out.  Control, that was the key, he had to
get control of himself and his nerves.  If he couldn't, he might just as
well forget the whole thing.

Taking a deep breath, Green moved into the shadows and started working
his way into the officers area.  As he walked, he tried to look as
casual as possible, like he belonged there.  Staying in the shadows, he
passed the officers club and latrine.  The area in front of the officers
quarters was well lighted.  Green stood and looked at the L-shaped
building that made up their two-man quarters.  There wasn't any way to
get closer without exposing himself to the light and possible discovery.
He stood and watched for several minutes before deciding the only thing
to do was walk down the row of doors and read the names on the outside.
Hopefully, he wouldn't be seen by anyone.  There hadn't been but a
couple officers in sight the whole time he'd been standing there.  He
looked around very carefully for other people and, seeing none, started
toward the row of doors.  As he walked he was struck by the similarity
between this building and some of the fleabag motels he'd seen in the
states.  He was now close enough to spit on the first door and he still
couldn't see any names.  There was enough light for him to see a few
doors down the row and they were all the same, no name, just numbers.
Turning quickly, he moved rapidly away and back into the shadows.  He
was visibly shaken and now very uncertain just what to do next.  It had
never occurred to him that the doors wouldn't have the officer's names
on them.  Now he had a real problem, how could he go about finding
Halsey's quarters without anybody knowing he wanted to know.  One thing
was sure, after he made his move, everyone would hear about what had
happened.  If he asked questions, someone would surely remember.

Somewhat dejected, Green sat down.  Not really knowing why, he just sat
there looking at the empty space in front of him.  Finally, he decided
he might just as well go to bed.  As he started to get up, the officers
club door flew open and a group of officers staggered out. Searching
each face, hoping to locate the one belonging to Halsey, he again felt
the disappointment of failure.

As he watched each man enter his hooch he also saw two female nurses
leave the club together.  They went straight to the latrine, almost as
though they had been there before.  Green was really surprised when they
walked right in.  After all, it was an officers' latrine, for men.  As
he thought about it, it did make sense.  There wasn't a female latrine
outside the hospital area, and that was a quarter mile away.  It did
strike him somewhat strange though as he pictured those nurses sitting
down on the pot beside some pilot.  The more he thought about it, the
more he became convinced it was probably so dark in there that they
would have a hard time finding the pots, let alone seeing who was next
to them.

Again the club door opened and two men walked out.  Green's heart
jumped-one of them was unmistakably Halsey.  Suddenly Green felt chilled
and he again struggled to control his nerves.  After all, it was a dud.
He wasn't going to kill him just scare the hell out of him.  As Halsey
walked by he thought about just throwing it and then running.  No, that
simply would not do.  There were far too many people around; the guy
with Halsey and the two nurses still in the latrine, who surely would be
coming out any second now.  Green watched and waited as the two men
headed to their respective doors.  Halsey's was the second from the
inside corner.  That meant he would have to walk by a lot of officers'
doors in the light before getting to Halsey.  Then he would have to get
out.  He'd run to the shadows and then make his way back to the hooch as
quickly as possible without being seen.

He looked back toward the latrine, not understanding why the nurses
hadn't yet emerged.  To his surprise there they stood just outside the
door, partly hidden in the shadows of the latrine wall.  He would have
missed them, if not for one of them moving.  Now why were they standing
there?  It was almost as though they too were watching for something or
someone and not wishing to be seen.  Maybe they had spotted him.  That
was it, they had seen him!  It just didn't make sense.  He had been very
careful not to move anything except his head and that only slowly.  He
watched two of the pilots emerge from the club and move quickly to the
latrine.  Not spending but a few minutes inside, they left by the door
where the two nurses stood.  Now he knew what the nurses were doing. The
four people exchanged words, looked around for others and holding hands
as couples often do, moved quickly, almost at a run, towards the
officers' quarters.  Green almost broke out laughing as both couples
entered the door beside Halsey.  He knew that was one door that wouldn't
open, no matter what.  Almost at the same moment Halsey's light went
off.

Green knew this was it.  Carefully, he looked for any signs of someone
else in the area or about to enter the area.  He was moving quickly now
like a man with a purpose.  Stopping in front of Halsey's door he looked
around to see if anyone was about.  Seeing no one, he gave two quick
firm raps on the door, ripped the pin from the grenade, opened the door
and threw the frag inside.  In the same movement he turned and ran back
to the shadows as though the devil himself was behind him.  He'd only
taken three or four steps when he heard Halsey's voice yell, "Grenade".

He was in the shadows now and his whole body was shaking so badly he
could hardly run.  Once back in the protective darkness, he slowed to a
brisk walk.  Still his nerves kept his body shaking so badly his knees
would hardly function.  He fell twice before finally reaching his
hooch's back door.  The back door was his choice of entrance so he
wouldn't have to pass by Gillett's bunk.  Finding his bunk in the
darkness wasn't easy, but he didn't want to fall over anything and wake
someone up.  The army cot he slept on felt good, like a child's security
blanket.  Yet his heart continued to pound violently.  So fierce was its
beating, he thought it might burst.  Even breathing deeply to try to
regain control of himself was almost an impossible effort.  Yet, he knew
he must get into bed as quickly as possible before bed check.  The
combat boots had to come off.  He struggled with the strings, with
fingers shaking uncontrollably.  Finally, the boots came off and the
shirt pulled over his head without unbuttoning.  The pants weren't too
much trouble and he found himself in bed.  Still shaking, he wondered if
he would ever get control, would he really get away with it?  Man, he
wished he hadn't done this.  It was the dumbest thing he had ever done.
His heart was still pounding as though trying to escape his chest
cavity.  So fierce was the pounding and shaking that his whole bed was
moving.  Finally, after some time he began to settle down and fatigue
was once again setting in.  Ever so slowly, like a slowly melting snow,
he began to relax.  The shaking and pounding had stopped and his eyelids
settled gently over his eyes.

The squeak of the main entrance door being opened shot through Green
like a spear.  He lay there trying to pretend he was asleep, certain
they had come for him.  Yet nothing happened.  He lay there straining to
hear what was going on.  For some reason someone had awakened Gillett,
who was now getting out of bed.

Mr. Halsey hadn't been in bed but a short time and sleep was rapidly
shutting down his bodily functions.  The knock on his door irritated him
more than anything else.  After all, he was comfortably in bed.  As he
threw off his sheet and flipped up the mosquito netting he mumbled under
his breath, "This better be good."  He was never sent on any of the
night missions so that wasn't it.  Who would be knocking on the door.
His roommate would just walk on in.  Besides, he was probably still in
Bangkok on R&R and wouldn't be back for a while.  The grapevine claimed
that Bien Hoa had been closed since Tet started.  As a result, all R&R
activity had stopped, with the guys still out of country being held
over.

Mr. Halsey had just stood up when his door opened.  With the light in
the background, he could just make out something small and round being
thrown in.  He could tell it was something relatively heavy the way it
traveled through the air.  It was the spring throwing open the handle
that told him what.  In that same flickering of a heartbeat he yelled,
"Grenade" and dived into his bunk.  As he hit the bed, the mosquito
netting over it became tangled in his arms and body, breaking off three
of the four poles holding it up and ripping a big long tear in the
netting where it was attached to the fourth pole.  Realizing his bed
wasn't the safest place he could be, he allowed his momentum to roll him
over onto the floor.  Trying his best to hug the floor, he covered his
ears with his hands and awaited the pain he knew would come.  His only
hope now was to live through it because he was going to be hurt, yet
there was no ear shattering explosion.  Why not?  Was it possible he had
misjudged what had come in his door and bounced like a steel ball onto
the concrete floor?  He searched the floor with his eyes trying in vain
to find the mysterious object.  If it was a frag, it should have blown
long before now.  He began to wonder if he should stand up or try to low
crawl to the door and the light switch.  Finally, he started to move,
slowly at first, almost as though his very movement might set off the
awaited explosion.  As he moved closer to the door, he moved faster and
faster until he resembled a bug on a hot surface.  Once at the door, he
stood up and turned on the lights.  There it was in the far corner, just
as big and black and ugly as a fragmentation grenade could be.  He stood
there staring at it for several minutes trying to figure it all out. Why
had it not blown?  The spring was off and the handle lay several feet
away.  It was obviously a dud, but had someone made it so; or was
someone disappointed he wasn't dead?  But who?  MacLaughlin, of course.
He really couldn't picture MacLaughlin doing this-it just didn't fit his
personality-but he was the only logical one.  It had to be MacLaughlin.
That son of a bitch, he'd send his smart ass to jail for the next twenty
years.

The thing he had to do now was make sure he did everything the right
way.  The first thing he did was bang on the door next to his. Mr.
Halsey's heart was still pounding pretty hard as he shouted, "Hey, you
guys, wake up!  There's a live frag next to your wall in my room." The
response from behind the closed door was strained.

"Get lost, Halsey, we're busy."

"I'm not kidding you, guys.  Somebody threw a frag in my door and it's
laying against your wall."

With that he could hear a woman's squeal and a great flurry of activity.
The door flew open with a bang and a disgusted Mr. Lucas stood there, a
bulge protruding from the pants he was hurriedly trying to buckle.
Halsey knew the activities had already started.  That knowledge, plus
the sight of Lucas standing there with nothing on but his pants almost
made him laugh.  Lucas was a tall man, over six foot, but thin as a
rail.  His most distinguishing characteristic was his prematurely bald
head.  He kept the rest of his head and face shaved, which gave a very
strange appearance.

"Halsey, you know something?  You're an asshole."

"Hey, man, I'm just trying to help you out.  I'm going to go report that
grenade to Captain Wolf, and you know how he feels about hookers."

Mr. Lucas looked down at Halsey standing there in nothing but his green
boxer shorts.  There wasn't any question in his mind that Halsey would
pull this kind of trick, just out of meanness.  Yet there was something
about the pathetic little bastard that told him his story might just be
for real.

"Halsey, don't jive me.  Nobody in this outfit would do something like
that."

"Hey, I'm not going to stand here and argue with you.  I was just trying
to be a nice guy."

"Halsey, I'll tell you what.  There damn well better be a grenade in
there, or I'll kill you myself."  Lucas turned and slammed the door
behind him.  Once inside he looked at both girls who had finished
dressing.  "Come on, girls, he was just kidding.  If there was a frag in
there it would have blown long ago."

"I don't care!  Either way we're getting out of here.  We didn't ask for
this, and we're not staying."

Lucas found himself wishing the grenade had blown Halsey's ass off. Once
the door had been closed in his face, Halsey turned and started towards
Captain Wolf's quarters.  He had only taken a few steps when Captain
Wolf and Major Hobbs came out of the latrine.  Major Hobbs was indeed a
big man, as Mr. Hill had said.  He had a dark complexion with blond
hair, cut in a half-inch flat top.  Worst of all, he tried his best to
give everyone the impression he ate nails for breakfast.

It was Captain Wolf with a big smile on his face who spoke first,
"Halsey, what are you doing out here in your shorts?"

"Looking for you, Captain!  Someone just tried to frag me!"  At that
moment, Mr. Lucas' door came open and out ran the two nurses. Almost
running into Wolf and Hobbs, the two nurses came to an abrupt stop. Wolf
spoke, "At attention, Ladies."

"You happen to be speaking to a Captain, Mister, and I expect to be
treated like one."

"Then you should try acting like one.  Furthermore, I'm also a captain,
the difference is, you're on my turf!"  Captain Wolf's voice continued
to build in force and volume.

"Lucas, Euclid, get your butts out here!"

Both officers came through the door fully dressed acting like two little
boys who had just been caught with their fingers in the pie. Captain
Wolf's voice was now back to normal, but still very forceful. "I've told
you guys before, no women in the rooms.  As long as you're in my
platoon, you'll follow my orders, or wish you had."

Mr. Lucas spoke up, "Captain, it's not what you think.  I just invited
the girls in for a minute to look at some pictures I'd gotten back."

"Lucas, unless you want to be put on every asshole flight or shit detail
for the rest of your stay, don't treat me like I'm stupid." Turning to
face Euclid he asked, "How much did they charge you?"

Euclid shrugged his shoulders and looked at the ground, then said, "one
hundred dollars each."  Wolf's eyes bulged and his mouth dropped as his
head slowly turned to the two nurses.  In a soft, but forceful voice he
asked, "One hundred dollars each!  What were you going to do, gold plate
it for 'em?"  Neither nurse said a thing as one looked at the ground and
the other looked hatefully at Halsey, who was standing a few feet behind
and to the side of Hobbs.  "Okay you two, because of this fragging, I
don't have time to mess with you now.  Just get out of here and don't
ever come back.  Not here, not to the club, not anywhere in this company
area, or I'll personally see to it you stand court martial for
prostitution.  You're a disgrace to your country and your uniform. As
officers, your conduct is inexcusable, and insulting.  There are
countless fine women who serve as military nurses, but you two are scum.
Now get out of my sight and stay out."  Major Hobbs had moved close
enough to Wolf so that he could speak in his ear without any of the
others hearing and without it being obvious he was speaking, "I hope you
never have to spend time in one of their hospital beds."  Captain Wolf
slowly nodded his head in agreement and said, "Right."

Wolf now turned to Lucas and Euclid still standing there watching as
their dreams walked rapidly away.  "As for you two, it is going to be a
very expensive night.  You can sign the papers in the morning in the
orderly room.  Shall we say another two hundred dollars each?  That'll
make it a three hundred dollar night for you two love birds."

Neither man said a word but both looked straight at Halsey, who had now
moved behind the massive body of Major Hobbs.  Halsey's attempt to hide
was unsuccessful, and Seeing their stares, simply shrugged his shoulders
and curled his mouth in such a way as though to say, 'I'm sorry,
fellows." Captain Wolf now turned to Mr. Halsey and said, "Now, tell me
about this fragging."

Mr. Halsey related the story as he remembered it.  At the end Major
Hobbs said, "Let's go see it."

The light was still on as Halsey opened his door, allowing Wolf and
Hobbs to walk in.  Major Hobbs spotted the ominous looking grenade and
said, "Well, Captain, I used to be in the infantry.  This sort of thing
is one of the reasons I transferred to aviation.  You fly boys aren't
supposed to have this type of problem."

"To my knowledge, Major, it's a first, at least in this company. What do
you think, Major?"

"I think it's an intentional dud.  In fact, I'm willing to bet on it."
He walked over and carefully picked up the frag.  Gripping the top with
one massive hand, he gingerly turned the bottom off.  Once the two parts
were separated and the Major could see the exploded percussion cap, his
face lit up with a big smile.  Turning to face the two men still
standing in the doorway, he flipped the spent percussion cap over to
Captain Wolf, who caught it and quickly examined it.  Standing fully
erect now, Major Hobbs turned to Halsey, "Didn't I hear your name is
Halsey?"

"Yes, Sir, that's right."

"I've got a question for you, Mr. Halsey.  When this thing bounced
across your floor, what did you do?"  Adding very sarcastically, "Jump
in your bed?"

"Sir, it was dark in there.  The lights were off and when I realized
what had just come through my door, I just dived for the floor and hit
the bed in the process."

"I can see that.  Did you pull your covers over your head also?"

"Major, this isn't a joking matter, someone tried to kill me, and..."

"Wrong!  Mr. Halsey, somebody tried to scare the hell out of you, not
kill you.  At least not this time.  That cap has been previously
exploded, intentionally.  Someone's gone to a lot of trouble to separate
the body, blow the cap, pick up all the parts, and then put it back
together.  You didn't see who did this?"

"No, Sir, but I've got a real good idea!"

"Who?"

"A Spec Four named, MacLaughlin."

"Any particular reason why him?"

"Yes, Sir, we've had problems in the past, and this morning was just a
typical example of his arrogance and insubordination."

Mr. Halsey started to relate a very shaded account of Jim's refusal to
fly with him that morning.  Captain Wolf just couldn't feature
MacLaughlin doing something like this.  Yet somebody had, so until he
knew more, he wasn't about to say anything one way or the other.  He did
notice that Halsey's account of this morning's activities wasn't quite
correct.  Yet again, he felt it best to listen and remember.

Once Halsey had finished, Major Hobbs suggested they go talk to Colonel
Appleton after Halsey put on some clothes.  As they headed out the door,
Mr. Euclid reached over and tapped Captain Wolf on the arm. The Major
and Halsey were already on their way as Euclid spoke to Captain Wolf,
"Captain, Mac was on a night mission with Mr. Hill and I tonight 'til
after midnight or later.  I don't believe for a second he did this.  For
one thing, whoever did it has been sitting out there someplace for a
long time, watching for Halsey.  Mac just hasn't been in the company
area that long."

"Okay, go on back to bed.  By the way, I'll draw up the papers for you
and Lucas to sign before I go to bed.  See you in the morning."

Colonel Appleton walked through the orderly room into his office,
followed closely by Major Hobbs, Captain Wolf, Mr. Halsey and shortly
thereafter, by Mr. Walker.  Colonel Appleton positioned himself as
comfortably as possible in his office chair.  He'd had a long day and
was sound asleep when Captain Wolf pounded on his door.  Why in Heaven's
name did it have to be his company?  In the infantry, one could maybe
expect it, but not an aviation company.  Not an outstanding company like
his.  There had never been any trouble before this.  Oh, sure, the usual
amount of Article 15's.  All for small time things like insubordination,
mostly talking back to one of the officers; but nothing of this
magnitude where a man's life was threatened.

The biggest question he had to answer besides who, was how should he
handle it.  He sure didn't want the publicity and problems that went
with this kind of thing.  If at all possible, Appleton wanted to keep it
right here within the company.  Halsey was positive MacLaughlin did it.
Maybe he'd get unbelievably lucky and MacLaughlin would confess and he
could be on his way to the L.B.J. before morning.  Well, he'd better get
this thing started so he could get back to bed.  Leaning back in his
swivel chair, Colonel Appleton shouted at the CQ, "Hey, Sergeant, come
in here!"  The CQ quickly jumped up from his chair and headed into the
old man's office.  He didn't know what was going on, but at this time of
the morning it had to be something big for all that Brass to be up
walking around.

"Sergeant, I want you to get Sergeant Gillett up and have him find
Specialist MacLaughlin.  Don't tell them anything except I want to  see
MacLaughlin in my office at once."

"Yes, Sir!"

"One more thing, Sergeant.  Don't send your runner.  I want you to go
personally.  I also want you to pay close attention to MacLaughlin's
reactions."

"Yes, Sir!"  He saluted the Colonel, turned and headed out the door.
Once in the outer office, he checked the duty roster.  Finding Gillett's
name on it, he glanced across the board to find his hooch number and was
on his way.

"Now then, Mr. Walker, do you know why we're all gathered here in the
middle of the night?"

"Yes, Sir.  Mr. Halsey told me when he got me up."

"Okay, you probably know MacLaughlin better than any other officer. You
are his AC, aren't you?"

"Yes, Sir, I am."

"What kind of soldier is he?  What kind of person is he?"

"Well, Sir, as a person, he's very religious.  He's a nice guy and well
liked.  He's intelligent and disciplined.  In fact, I'd say he does
nothing on impulse.  As a soldier, he's one of the best crew chiefs in
the company.  He does his job and doesn't bitch, no matter how bad
things get.  He knows that Huey inside and out, and how to fix anything
on it as a result of his having been in maintenance before becoming a
chief.  I believe Captain Wolf will verify that he flies most every
single ship night mission we have.  They used to ask for volunteers and
he always went, so they just quit asking.  Now they just go get
MacLaughlin.  As to whether I think he would do something like this, no,
Sir!  There's no way he'd frag someone, not even Mr. Halsey!  His
personal conduct and appearance is always what you would expect.  One
other thing, Sir, as a pilot, he makes my job a whole lot easier.  I
know I can depend on him no matter what.  I personally don't believe for
a second that he did this.  It's against everything he stands for.  I've
never once heard him advocate anything even close to this.  "As you
know, Sir, Mr. Halsey and MacLaughlin haven't gotten along since Mac
turned him in for falsifying those records.  I wonder if that hasn't
clouded Mr. Halsey's judgment in this matter?"

"Mr. Walker, you obviously like the man a great deal."

"Yes, Sir, we're very close.  We've gone through a lot together. He has
never shown any disrespect, for myself or any other officer.  He has,
however, given me a lot of reasons to greatly respect him."

"All right, Mr. Walker, you can go back to bed now.  Thank you very much
for coming in and giving me some background information."

Mr. Walker was stunned at being so quickly dismissed-but having no
choice, he came to attention, saluted, turned and left.  Once outside,
he thought about waiting for MacLaughlin, but decided against it.  If
the CO found out he'd talked to Mac before going in, he would find
himself in almost as much trouble as Mac.

The CQ had no trouble locating Gillett's bunk.  It was right where all
platoon sergeants bunks were supposed to be; the first bunk on the right
after entering through the main entrance.  His flash light shone in
Gillett's face and with a gentle shaking, Gillett came to enough to say
only, "What?"

"Sergeant Gillett?"

"Yeah, what do you want?"

The CQ had moved his light from Gillett's face to help ease his
reintroduction into the waking world, "Sergeant, I'm the CQ.  Colonel
Appleton wants to see Specialist MacLaughlin ASAP."

"What's he want with Mac?"

"You'll have to ask the Colonel that, Sergeant,"
"What time is it?"

"Almost two."

Gillett stretched and slowly sat up on the edge of his bunk.  He
couldn't imagine why the CO wanted to see Mac at this time of night. Oh,
well, at least Mac wasn't hard to wake up.  He'd had a real education
about waking people up since he'd become platoon sergeant; some guys you
didn't dare touch or they'd get upset and start swinging, always under
the pretense of being startled out of sleep.  With others, he had to
exchange verbal blows each morning.  Not Mac, though, he always woke
easily and without a hassle, all he had to do was shake his foot or
shoulder gently and say, 'Mac, wake up,' and he would, without a fight
of any kind.  Gillett turned on a flashlight and walked over to Mac's
bunk.  Reaching down to Jim's foot he gave it a gentle shake and said,
"Mac, it's me, Gillett.  Wake up!"

The CQ had positioned his light so it shone directly in Jim's face
causing him to squint and turn his head to one side.

"Gillett, get that light out of my eyes!"

"It's not me, it's the CQ."

"I don't care who it is, just get it out of my face, will you?" The CQ
lowered his light slightly, enough to allow Jim to remove the hand which
had been shielding his eyes.  "Gillett, where're you sending me now, Loc
Ninh again?"

"No, Mac, the CO wants to see you."

"The CO!  What time is it?"

"Two, or there about."

The CQ had put the direct beam of his light full force in Jim's eyes
once again.  As Jim sat up he said, "I don't know who you are, but I'm
not going to tell you again to get that light out of my face.  I'm about
ready to stick it down your throat."

"Look, Specialist, I was told to get you up and watch your reaction and
that's what I'm doing."

Jim was now seated on the side of his bunk, so it was a simple, and
seemingly natural move to gradually reach for a boot.  Gillett spotted
the movement and realized the potential problems it could cause if Jim
put his boot up alongside the CQ's head.  At the same time Gillett
spoke, he reached out and moved the light, "Forget it, Mac, it's not
worth it.  Look, Sergeant, go on back and tell the CO we'll be there
just as soon as we finish dressing."

"Okay, Gillett, but if you two aren't there in five minutes, I'll be
back for you."

The CQ turned and left.  Once out the door, Mac asked Gillett, "What's
the CO want with me at this time of night?"

"I don't know anymore than you do, Mac."

"One thing is for sure, he didn't get me out of bed to give me a
promotion!"

"Right!  Did you get in trouble going up to Loc Ninh tonight?"

"No.  I gave Mr. Hill kind of a hard time about flying a night mission
when he's going home tomorrow.  That's it though, hardly something
major."

"Well, one thing is for sure, the CO isn't going to get himself out of
bed for something that isn't serious.  Did you and Halsey have more
trouble?"

"Just this morning and you know about that.  Gillett, maybe it's not
something bad."

"I'm not so sure.  That CQ said he was told to watch for your reaction
when you were told the CO wanted you.  Now, I ask you, why would he be
told to do that if it was something good?"

"Gillett, I can't figure it.  You about ready?"

"Yeah, just as soon as I finish tying this boot."  Jim stood and walked
to the door where he waited for his friend.  Gillett finished, picked up
his light and walked out the door with Jim.  The two men walked in
silence with the aid of Gillett's flashlight to the orderly room.  As
they approached, yet still out of hearing range, Gillett took Jim's arm
and shut off his light.  "Look, Mac, I don't know what this is all about
so let me give you some advice before we get there.  First, it might be
something good, it might be something bad, and it might be neither, so
until you know exactly what's going down, don't do or say anything you
don't have to.  Give, 'Yes, Sir,' and 'No, Sir,' answers, don't
volunteer anything.  Remember your military procedures for saluting and
your physical stance.  Stay at attention until he tells you otherwise.
If by some remote chance, and I can't think why there would be, but if
there is anybody else there, you talk only to and respond only to the
CO.  Unless, of course, the question obviously has the CO's blessings.
You got any questions?"

"No, I guess I'm ready.  Let's go find out what the old man wants."
Gillett turned his flashlight on and the two men resumed their walk. Jim
kept searching his brain for any kind of clue-his continuing struggle
with Halsey was what he kept coming back to.  This morning's refusal to
fly with him must have been the last straw.  Still, that didn't make
sense.  The CO would just have waited until morning...
After leaving Gillett and MacLaughlin, the CQ walked directly back to
the orderly room.  As he walked in the door, Colonel Appleton, Major
Hobbs, Captain Wolf and Mr. Halsey were all coming out of the old man's
office.  Colonel Appleton spoke before the CQ had a chance to do
anything but shut the door.

"Well, Sergeant, did you find him?"

"Yes, Sir.  He was in bed asleep."

"Tell me everything you did just as it happened."  The CQ told his every
action in great detail including the fact that Gillett was going to
accompany MacLaughlin.  This pleased the CO.  After all, it is a platoon
sergeant's responsibility to assist his men in this type of situation.
He smiled to himself as he thought about what a fine example Gillett was
making.  He'd have to remember Gillett.

After the CQ had finished, the CO thanked him and turned to Captain
Wolf.  "Captain, let's go over these duty rosters and see where we stand
on personnel."

The two men looked at the roster of names in each platoon trying to get
some idea of how to shuffle people around.  "Colonel, as I see it, we
have one extra gunner in second platoon and one extra crew chief in the
first platoon.  If we lose Mac, we'll have to leave a ship on the ground
anytime one of the crew chiefs gets sick or can't fly for some reason."

"That only leaves us with two options.  One, take a man out of
maintenance to fill a crew chief's spot or start making the two flight
platoon sergeants fly."

"Colonel, the flight platoon sergeants have too much to do as it is.
Those guys have to work on the next day's flight schedule after everyone
else is in bed.  They have to coordinate ships in and out of maintenance
with the personnel available.  They often don't get to bed until 0200 or
later, then get up at 0445 to get their people up and going.  Those men
have to be able to rack out during the day.  We put them on a chopper
and they'd sleep most of the time."

"Captain, maintenance is almost as bad.  They used to have five work
crews of five men each; three day crews and two night crews. They're
down to one five-man night crew and two day crews of five men each. I've
already eliminated all supervisory personnel in maintenance, every crew
leader works just like one of the crew.  I even told the the sergeants
they had to start helping out.  They're to find a crew they like working
with and stick with it until they have to go inspect someone's work.
It's to stay that way until we get some replacements. Oh, well, we can
make a decision after we talk to MacLaughlin."

Everyone but the CQ followed the Colonel back into his office.  As they
walked by the last hooch, Jim could see the bright lights of
maintenance; several sets of those lights were set up and burning
brightly.  Jim knew it was going to be another long night for the guys
in maintenance.  He could remember spending many a time working under
those lights all night long.  Maybe it was the loner in him, but he
actually preferred working at night.  There was never any Brass around
to hassle you, just a sergeant, and they always left you alone, as long
as you did your job.  He could still remember as though it were
yesterday, being told he was going on the night crew.  He hadn't liked
the idea but the sergeant hadn't given him any choice.  Besides, he told
Mac, they only put their best people on night because they were expected
to work without much supervision.  Man, that had been an understatement.
The only time he'd seen any supervision was when he'd picked up his job
assignment along with the rest of the crew, or when the crew he was on
needed a tech sergeant to okay something they were doing and then sign
it off.  Tech would leave and the crew would be on their own again.  Jim
very quickly saw the advantage of working on the night crew.  Almost as
quickly, he'd really learned to like working nights.  It really did have
a lot of advantages; no hassling, the work pace was flexible and you had
the next day off.  Not to mention the night crew missed most formations
due to the working hours.  Oh, well, that was in the past.

Gillett and Jim walked up the steps and entered the orderly room. There
sat the CQ, who stood up as soon as he saw the two men walk in. "Wait
here and I'll tell the CO you're here."

The CQ turned and knocked on the CO's door.  The CO's voice was heard,
"Come in."

The CQ opened the door, stepped in and said, "Sir, Sergeant Gillett and
Specialist MacLaughlin are here."

"Send them in, Sergeant."

Jim wasn't nervous or apprehensive.  He couldn't think of any reason why
the CO wanted him so he was as relaxed as any enlisted man could be,
going to see the CO.  The fact that he was still partially asleep
helped.  Gillett poked him and said, "Remember what I said."

Jim nodded his head and thought about the CO's office.  He'd been in it
once before when he'd been a CQ runner one night.  The old man's desk
sat off to the right so that one had to enter the door, take two steps
forward, make a right turn and face the CO behind his desk.

Jim figured the CO probably put his desk there just to intimidate those
entering the room.

Gillett entered first and made a straight path to the CO's desk. Jim
noticed that he had made a very unmilitary diagonal path to get there.
If he wants military, I'll give him military, Jim thought. Gillett
reported, "Sir, Sergeant Gillett reports."

"At ease, Sergeant."

Jim figured Gillett being told to stand at ease was a good sign. He
entered and took a quick glance to his left and there, to his surprise,
stood Halsey.  The sight of Halsey struck Jim like a hundred needles
pricking his spine.  Halsey meant trouble and he knew it. Gillett was
right, he would have to be very, very careful.  Jim took two steps
forward, executed a perfect right turn, took two more steps and found
himself squarely in front of the CO's desk.  Standing perfectly at
attention with his eyes straight ahead he brought his right arm up to a
snappy salute, "Sir, Specialist MacLaughlin reporting as ordered!"  Jim
could see standing off to the left and behind the old man was Captain
Wolf, seated to the right and slightly behind the CO was a Major whom
Jim had never seen.  It was impossible to read the name tag without
turning his head or eyes, so he didn't.  Something was very wrong, this
almost looked like a court martial hearing.  Jim was now scared.  If
Wolf and Halsey were both here, he was definitely in trouble.  The
unknown Major bothered him almost as much or more than the others, yet
the location of each man indicated their importance, and the Major held
no more important position than did Captain Wolf.  The CO brought his
arm up to return the salute and the moment he started back down, Jim
whipped his hand down in a lost effort to beat the CO's.

Both men were impressed with the other's salute.  Most officers gave a
lackadaisical type of salute and Jim had expected to beat the Colonel's
arm down.  Colonel Appleton, on the other hand, often measured an
enlisted man's military sharpness by his salute and MacLaughlin had
certainly passed with high marks.

The Colonel sat there looking up at Jim's face as though trying to read
his mind.  Jim was aware of the significance of his being left standing
at attention.  No one spoke and Jim knew no one would until the CO did.
All the CO was doing was staring at him, if his intent was to make him
nervous, he was being very effective.  Finally, after what seemed like a
lot longer than it really was, Colonel Appleton spoke, "Specialist, how
long have you been in country?"  Jim wondered why in the world he wanted
to know that.  It had to be a lead in, after all Halsey and Wolf weren't
here to find out what they could read on his personnel records.  "Going
on nine months, Sir."

"Of that time how much has been spent with the Blackhawks?"

"About four months, Sir."

"Specialist, I've looked over your record.  It's very impressive. You're
obviously a good crew chief.  Tell me, do you have any problems?"

"Problems, Sir?  Well, Sir, between the long hours, the night missions
and the CQ waking me up, I don't get enough sleep."

"That's not what I mean, Specialist, and you know it.  Do you want to
talk about it?"

"Sir, I don't know what you mean."

Colonel Appleton just sat there giving Jim a very stern look.  Very
slowly he leaned back in his chair allowing the swivel rocker to tip
backwards.  Placing both hands behind his head he allowed himself to
show a small smile.  In a soft friendly voice he spoke, "At ease,
Specialist."

Jim moved very smartly into the more comfortable 'at ease' position.
"Did you fly a night mission tonight, Specialist?"

"Yes, Sir."

"What time did you get back?"

"About 1230, Sir, I'm not real sure."

Colonel Appleton leaned forward, opened a desk drawer, pulled out an
object, sat it abruptly on his desk and said, "Ever see this before,
Specialist?"

The surprised expression on both Gillett's and Jim's faces registered
with all the officers in the room.  Even Halsey, who had slowly worked
his way around the room to where he could see everyone's face, hadn't
expected that reaction.  Jim shrugged his shoulders, "It's a
fragmentation grenade, Sir.  Everybody in the army has seen one of
those."

"Specialist, the question was, 'have you ever seen this particular one
before?""

"I have no way of knowing that, Sir.  I would say right off the top, no,
Sir, I haven't, because I simply don't handle that many frags."

"Disassemble it for me, Specialist!"

Jim looked down at the Colonel as though he were crazy, then looked over
at Captain Wolf, who was taking in his every reaction.  Looking back at
the Colonel, he spoke, "Colonel, that thing is not a toy.  It has one
purpose and that's to hurt people.  So if it's all the same to you, Sir,
I'd rather not play with a live grenade."

"I didn't give you a choice, Specialist, I said take it apart, now!"

"Yes, Sir."  Jim picked up the grenade, looked it over and looked back
down at the CO.  "Sir, having never done this before, I'm not sure one
can take a frag apart without blowing one's self into very small
pieces."

The expression on the CO's face told him he should start disassembling
the frag.  Firmly gripping the base with his left hand, he turned the
cap off with his right hand.  Clearly showing the apprehension he felt,
Jim removed the cap and saw the spent percussion clip.  The look of
surprise on his face was obvious to everyone in the room.  Holding the
cap in his hand so that it was visible to the others, Jim searched each
man's face for some kind of answer.  "Colonel, I know you didn't get me
out of bed to play a practical joke.  Sir, I would appreciate it if you
told me what is going on."

"I had hoped you could tell me, Specialist."  The questioning look on
Jim's face had convinced the CO by now that Jim wasn't their man, or
else he should get an Oscar for his performance.  "Sir, I am obviously
missing something.  I don't know what you want from me."

"Specialist, someone took this grenade earlier tonight and threw it into
Mr. Halsey's quarters."  Jim's eyes enlarged, his jaw dropped open and
his general look of surprise and shock was clear.  "Colonel, you
obviously think I did it.  I'll be the first to admit Mr. Halsey isn't
one of my favorite people, but I didn't do it.  In the first place, I
wasn't in the company area until sometime around 0100, when I got back
from a night mission.  You can ask Mr. Hill or Mr. Euclid.  They were
the pilots."

Halsey spoke up, "You had plenty of time after you landed!"

"Sir, I did a post-flight inspection, took a shower and went to bed."

"I'll bet."

Jim turned to Halsey, "Sir, you can check my log book and ship on the
post flight, and smell my arm pit to verify the shower!"

A quick glance at Gillett who was shaking his head "no" and saying, "not
now" with his lips, moved Jim's glance to Captain Wolf, who gave him the
same glance and facial expression.  He then turned back to Colonel
Appleton and the unknown Major.  It was only the Major whose body was
moving as though laughing, and who had covered his bowed face with one
hand.  The Major quickly regained his composure and looked up, showing
only a small smile.

Gillett spoke up, "Sir, may I speak?"

"Go ahead, Sergeant, "Sir, Specialist MacLaughlin was on a night mission
tonight.  I don't know what time he got back, but I came in the hooch to
go to bed at 0115.  I know the time because I had to set my alarm. Mac's
bunk is right across the aisle from mine and I checked on him just to
see if he was back.  He was in bed, sound asleep.  When the CQ came in,
he was still asleep, and the CQ stood there and watched me wake him up.
Could I ask the Colonel what time this fragging occurred?"

"About 0100, which makes it pretty unlikely that you were the guilty
party, Specialist."

Jim's mind was saying, "Thank you, Gillett!"

"Do either of you two have any idea who might have done this?" Gillett
slowly shook his head and said, "No, Sir.  I can't think of anybody who
would do something like this."

The Colonel looked at Jim, "How about you, Mac.  Any ideas?"  Jim was
struck by the sudden difference in attitude...suddenly he was good old
Mac.  "No, Sir, none of the enlisted men I know would do anything like
this."  Jim saw a small chance to get Halsey off his back and decided to
take it, no matter how far out it sounded.  "Colonel, I would like to
suggest one possibility for your consideration."

"All right, who is it?"

"Well, Sir, it's common knowledge that Mr. Halsey hassles me every
chance he gets ever since I turned him in for falsifying those reports.
Sir, the man hates my guts, and has been trying everything he can think
of to put me in a situation where he could get me into trouble.  Sir, I
can't help but wonder if Mr. Halsey didn't fake this whole thing.  That
would explain why it was a dud instead of a live grenade.  Mr. Halsey
didn't want his room all messed up."

The rage on Halsey's face was apparent to Colonel Appleton, who spoke
before Halsey could, "Specialist, nobody in this room including yourself
believes that's a real possibility."  The Colonel paused and looked
around the room.  "Okay, we don't seem to be getting anyplace tonight.
Captain Wolf, you and Major Hobbs sit tight, everyone else is
dismissed."  Gillett and Jim came to attention, saluted and left,
followed out the door by Halsey.  No one spoke as the two enlisted men
picked up their caps and walked out into the night.  Once out into the
darkness, Jim grabbed Gillett's arm, as the two men turned and watched
Halsey walk down the orderly room steps.  Halsey paused at the foot of
the steps, looked around, pulled out a cigarette and lit it.  After
taking a long drag, he turned and walked toward the officers' quarters.
Jim felt a great sense of relief.  The darkness gave him a sense of
confidence and security; he felt a freedom to do things that he would
never do in daylight.  As Halsey walked away, Jim flipped him the bird,
Gillett laughed softly and said, "If I had a grenade right now I might
just use it myself.  Mac, you didn't really do it, did you?"

"Hell, no, I didn't.  By the way, Gillett, thanks for speaking up for me
in there.  I appreciate it."

"Well, I just hope the CO doesn't check out our stories too closely
because, if he does, he'll poke some holes in mine."

"Why do you say that?"

"Mac, I lied through my teeth in there.  I didn't lay eyes on you or
your bunk from the time I sent you on that mission until I woke you up
with the CQ.  I just didn't think you did it and I wasn't going to let
Halsey hang your ass for it.  For that matter, I wouldn't have let him
have you even if I thought you had done it.  It's just a shame Charlie
doesn't shoot that son of a bitch for us."

"Yeah, the only trouble is, that's the kind who makes it all the way
through without a scratch.  Thanks, Gillett."

"Forget it, Mac, but I would like to know if not you, then who?"

"I don't really know, but if I were to guess, I could think of six or
eight guys who wouldn't mind seeing him dead."

"Gillett, how about Green?  He's from the infantry, and that's primarily
an infantry problem.  Plus, he was saying something about fragging this
morning."

"I doubt it, but let's go ask him.  He just hasn't been in the company
long enough."

They walked into the hooch and Gillett turned on his flash light as Jim
made his way down the aisle to Green's bunk.  Gillett approached from
the other side of the bunk with his flash light on.  Both men raised the
mosquito netting on their respective sides and Gillett handed Jim the
light.  "Here, hold this."

Jim took the light and directed it in such a way as to see Green's face
without shining it directly into his eyes.  Gillett shook Green's
shoulder and as Green started to open his eyes, Gillett spoke, "You
certainly have had a busy night haven't you, Green?"

"Hey, man, I don't know what you're talking about.  I didn't do
anything."  Green's heart was pounding so hard that both Gillett and Jim
could feel it.  Green was obviously very nervous about something and
both men knew it.

Gillett put his face down close to Green's and said, "You threw that
frag, Green, and we both know it.  Listen to me, you son of a bitch,
make damn sure you stick to that story about not knowing anything and
for sure don't do anything for the next month to draw attention to
yourself!  Above all, don't be throwing anymore, you got that?  Or, I'll
turn you in myself, even if it is Halsey.  Understand me, asshole?"

"Yes, Sergeant."  Green looked at both Jim and Gillett and asked, "Does
anyone else know?"

"Not yet."

"Sarge, how did you know it was me?"

"We didn't."

Jim walked back to his bunk and went quickly asleep.  It was Halsey who
had the most trouble getting to sleep.  He'd locked his door behind him
yet was startled by every creak and sound.  MacLaughlin obviously hadn't
done it, yet the little creep had really turned the screws on him there
in front of the old man.  It was just a good thing the CO didn't believe
him; he very easily could have.  The thing that bothered him most was,
if it wasn't MacLaughlin, then who?  Certainly, he'd have to start being
a little more careful, and he'd watch all the EM for even the slightest
indication of guilt.

In the CO's office, Wolf and Hobbs moved two chairs in front of the CO's
desk.  As always it was the CO who started, "Well, Gentlemen, what do
you think?"

Both men's facial expressions said, "You go first."  Finally Hobbs
spoke, "Since I just got here today, maybe I could give a more balanced
opinion.  I was more positively impressed with MacLaughlin than I was
with Halsey.  I don't think MacLaughlin did it, he was just too
surprised.  I have to admit, I didn't think I'd keep from laughing when
he asked Halsey if he wanted to smell his armpit!"

Appleton and Wolf both started to laugh as they remembered the scene and
Halsey's face.  "If Halsey really does hate MacLaughlin as much as he
claimed, perhaps we should take more seriously the possibility that
Halsey faked it."

Wolf jumped in, "I don't think Halsey has the guts to try something like
this.  I do agree, though, I don't think Mac's our man, so how do we
find the guilty party?"

"Without a major interrogation of all the enlisted men, the only thing
we can do is to wait for the guilty party to start telling people he did
it.  Once the secret is out, it'll get back to the officers, then we can
make our move.  So, unless one of you two have something more to add, I
suggest we all go back to bed."

Everyone was in agreement; flying tomorrow would be a real effort for
everyone after tonight's activities.

Colonel Appleton was the only one besides Halsey who had any trouble
getting back to sleep.  As he lay there in his bed, he kept thinking, Of
all the units in country, why his?  Halsey was an ass, he knew that,
nobody much cared for the man, but he hadn't realized the men hated him
so much.  Of course it was a dud, so whoever did it meant it only as a
warning.  Still, it couldn't be tolerated regardless of who, or how bad
the officer was.  He wondered how often this kind of incident occurred.
It was common knowledge that the infantry had a problem with fraggings
but not aviation companies.  He wondered if there were any accurate
statistics available.  Furthermore, if he didn't have anyone to court
martial, he certainly wasn't going to report it.  He only had a short
time left in country and unless something went wrong, he had a real good
chance of being promoted to full bird before his tour was up. The last
thing Appleton needed was a bunch of TV people running around doing a
story.  The army sure had changed in the years he'd been in it. Who
would have thought ten years ago that there would be daily TV coverage
of a war?  Worst yet, that a company commander would be somewhat
inhibited by it in the handling of his troops.  The fear that some TV
reporter would want to take pictures and do a story changed a lot of
things.  He would just bet there would be more than one perfectly good
officer's career ruined by the TV coverage of this stupid war.  It was
0500 when Gillett woke Jim and the rest of his platoon much too early as
far as Jim was concerned-yet there was nothing to do about it but yawn
and get up.  One of the benefits of flying was not having to stand
morning formation, which meant an extra fifteen or twenty minutes of
sleep, making the morning a lot slower and easier.  Gillett came back
through just as Jim finished tying his boots.

"Mac, you ready to go eat?"

"Yeah, let's go,"
Once outside the door and headed for the mess hall, Gillett spoke, "I
switched your gunners today.  I got to thinking about it and decided it
would be best if Green flew with someone else for a while."

"That's fine with me, if you don't think it will draw attention to
Green."

"Quite frankly, Mac, I really don't care if it does.  In fact, I'm
halfway tempted to turn him in myself.  The only reason I don't is I
figure he did it to get Halsey off your back."  Both men displayed their
meal cards which allowed them to eat without paying, and picked up their
trays.  Jim put the malaria tablet on his tray alongside the usual
utensils.

"Hey, Cookie, the war must be swinging back our way.  That actually
looks like food!, I halfway expected to get nothing but dry cereal for
breakfast again."

"Gillett, we have a vast wealth of food this morning.  The Air Force got
a C130 full of food in here last night.  Up until then, you were getting
cold dry cereal for breakfast this morning."

Jim looked over the selection.  There were the ever-present individual
packages of cereal, eggs cooked to ones' specifications, toast and
creamed chipped beef on a bun at the far end.  Gillett took a couple of
overeasy eggs and some toast.  Jim put four toasted buns on his plate
and poured a plate full of creamed beef over them, then followed Gillett
to a table where no one else was seated.

"I'll swear, Mac, you'd eat shit on a shingle every day if it was
available."

"Hey, man, I like it!"

"Mac, it's gross!  It looks like it should be coming out the other end
of somebody sick, not something being eaten."

"I don't care how it looks, it tastes good, it's filling and I like it.
Besides, I don't cut on your hard boiled eggs that the cook called
overeasy."

Both men laughed as they started to eat.  Before anything else was said,
Kenny walked to their table, put his tray down and asked, "Mind if I
join you guys?"  Jim looked at Gillett who had a, "if you have to" look
on his face.  "Hey, Mac, I hear you tried to frag Halsey last night."
Jim's shock was apparent.  "Kenny, how did you hear that?"

"The guy who was CQ runner was telling me as we stood and pissed on
Vietnam together this morning."

"I didn't do it, Kenny.  I think Halsey faked it and I hope that isn't
an accurate account of what he told you."

"Well, that wasn't exactly what he said; it was more like the Old Man
pulled you in last night because he thought you did it."

"Well, it looks to me like Halsey set the whole thing up, so if you tell
anybody else about it keep it accurate, will you!  Say, Kenny, while I'm
talking to you, I'd like to know where you got the water you put in the
shower yesterday."

"We had to get it straight out of the river, Mac, why?"

"Because it had half the river bottom in it.  I didn't know whether I
was washing the dirt off or just recycling it.  It was terrible, dirt,
sand, and the way it smelled, a good percentage of it had to be shit."

Kenny said, "I'm surprised there was still water in the tanks."

"Yeah, I was, too.  Man, I still remember the first time I took a late
night shower and the water ran out; all that grit and grime came pouring
out just as I was rinsing my hair.  I had to go get a steel pot full of
water out of the drinking water trailer and pour it over my head to get
the sand out."  The three men laughed together as each remembered a
similar experience.  It was Gillett who finished eating first, he turned
to Kenny and spoke, "Kenny, didn't I tell you to get rid of that
monkey?"

"Gillett, I can't catch him!"

"Bullshit!"

"No bullshit, Gillett, you know how wild it is!"

"I'll tell you what, Kenny, if you cage it up, you can keep it, but
otherwise it goes."

Kenny's face lit up like a child's on Christmas morning, "Hey man,
that's great!  Thanks, Gillett, I really appreciate it.  I'll get him
caged up today.  Man, I promise."

"Well, you better, because I'll give it to the gooks as soon as they get
back on post.  If that monkey isn't caged, it'll be their dinner.  You
understand me, Kenny?"

"Sure, Sarge, I'll get a cage today, or maybe I'll just make one but
somehow I'll get it caged up, I promise."

Gillett looked over at Jim and saw the disapproving look on his face,
but before Jim could say anything, Gillett asked if he had finished
eating.  If So, he would walk out with him.  Kenny stayed at the table
and continued eating his breakfast as Jim and Gillett picked up their
trays and left.  Once outside, Jim turned and said, "Gillett, why did
you let Kenny keep the monkey?"

"Oh, a couple of reasons.  First, he is the only one who can catch it.
Second, once it's caged it won't be throwing shit on anyone and,
finally, if it's caged and Kenny goes on a convoy to Saigon it's hard to
say what could happen to his poor monkey while he's gone."

"How soon are the highways supposed to be open for traffic again?"

"The last I heard, in a day or so.  All they have to do is put up a
couple more pontoon bridges where the VC knocked out the old ones and I
guess we're back in business."

"Let me guess.  You've already volunteered Kenny to go on the first
convoy out, right?"

"Right!"

"Gillett, he'll just love to hear that."

"Now, you don't have to be so sarcastic, Mac.  Besides Kenny has gone on
several convoys in the past.  I think he kind of enjoys it.  He gets to
spend the night in Saigon, where he can get good and drunk, plus have
some broad to lay him."

"Gillett, you're all heart."  Both men broke into laughter.  Once back
in their hooch, Jim opened his wall locker (which was similar to
everyone else's with clean uniforms hanging in no particular order), to
get his toothbrush, paste and shaving gear.  One of the few nice things
about a true combat area was that enlisted men seldom had to stand
inspection of their personal area.  As a result, most all wall and foot
lockers were very unmilitarily organized, if organized at all.  Jim had
all his underwear in his foot locker where it was out of the way.  Like
most men in his company, he long ago had quit wearing underwear.  It
only retained more heat and held the sweat against his body causing
crotch itch.  Also, it wasn't at all uncommon to get back underwear from
the cleaners which looked like it had been cleaned in the Saigon River.
Whenever one can tell that olive drab underwear isn't clean, it really
isn't clean.  Jim kept his socks and spare footwear on the floor of his
wall locker, he hung up his dress uniforms and clean fatigues and, on
the top shelf, he kept his toiletries and hats.  On the inside of the
door he had taped only two pictures.  One was his family, the other his
home.  He didn't like to hang up nude pictures, as it only made him want
what wasn't available.

Jim headed straight for his ship as the crews were all beginning to
gather, including a few of the officers flying peter pilot, so he stowed
his gear and pulled out the log book.  Once satisfied that all the
paperwork was in order, he got out his flashlight and started pulling
his preflight.  The last thing he checked was the rotor head and he
couldn't believe there were no holes.  It was almost as though a blanket
had been thrown over them which nothing could penetrate.  As was often
the case, he simply stood there on top of the helicopter looking out
over the area.  From the direction of the company area, Jim could see
the trucks bringing the officers out towards the flight line, their
preflight briefing was obviously over.  With the pilots on their way,
Jim climbed down off the chopper's roof as Kenny drove up in the
platoon's quarter ton jeep and dropped off the door gunners and their
guns.  Green and Sp-4 Wright climbed out, but it was Wright who carried
his guns over to Jim's ship, where he could set them down, along with
his gear, on the chopper's cargo floor.  Green picked up his guns from
the revetments corner and left.

Sp-4 Wright wasn't that much different from the rest of the guys in
Jim's company, standing 5 '10" and thin as a skeleton, with brown hair
and eyes, and a nose as big as Jimmy Durante's.  His nickname, as a
result, was 'The Beak." With a happy-go-lucky personality and almost
always in good spirits, it was hard not to like him.

Once the pilots arrived, the rotor blades were untied and the aircraft
started.  They didn't go far, however; only to the runway where troops
were loaded, then into the air, where they formed a trail-right
formation and began circling Tay Ninh while one other company landed and
put on troops.  Once everyone was loaded, Blackhawk Lead turned and
headed north to Loc Ninh.  It was Mr. Walker who broke the silence,
"Mac, you awake back there?"

"Yes, Sir, bright eyed and bushy tailed."

"Yeah, I'll bet!  How much sleep did you get last night?"

"Oh, I don't know, about an hour or two."

"You know where we're headed?"

"No, Sir!  Where?"

"Loc Ninh!  Does that send shivers up your back?"

"Yes, Sir, it does!  I take it you heard about last night?"

"Yeah, Mr. Hill was telling everyone about it at breakfast. Sounded like
you guys had quite a ride."

The sarcasm was obvious as Jim replied, "Hey, man, that's what we're
paid extra for!  Why do we have to go back this morning?"

"We're going to be the lead company on a three company insertion into
Loc Ninh.  We're supposed to land just seconds after daybreak and the
two companies behind us will follow us in and, hopefully, out on ten
second intervals.  Which means we're not going to have time to do
anything.  If we can't find a place to land, we'll have to hover and let
the troops jump."

"Mr. Walker, I've never heard of landing on a ten second interval
before."

"Well, don't feel bad, the only other time I've heard of it was in
flight school, and they told us then not to sneeze or someone would land
on top of us.  The whole idea is to put in as many troops as possible,
with as much cover fire as possible, in as short a time as possible.

"Looks like the lights of our third company forming up on our right.

If you guys aren't strapped in, you'd better get ready, because I put us
only three minutes out of Loc Ninh."  Jim checked his seatbelt and
pulled the visor down on his helmet.  He was beginning to see daylight,
and could just make out trees below.

"Flight, this is Lead.  We're on final approach to the runway with touch
down in ninety seconds, please advise door gunners not to hit the
Special Forces camp, everything else is a free fire zone.  Also, be
advised the Air Force hasn't received any fire from the swimming pool
for about an hour now, but we'll still brake right on take off as
planned to stay away from it.  Here we go."

It was now just past daybreak and everyone could see the bodies and
parts of bodies all over the ground below.  All door guns were now
firing and Jim concentrated his fire on the distant tree line which had
been shredded by bombs, artillery and small-arms fire.  He could make
out the bodies of dead NVA nailed to the rubber trees by the darts from
the beehives.  There were so many bodies on the runway that landing was
impossible, so the troops quickly jumped out and started to throw bodies
aside to allow the flight on its way in to land.  As the Blackhawks
turned right and away from Loc Ninh, Jim could see the Special Forces
camp with bodies of dead NVA stacked two and three deep on the wire
surrounding Loc Ninh.

"Blackhawk Lead, this is Loc Ninh Control.  Do you copy, over?"

"Roger, Loc Ninh, we copy.  Over."

"Roger, Blackhawk.  Sir, my commanding officer wishes me to convey the
following message to the men from your company who brought in the
beehives last night.  We would like to extend our thanks and
appreciation to the men of that aircraft, for without their courage we
wouldn't have received the beehives, and without the beehives we could
never have held.  Thank you, from all of us, Loc Ninh, out."

Mr. Walker came over the radio, "Mac, did you hear that?"

"Yes, Sir!"

"Hey, you're a real hero!"

"Yeah, and they'll probably give Mr. Hill a DFC for it."

"Yeah, I know it's unfair.  You and Green will probably get V-devices on
an air medal for it."

"Yeah, that and ten cents and I can buy a cup of coffee.  We going to
work up here all day, Sir?"

"No, we're supposed to go back to Tay Ninh, refuel, and go someplace
else."

The trip back was quiet except for when Lead came over the radio to say
that the troops hadn't made any contact other than rear ground action,
and that they'd gotten to the swimming pool and found it empty. Not so
much as a spent shell had been left by the NVA.

Once at Tay Ninh, Jim quickly removed his helmet and started to pump on
fuel and was surprised when he heard the engine start to wind down and
die.

"Hey, Mac, come on, we're supposed to have a formation at the CO's
ship."

Jim walked around the nose of the ship.  "Wright, did you say
formation?"

"Yeah, our new XO wants a formation.  Mac, have you met this guy yet?"

"Yeah, I think I had the pleasure last night.  Wright, as long as I've
been here, I haven't stood formation on the flight line.  I don't even
know where to fall in."

"Well, I've got a feeling you'll find out."

"Why does he want a formation?"

"All I know is Lead came over the radio and said to have all crews meet
at the CO's ship for a formation."

"Okay, let's go."

There was quite a crowd gathering at the CO's ship when Jim and Wright
arrived.  Officers and enlisted men were mingling with each other
grumbling about having to stand formation.  Even Mr. Hill in his Class A
uniform was there, holding his records and departure orders.  Jim walked
over to where Mr. Hill stood reading through his records.  As Jim
snapped to attention and saluted, Colonel Appleton and Major Hobbs
walked around the revetment unnoticed by Jim or Mr. Hill.  It was the
big smile on Jim's face that caused Mr. Hill to return the salute and
extend his hand.  Jim shook the officer's hand and spoke, "Sir, I just
want you to know I'm glad we made it last night and I was wrong, plus, I
can't think of anyone other than Mr. Walker I'd rather have had driving
than you."

"Mac, you're a hell of a soldier and one of several enlisted men I can
honestly say I really like and respect.  Just between you and me, I
can't think of any crew chief I'd rather have had in the back than you."

"Thank you very much, Sir.  That's very kind of you to say.  "I mean it,
Mac, I truly hope you make it back alive and all in one piece."

"I will, Sir."

"Not if you keep flying all those night missions you won't. Besides,
that's what every GI who ever stepped foot in country said."

The two men shook hands again as Jim said, "It looks like they're
starting to fall into formation, so I'd better go.  Good luck, Sir!"

"Good luck, Mac.  Stay alive!"  As Jim turned to walk away, he saw Major
Hobbs and Colonel Appleton standing within hearing distance.  He looked
both of them in the eye, saluted, and continued on his way to where
Gillett was trying to assemble a formation.  Major Hobbs looked at
Colonel Appleton as Jim walked toward his platoon, "Colonel, when I get
my own ship, I want that man as my crew chief."

"MacLaughlin?"

"Yep."

"Why, for heavens' sake do you want him?  He's constantly on the edge of
trouble."

"Wolf says he's one of the best crew chiefs in the company.  I've got a
suspicion that Halsey is the problem, not MacLaughlin, and if you'd
transfer Halsey, you'd probably find that out.  To answer your question,
I guess there are several reasons.  First, the man impressed me last
night.  He's obviously smart, he's got a quick mind and he is not afraid
of danger or he wouldn't be flying single ship night missions.  Also,
he's got a sense of humor, I woke up this morning laughing at him asking
Halsey if he wanted to smell his armpit to verify his taking a shower.
The man has brass and isn't intimidated by officers, yet he knows his
place and how to conduct himself in a military manner.  The conversation
we just overheard with that warrant officer tells me that.  So far, I
like everything I've seen from him. He's one sharp GI and the kind I
want to surround myself with.  He's the kind that I'll have to earn his
respect, but once I've earned it, he'll follow me to Hell and back
without a moment's hesitation or complaint."

"I can tell you right now it's not going to be easy for you to get him.
Walker won't want to give him up and he won't want to quit Walker."

"Oh, that's no problem, just send Mr. Walker on R&R.  Put MacLaughlin on
my ship as crew chief, temporarily, of course."

"Of course!"

"By the time Walker gets back, MacLaughlin will have seen all the
advantages of being the XO's chief.  He'll ask to stay with me."

"If he's all you think he is, when Mr. Walker gets back, he'll go back
to him just out of friendship."

"In that case, Colonel, I'll transfer Walker to guns and if MacLaughlin
decides to go to the guns, I'll transfer Walker to another company."

"Of course you know if MacLaughlin finds out you're behind Walker being
shipped out, you'll never get his respect."

"True, very true."

"One final thought, Major, you don't think there is any chance of being
fragged, do you?"

"None, he didn't do that job last night anymore than I did."  Major
Hobbs and Colonel Appleton moved out in front of the formation as the
company first sergeant called the formation to 'ten hut." The flight
company slowly came to attention after which the first Sergeant
continued, "Men, your Company Commander wishes to address you."

The first sergeant stepped aside as the CO stepped forward, "Men, I've
called you together this morning to introduce you to your new XO. He is
a former infantry platoon leader.  While serving his first tour of duty
in Vietnam, Third Corps Area, he received several citations for valor
including the Silver Star.  Men, I'm very pleased to introduce the man
who will probably be taking my place in a few months, Major Hobbs."

As the Colonel stepped back, Major Hobbs stepped forward.  He spoke with
a strong, deep and husky voice, "Men, I want to tell you how happy I am
to be here as a part of such an outstanding company."

Jim could hear faintly an unknown voice behind him say, "If he's so
happy to be here, he can take my place."

"The record you men have compiled as an all-combat assault company is
truly outstanding.  You pilots have never refused to go anyplace you're
sent.  There isn't an outfit in the area that doesn't know that if the
Blackhawks are on their way they'll get there, no matter how much or
what kind of enemy fire tries to stop you, you get through.

"However, you men are a lot like a tooth that is beginning to show some
decay.  You need some minor work so you can continue to function in the
high tradition you have come to accept as a standard.  Colonel Appleton
and I have discussed it, and it is the Colonel's desire that I make
every effort to make this company look as good as it really is. "Men,
together we're going to clean out the bacteria that is causing our tooth
to begin to decay; let's start with this sloppy formation."  The Major
paused, then shouted, "Dress, right, dress!"

Jim again heard the unknown voice behind him say, "Dress, right, dress?
I haven't done this since basic training.  What is with this guy?"

After completion of the dress, right, dress, the Major spoke, "Men,
that's much better.  Now, we're going to paint the choppers, the hooches
and anything else that needs it.  We're going to clean up the company
area and these revetments where our hueys are parked; we're going to
replace the rotten and busted sandbags with new; we're going to restack
every sand bag pile in the company area and do it in such a way that it
will look like you have used a plum line.  We're going to fill in all
these rocket and mortar holes, so that this place doesn't look like a
teenager with an extreme case of acne.  We're going to put those
choppers back in mint condition.  Those without doors will have their
doors put back on, all bullet holes will be patched and painted OD.

"I started to count yesterday how many choppers we have with more than
one greenish yellow bullet patch on it, and finally decided that most
all of them do.  Those choppers without the soundproofing or part of it
will have it reinstalled.  I have already talked to the supply sergeant
and he has assured me there isn't any problem getting us paste wax and
rags to wash and wax the helicopters and their blades.  Some of you may
not know that waxing the blades and ships will give ten percent more
lift.

"I've noticed that several of you men need haircuts.  It's always been
my opinion that one can tell a great deal about a soldier by his
personal appearance.  Therefore, I want you men to look as sharp as you
are.  I've found a man in maintenance who has assured me that he gives
excellent haircuts.  So I've instructed him to set up a barber shop each
day for an hour after the flight has landed.  That way, there will be no
problem keeping both officers' and enlisted men's hair properly clipped.
There isn't too much we can do about the condition our uniforms are in
when returned from the laundry.  However, each man will be expected to
have enough uniforms, so he can put on a clean one each morning.

"Well, men, that gives you a basic understanding of how I will be
changing a few things, plus some of the things I'll be expecting from
you."  The Major stood there for a moment looking as though he was as
proud as he could possibly be, then turned to the first sergeant and
said, "Dismiss the men, First Sergeant."

The first sergeant stepped forward, came to attention and since the
troops were still at attention he simply shouted, "Officers, platoon,
dismissed!  Enlisted men, fall in for police call of the flight line."

Almost in unison a number of voices moaned with, "Police call!  You
can't be serious."  Someone else said, "I've never done a police call of
the flight line as long as I've been here."  Still another voice was
heard, "This guy has to go, fellows!"

Jim and Athia were beside each other as the troops spread out at the end
of the flight line, so it was only natural that Hunter found his way
over to their location.  Just as Gillett started the slow movement of
walking vacuum cleaners through the flight line, Hunter started the
conversation.  "Well, how do you two like our new XO?"

"I can't speak for Mac, but I think he sucks the green weenie." Jim
laughed and said, "He sucks it?  My man, the green weenie has just taken
up permanent residence at the Blackhawks!"  Very sarcastically Jim
continued, "I really loved how he kept saying 'we' knowing full well how
'we' are going to do things.  He's going to give the orders and all of
us underworked, EM are going to do it!"

Hunter jumped in, "The part I liked was how he started out telling us
how great we are and ended up telling us we stink."

"Yeah," said Athia.  "The only trouble is the man isn't any flash in the
pan.  This guy just got here and obviously plans on taking Appleton's
place when he rotates home."

"You know," added Hunter, "He and Halsey should get along just ducky."

Jim added, "Oh, isn't that just a wonderful thought.  Halsey was bad
enough but at least he didn't have any real power or authority.  All he
could do was chicken shit stuff compared to this joker.  You know,
fellows, I think I'll put in for emergency R&R.  By the time I get back,
he'll have most of this worked out of his system."

"You can't, Mac.  They're not letting any flight crewmen or maintenance
personnel go on R&R until we get some new people in.  I'll tell you
what, I don't know about you and Hunter, but I can't see myself out
there washing and waxing those stupid helicopters.  I mean, give us a
break, we fly every day, usually until late at night and this guy wants
us to wash and wax those ships.  I mean, I can just see all of us out
there between midnight and 0200 washing and waxing our little hearts
out.  Oh, well, now we know why Gillett told us to put our cargo doors
back on last night.  What a pain in the ass!  Every time we put fuel in,
we'll first have to unhook the ammo belt and shut the door."

"Hey, Athia, not just when you put on fuel but whenever you want in the
engine compartment, or the storage area, anytime you get tools, rags,
C-rations, or anything out of the storage compartment, you'll have to go
through that same procedure."

"Yeah, Mac, you're right.  I'll tell you what I think I'll do.  The
first LZ we land in after I put those stupid doors back on, my chopper's
going to loose its right cargo door.  I'll just put it back on so that
all I have to do is unhook the safety pin, slide the door forward a
little and give it a good, big, kick!  Bingo, Chuck just got a new roof
for his shack, courtesy of Major Hobbs."

Jim and Hunter looked at each other and wondered if that wasn't a better
plan than the one both of them had already put into play.  The now
jagged row of men reached the end of the flight line and started to mill
around.  Gillett, seeing that the police call had reached its
destination, ordered the troops to fall out to their respective
helicopters.

"Well, Mac, how many tons did you pick up?"

"Wright, I picked up the same thing the little boy shot at, nothing."

"Mac, you suppose that guy's so damn dumb he doesn't know the choppers
blow everything away that isn't tied down or weighs at least fifty
pounds?"

"It sure looks like it.  It also looks like whatever little esprit de
corps there is left in this outfit will be lost if he keeps this kind of
chicken shit stuff up."

Every man on police call had developed an instant dislike for Major
Hobbs.  Somehow the idea of policing the flight line didn't make much
sense, especially when they all knew sometime today they would be caught
up in what was now being called, 'The Tet Offensive." Jim and Wright
walked around the rear corner of the L-shaped revetment and up along the
open side.  There, in the cargo door, sat Mr. Walker just looking out at
nothing in particular, "Mac, you okay?  You look terrible."

"Mr. Walker, I feel like I'm on the verge of total exhaustion! I've had
very little sleep the last few nights, I've gone through hell the last
couple of days, and last night I thought sure I'd get killed at Loc
Ninh.  Then, I have to get up in the middle of the night because some
asshole was out playing games with Halsey."

Wright interrupted, "Mac, didn't you really throw that frag?"  With
total exasperation Jim looked at Wright, "Hell, no, I didn't."  Turning
back towards Mr. Walker he continued, "Then I have to go for this silly
ass walk this morning.  I'll tell you what, to me, that was the height
of insults, to make us go police the flight line.  He has to know that
anything on the flight line gets blown away by our props during take
off.  It's almost like he feels he has to show us that he has the power
and authority to make us do anything he wants.  It was just his way of
saying, 'Fellows, get used to the changes I'm going to make, whether you
like them or not, they're here to stay and there isn't a damn thing you
can do about it!" He might just as well have said in that speech of his
during formation, 'Bend over, fellows, cause here it comes and there
isn't anything you can do about it!"

"Come on, Mac, it's not all that bad.  In a couple of weeks he'll have
it worked out of his system."

Walker and Jim looked each other in the eye, neither man smiled. After a
few seconds, Jim turned to see Mr. Mace walk up with his helmet in hand.
Mr. Mace, a small man, stood only 5 '2", with small bones, small fingers
and feet.  His frail one hundred ten pounds made something of a comic
appearance.  "Hi, Mac.  Hey, I hear you scared the hell out of Halsey
last night."

"Mr. Mace, I didn't do that, and if I had a Bible on me, I'd swear to
it.  Furthermore, if you ask me, I think Halsey did it himself." With
disbelief, Mr. Walker said, "Come on, Mac, Halsey may be an asshole but
he isn't stupid; besides, he made Euclid and Lucas mad as hell at him
last night."

Jim looked questioningly at Mr. Walker, "How did he do that?"

"You really haven't heard, have you?"

"No!"

"Well, I'm not sure I've got this story straight.  But as close as I can
figure it, Halsey caused each to get an Article 15 for two hundred
dollars."

"How?"

"Well, Lucas and Euclid had a couple of the nurses in their room fucking
their eyes out when Halsey started yelling, 'Grenade."' All four men
started laughing as Mr. Walker continued his story, "The nurses decided
they wouldn't spend the night after all.  Of course, you always have to
pay before you play, so they just packed up and left with their one
hundred dollars each.  Only trouble was, Captain Wolf walked up as they
walked out the door.  Now, Captain Wolf has this thing about whores.  He
must have read those four the riot act.  Anyway, he kicked the nurses
out of the company area and hit Lucas and Euclid each with a two hundred
dollar Article 15."

The laughter from the four flight crewmen made them all feel better. Jim
and Mace were seated on the chopper floor laughing so hard they were
holding on to each other.  Wright had climbed up in his seat and was
laughing also as Walker continued, "Needless to say both Lucas and
Euclid are a tad bit upset with Halsey right now.  Not only did they not
get laid, but what started out costing them one hundred dollars each
ended up being three hundred dollars each and no ass to brag about!"

Jim stopped laughing, "Mr. Walker, isn't one hundred dollars a little
steep?"

"I'd say so personally, but they seem to have a steady business." Mr.
Mace spoke up, "Yeah, you talk about setting on a gold mine, there's
more than one broad who'll come out of Nam a millionaire.

You know, Walker, that blond one's a good looking whore."

"You're telling me.  She's almost worth a hundred dollars, but the other
one she buddies around with isn't much."

"For a couple of guys who've never used their services, you two sure
know a lot about 'em."

Mr. Walker and Mr. Mace looked at each other and started to snicker, Mr.
Mace responded, "Well..." Mac, you have to understand, our officers club
is THE PLACE to hang out.  The fact that we're so close to the hospital,
and we have more officers than any other company on post, makes ours the
ideal place to drum up business.  As a result, that's where a lot of the
nurses hang out, which makes it impossible for Mr. Walker and me not to
know what's going on."

"Sir, how many nurses are whores?"

"Oh, really not many, most of them are nice girls.  But like any large
group of people, they run the whole gamut.  Some won't put out for
anybody or anything, others will if you work at it hard and long enough.
Then there's the three or four pros who sell it and the price starts at
one hundred dollars and goes down the longer it's been since payday."

Jim spoke, "Well, Sir, I guess that's one of the nice things about being
an officer instead of an enlisted man, you get the opportunity to waste
your money on some sorry broad's ass."  Mr. Mace just looked at Jim, not
sure if he was being sarcastic.

It was Walker who spoke next, "Mac, go untie it.  I see Lead starting to
crank."

"Yes, Sir."  Jim untied the main rotor blade from its secured position
as the other three climbed into their respective seats.  Jim put the tie
down rope in the ship's storage compartment, put on his chicken plate
and helmet, plugged in his headset and climbed into his seat behind the
ever present M60.  Mr. Walker started to crank the engine over as soon
as Jim untied the blades and gave him the thumbs up sign.  By the time
Jim was in his seat, the aircraft was running and both Mace and Wright
had checked in with Mr. Walker, just as Jim was ready to do, "I'm in,
Sir, and ready to go."

"Okay, Mac."  Pushing his mike switch down to broadcast outside the
ship.  Mr. Walker spoke again, "Lead, this is Chalk Five.  We're up."

"Roger, Chalk Five."

Chapter Nine

To Hunt and Be Hunted

Jim listened as each ship's A.C.  checked in with Lead and received the
same response.  In less than a minute all ten A.C.'s had checked in and
Lead came back over the radio, "Flight, this is Lead.  Everyone's up, so
I'm now pulling pitch and on my way."  One after another, the Hueys
moved down the flight line until all ten were airborne.  Once in the air
each A.C.  maneuvered his ship into its flight spot, and it wasn't long
until the Blackhawks were headed south in a V formation.

"Lead, this is Trail, we're all up and in formation."

"Roger, Trail."  It was an unwritten rule that until this message was
given there was to be no unnecessary conversation.

"Mr. Walker, where are we working today?"

"We're going down to Saigon to pick up troops, then put them in the
Michelin rubber plantation just outside of Ben Sue."

"Oh, great, another day of fun and games inside the heart of The Iron
Triangle."

"Does that bother you, Mac?"

"Naw, if we got to be here, I figure we might as well be where the
action is.  I don't understand though why we have to go to Saigon to get
troops and then all the way back to Ben Sue?"

"Intelligence says the offensive is over in Saigon and the NVA and their
VC buddies are pulling out, so we're taking the troops who have been
defending Saigon out and putting them in as a blocking force."

Jim figured the flight down to Saigon would take about forty-five
minutes to an hour, depending on artillery.  He pulled his seatbelt up
good and tight, pulled the dark visor down on his helmet so Walker
couldn't see his eyes, and then leaned back to get some sleep.  It took
only a matter of minutes for him to drop off; this kind of flight was
always boring and Jim had learned shortly after starting to fly, the
value of a quick nap.  One of the gifts he knowingly possessed was his
ability to fall asleep quickly anywhere and through most anything.

Mr. Walker, aware of all the night missions Jim flew, let him sleep.
Unlike the gunner and peter pilot, who could not easily look at Jim,
Walker had only to glance over his right shoulder.  It wasn't uncommon
for Walker to glance back at Jim during long flights and see him cinched
up tight with his dark visor down.  It was a dead giveaway because the
only time Jim pulled his visor down was on their way into an LZ, or when
he didn't want anyone to see him sleeping.  However, it was a simple
matter for Walker to wake Jim without anyone else on the ship knowing he
had been asleep or that Walker had known it.  It seemed Jim's ears were
tuned to Walker's voice so he could simply start talking, but slightly
louder than usual.

The flight to Saigon was uneventful with no radio chatter, until Lead
told the flight to change into a trail formation as they would be
landing shortly at the fuel dump.

It was the sound of Mr. Walker's voice that woke Jim up.  "Mr. Mace!
Would you like to drive for the rest of the way into Saigon?"

"Sure, but you don't have to yell.  I've got it."

"Sorry, Mace, I was thinking about something else."  Walker glanced back
over his right shoulder and saw MacLaughlin had raised his visor. The
next time Walker looked back, Jim had removed his seatbelt and put on
his monkey harness.

Mr. Walker had flown in and out of this area of Saigon several times. He
was struck by all the destruction that had taken place since Tet.
Engineers were busy with the earth moving equipment making new perimeter
fortifications.  They were on short final approach now, and Walker could
see troops waiting off to the side.  It looked to him like there were
enough troops there for four or five lifts.  At that rate, this would be
an all day affair.

Once on the ground, Jim unhooked his monkey harness tail and stepped
out.  First, he threw the tail over his shoulder then opened the fuel
cap, letting it dangle on its chain.  Next he dragged the fuel hose to
his ship and started pumping fuel.  Meanwhile, the pilots kept their
ships running at idle speed while fuel was being added and the grunts
started to load.  Jim looked up and saw a staff sergeant seated there
watching him.  Each man looked the other in the eye and knew the other
had been there and come back.

"Hi, Sarge."

"Hi, how are you?"

"A little tired but other than that, okay."

"You guys been flying a lot lately?"

"All day and half the night."

"Yeah, we've been busy, too.  Until yesterday, then suddenly. nothing,
just like Charlie packed up and left.  You know where we're going?"

"Not exactly!  You?"

"Yeah, we're on our way up to Ben Sue.  We're to set up a blocking force
in the Michelin plantation to keep what's left of a NVA battalion
licking its wounds up there from escaping."

"You don't look too happy about going."

"Hey, man, I'm not.  I just hope we don't find a thing when we get
there."

"You will.  We haven't flown in there yet and not caught hell." When the
fuel tank was full, Jim replaced the hose and cap.  He gave Walker, who
was looking back at him, a thumbs up sign as he climbed in. Walker
reported to Lead that they were up, and after all the flight had checked
in, Lead called Six in the C and C ship.  In only seconds the engines
began to pick up RPM, and they were on their way.

No one said much during the flight to Ben Sue.  It sometimes amazed Jim
that he could sit for long periods of time with a totally blank mind.

"Flight, this is Lead.  Our destination has been switched to Highway 14
just south of Rach Bap.  The LZ has been prepped with artillery and
we'll have gunship escort all the way in.  Let's form a staggered right
formation at this time.  We'll be landing on the road and in the brush
off to the right.  Make sure your door gunners understand there are NO
friendlies on the ground or in the area at this time.  Six advised that
when we lift off from the LZ, we'll have to fly straight ahead for a
ways due to the height of the rubber trees.  Once up, we'll be banking
hard left and over the Mekong River.  If anyone goes down, try to get it
across the river first.  There are mostly rice paddies over there where
we can make a pick up.  Over here you're in trouble.  Lead, out."

They were now on short final approach.  Jim saw the gunships fly by
firing their rockets and mini guns.  This was the signal for all the
doorguns to open fire, and they did.  All twenty machine guns were
spitting lead into the rapidly approaching LZ.  Trees lined both sides
of the dirt, one-lane road, yet there was plenty of room for the flight
to land.  Jim's chopper hadn't quite touched down, when the grunts
started jumping out.  Small arms fire was coming from the trees to their
right as their flight lifted and started to fly out.

Jim heard their engine make a funny sound but continued to fire his M60
as they departed.  In only seconds, he could tell by the engine noise
they had taken a round through the engine intake.  It probably had been
sucked on through the engine, taking some of the turbine blades out the
other end with it.

"Lead, this is Chalk Five, we're rapidly losing engine power.  May Day,
May Day, we're going down in the trees, no power!"

"Chalk Five, this is Lead, I read you.  Trail, do you see Chalk Five?
Over?"

"Roger, Lead, they're down in some trees.  There's no way we can put a
ship in to pick them up where they are."

"Lead, this is Chalk Five.  We're down, nobody's hurt and I didn't hit
anything larger than some large twigs with my rotor blades."

Once on the ground, Jim and Wright went quickly to work, taking off
their M60's and opening the pilots doors.  Mace climbed out at once and
started collecting ammo for the M60's.

"Chalk Five, this is Blackhawk Six.  I have you spotted.  Do you read
me?  Over?"

"Roger, Six.  Over."

"Chalk Five, you're in trouble.  The ground troops have encountered
heavy resistance from the area between you and them.  Your best chance
for a pick up is to continue north along the river bank for about a half
mile.  There are some rice paddies up there where we can put in a
chopper."

"Six, be advised we have a scrambler on board."

"Why the hell!?  Never mind!  Look, under no condition is that unit to
be left.  Understood?  Over."

"Understood, Six.  It's on board because of all the night missions my
crew chief flies.  Walker out."

Walker looked around and saw Jim grab his M16 and pistol belt. "Mac, get
the scrambler unit out, we have to take it with us."

"What the hell for?"

"Don't give me any mouth, MacLaughlin, just get the damn thing out. Six
doesn't want it left under any circumstances."

"Yes, Sir!  Mr. Mace, get me my tool box out of the storage compartment,
please, while I start unhooking the quick disconnects."

Jim turned and headed for the ship's nose.  Mace, who was already
standing beside the storage compartment door, turned and pushed the two
snap buttons that unhooked the latches.  He reached in, grabbed Jim's
tool box and turned to leave as Wright walked around the tail section
carrying his M60, with his M16 slung over his shoulder.

Jim never saw it, but knew instantly to hit the ground when he heard the
AK47 open fire.  Walker, who had climbed out his door, dropped beside
Jim.  Both men looked back at Wright when they heard his M60 open up.
Jim's eyes went from the still standing and firing Wright to Mr. Mace
who was lying face down on the ground.  "Mac!  I got the three VC but
Mr. Mace is hit!"  Jim started to move in a crouched position towards
Wright.  He could see the three dead VC not more than fifty feet away.
Looking down at Mace, he recognized the grotesque signs of a sucking
chest wound.  "Wright, cover us!  Mr. Walker, pick Mace up and get him
out of here!  I'll get some ammo and be right with you."

Walker picked Mace up in a fireman's carry and headed in the opposite
direction from the dead VC.  Wright grabbed as much M60 ammo as he could
quickly loop over his shoulder and followed Walker into the brush and
trees.  Jim strapped on his pistol belt, reached up and grabbed one of
the two first aid kits above the cargo door, and, picking up the pilot's
map laying in Mace's seat, he jumped out the door and started to run.
Then he remembered the fragmentation grenades he had hidden in his
storage compartment.  He turned and ran back to the ship. The storage
compartment door was still open.  He reached in, removing the rags
covering the frags and pulled out all four, taking only seconds.  He put
the frags in his jungle fatigue pockets and picked up two smoke
grenades, one violet and one yellow, from under his seat. Once again, he
started to leave as he heard Wright's M60 open up.  This time he dropped
to one knee, laid down his M16, pulled out a fragmentation grenade,
jerked the pin and threw it at his chopper. Grabbing the M16, he ran
like hell.  Then, tripping over a branch, he fell just a few feet from
Mr. Walker.

The first explosion went off as he was falling, followed almost
immediately by the secondary explosion of his Huey.  Jim picked himself
up and looked back at the fireball that was once his ship.  Stepping
over a fallen tree, he joined Walker and Mace.  Wright had set up his
M60 on that same tree log and was watching for VC moving on the far side
of his field of fire.  The burning Huey started erupting with smaller
secondary explosions, as the ammo left on board became hot enough to
blow.

Jim knelt beside Mace and unzipped the small, green first aid kit.
Walker had his left hand over the entrance hole in Mace's chest and his
right hand over the exit hole.  Blood was flowing out both holes and had
covered Walker's hands and back from carrying Mace.  The bubbling and
gurgling that came from Mace's mouth told Jim that he was having extreme
trouble breathing, as he knew he would.  Jim's switch blade cut Mace's
shirt open and, as best he could, Jim wiped the entrance hole dry of
blood.  Walker dried his hands on Mace's clothes and held the plastic
envelope from the bandage in place as Jim tried to tape it down.  The
continual flow of blood made it difficult at best.  The wheezing from
the exit wound in Mace's back was expelling blood and body fluids with
each choking breath he tried to take.  Walker rolled Mace over onto his
chest, exposing the full extent of Mace's wound.  Unlike the small thumb
sized entrance hole, the jagged exit hole was not quite the size of a
hard ball.  Jim cut what was left of Mace's shirt off and tried to wipe
a dry area where tape could be applied.  There was flesh, meat and even
a piece of bone sticking out of Mace's body.  Jim picked the bone chips
out so they wouldn't rupture the plastic that Mr. Walker then placed
over the hole.  Once the plastic was in place, the almost impossible
breathing of Mace became much more normal, as air now could enter the
lungs only through the mouth.  Jim dried the back area with Mace's
clothes and taped the plastic down as Walker applied the cloth bandage.
It was at this point the first word was spoken by either man.  "Mac, Six
said we should go to the river and walk north to some rice paddies for a
pick up."

"Sir, that's the direction the VC came from."

"Yeah, I know.  They're also between us and the ground troops we put
in."

"Oh, great!  Does that radio you're wearing around your neck work?"

"I don't know yet."

Walker started to open the radio up as Jim reached in his pocket. He
pulled out a violet smoke grenade and handed it to Walker along with one
of his three remaining frags, and the map.  Walker put each in a
different pocket as Wright's M60 started to bark once again.  "Mac, I
thought you weren't supposed to carry any frags in the ship."

"We're not, but I'm glad I didn't get around to taking them out yet!"

"Me too!"

Wright had quit firing and joined them.  "Mac, where's the other M60?"

"I left it on the ship!  I figured we couldn't carry two M60's, Mr. Mace
and ammo."

"You're right, come on.  We have to get out of here, they're trying to
flank us."  Jim picked up his M16 and put Mace in a fireman's carry.
Walker took Wright's M16 and several belts of ammo, and followed Jim.
Wright, with the M60, brought up the rear walking in a circle as he
followed Walker.  Jim could hear Walker speak into his radio as they
moved deeper into the heart of the Iron Triangle.

"Six, this is Walker, come in, Six!  Six, this is Walker, over! Six,
please come in!  SIX!  Anybody!  Please, does anybody hear me, over."

Silence.  Their hearts sank as they realized their sole means of
communication didn't work.  It was Walker who verbalized what they all
thought.  "This damn thing doesn't work."

"Mr. Walker, just keep trying.  It only has a fifteen kilometer range.
The flight's probably getting more troops and C&C ship could have gone
back for fuel."

"You're right, Mac.  At least let's hope that's what happened."

"Mr. Walker, is Mr. Mace going to make it?"

"Wright, if we can get him to a doctor in time he should be okay."

"He has blood coming out of his mouth and looks like a ghost."

"He's probably in shock.  We just can't stop now and treat him for it."
Walker raised the radio to his lips to try once again.  "Walker to
Blackhawk Six.  Over!"

The radio cracked and to everyone's relief, Colonel Appleton's voice was
heard.  "Mr. Walker, this is Blackhawk Six.  Your situation down there
has changed."

Wright spoke, "He's telling us!"  Walker motioned Wright to be quiet.
"I've been in touch with the gunships, they spotted VC along the river
bank and have sunk one sampan.  There's a road that you should intersect
about six kilometers ahead if you follow a heading of seventy-five
degrees.  We can make pick up there.  Over."

"Six, be advised Mr. Mace took a chest wound.  Over."

"Where's Mr. Mace now?  Over."

"We're carrying him.  Over."

"There's no way we can get him out until you reach that road.  Did you
bring the scrambler with you?  Over."

"Negative, Six.  We didn't have time.  It was on the ship when my crew
chief blew the chopper.  Over."

There was a short silence before Six's voice broke through the radio
again.  "What did you bring out?  Over."

"I got my map and pistol, Mace's pistol, one M60, two M16's and ammo.
Over."

"Walker, we'll try to maintain one gunship in the area with orders to
monitor this frequency and give whatever support possible.  If you need
ammo, we can try to drop it through the trees, otherwise, you're on your
own 'til you get to that road.  The flight's on short final with its
second lift into the LZ.  We'll put the next lift in on the road you're
headed for.  They'll sweep your direction, so you should be able to link
up.  One more thing, are you being pursued?  Over."

"Affirmative.  Over."

"By how large a force and how close?  Over."

"Unknown to both questions, Sir.  Over."

"Good luck, Walker, Six out."

The group had already stopped moving and Jim, as gently as possible,
laid the unconscious Mr. Mace down.  Jim's face was scratched from the
tree branches.  Sweat was dripping into his eyes, and the salty wetness
burned as it came in contact with his scratches.  Mace didn't weigh
much, for which Jim was thankful, yet he had quickly tired under the
burden Mace presented.  Walker and Wright sat down facing Jim, who spoke
first.

"Mr. Walker, do you really think they're following us?"

"Wouldn't you be, if in their position?"

"Yeah."

"Look, we can't stay here very long, how much ammo have we got?" Wright
responded first.  "I've got six magazines full for my M16 and, I
suppose, between you and me we have about three hundred rounds for the
M60."

"Sir, I've got eight magazines in my pistol belt plus these three I
always carry taped together.  And I've got two more frags."

"Okay, that's pretty good, three frags, two smokes and seventeen
magazines for the M16's.  At twenty rounds each we should be okay."

"Sir, you only put nineteen rounds in each or it'll jam."

"Okay, Mac, that's not important right now.  Look, let's get going. I'll
carry Mace for a while.  One of you take Mace's pistol."

"You can have it, Wright, I don't want it!"

"Okay, I'll take it."  Wright took the shoulder harness containing the
snubnose 38 off Mace and looked up at Mr. Walker.

"Sir, I think he's dead."

Walker kneeled down and felt for the carotid artery.  Finding no pulse,
he turned Mace's face so he could look at his still open eyes. "You're
right."

Jim looked at his watch for the first time since being shot down, ten
after ten.  Walker took one of Mace's dogtags, positioned the chipped
part between two opposing teeth and pushed his mouth shut, wedging the
dogtags in place.  Wright spoke as Mr. Walker started to pick up the
lifeless body.  "Mr. Walker, wait a minute will you?  I've got to take
this chicken plate off."

Walker waited while Wright flipped it over his head, then he pulled up
his shirt, exposing his black and blue and obviously sore ribs.  Most of
Wright's left side was bruised and starting to swell.  Walker and Jim
were amazed.

"Man, am I sore, but I sure am thankful for that chicken plate." Jim
pulled the fiberglass plate from its cloth wrapping.  There in the left
center of the plate was an AK round.

"Wright, when did you get hit?"

"I got it the same time Mr. Mace did, fortunately, I hadn't gotten
around to taking my chicken plate off yet."  Jim found himself wishing
he still had his on.  "It knocked me back against the tail boom and I
started firing the M60 I had."  Suddenly, Walker grabbed Wright's arm
and put his index finger to his lips.  Now they all heard it-Vietnamese!
Walker quickly picked up Mace and motioned Wright to lead.  Jim grabbed
the M60 and pointed for the other two to head up a gentle slope.  The
two took off in a run as best as they could move.  Jim took a frag from
his pocket, pulled the pin and carefully placed it under the chicken
plate.  Then he picked up the M60 and moved quickly up the slope.  Once
on the top, he moved behind a big tree off to his right and lay there
prone.  For the first time, he realized they weren't in the rubber
plantation any more; in fact, as he looked at the trees and bushes, it
didn't seem much different from the woods he had hunted rabbit and
squirrel in ever since he could remember.

Jim's mind drifted back to his childhood and a cold winter day with a
new fallen snow, and his dad saying, "Hey, Jim, how about you and me
going rabbit hunting today?"  Off they'd march into the crisp, sparkly
clean Ohio winter.  Everything was good then, and natural and safe, with
his dad carrying a 12 gauge pump action shotgun and him carrying a
stick.

He remembered clearly the Christmas his parents gave him the BB gun.
That afternoon his dad and he made a search of the fence rows for some
poor unsuspecting rabbit who would be skinned, gutted and carried home
with the greatest pride.  Many a rabbit had been fired at with that BB
gun, and occasionally, one would even be hit and sent jumping in a
different direction before his dad, who rarely missed, would drop the
floppy eared creature with the first shot.  His dad had been taught to
shoot by his father, who had been taught in turn by his father, who had
lived in the days of Wyatt Earp and Doc Holiday.

In a few years, Jim progressed to a 22 rifle and squirrel hunting. Then,
there was the magic year that he'd saved every penny to buy a shotgun of
his own.  Finally, with rabbit season approaching, his dad took him one
fall day to the local gun shop.  The salesman showed him several
different guns he could afford before finally bringing out a used,
double-barreled 20 gauge Winchester.  Its blue steel shone with the
luster of a cold, deadly breeze, and the intricate carvings were
impressive.  The stock was made of a polished dark wood with a rubber
butt.  The salesman said, "Go ahead, pick it up and bring it up to your
shoulder to see how it fits.  Good, good, looks just like it was made
for you, son.  How's she feel?"

"Just fine, Sir."

"Well, young man, that is a mighty fine weapon.  She's been used a
little but she's been well taken care of.  You can tell by the fact
there aren't any chips in the stock, and if you'll open her up, you can
see the inside of the barrel is as clean as the day she was made.  Plus,
for a young man like yourself, a 20 gauge is the perfect size; it's big
enough to kill anything you'd want to hunt, yet it isn't as heavy or
overpowering as the 12 or 10 gauge shotgun.  You'd need several more
pounds before you could fire one of those without being knocked down by
the kick.  I'll tell you what let's do, let's go out back and fire both
barrels and see how you like it."

Jim was so proud and pleased, he could hardly wait for hunting season to
begin.  His dad bought three boxes of shells for practice, and a tin can
of any size or shape would soon find itself being thrown in the air and
shot full of holes.  By the time hunting season arrived, he was the
scourge of the woods.  If a rabbit jumped, he dropped it, but the climax
came the last season before he entered the Army.  His dad and he had
been sitting under a hickory nut tree watching two squirrels go about
their business of collecting nuts for the long winter ahead.  His dad
wanted to take the one on the right and Jim the one on the left but Jim
said, "No, wait.  I want to try for both at once."  And so it was. Jim
thought he'd always remember with pride the day he'd killed two
squirrels with one shot of his own gun; a piece of wood and steel that
made him feel big and Strong and powerful and invincible.

Now he lay behind a tree with an M60 machine gun, which fired a 7.62MM
round at 600 rounds per minute for more than 300 meters, and he felt
like the terrified rabbit he was.  He was so scared he wanted to cry but
forced himself not to.  He felt more and more like the rabbit-it had
certainly gone full circle for him.  It was then that he decided, if he
lived through this, he'd never go hunting again.

As the enemy troops became visible he couldn't believe it; they had on
uniforms just like him, complete with boots and helmets and carrying
AK47's.  These weren't VC-these were North Vietnamese Regulars.  He had
an overwhelming desire to pee as he counted one, two, three, four, five,
six, seven.  Seven NVA, man did he have to pee bad!  They'd stopped
right next to his frag and now two more showed themselves.  One had a
back pack with an antenna sticking up so the other one had to be the
group's leader, with a radio man.  Jim had to pee so bad he started
squeezing his legs together.  He couldn't understand why they hadn't
picked up the chicken plate yet.  He was going to pee his pants if he
didn't get it out in time.  So he rolled over onto his left side and
opened his fly.  The nervous pressure shot a good stream out and for the
first time since he'd been shot down, Jim realized he was scared to
death.

The shouts from the gooks, followed by an explosion, told him they had
found his booby trap.  Damn, he wished he'd seen it.  He was only about
one hundred fifty to one hundred seventy-five meters away with a real
good line of vision.  Oh, well, he hadn't, now he had to get himself put
away and zipped up.  That done, he rolled back over where he could see
the NVA.  There must have been at least one hit since he could hear
shouts of pain.  Carefully, he placed his M60 where he could watch and
then fire without moving again.  He was so nervous he didn't dare put
his fingers on the trigger.  Now he wished for the standard handle and
butt instead of the two handled aviation system.

Man, he had to pee again, but he knew it had to be nerves, he'd just
gotten done peeing!  Watching closely, he could see one gook start to
give orders and others Start to fan out.  Now there was a group of three
in one spot, one of which was their officer.  Jim figured they were
working on the wounded gook and this was going to be his best shot. Just
as he was taking aim, one of the NVA who had fanned out stepped behind a
tree between Jim and his target.  The gook behind the tree had to go. He
was just too close and Jim knew he'd never be able to escape with him
there, so he waited and watched as the gook peeked around the tree.  Jim
drew a bead just beyond the tree and waited.  At least they hadn't seen
him yet.  Over and over in his mind he said, "Oh, God, help me!  Please
help me!", when the gook started to move quickly to the next tree.

The blast from Jim's M60 caught the NVA full in the midsection, throwing
him backwards and rolling him over.  In only a flicker of a second, he
shifted his aim to the group with the officer.  Everyone in that group
had started to dive for cover already as Jim opened up on them.  He was
sure from watching his tracers he'd hit at least one more. He continued
to fire into the same area hoping to hit another one. Suddenly the dirt
all around him started to explode and tree bark began falling on him.
His first thought was, 'What?', then he realized his every fifth round
being a tracer, had drawn a direct line to where he was-he was being
fired at.  Instantly, he rolled over behind a tree and then started to
low crawl away.  Once far enough away, he got up and ran in a crouched
position to a big tree.  From there, the elephant grass and bushes would
give him enough cover to run standing up.  He looked around behind the
tree to where he had just been and off to the left he saw a movement. He
aimed the M60 and waited for only a second until the gook started moving
to the next tree-then he opened fire once more. Again he watched his
tracers fly to their target and then suddenly stop as the body they had
hit lifted into the air and flew backwards.  Jim turned and ran through
the woods in the direction Walker had gone.

It wasn't hard to find their trail.  Jim's adrenalin was really flowing,
so it didn't take long for him to catch up to where he could see them
moving ahead of him.  He figured he was about three hundred meters
behind and just hoped they didn't shoot him.

It was certainly strange going through these woods.  There were all
different types and sizes of trees, there were places with no
undergrowth at all, and other places where there were briars, vines and
thick, coarse grass that cut his skin.  He had to jump over an ancient
rotting tree and tripped in the process.  Jim lay there for a moment,
his legs ached and his breathing strained.  Slowly, he picked himself up
and then the ammo belt that had fallen off his shoulder.  He tried to
wipe the dirt from his face and found blood on his hand.  His shirt was
totally soaked with sweat, and his panting and gasping for breath made
him feel all the more like a scared rabbit fleeing for its life.
Breathing was still difficult, especially since he was now crying
silently, causing his chest to heave.  Cradling the M60, he started
moving through the underbrush once again.

He caught up with the others a short time later seated along the bank of
a small creek.  Walker was looking at his map and Wright was keeping
watch.  Walker looked up when Wright spoke.  "Mac!  Man, am I glad to
see you!  What happened back there?"

Jim told him briefly and then asked whose turn it was to carry Mace.
Wright spoke in a soft, dejected tone, "Mine."

"Mr. Walker, which way?"

"I don't know, Mac.  This creek isn't on the map.  "In that case, let's
go up stream, we know the NVA are downstream behind us.  If we walk in
this creek, we'll quit leaving a trail a blind man could follow. How are
the ribs, Wright?"

"Sore, Mac, really sore, but I'm alive!"

They all cupped their hands and drank from the creek, then Wright picked
up Mace and moved into the middle of the creek followed by Walker and
Jim.

"Mr. Walker, I'll trade you this M60 for those two M16's."  Walker
laughed and handed Jim his M16 with the three magazines he'd taped
together and took the M60.

"You look like you could use a break.  I'll carry the M60 and Wright's
16 slung over my back-it's no problem."

"Thank you, Sir.  Do you have any idea which way we're headed?"

"No, not really.  It has to be in the general direction of the road
though."

After a while they came to a place on the bank where they could TO HUNT
AND BE HUNTED climb out on some rocks without leaving a trail. Each
man was glad to finally leave the creek and the mosquitoes, which were
eating them up.  Walker led them up the bank, followed by Wright
carrying Mace and Jim bringing up the rear.  They walked around a small
clearing not large enough to land a chopper in, and sat down under some
trees on the other side.  Speaking almost in a whisper Jim said, "Well,
if they're following us, that little trip should lose them.  At least it
does in the cowboy movies.  I'm glad that creek wasn't any more than a
foot or so deep."

"Mac, did you get any C-rations out of the ship?  I'm hungry."

"No, but now that you mention it, so am I."  Jim looked at his watch,
ten after one.  They'd been on the ground for over three hours. Each man
sat there totally exhausted and saturated with sweat.  They all knew
they should start moving again but nobody wanted to.

"Mr. Walker, rig's got Mr. Mace already."

"You're kidding me?  He's stiff already?  He hasn't been dead more than
an hour."

"He's beginning to smell and the flies are already all over him."

"Well, for God's sake, Wright, don't unhook his belt!"  Jim grabbed
Walker's leg and motioned for him to be quiet.  He'd seen something move
off in the woods and motioning only with his hand, pointed in the
direction of the movement.  Now, they all saw a NVA moving slowly
through the trees.  Walker motioned to Wright to pick up the M60, his
M16 and move out slowly.  Jim grabbed Walker and whispered, "Take Mace.
I'll try to hold them one more time."

Walker nodded, picked up Mace and moved into the woods after Wright.
Both men tried to keep the trees between them and the NVA. Once out of
sight, Walker told Wright to drop back and give Mac some cover.

Jim moved slowly into a prone position beside a large tree with several
smaller ones behind him and waited.  Fortunately, the NVA hadn't seen
them move, and by now Walker and Wright were out of sight.  Jim watched
as the single NVA moved closer along the bank to where they had come out
of the creek.  When the NVA got to the clearing, he suddenly crouched
down and yelled for what Jim knew had to be his comrades in the creek.
This guy had to be a flank man.

The NVA officer had learned his lesson.  Jim was sure he was now using a
point man and flankers on each side, and this guy had found their path.
"Well, you smart son of a bitch, you just had to see it, didn't you. Now
I'm going to give you a sucking chest wound, you bastard!"  The NVA
flanker had just finished yelling for his comrades when Jim flipped his
selector switch to semi automatic.  Taking careful aim, Jim squeezed the
trigger firing a single round into the body of the crouched man knocking
him over on his side.  Jim flipped the switch to full automatic and
waited for the NVA troops to come through the tree line from the creek.
Nothing.  Why didn't they come to help their buddy?  Had he hit the
panic button and fired too soon?  Maybe he should spray the tree line
with lead and then rvn like hell?  No, that would just be a waste of
ammo and give away his position.  He had to get out of there-something
was definitely wrong.  Those NVA should have moved out of the creek by
now.  Jim started to low crawl backwards when he heard an M60 open up
behind him.  "Hallelujah!  They've found the road and American troops."
No more had this thought cleared his head than he heard Wright yelling,
"Mac, they're flanking you.  You hear me?"

Jim's heart sank as he yelled, "Yes!"

"Mac, I'll fire five second bursts.  You move when I open up!" Wright's
M60 opened fire and Jim started running toward him, trying to move so
he'd come out behind Wright.  As he ran from tree to tree he counted one
thousand one, one thousand two, one thousand three, one thousand four
and he stopped behind a big old tree.  It was a full two seconds before
Wright stopped firing, but Jim just stayed behind his tree and panted.
Boy, what a sucker he'd been.  That gook officer was a smart son of a
bitch.  He'd just have to be a whole lot more careful from now on. Thank
God Wright hadn't left him.  He heard the M60 open up again and
instantly started running and, once again counted as he ran.

When Walker heard the M60 open up and Wright start yelling, he dropped
Mace and started to move back.  Then he had another thought. Appleton
had said he'd keep a gunship overhead.  Turning on his radio and
extending its antenna he spoke, "May Day.  May Day.  This is Blackhawk
on the ground, does anybody up there copy?  Over!"

"Hey, Walker, I've been trying to reach you.  This is your friendly
gunship Triple Nickel on station.  What can I do for you?  Over."

"You can give me some fire support, ASAP.  We just moved out of a creek
and are approximately one hundred fifty meters west, I think. Over."

"Walker, give me a count.  I don't know where in the hell you are.

I don't see any creek.  Over."

"Roger, one...two...three..."  As Mr. Walker counted, he continued to
move towards Wright's M60 sound.  Once in position, he stopped counting
and asked, "Do you have me yet?"

"Affirmative.  Where do you want what-and be exact.  Over."  Walker took
the violet smoke grenade out of his pocket, pulled the pin and tossed it
as far as he could.  "Smoke's out and I want one rocket ninety-five
meters northeast.  Over."

"I see violet smoke.  Over."

"You got it."

The Blackhawk gunship rolled in and placed one of its 2.75 inch rockets
between the trees as requested.

"Triple Nickel, you're twenty meters too far west and fifteen too far
north.  Fire for effect this time, smoke is between us and your rocket.
Over."

"Roger."  The gunship had already turned to start its second run when
Walker gave the corrections.  On this run, they started firing early and
continued a little past where they usually would quit, since they knew
where the Americans were.

"One more time, Triple Nickel.  Same place, please."

"Roger, roger.

Walker watched with satisfaction as once again the rockets started
exploding on target.  Giving him even more satisfaction was the sight of
Mac and Wright running towards him as the rockets hit.  Walker put down
cover fire with his M16 just on general purpose.

Once Jim made his second run, he knew that was all the further he'd ever
get.  Even with Wright's M60 fire, Jim knew he was being fired at for
the last couple of steps.  When he got to the trees, he tried to make
himself as thin as possible and hoped they couldn't cut his tree down
with AK fire.  This was it, he knew beyond a doubt, this was where he
would die.  The next time he tried to move he'd be the one cut in half.
He was surprised at how much he was in control of himself.  Yet he
wondered how his parents would take the news, and why he'd been brought
to this place to die all alone.  He'd just made up his mind to make them
come and get him so he could take as many with him as possible when he
heard the chopper overhead.  He didn't know what was going on but,
hearing the explosion, he assumed they'd put a rocket in.  He didn't
know how or why, but was so thankful it had shown up.  Once more, he
checked his selector switch to make sure it was on full automatic and
hoped that gunship would make another run.  If it did, he was going to
make another break for it and hope Charlie kept his head down.  He could
hear the chopper coming and got ready to move.  Jim was quite pleased
with himself; he was totally in control and perfectly relaxed.  As soon
as the rockets started to hit, Jim began to run.  By the time the
rockets quit, he was about ten meters behind Wright on Walker's side.

"Wright, you okay?"

"So far!"

"If that gun makes another run, let's try to get to Walker."

"I'll be right behind you, Mac."

Once more the gunship could be heard coming in on its last run. Wright
opened fire from behind his log just as the rockets started to hit.  Jim
and Wright instantly started running in the direction of Walker's firing
M16.  What a beautiful sound that thing made as it burped, and in the
process, led Jim and Wright by its sound to where Walker was hidden.
There wasn't any activity from the area where the NVA had been.  Once
the three were together again, Walker pointed in the direction of Mace,
and without saying a word they moved out.

Jim handed Wright his M16 and bent over to pick up Mace.  Instead, Jim
turned to Walker, who was about to speak into his radio.  "Mr. Walker,
thanks!"  Walker only nodded.

"Sir, Mr. Mace smells terrible."

"I know.  Pick him up and let's get out of here.  Walker to Triple
"Nickel, over."

"Go, Walker."

"Thanks for the help.  Now, could you tell me where the hell we are?"

"Not anywhere near where you're supposed to be, that's for sure. But
that's good.  The flight put in troops on the road you were supposed to
be headed for, and after being on the ground about fifteen minutes,
found some heavy resistance.  There's a major war going on down there.
We've put in most of the 25th infantry that's available, part of the Big
Red One, and parts of the 199 Light Infantry.  To put it bluntly, you're
in the middle of a big box that's being squeezed from three directions.
How you got turned around, I don't know but you were supposed to be
headed northeast and you've been going southeast.  You're only about
eight kilometers southeast from where you went down."

Wright looked at Jim and asked in a whisper, "How far is eight
kilometers?"

"I don't know, about five miles, I'd guess."

"How far have we walked today?"

Jim shrugged his shoulders and said, "Feels like twenty miles." Both men
turned their attention back to what was being said on the radio as they
walked.

"There's a thinly wooded area about half a kilometer ahead of you. Once
you pass through there, I'll be able to see if you're still being
pursued and give you directions to the pick-up sight, which is about
five kilometers further.  Over."

"Triple Nickel, we're exhausted down here.  Could you drop some water
and C-rations to us?  Over."

"I'll see what I can do.  There's one more thing you should know. The
pickup sight is so small it'll be straight down and straight up, so get
there before dark!  Over."  Jim looked at his watch, quarter after five.
That meant they had about two hours to travel five kilometers. Under
normal conditions they would be able to do it easily.

He'd had it, and Wright's ribs were so sore, he was holding his arm
strangely and Walker's feet kept tripping over every little stick.  Mace
felt like he weighed twenty pounds more than when this day began and man
did he stink, the flies were all over him.

"Mr. Walker, I can't carry him anymore, I've had it."

"Okay, I'll carry him for a while."

Jim put Mace down and Walker bent over and picked him up.  "My Lord, he
stinks.  That's enough to make a person sick.  What would you two think
of leaving him?"

"I think it's a great idea."

"Me too."

"So why haven't we done it yet?"

Walker's radio came on just then, causing all three to turn their
attention to it as they walked.  "Walker, this is Triple Nickel, do you
copy?  Over."

"Roger.  Over."

"You're starting into the thin part now.  Veer a little to your left.
There, that's good, try to maintain as straight a line as possible. I'll
be turning you over to 714 at this time.  See you back at Tay Ninh,
Triple Nickel, over."

"Thanks for the help, Triple Nickel.  Walker out."

"Walker, this is 714, we have a canteen of water for each of you and
three chocolate candy bars from the C-rations.  Six said to tell you
he'd have the mess sergeant fix supper for you once you're out.  I'll
make the canteen and candy drop on the edge of the thickest jungle. That
way you can move into a more protected area more quickly.  I'll maintain
a watch over this area to make life unpleasantly short for anyone still
on your tail.  Do you copy?  Over."

"Affirmative."

Once they moved into the thinner jungle, the grass and brush seemed to
increase in size and thickness.  Jim wondered if the giant ant hills,
some as high as six feet with eight to ten foot bases, had anything to
do with the thinness of the jungle in this area.  Certainly they were
doing their best to stay clear of all the ant hills, big or small.

Each man found a great deal of comfort in the whopp-whopp-whopp of the
Huey blades as it flew across the tree tops.  It was like having a big
brother who would beat up on anybody picking on them.  The NVA had to
know they had communication with the chopper, how else could that rocket
attack have been put down with such accuracy.  The single rocket on the
first pass was a dead giveaway of communication with the ground people,
who would have given corrective information if necessary.

The area they were now passing through was only about two hundred meters
wide.  Once they were within fifty meters of the thicker jungle, Walker
got back on his radio.  "714, this is Walker, we're ready for your drop.
Over."

"Roger, we're on our way."

Because of the trees, the chopper had to stay about sixty to seventy
meters up.  It moved slowly, almost in a hover until directly above
them.  Then, as the chopper slid slowly on by, a package dropped from
each side.  Walker had already put Mace down and all three ran for the
canteens and candy.  The canteens had been put in a pillow case and
stuffed with wadded up paper.  The candy was in an old C-rations box
that burst open upon hitting the ground.  The stuffed pillow case landed
on an ant hill and rolled part way down the side.

Without stopping to think, Wright climbed up and returned with the bag.
Walker picked up the candy bars, and all three men returned to the
thicker jungle.  Jim's switch blade quickly opened the pillow case and
the three men drank like the water-starved animals they were.  After
drinking their fill, Walker handed each a candy bar and that, too, was
quickly eaten.  More water helped wash down the extremely rich candy
that they each had finished off.  Jim hooked the canteen on his pistol
belt and offered to put one more on it.  Walker and Wright put the
remainder of their water into one canteen and Jim added it to his now
full pistol belt.  As they sat on a log to eat and drink, they could see
and smell Mace's body.  Each had his own thoughts about Mace, and were
torn between leaving him and carrying him on further.  It was Wright who
finally spoke, "Mr. Walker, I've been thinking about Mr. Mace.  We don't
have that much further to go.  I can't help but think if it was me, I'd
want you to carry me out.  After all, I'd like to go home, even if it is
in a rubber bag."  Walker simply nodded his head in agreement and looked
at Jim, "Me, too, I'm just tired of carrying him and it's so damn hot
and humid, plus the mosquitoes and flies."  They all looked at each
other and at Mace's body.  It was Jim who spoke next, "Wright, how much
ammo is there for that M60?"

Wright looked at the ammo belt in the machinegun and the one on the
ground.  "Oh, I'd say about forty to fifty rounds."

"Okay, let's leave the M60, we could strip it and put the barrel in one
of those ant hills and the firing pin in your pocket, then give the rest
a toss.  It would mean that much less to carry.  I used all three
magazines in my Y clip, but I've still got eight full magazines left."

Walker shook his head in disagreement and said, "You can't leave a
weapon."  Jim spoke, "I don't care what you say unless you want to carry
it.  Look, each of us have only been able to carry Mace for ten to
fifteen minutes."

"Mac, we can't leave a weapon."

"It's the M60 or Mace!"

Wright immediately went to work.  First he handed Jim the barrel and
then gave Walker the ammo.  As Wright continued to strip the M60 down,
Walker broke the ammo belt apart into single rounds.  Jim took the
barrel and headed back to the ant hills.  The gunship 714 was still
circling overhead when Jim started out for the ant hills.  The first one
he came to over four feet tall would do.  With the nose of the barrel he
made a shallow slit in the side of the hill, placed the barrel in it and
covered it up as the small red ants emerged.  By the time he got back,
Walker and Wright were throwing bullets in every direction and the M60
was gone.

"Whose turn to carry Mace?"

Walker looked at Wright, who looked at the bloated body a few feet away
and said, "Mine."

Walker, with one M16 took the point and Jim with the other M16, brought
up the rear.  Once on the move again, Jim looked at his watch and knew
they'd never make it by dark.  He didn't know what time sunset was, but
it had to be within the next hour.  With the sun down, it would get dark
fast in this jungle, and the idea of walking in the dark didn't appeal
to him.

As they walked, Mace was passed from one to the other with each turn
lasting a shorter time, as they became more fatigued; stumbling and
falling more frequently.

Once the sun set, darkness came quickly, and they each kept talking
about Triple Nickel's telling them they had to make it to the pickup
before dark.  Walker had been on the radio most of the time he wasn't
carrying Mace, each time hoping to be told they were almost there.
Finally, it was just too dark to continue trying to move any further and
Walker sat down against a fallen tree stump.  He was joined shortly by
Jim and Wright.  "Take a break you two, and I'll get hold of 714."
Walker pulled out his radio and extended its antenna, "714, this is
Walker.  Over."  There wasn't any doubt that 714 was up there, they'd
heard the whopp-whopp-whopp of its blades all afternoon.  "Walker, this
is Triple Nickel, we're back on station over your location.  What can we
do for you?  Over."

"It's too dark to walk down here, we're falling over every little stick.
How much further to go?  Over."

"Well, Walker, that's a problem.  I think you're only about one hundred
to one hundred fifty meters out yet.  We knew you would be close, so Six
got a flare ship rigged and on its way, along with a heavy fire team.
Major Hobbs called a company formation and told everyone your station.
He said he was going in to get you out, that it would be a night
extraction with only about two feet clearance for the rotors and they
would probably get fired at.  Then he asked for volunteers to go with
him, and I'll be damned if the whole company didn't volunteer.  I never
realized how popular you guys are.  Anyway, the Major then asked who the
best pilot in the company was and since I was already assigned to gun
duty, he picked Lucas to fly AC with him!  He's got Gillett and Athia in
the back with him.  Hold on a minute."  They waited in silence for only
seconds, then, "I'm done entertaining you guys.  My copilot says the
Major is on final approach and the flare ship is in position. You guys
ready to make one last run for it?  Over."

"Anything to get us out of here.  Over."

"Okay, flares will be out shortly, start moving ASAP and let me know the
moment you hit the clearing.  Walker, you'll have to talk Lucas down.
Understood?  Over."

"Affirmative."

They waited and watched skyward for the first flare to light.  The noise
from the choppers had increased considerably, telling them there were
more than two helicopters up there.  Suddenly, as though God himself had
struck a match, the first flare lit, then a second and a third, a fourth
and finally a fifth.  Jim picked up the terribly rancid remains of Mace
for what he hopped would be the last time.  Then, just as they had done
all day, Jim fell between Walker and Wright.

The light wasn't great but for coming through the trees, it wasn't bad
either, and the final few meters were traveled without much trouble.
They could hear the gunships making their runs ahead of them and knew
the LZ would be hit with rockets along the area on three sides.  Only
the side they were approaching from would be untouched.  The jungle
would be hit in case the VC were there waiting on them, and the LZ would
be hit to explode any booby traps.  It was common knowledge that many of
these small jungle openings were booby trapped just to discourage
helicopters from landing, dropping off, or picking up reconnaissance
teams.

Walker stopped before Jim realized they had reached the clearing. He
almost bumped into Walker and had to step around him.  He looked out
into the pickup spot.  It was long and narrow, with elephant grass
higher than their heads.  Yes, it was definitely going to be tight.
Walker was already on the radio telling the people upstairs they had
finally made it.  Then the gunships made a run behind them and more
flares popped above.

"Walker, this is Lucas, I'm on my way in.  I'll be coming straight down
so talk to me 'cause I can't pick up my rotor blades.  Over."

"I got you, Lucas, you're looking good, bring it on down."  Wright stood
there beside Jim, who was still holding Mace.  Their faces were pointed
upward as they watched the red and green lights slowly descending.
Suddenly, a blinding light struck all of them in the face as Lucas
turned on both his landing lights and search lights.  Still, they
watched as the Chariot that would take them home settled on down.
"Lucas, take it left a foot, that's good, back a couple inches, set it
down."

The rotor blast flattened the grass and almost flattened Jim before
Wright caught him, and helped him toward the now waiting chopper.  Jim
very rudely dumped Mace on the floor and climbed in, followed by Walker
and Wright.  They weren't yet seated when Lucas, who hadn't slowed the
engine down, put pitch in the rotor blades and started to lift her
straight up.  Jim was seated on the left end of the bench with Walker in
the middle and Wright beside him.

Once the ship was on its way back home, Jim felt a pat on the shoulder.
It was Gillett who was flying gunner welcoming him back. With that pat,
Jim relaxed for the first time since being shot down. The relaxation of
the tension and stress slowly gave way to the well of emotion he'd
suppressed all day.  He could feel it building low in his chest and
steadily swell to consume his whole chest cavity.  Tears began to leak
from each side of his eyes and, unwilling to suppress it any longer, he
lowered his head to his knees and wept.  Like a chain reaction, Walker,
then Wright broke down and cried.

Once the ship was safely at altitude and on its way home, Major Hobbs
looked around at the three men he had just plucked from the jungle.  He
wasn't surprised to see all three in a state of uncontrollable weeping.
He'd known the feeling himself once.  Major Hobbs, unseen, turned back
around and didn't look back again.

Chapter Ten

Games, Games and More Games

Mr. Lucas slowly guided his helicopter into its revetment and gently sat
it down.  Remaining seated, the three passengers waited for the ship to
completely shut down.  Fatigue had taken its toll and it wasn't until
the hospital people had removed Mr. Mace, that they slowly climbed out.

Athia tied down the rotor blades, Gillett pulled the guns and the two
pilots finished the log book and then climbed out.  Major Hobbs stood on
one side of the chopper and watched as Mr. Mace was removed. He, along
with everyone else, just stood there quietly while Mace's body was
placed in a black rubber bag and removed to the waiting truck. Major
Hobbs, the ranking officer, was the one who broke the silence.

"Well, gentlemen.  You can't stand there all night.  The CO has the mess
sergeants fixing you supper right now and it should be ready by now.
There's a company formation at 2200 hours in the E.M. Club and I'm sure
that at least one of you is on the promotion list that'll be announced
then."

Jim was surprised to see it was only a quarter after nine.

Kenny arrived with the platoon truck and everyone climbed in for the
ride back.  Wright and Jim locked up their M16's, washed their hands and
faces and put on a clean shirt before heading for the mess hall.  On the
way, they were greeted by several of the guys who wanted to congratulate
them and just say, "Welcome back!"  Once at the mess hall, they were
instructed to go over to the officers' side to eat.  The mess sergeant
had fixed them a good meal: roast beef, brown gravy, mashed potatoes,
peas, fresh rolls and coffee.  The servings were ample and both men were
eager to dig in.  Jim, unsure where to sit, waited for Wright to finish
filling his plate so they could walk to a table together.  It was Major
Hobbs who pointed at the empty chairs at his table and said, "Hey, you
two, sit down over here!"

The officers' side of the mess hall was the same as the enlisted men's
with two long tables placed end to end, and sixteen chairs total at each
table.  All the chairs were placed on the table tops upside down for the
KP's to sweep and mop the floor, except the ones at the Major's table.
Jim looked at Wright as though to say, "Are we really supposed to eat
with those officers?"  Wright shrugged his shoulders and proceeded to
their table, taking the open chair on Mr. Walker's left, which forced
Jim to sit on his right.  They were now seated facing Colonel Appleton
and Major Hobbs, who made the expected small talk trying to put the
enlisted men at ease.  After telling about their day, and having nearly
finished their meals, both Jim and Wright felt more comfortable.  It was
at that point Colonel Appleton asked, "Mac, why did you blow your ship?"

Jim looked directly into the Colonel's eyes.  He couldn't believe he was
being asked that question.  Surely the answer was obvious. "Well, Sir, I
didn't think I had any other choice.  Mr. Walker told me you had given
him an order not to leave the scrambler behind.  I was in the process of
removing it when Mr. Mace got hit.  Once he went down, we had one less
man to share the load, plus Mr. Mace to carry.

"I just didn't think the three of us could carry two M60's, two M16's, a
scrambler, Mr. Mace and the ammo.  It was a split second decision I made
because I thought it was better than leaving it for the VC."

"Specialist, did Mr. Walker order you to blow your ship?"

"No, Sir."

"You just took it upon yourself to do it?"  Jim was still staring into
the Colonel's eyes.  "Yes, Sir."

"My problem, Specialist, is that I have to account for each and every
one of those choppers.  Believe me, you have no idea how much paperwork
I've got to do because you fragged that helicopter.  And, speaking of
frags, where did you get them?"

Jim turned to Major Hobbs and started to chuckle.  Almost at once, his
eyes moved back to the Colonel.  "Specialist, I don't know what you find
so funny, or do you just find everything funny?"

The smile on Jim's face disappeared, and his voice became serious. "Sir,
there was nothing about the last twelve hours that I found funny." The
Colonel paused for several seconds before he spoke again.  "So, where
did you get the frags?"

Jim was in trouble and he knew it.  If he admitted to having the
grenades in his ship, he was guilty of disobeying the CO's order to
remove all the frags from the helicopters.  If he lied, the CO would
know it.  The Colonel wasn't stupid, he knew where those frags came
from.  If he refused to answer, the CO would just order him to tell and
then he would be right back where he was; lie, tell the truth, or refuse
to obey the Colonel's order.  The two men held each other's eyes, yet
without malice.  It was more a sizing up for both of them.

"Colonel, what do you want me to do, lie to you?  I could tell you the
grunts left them in the helicopter before we dropped them off.  But
you're not stupid and you're not going to believe that.  And
furthermore, I'm not in the habit of lying and I'm not about to start
now."

"Mac, I want to hear you say it."

Jim knew he was back in the Colonel's good graces or he would never have
addressed him as, 'Mac.'

"Sir, I kept four in my storage compartment for just such an emergency."

"Four!  Where are the other two?"

Jim reached in his pocket and pulled out two remaining grenades and the
one smoke grenade.  He placed all three on the table directly in front
of the CO.  "Right here, Sir."  As the CO slowly shook his head, Jim
glanced at Major Hobbs from the corner of his eye.  The Major was
sitting there with a half smile on his face.  Jim put the last bite of
roast beef in his mouth, as the Colonel cleared his throat.
"MacLaughlin, you really enjoy living on the edge, don't you?  That's
why you fly all those night missions, you just enjoy living on the edge!
I mean, you've been on the verge of trouble ever since you joined this
company.  First, you had problems with the maintenance officer.  What
was it you told him to his face, 'He didn't know what he was talking
about?"  You came close to getting it on that one, the only thing that
saved your ass was that it turned out you were right.  Then there was
Mr. Halsey.  You couldn't just let it go, no, you had to turn him in for
what was it again, 'falseflying records and flying too low?"  He's been
on your back ever since, and it's hurt the company as a result.  You two
have got to stop carrying on your own private little war.  I'll tell you
right now, Specialist, it stops and it stops now!"

"Sir, I had nothing to do with last night."

In a slightly tense voice the Colonel continued, "I know that, but the
two of you agitating each other constantly precipitated it.  Now, you
have disobeyed a direct order from your commanding officer to remove all
the fragmentation grenades from the helicopters.  You blew up a
helicopter worth about a half a million dollars without being ordered to
do so, plus an M60 against your officer's orders, I might add, plus
ammo, plus radios, plus a scrambler!  Do you have any idea how hard it
is to get a scrambler unit?  You know, of course, I could make you pay
for that helicopter and everything in it!  But you also know you're
right on that edge again.  Just a little bit one way or the other, I
could push you right off!  I'll give you this much, you've always got
your ass covered!  Okay, you get away with it one more time but so help
me, don't show up in my office in any kind of trouble ever again!  One
more thing, if there are any medals passed out for this day's
activities, you won't be getting any.  That's the trade off.
Understood?"

"Yes, Sir."

The Colonel looked at his watch and then back at the three men seated
across from him.  "I see you men are finished with your meals and it is
nine fifty-five.  We'd better head on over to the E.M. Club."

Colonel Appleton stood, followed by everyone else.  He took his hat from
the table behind him and looked back at Jim.  "Specialist, you're a good
crew chief and if I'm ever shot down, I hope you're with me, but I just
can't allow enlisted men to make the decision to blow up a helicopter.
Worst of all, you disobeyed my orders about the frags. Now, you're going
to get away with it because of the way things turned out.  But you damn
well better pass the word, I'm going to personally check each of those
helicopters and any crew chief who has frags on his ship loses a stripe,
understood?"

"Yes, Sir!  About the cost of that helicopter, Sir?"  For the first time
Colonel Appleton smiled, "Oh, you don't have to pay for it, you made the
right decision-this time!"  Pointing his finger at Jim, Appleton
continued, "Mac, climb off that edge before you get knocked off."

As everyone followed the CO out, Major Hobbs took Jim's arm, "Mac, I'd
like to speak to you alone."  The Major waited until everyone else was
out the door before he spoke, "Mac, I'm going to make you an offer
you're going to love, I'll send Halsey to another company if you give me
the name of the person who fragged him last night."

"Sir, do you think I know who did it?"

"Probably not yet, but you will before too long and when you do, I want
him.  Do we have a deal?"

"How soon after I rat will Mr. Halsey be gone?"

"I'll have him out of here in a week's time, and don't call it ratting
call it maintaining military discipline."

"Will Mr. Halsey know why he's being shipped out?"

"Do you want him to?"

"Sure!"

"Okay, I'll even let you be there when I tell him if you want, do we
have a deal?"

"If you'll get him off my back until I find out who did it, sure, you
got a deal."

Hobbs laughed, "You drive a hard bargain How much more do you want?"

"That's all."

"well, I can't guarantee that but I'll tell you what I will do. I'll
talk to Mr. Halsey and tell him I think it's time for this silliness to
stop, and I'll try to impress upon him that I mean it."

"Major, can I ask you a question?"

"Sure."

"Sir, why does the Colonel hate my guts?"  With a look of surprised
disbelief the Major replied, "He doesn't hate you at all, quite the
contrary.  If he hated you, he'd be busting you to PFC instead of
promoting you to an E-5."

Jim looked up with surprise, "I'm really on the promotion list?"

"Yep!"

"In that case, I'd better get over there or I'll be in trouble for
missing my promotion."

Major Hobbs laughed and opened the door motioning Jim out.  Once
outside, Major Hobbs put his left hand on Jim's right shoulder.  "Mac,
Colonel Appleton told Mr. Walker he could go on R & R as soon as that
channel opened back up, which will probably be ten days to two weeks. By
that time I should have made AC.  Would it be all right with you if I
flew AC in your ship while Mr. Walker's gone?"

"It would be fine with me, Sir.  In fact, I'm honored that you even
asked me instead of just doing it."

"Oh, I realize I'm not the most popular person around here right now,
and it's not going to get a lot better."

"Why do you want to fly with me, Sir?"

"Because you're good and I like your personality.  You know the
difference between an officer and an NCO, which you'll be shortly, and
you'll talk to me without pulling any punches.  I like that and respect
an enlisted man who can carry it off, in a respectable manner, of
course.  I like the way you handled yourself with that Halsey thing and
the way you handled yourself when shot down.  You've got a set of balls
all right.  Just out of curiosity, how come you don't mind flying with
me?  I have to be on all the E.M.'s lists by now."

'As a matter of fact, Sir, you are about one step below Mr. Halsey.
Nobody likes the idea of painting rocks or putting the cargo doors back
on the choppers.  I mean, it's a real pain to unhook the ammo belts so I
can shut the door and put fuel in the chopper, or get into the engine
compartment, or the storage area."  Jim could tell from the look on the
Major's face it was time to stop on that subject.

"You didn't answer me, Mac.  How come you don't mind flying with me?"

"Because with your rank you're only going to fly lead or trail. Those
are the two spots in the flight that are never sent on single ship
missions after the flight is released.  As a result, I'll be able to
finish my post flight inspection earlier and maybe get a little more
sleep."  Jim opened the club house door and followed the Major in.  The
place was crammed with all the officers and enlisted men in the company;
there was hardly enough room to stand, let alone walk, so Jim simply
followed the Major towards the stage at the west end.  Colonel Appleton
had already started handing out the promotions and was in the process of
shaking Gillett's hand, along with two other men.  All three had
obviously just been promoted to Staff Sergeant.  With promotion orders
in hand they stepped off the stage leaving only the CO.  As they climbed
off, the First Sergeant climbed up.  From a sheet of paper in his hand,
he read the names of all the men being promoted to E-5.  Jim, whose name
was about halfway down the list, quickly joined the others on stage.

Happy didn't describe how Jim felt.  He was elated!  He'd finally been
promoted to Specialist E-5.  Sp/5 meant a lot of things besides the
obvious increase in pay.  It meant no more K.P., no more guard duty,
other than the possibility of sergeant of the guard and that was an easy
job and only pulled about once a year.  It meant no more crummy details
like filling sand bags or burning shit.  Officers, and for that matter
most everyone, treated a Sp/5 with considerable more respect than a Sp/4
and that would be nice.  It also meant he'd be able to get away with a
lot more as a Sp/5, things he wouldn't even try as a Sp/4.  Plus, he'd
be an NCO.  That did sound good to him-Jim MacLaughlin, a non
commissioned officer.  He'd almost forgotten that meant he'd be able to
get into the NCO side of the E.M. Club, where he could buy hard liquor.
He was only twenty years old and he'd be drinking whisky when guys who
were twenty one or older couldn't if they weren't E-5's.  Colonel
Appleton stepped in front of Jim, who was already standing at attention.
The CO held out his hand to shake Jim's, than handed him a copy of his
promotion orders and said, "Congratulations, Mac!"

"Thank you, Sir."

The CO and Jim saluted, then Colonel Appleton turned to the next man in
line.  Once the Colonel had completed handing out the E/5 promotions,
those men were released and everyone else being promoted had their names
read off by the First Sergeant.  Everyone from E/2 to Sp/4 was lumped
together and quickly handed their promotion orders.

Once the CO was finished, he asked that all the new E-5's meet him in
the NCO side of the club-he was buying.  There was monumental confusion
as people tried to leave and others tried to make their way to the
just-opened bar.  Others, like Jim, were trying to make their way
through the NCO doorway.  Once in the NCO side of the club, Jim didn't
know quite what to do, so he stood along one wall looking around.  It
was a fair sized room with several small tables where people were
already seated.  There was a great deal of activity as men moved from
table to table, and some were just looking for a place to sit.  Others
just enjoyed talking to several people and moved from table to table.
The wall to his left housed the bar itself, behind which was the usual
display of bottles and glasses.  There was one American GI tending bar
who Jim recognized as having come to Tay Ninh with him from Bear Cat.
He'd heard that during the day two fairly attractive Vietnamese girls
tended bar.  The thing that held his attention most was the silk
parachute used as a ceiling adornment.  Major Hobbs was standing at the
bar trying to get everyone's attention and for the first time Jim
realized how smokey and noisy it was.

"May I have your attention please...thank you...thank you.  Just in case
somebody doesn't know me yet, I'm Major Hobbs, your new XO.  I'd like to
congratulate all of you who were promoted tonight and be the first to
buy all of you a drink.  Barkeep, the first round's on me for everyone
who just got promoted."

Jim felt a hand on his arm and turned to see Gillett standing there.
"Mac, you stink!"

"No kidding!  What did you expect?  I've had a hell of a day and haven't
had a chance to shower and change yet."

"So I understand.  I can't wait to hear all about it!  Come on, let's go
get our free-beer.  What are you drinking?"

"I don't know, beer I guess."

"Beer!  You have to be kidding.  Mac, you're not going to drink beer
anymore!  I want you to get a Jack Daniels Black and Coke.  In fact,
since the Major's buying, you should buy a bottle and keep it here
behind the bar."

"I'll tell you what, I'll try the Jack Daniels and Coke, but I get the
feeling I've got a friend in Major Hobbs, so I'm not about to pull a
stupid trick like sticking the man for the price of a whole bottle." The
two men made their way to the bar and Gillett ordered a bottle of Jack
Daniels and a can of Coke.  Jim stuck to a single drink of Jack and Coke
and followed Gillett to a table where Mr. Walker, Mr. Euclid, Hunter and
Athia were seated.  Congratulations were passed all around along with
inquiries about their day.  Several comments were made about the way
Walker and Jim smelled and looked, followed by a general discussion
about what it was like to spend the day running from Charlie while
carrying a dead man.  Their table seemed to be one of the main centers
of attention, with several officers stopping by to shake hands with Jim,
Walker, and Gillett.

It was Major Hobbs who moved most of the flight crews out by getting
everyone's attention and then giving final congratulations to all those
newly promoted.  He then announced that he had to fly tomorrow along
with several others in the room, and it would be a good idea to get some
sleep.

Once the flyers had left, there were only about a dozen guys remaining.
Walker, Gillett and Jim remained at their table only because they knew
the line at the urinal would be immense.

"Well, Gillett, I'll tell you this, you were right about the Jack
Daniels, this stuff is nice."

"Mac, would I steer you wrong?  I'll even make you a deal.  Since the
Major was nice enough to buy the bottle, I'll share it with you two if
you'll buy the Coke."

"That sounds like a good deal to me."

Since the bar was empty it didn't take him long to get back. "Sorry,
Gillett, they're out of Coke so I had to choose between Pepsi and root
beer."

Gillett looked at the can in Jim's hand, half afraid he'd be holding
root beer.  "Well, I'm glad to see you made the right choice. While I'm
thinking about it, Mac, I want to give you these since I won't be
needing them any longer."  Gillett reached up to his collar, unsnapped
the Sp/5 insignias and handed them to Jim.  Genuinely pleased, Jim
pinned the insignia onto his collar in place of his Sp/4.

"Thanks, Gillett, I really appreciate this."

"You're welcome."

Walker poured the last of the Pepsi into his glass and with a puzzled
look said, "I'd like to know something, Mac, what's with you and Hobbs?"

"I don't know, I guess the guy just plain likes me.  Why?"

"I don't know for sure, but before you got to the mess hall tonight, the
Major pumped me for everything I knew about you.  From the questions and
comments he made, he'd obviously looked your 201 file over very
carefully."

"What did he want to know?"

"It's hard to say, but my guess is he wants to know why you do the
things you do.  If you know the risks and do them anyway, or if you're
just too stupid to know better."

"I'm too stupid to know better."

"I'm sure that's what you'd like everyone to think and there are times
when you do a real good job of playing that part!  That little act has
probably kept you out of a lot of trouble, but there's nothing stupid
about you.  You always know exactly what you're doing and all the
possible consequences.  Nobody knows that better than the three of us
sitting here, right, Gillett?"  Gillett nodded, "I think there are
others who know it or he wouldn't have gotten promoted.  But you're
right about Major Hobbs, he's after something.  He was asking me a bunch
of questions about Mac earlier today."

"Well, he must not dislike me too much or he wouldn't have asked me to
fly with him when you go on R & R, Mr. Walker."

"I'm not going on R & R for a couple weeks.  Appleton said tonight in
the mess hall that I would be the first person to go but that won't be
for a while."

Gillett took a swig from the bottle of Jack, handed it to Jim and said,
"Maybe he's decided he wants you as his crew chief."

Jim shook his head but Gillett continued, "Just think about it, in about
a month Appleton rotates home and Hobbs is the new CO.  He'll be flying
C and C ship and will need a crew chief."  Looking at Mr. Walker,
Gillett continued, "Why else would he be so interested in sending you on
R & R?"  In two weeks he should've made AC and you'll be gone so Mac has
the choice of flying with every loose pilot in the company or with him.
You're gone a week and by the time you get back Mac's learned all the
benefits of flying with the CO, and bingo, he's only too happy to stay
with Hobbs!"

"You know you're just about right; I know he was really impressed with
the way he handled himself last night.  Hobbs told me this morning he
had to bite his tongue to keep from laughing when Mac asked Halsey to
smell his armpit, or something like that!"

Jim and Gillett exchanged glances and broke out laughing remembering the
moment.  Jim, who, like Gillett, was now drinking straight from the
bottle of Jack, took another gulp.  "I think you're both crazy!  He has
to know I'd never quit flying with Mr. Walker."

Walker looked Jim in the eye, "Listen to me!  If you get the chance to
fly as the CO's chief, you'd better grab it."

"Why?  I don't want to spend the rest of my time flying in circles at
thirty-five hundred feet!"

"It would be a lot better than getting shot at all the time or flying
all those night missions."

"But I like flying night missions."

"Do you have any idea what the casualty rate on those single ship night
missions is?"

"Zero for me, I've gone down lots of times but never on a night
mission."

"You're lucky, that's all."

"Divine protection."

"Look, it's irrelevant.  What's important is you keep flying all of them
and you're dead.  With Hobbs, you're out of it; you get more time off,
you'll fly less hours, you'll get back to base before anyone else and
you'll get first class service from maintenance.  Further, if you won't
do it for yourself, do it for me.  If Hobbs asks you to crew for him and
you say no, he could send me to the guns or to another company."

"Hey, there are a lot of pilots who would give their left nut to be in
the guns, besides we're just guessing anyway.  Hobbs could have
something entirely different in mind."

"Mac, if you could go to the guns, would you?"

"No, I like flying slicks.  Besides, I'm too lazy to fly guns, they're
just too much work."

"Ditto!  But you're right.  He might not ever ask.  I've got to pee. See
you two in the morning."

Jim took another swig from the bottle and handed it to Gillett who did
the same.  Once Walker had left, Jim felt it was safe to tell Gillett
about Major Hobbs' proposition.  "Gillett, just between you and me, I
think you're probably right about Hobbs.  He offered me quite a deal on
the way over here tonight.  Basically, if I turn in the guy who's
responsible for fragging Halsey, he'll ship Halsey out to another
company."

Gillett looked shocked, "You kidding me?"

"No."

"What are you going to do?"

"I don't know for sure."

"Have you told Green?"

"No and I'm not going to.  In fact, I haven't told anyone but you and I
don't think I will either.  If Halsey finds out, he'll go crazy.
Gillett, tell me something, will you?  Why does he want me?  I know I'm
good at my job but no better than most of the guys in this company. And,
I'm always closing in on trouble.  So why me?"

"I don't know, Mac.  The only person who does is Hobbs.  If he ever does
ask, and we might be jumping the gun, before you say yes, ask him-why
you?"

They both heard it at the same time-the unmistakable scream of a 122MM
rocket.  Both men jumped under the table as someone in the background
yelled, "Incoming'?  It only lasted a couple of minutes, but everyone
stayed under their tables for several minutes more.  Finally, after the
first person stood up, everyone else followed.  Jim looked over at
Gillett who was still holding his bottle.

"Mac, you want this last swallow?"

Jim shook his head and said, "No, thanks.  My stomach really doesn't
feel too good.  I think I'm going to go take a leak and go to bed."

Gillett smiled a knowing smile.  "Wait a minute and I'll go with you!"
Jim stood and watched as Gillett downed the last of his Jack Daniels.

Jim's stomach was feeling progressively worse.  The fall he took going
down the club's steps didn't help any.  Fortunately, it was a short walk
from the enlisted men's club to the urinals.  He was so drunk he
couldn't stand without holding himself up.  Yet walking didn't seem to
be any real problem, though his head kept going around in circles and
things looked a bit fuzzy.

"Mac, can you get to the hooch okay without me?"

"Sure, Gillett.  You know, I've never been this drunk in my life and I'm
never going to be again.  I feel terrible."

"Well, look on the bright side, you don't have to fly tomorrow."

"Does that mean I have to stand formation in the morning?"  Gillett
laughed, "No, I'll cover for you, go to bed.  I've got to run out the
few guys who do have to fly and are still in the club."

Gillett turned and headed up the steps of the E.M. club and Jim headed
on to the hooch.  He was only a few steps from the pallet used as a
bridge across the drainage ditch when Kenny bumped into him.  He almost
fell over but somehow managed to maintain his balance.  "I didn't see
you.  Where'd you come from, Kenny?"

"The club."  Kenny had positioned himself in such a way that Jim
couldn't cross the pallet.

"Hey, Kenny, get out of my way!"

"To hell with you, MacLaughlin, just because you made E-5 tonight
doesn't mean you can push people around."

"Kenny, you're drunk."

"So are you.  So what are you going to do about it!"  Jim was making
every effort to be as alert as possible.  Something told him Kenny was
working up enough courage to take a swing at him.

"And I'll tell you one more time; keep away from my monkey!"

"Kenny, you and your monkey can both go to hell for all I care. Besides,
what are you going to do about it if I don't?"

"How about busting you in the face for starters?"

"You're drunk, go to bed!"

Jim knew exactly what Kenny was going to do as he watched him make the
exaggerated motion with his right arm.  Jim's mind flashed with all the
moves he'd been taught as a high school wrestler and later refined
without the rules, by the army.  Kenny's right arm had swung behind his
back and started forward with fist clinched.  Jim raised his left arm
with open hand and caught Kenny's blow.  His right hand came up and
caught Kenny's armpit at the same time his left hand slid up Kenny's arm
and grabbed his wrist.  Then, pivoting on his left foot, he turned, bent
over, bumped Kenny with his hip, pulled his arm down and flipped Kenny
over his shoulder.

Kenny landed with a jar which hurt him physically as much as it did his
pride.  It had all taken place in a matter of seconds and Kenny hadn't
even landed yet when Jim vomited.  Jim straightened up only to jerk
forward once more, spewing chunks of his supper and slimy Jack Daniels
all over Kenny's chest and stomach.  Jumping up as quickly as possible,
Kenny lowered his head and charged like a bull.  Jim stepped to his left
and stuck out his right foot, tripping Kenny; who then fell in the
drainage ditch.  Jim vomited one last time and turned to where Kenny
lay.  "Kenny, I'm sick, could we finish this tomorrow?  I promise. You
let me go to bed and we can finish this tomorrow if you want.  I just
really don't feel like fighting you right now."

Kenny picked himself up out of the ditch and looked down at the vomit
all over his front.  Somewhat dejectedly he said, "I think you'd better
go on to bed before I end up with vomit down my back as well. I'll tell
you one thing I've learned, I'm never getting in a fight with a drunk
again!"  Jim took off his shirt as he entered the hooch and wiped his
face with it.  Fortunately, he hadn't gotten any on himself. He sat down
on the edge of his bunk, took off his boots and lay down. His head and
stomach were still spinning, but feeling much better after having
vomited, he was soon asleep.

Chapter Eleven

Situation Ethics

The first thing Jim was aware of was someone shouting in the background.
Then he realized how much his head hurt and his lips were swollen and
dried out.  Next his brain became aware of a mouth full of cotton and,
finally, opening his eyes, he had trouble focusing.

"Mac, come on, wake up, get up!"

Jim slowly sat up on the edge of his bed, holding his head with both
hands.  He looked up and to his right at Gillett standing beside his
bunk.  "Welcome to the world of the living, Mac!"

"You don't have to shout, Gillett!  Besides, you said I didn't have to
fly this morning."

"I'm not shouting and you didn't go with the flight.  It's ten o'clock."
Jim looked down at his watch, Gillett was right.  He felt terrible and
something stunk.  All he wanted to do was lie back down. As he started
to fall backwards, Gillett spoke and reached out, grabbing Jim's
shoulder.  "Oh, no you don't, get back up and go take a shower. You
stink!  Now that you're an E-5, you can go in the mess hall any time."

At 11:15 the courier ship is supposed to land here and you're going to
be on it along with Walker and Wright."  Jim looked up questioningly.
"You're supposed to pick up a Huey from Depot at Vung Tau.  You got it?"
Jim slowly nodded his head.  "Mac, you really tied one on last night.
How do you feel?"

"Like shit!"

"Well, you smell like it, too.  Go get in the shower.  Kenny just filled
it up."  Jim watched Gillett walk out the door before starting to strip.
For the first time, he saw Mr. Mace's dried blood, now an ugly blackish
color, caked on his legs, shoulder and arm.  Looking at the blood, he
felt only a moment's sadness for Mr. Mace.  Realizing how close he'd
come to death himself, he decided to be thankful he was alive and not to
think about Mr. Mace anymore.  Jim put on his flip flops, and had just
finished wrapping a towel around himself when Gillett walked in holding
a cup of coffee.

"Here, drink this.  It'll make you feel better!"

"Gillett, thanks, but I really don't think I could drink anything right
now."

Gillett pushed the cup forward and said, "Drink it!"  Jim took the cup
and drank it in two gulps.  "Gillett, I swear to God and anybody who'll
listen, I'm never going to get that drunk again as long as I live."
Gillett laughing said, "Sure, Mac, at least until tonight."

"No, I'm serious.  I may get a little tipsy, but never totally wiped
out, stoned-ass drunk again."  Jim picked up his shower bag and headed
for the shower.  The water was still cold, so he didn't spend any more
time than necessary.  Once showered and dressed in clean fatigues, he
felt a lot better.  He still had almost an hour before meeting the
courier ship, so he decided to go declare his losses from yesterday to
supply.  Supply was nothing more than a big hooch.  The first thing he
saw once inside was a long counter top with various types of clothing
piled on top.  There was conversation coming from the shelving just
behind the counter.

"Anybody home?"

"Be with you in a minute."

The conversation stopped and Jim waited for more than his minute.
Finally, a large, overweight staff sergeant with his gut hanging over
his belt buckle approached, "What can I do for you?"

"My name's, MacLaughlin.  I was shot down yesterday and I lost some
stuff when my Huey caught on fire."

"From what I heard, you blew it up; it didn't catch on fire!"

"Does it make any difference, Sarge?"

"Not as far as I'm concerned.  I've got your records right here. What
did you lose?"

"How did you know I'd be in?  For that matter, how did you know about my
ship?"

"Mr. Walker and I just finished pulling inventory on Mr. Mace's gear and
boxing his personal belongings for shipment home.  In fact, that's what
I was doing when you came in, putting his gear back in stock."

Jim looked at his watch and decided he'd better get on with it. "Okay.
Well, let's see.  I lost my ballistics helmet, field jacket, flight
gloves, five magazines for my M16, one baseball cap, canteen and my big
water jug-I don't know what you would call it, it held five or eight
gallons of water and had a bottom spigot."

"Okay, I know- what you mean, but I don't have any more in stock and
probably won't get any for a while.  What else?"

"All my tools."

"You're out of luck there, also."

"You're kidding, how am I supposed to fix anything?"

"Well, you won't have to worry about that until you get a ship. Then I
guess you'll just have to borrow, what else?"

"I guess that's it."

"Be right back."  The staff sergeant walked off with paper in hand.
Shortly, he returned with an arm load of items to replace what Jim had
lost.  "Here you are, Mac, everything but the water jug and tools,
including tool box.  Try the helmet on and see if it fits."  It did.
Shoving the receipt form in front of Jim, the sergeant said, "Sign on
the line!"

Jim signed, picked up the gear laying on the countertop and walked out.
From the supply room, he went to his hooch and put the gear in his wall
locker and headed for the mess hall.  It was now Five minutes before
eleven and Jim figured he didn't have a chance of getting anything to
eat.  But then, nothing ventured, nothing gained.  Once inside he looked
around until he saw a mess sergeant.  "Hey, Sarge, I've got an
eleven-fifteen flight to Vung Tau.

Could I get an early lunch?"

"Oh, I think we can fix something up for you.  I just wish you'd given
me more time.  I'll tell you what, Sarge, about the best I can do for
you is heat up some C-rations real quick."

"That would be fine."  Jim got a cup of coffee and sat down.  It wasn't
long before the mess sergeant hollered, "Hey, Sarge, here's your lunch;
potato cakes, peas, with beans and weenies."

Jim picked up a plate, "Thanks a lot, Sarge, I really appreciate it."

"You're welcome, Sarge, have a good flight and you had better hurry."

Jim ate quickly, thanked the mess sergeant again on his way out and
returned to his hooch, where he picked up his M16 pistol belt, flight
gloves and helmet.  On his way to operations, he took a detour through
maintenance.  There he found a roll of gray tape used to temporarily
patch bullet holes in rotor blades.  In less than a minute he had taped
three M16 magazines together, two down and one up, and slammed the
single magazine home in his M16.  He thanked the maintenance crew for
the tape and moved at a brisk pace to operations.

The courier ship was already on the operations pad when Jim got there.
Not seeing Mr. Walker, he went on into the operations bunker just as Mr.
Walker and a second lieutenant were starting out.  Jim could tell the
lieutenant was the courier by the combination lock attache case he had
handcuffed to his left wrist.  The lieutenant was about 5 '10" with dark
hair, eyes and complexion.  He was big boned and Jim figured he weighed
over one hundred eighty pounds.  Like most all couriers, he had an Army
45 on his right hip.  Since Jim was outside headed in, he decided he'd
better salute.  Both Walker and the lieutenant returned his salute, but
it was Walker who had the big smile.

"Cut it a little close didn't you, Mac?"

"Sir, I was told to be here by the time the courier was ready to leave
and here I am."  Jim knew that wasn't quite the truth, but he didn't
feel like being hassled about not being there on time.  After all, the
important thing was not when he got there, only that he was there and
ready to leave before the courier.

"I'm surprised you can even function this morning.  I understand you
really tied one on last night."

"Guilty as charged, Sir."

"How do you feel?"

"Oh, I feel okay after getting cleaned up and having something to eat.
I'm a little sore from carrying Mr. Mace.  But I'll tell you what, I'm
never getting that blown away again.  You know, I've been drunk on beer
before, but never anything close to last night."

"Mac, that's the difference between beer and whiskey.  I kind of figured
you wouldn't feel too good after watching you drink straight from the
bottle."

The three climbed on board, joining Wright who had been there waiting.
The Huey engine picked up speed and soon they were airborne. Jim knew
there wouldn't be any conversation because of the flight noise, so he
leaned back in his seat and watched the scenic view below.

Heading south, they would follow Highway 22 to Go Dau Ha, where they
would pick up Highway One to Saigon, from Saigon they'd probably pick up
Highway 15 just outside Bien Hoa, and follow it to Vung Tau.

Jim had flown courier flights several times before their company had
been changed to an all combat assault unit.  He'd always enjoyed flying
courier because they went to every outpost that had a landing pad and
some that didn't.  After all, how else was the military to get their
important papers from one post to another?  Jim's hope now was that Tay
Ninh would be their last stop before lunch.  If it wasn't, it could take
a long time to get to Vung Tau; if it was, they'd probably head straight
for Saigon to eat lunch.  Afterward, the courier ship would head back
out and spend most of the afternoon flying more papers.

Jim was right about Tay Ninh being the courier's last stop before lunch.
Heading south, the jungle, green and lush around Tay Ninh, quickly
turned to rice paddies outside Go Dau Ha.  There was an occasional
farmer working his rice paddy as they flew overhead.  Twice he saw
farmers working their water buffalo.  Jim laughed to himself as he
remembered eating water buffalo once in a fancy restaurant in Saigon. He
and three other guys had paid perfectly good money for the most terrible
steaks they'd ever eaten.  To say it was strong and tough would be a
major understatement.  Catsup helped the flavor, but he couldn't cut it
thin enough to help the toughness.

It wasn't long until they landed at Hotel Three and the three Blackhawks
headed for the Operations room.  Mr. Walker got them a ride on a chinook
leaving in ten minutes for Vung Tau.  Once outside, they found a shady
spot and sat down to wait.

"Wright, have you ever been to Tay Ninh?"

"Nope."

"How about you, Mr. Walker?"

"I've flown in and out of it, but never done any walking around. How
about you, Mac?"

"Yeah, I've been there several times.  When I was in the 191st, my
maintenance crew won an in-country R & R at Vung Tau."

"You're kidding me?"

"No."

"Man, you're just full of surprises!  Well come on, tell us all about
it."

"Okay.  They were having trouble getting aircraft out of maintenance, so
the maintenance officer decided to give the crew who completed the most
jobs in thirty days a trip to Vung Tau.  Oh, yeah, to get credit, the
aircraft had to pass inspection the first time.  The guy I had for a
crew leader was really good; he was on his second tour of duty in
country, so he knew what he was doing.  He said right to begin with that
we were going to win it and we did.  Don Sunday was his name.

"Our crew was also the recovery crew.  If a ship went down, they sent us
to fix it or rig it to be sling-loaded home by a Chinook.  You know, I
haven't thought about that crew for some time.  I was on K.P. one day
when the crew went out.  For some reason, they couldn't find me so they
got someone else to take my place.  Everybody in that helicopter was
killed."  The others just sat there with blank looks on their faces. "I
guess that's one reason I believe in divine protection.  Anyway, one of
the guys I came to Tay Ninh with said one of the pilots in this company
found Don's ship shortly after we came to Tay Ninh."

"Was it a Boomerang ship?"

"Yeah, why?"

"I was the pilot."

Jim, obviously surprised, looked up, "Now who's full of surprises? Are
you serious?"

"Yeah!  I was just flying alone one day, I don't remember what I was
doing or where I was going.  You know-one of your basic milk runs back
when we were a general purpose company.  Anyway, we were just outside of
Blackhorse when I thought I saw a helicopter crash down in the trees. So
I circled around-you had to fly over it just right to see it-but there
it was.  I could make out a Boomerang on the nose so I radioed Saigon to
see if the Boomerangs had lost a ship.  Sure enough, about three months
before, their maintenance ship had gone down and they never found it.
They happened to be working in the area so they came and got the
skeletons, which I understand, was all that was left."

"Had they been shot down or what?"

"I really don't know, Mac.  I heard that they'd hit with enough impact
that the pilots' seats had been ripped out of the floor.  The pilots
were still strapped in and they found the passengers some distance away.
From the way that chopper was busted up, it had to hit those trees well
over red line.  My guess, and it's just a guess, is they got caught in a
monsoon and were blown into those trees.  But who knows, their
transmission could have frozen for any one of several reasons including
a bullet hole letting out the oil."  Mr. Walker shrugged his shoulders
and continued, "That's all I know, Mac.  I'm sorry I don't have more
information."

"Did Charlie find them?"

"Mac, I just finished telling you, I don't know!  I don't even remember
if they found their weapons."

"I wonder why it didn't blow?"

"Who knows, maybe they were about out of fuel.  Besides, not every Huey
that crashes, burns."

"That's true."

"I'm sorry, Mac."

"Hey, don't be.  I know more now than I did before.  You know, Mr.
Walker, one of the things I don't understand now is, I was on the
serving line that night in the mess hall.  When our First sergeant came
through he was really surprised to see me, since he thought I was dead.
He had me leave the serving line right then, much to the annoyance of
the mess sergeant and report to the company commander, who was in the
process of writing the letter home to my parents.  Now, what I don't
understand is, how did he know they were dead?"

"I don't know, what time of day did they go down?"

"Early morning."

"Maybe they'd been lost without contact long enough, I just don't know!"

Wright spoke for the first time.  "So tell us about Vung Tau!"

"There's not much to tell.  We went down on the maintenance ship early
one morning.  Don had been there before, so he took us to a motel he
knew about, named, The Thunderbird.  We each got a room and spent the
rest of the day on the beach."

In unison Wright and Walker said, "On the beach!"

"Yeah, there's a pretty nice beach area where you can swim and just lie
around.  Then that evening, we went to a fancy hotel for dinner and had
buffalo steaks.  After that, we hit the bars and got picked up on base
the next day about noon."

Walker smiled and said, "Did you ever spend any time on the base?"

"Sure, I used to go with the maintenance ship two or three times a month
to pick up parts."

"Good, then you know right where we're going."

"Sure, I've been there several times, it's not hard to find."

"How about passenger pick up area, do you know where that is?"

"Sure, we used to give guys rides out of Vung Tau all the time as long
as it was on our way.  Why?"

"We're supposed to have a Lieutenant Carson waiting for a ride back to
Tay Ninh."

"We getting a new pilot?"

"I don't think so.  We're supposed to deliver him straight to
Headquarters at Tay Ninh.  So I don't think he's a pilot."

"Mr. Walker, do you know what he looks like?"  'I have no idea.  I don't
even know if he's black or white."

"Well, it shouldn't be any problem to find him, he's probably waiting at
Operations.  I can show you where to go sign for the Huey, and then I'll
go look for our lieutenant."

The three turned to their left and watched a Chinook land and lower its
back door, which doubles as a cargo ramp.  Out walked several GI's,
including one that still had a flight helmet on.  Mr. Walker approached
the man, figuring him to be the crew chief and asked if he was headed to
Vung Tau.  Receiving a thumbs up sign, Walker motioned for the other two
to join him.  In only minutes they were once again airborne and headed
south.

The inside of a Chinook is like a very noisy, rectangular box. Much of
the super structure is visible, as are hydraulic lines and electrical
lines.  There are fold down seats on either side for passengers to sit
on, and several steel tie down rings in the aluminum floor.  Unlike a
Huey, passengers can't sit and look out the sides because they are
solid, with only a few small windows to look out.  It wasn't long until
they landed at Vung Tau.  Jim showed Mr. Walker and Wright how to find
the maintenance offices, with the understanding that he would join them
with Lieutenant Carson at the helicopter.  Wright was to stand out in
the open so Jim could see him.

It was only a short walk for Jim to the Operations office, and he was
glad.  The sun was directly overhead and it was getting very hot. He
knew Operations was air conditioned so once in the door, he removed his
hat and just stood there cooling off.

Seated on the bench on the far side of the room was a Wac Lieutenant. It
only took one glance to see she was a real knockout of about twenty-four
or five years of age.  She had on a dress uniform, complete with hose
which accentuated a pair of gorgeous legs.  She'd crossed those legs
with her skirt hem resting a good three inches above the knee.  Jim
couldn't help but think, Man, the things I'd like to do with her.  He
decided he'd better quit staring before she looked up from her paperback
book.

Moving over to the counter, he looked for the first time at the staff
sergeant standing there.  In a whisper, the staff sergeant spoke,
"Didn't strain your eyes did you?"

Jim chuckled quietly.  The sergeant continued, "Makes a man wish he was
an officer, doesn't it?"

Jim puckered his lips slowly, blew out some air, closed his eyes and
nodded.  "what can I do for you, Specialist?"

"I'm looking for a Lieutenant Carson."

The sergeant stood up straight and broke into a big grin.  With his eyes
he pointed to the Wac Lieutenant.  It took Jim a moment to recover and
only then did he turn around.  The first thing he looked for was her
collar insignia, which would tell him her job.  It was a gold diamond.
She's in finance?  There aren't any finance people at Tay Ninh!  The
broad is a whore!  Jim was really disappointed, but her beauty still
held him captive.

Jim walked over to the bench and positioned himself only about two feet
from the Lieutenant.  He felt sure she had been aware of him and
probably had checked him out just as he had her.  For one thing, he
didn't remember her turning a page of that book she seemed to be
reading.  He had to admit, she was truly a beautiful woman, even in
military clothing.  One thing he'd learned, if a woman was attractive in
military clothing, she was gorgeous in civilian clothes.  Her short
brown hair had every strand in place and her makeup was perfect.  Unlike
so many Wac's he'd met who either didn't wear any makeup or put so much
on it looked like Indian war paint, hers was truly perfect.

Jim stood there not saying anything, waiting for her to respond to his
presence.  Very slowly and deliberately she raised her head showing a
slight smile.

Lieutenant Carson had been waiting most of the morning for her ride to
Tay Ninh.  Her rear end and back had long ago begun to ache from sitting
on the wooden bench placed against a wall.  She was bored to death with
the wait, and the novel she'd brought along didn't hold her interest.

There'd been a parade of men through that door and with each one she'd
hoped her chariot was parked outside waiting.  Instead, each man ogled.
Some even went so far as to stand and leer.  One, a captain, had even
had the nerve to try to pick her up.  She didn't mind though, she knew
she was very attractive, and in the military she rated higher.  In fact,
she usually got a kick out of the men's reactions.  She had, after all,
worked very hard to perfect her ability to get the reaction from men she
wanted.

When Jim had walked in the door, she'd shifted her eyes to the top of
the page, that way she could watch him without being obvious.  He was
young, but then weren't they all.  He carried an M16, which meant he was
stationed out in the boondocks someplace, and there was the pistol belt
with ammo packs on it.  Of all the guys who had walked through, not more
than a couple had weapons, and none had a pistol belt.  This guy was
either a basic Saigon warrior or the real thing.  Somewhat to her
surprise, he'd removed his hat and placed it under his arm.  Only a few
of the officers had removed their hats while inside.  As he was walking
across the room to the counter, she took the opportunity to look him
over good.  Not bad looking, not great, but not bad, A shame he's only a
Spec-Five, and not the pilot sent to get her.

She moved her eyes back to the book and started to read.  Much to her
surprise, this Spec-Five started to walk towards her, stopping only a
couple feet from her.  This was obviously her ride but she was a
lieutenant and not about to appear anxious.  He just stood there with
his feet slightly apart.  He didn't seem intimidated by her looks or
rank or he would have spoken her name from the counter, not walked over
and stood directly in front of her.  Slowly and very purposefully, she
raised her head to look directly into his eyes.  Dark brown eyes.  It's
too bad it's only in the movies that you can read things in people's
eyes.  His soft boyish smile caused the woman in her to respond instead
of the lieutenant.  I think I'll give him a thrill.

Softly and very pleasantly, she spoke, "Is there anything I can do for
you, Sergeant?"

Jim thought, but didn't say, There is a lot you could do for me, lady!
But something told him she knew exactly what she was saying.  So, in a
slightly deepened voice, Jim replied, "Yes, Ma'am!  And I believe there
is something I can do for you.  My name is, MacLaughlin, but most
everyone calls me, Mac.  I'm with the 187th Assault Helicopter Company
stationed at Tay Ninh.  I understand you need a ride!"

She thought, It is just a shame this one isn't an officer.  It was such
a rarity to meet a man who wasn't intimidated by her looks.  Well, he
wasn't an officer, so she'd just have to take this cocky young Spec-five
down where he belonged.  Without smiling, and in a curt tone, she said,
"You're right, Specialist, I'm waiting for a ride.  Get my bag and let's
go!"

"Yes 'um.  Right away ma'am."

Lieutenant Carson was instantly sorry she'd pulled such a cheap trick.
She could have asked nicely.  For that matter, she probably hadn't even
needed to ask.  He probably would have done it on his own. As it was,
his response made her feel small.  Then there were his eyes.

His soft boyish eyes had in an instant turned hard and mean.  She wasn't
sure whether it was his tone of voice, his eyes, or the M16 he held that
made her feel so slightly threatened.  There wasn't any doubt he'd been
there and back, you could see it in his face, in his eyes. Only an
instant had transpired since her command.  Since he hadn't yet picked up
her bag, she started to stoop to do so when his M16 moved in front of
her, blocking her hand's path.  With his left hand, he picked up the bag
and said softly, "I'll get it, Lieutenant."  Jim was very pleased with
himself.  He'd put just the right inflection in his voice when offering
her a ride to Tay Ninh.  Then she'd barked that command to pick up her
bag; it was almost as though she didn't like the idea that he wasn't
scared to death of her.  What did she expect him to do, stand there with
his knees knocking?  She was beautiful, that was for sure, but he
thought she was also a whore, even if she was a lieutenant.  And if she
wanted to play hardnose with him, he could play, too; even if it was her
game.  When she started to reach for her bag he figured two things:
first it was her way of saying she realized she'd made a mistake;
secondly, she had given him an order and he'd better obey it.

Jim reached down and picked up the small overnight bag, which was
surprisingly light.  He had to smile to himself.  His mother would have
packed the kitchen sink in this thing and it would have weighed a
hundred pounds.  That was the worst thing about going on a vacation,
carrying the bags his mother packed.  Not this bitch though, she
couldn't have more than a toothbrush and negligee in her bag.

He wasn't sure if he had overstepped his bounds with all the
"Lieutenant, Ma'ams" he'd used, so to make amends he had smiled and
said, "I'll get it, Lieutenant."

Lieutenant Carson smiled faintly and replied, "Thank you."  Jim only
nodded and motioned with his M16 for her to lead.  Once out the door,
the heat and humidity hit them full force.  Lieutenant Carson, not sure
where to go, had to wait for Jim.  In fact, she would be following him,
a small but significant role reversal.  Jim watched her fidget as he put
her bag down and placed his hat back on his head.

"May I call you, Mac?"

"I wish you would."

"Mac, where's your helicopter?"

"Lieutenant, I'm not really sure.  Someplace in the maintenance area, I
hope."

"What do you mean, you hope?"

"My helicopter blew up yesterday when I was shot down, so my pilot,
gunner and I were sent here to pick up a new one.

"No copilot?"

"He died of a sucking chest wound and shock and there aren't any other
pilots in the company."

Lieutenant Carson looked at Jim and held his eyes for a full heart beat.
There wasn't any question but what he'd said was fact.

She walked directly to his left and allowed him to set their leisurely
pace.  The maintenance area was a good walking distance away and she,
for some reason, was enjoying his company.  Since he wasn't an officer,
he wouldn't try to get into her pants, and with his self confidence, it
was a good thing he wasn't.

"Lieutenant, what do you know about Tay Ninh?"

"Not a whole lot.  It's supposed to be a good-sized base.  Why?"

"Do you know we get hit with rocket and mortar fire almost every night?
We sleep in bunkers, and the base was partially overrun only a few days
ago.  Tay Ninh is a dirty, dusty hole where people get killed in their
beds!  It's not a nice place to visit."  They walked on in silence for a
while.  "Lieutenant, could I ask why a finance officer is going to Tay
Ninh?  There isn't any finance operation there."

Somewhat embarrassed, she replied, "That's really none of your
business!"

"No, Ma'am, it's not.  I just can't help wondering since there isn't any
finance and you're all dressed up like you're going to your college
R.O.T.C. graduation dance.  Don't misunderstand me, you're my idea of a
truly beautiful woman.  In fact, I hope I end up married to someone who
looks like you.  But somehow I just don't think you belong at Tay Ninh,
let alone dressed like that."

"Specialist, that's enough!"

"Yes, Ma'am!"  They walked a ways further.  "Lieutenant, I don't
understand something.  You could have most any man you want, so why?"

"Specialist, that's enough.  I'm giving you a direct order, just shut up
until we get to your helicopter!  You understand me, Specialist?"

"Yes, Ma'am."  Jim started to laugh as he shook his head.  In a slightly
irritated voice, Lieutenant Carson said, "And just what do you find so
damn funny?"

Jim's thought was, Ah, so, permission to speak, but said, "You. First,
who, besides the two of us have heard this conversation? Secondly,
you're not going to court martial me.  If you do, it would greatly
embarrass you, but more than that it would greatly embarrass the guy
you're meeting."

"You're an insubordinate son of a bitch with a smart mouth.  Just how do
you know I'm not meeting my husband?"

"Because there isn't any wedding ring and any man who really loved you
would never take you to Tay Ninh, not for any reason!"  She just looked
at him.  He was on a roll and decided to make one last push in something
that really wasn't any of his business.  "So what do you get out of it,
Lieutenant, Captain's rank?"

"For a Spec-Five, you've got a smart mouth and a lot of brass that'll
get you in a lot of trouble.  Okay, Mr. Smart Mouth, let me ask you a
question!  Have you been on R & R yet?"  Jim understood her point. "Yes,
Ma'am."

Lieutenant Carson was obviously upset.  "And you're pointing the finger
at me?"

"There's a difference."

"Oh, you bet there is, you're a man and I'm a woman, that's the
difference!"

Jim tried to respond calmly.  "No, the difference is the seller is
considered a cheap, slut-whore.  The buyer, he's considered just a good
old boy and whether it's right or not, that's the way it is, at least in
the military and most of society.  That's the difference, Lieutenant."

Nothing more was said the rest of the way.  Jim spotted Wright and waved
his recognition with the M16 and made a direct path in his direction.
Three helicopters were parked in a row just behind Wright. Mr. Walker
was seated in the cargo doorway of the middle one.

The first thing Jim noticed about the chopper was the First Cav insignia
on the tail boom, the next was the lack of passenger seats or sound
proofing.

"Mr. Walker, Specialist Wright, I'd like you to meet Lieutenant Carson.
Lieutenant Carson, Mr. Walker, my pilot, and my door gunner, Spec Four
Wright."

Jim laughed as both men struggled to regain their composure.  Still
stunned by her beauty, Mr. Walker said, "Lieutenant, you're going to Tay
Ninh?"

"That's right and please save the lecture, I've already had the full
course from your crew chief."

Walker smiled.  "Mac never was one to mince words.  I just want to be
sure you know what you're going to.  Tay Ninh isn't a nice place to
visit.  If you're accustomed to Saigon or Vung Tau, you're in for a real
shock when you reach Tay Ninh."

"Believe me, Mr. Walker, Mac's told me all about it!"  Jim had picked up
the log book and was looking through the various pages.  mr.. Walker, is
this ours?"

"Yep."

"Did you see how many hours this thing has on it?"

"Yes, but I wasn't given a choice.  Besides, I didn't know what I was
getting until I got out here and looked at it.  Is it really flyable?"

"According to the log book it is, it just looks like the devil. It's
been test flown and signed off, but I'll still give it a thorough
preflight inspection.  Major Hobbs will have a hemorrhage when he sees
this thing."

"Well, Mac, what do you want to do?"

"I'll tell you this, I don't want to fly in it.  The log book says it
came in because of structural cracks in the transmission mounts. This
thing has so many hours on it, metal fatigue is going to be a real
problem.  Wright, go over to the maintenance area and find a Specialist
Six named, Dill.  He's the Tech Inspector who signed this crate off.
Tell him your pilot would like to speak with him.  Lieutenant Carson,
you might as well sit down, this is going to take a while.  Mr. Walker,
here's the log book, as I list them, you write 'em up.  Remember each
item gets its own line and don't sign 'em or give anything a status
symbol."

Mr. Walker picked up the log book as Lieutenant Carson gave him a dirty
look and spoke, "Wait just a minute, Specialist.  This man is a Warrant
Officer in the United States Army and is not to..."

Mr. Walker interrupted her by placing his hand on her arm, "Lieutenant,
could I have a word with you, please?"

"Sure."

"Lieutenant, has Mac done something to irritate you personally?"

"As a matter of fact, yes.  He's an insubordinate smartmouth who
disobeyed a direct order I gave him on the way over here."

"Just what did he say to you, and what was the order he disobeyed?"
Lieutenant Carson thought better of going through the whole thing so she
simply replied, "Just forget it, it's not important anyway!  Okay?"

"Whatever you say, Lieutenant.  I just don't think you understand. He
would never be disrespectful to me.  Where he and I have been, you Il
never go, and the things we've done to stay alive while there, you Il
only read about in books or see in the movies.  And furthermore, you
should give thanks to God above you'll never be put to the kind of test
that man has already passed.  Try to understand our relationship.  We're
in combat every day.  We get up in the morning knowing we'll be shot at
that day.  There are times when we just don't have time for military
courtesy.  As a result, a crew chief and his pilot develop an
understanding about a lot of things.  How we talk to each other is just
one of many examples.  Look, if we're going to fly in that helicopter it
better be safe, because I can't pull over to the side of the road and
park until it gets fixed.  Lieutenant, every time I get in a helicopter,
my life depends on that man.  If you fly to Tay Ninh with us, yours
will, too.  From the looks of that chopper, we both better hope Mac
knows what he's' doing.  Sometimes it's necessary for me to help him
with his job and I'm happy to do it.  Do you get my drift, Lieutenant?"

"Yes."  Lieutenant Carson picked up her book and sat down on the crew
chief's seat.

Mr. Walker picked up the log book and walked around the tail boom to
where Jim was checking the tail rotor.  "Find anything serious, Mac?"

"No, Sir, well, at least no one thing.  I've found a whole lot of little
things though that'll keep a crew chief busy for months.  You ready to
start listing?"

"Yep."

"Okay, first item: four bullet hole patches, tail boom left side needs
spot painted O.D.  Same for right side: screws missing from tail boom
inspection panel, two snap openers missing on tail rotor drive shaft
cover, several rivets loose in tail boom on both right and left sides,
all sound proofing missing, passenger seats missing, both cargo doors
missing, both cargo door tracks have excessive wear, both first aid kits
missing, fire extinguishers missing, left pilot seat not safety wired,
magnetic compass missing."  Jim climbed into the pilot's seat. "There's
play in the foot pedals and I get drag which shouldn't be there."

"What causes that?"

"Oh, there are several things that can cause that and none of them are
good."  Jim climbed out of the pilot's seat.  "Window missing in pilot's
door, left side, window broken in right door, snap release broken on
door to radio nose compartment."  Jim continued to list every little
thing he could find wrong with the helicopter.  It was up on top that he
found the most serious problems.  Maintenance had put back on the old
dampers that had so much moisture in the hydraulic oil, he couldn't see
through the sight gauge.  There were push-pull rods with a lot of play
in their bearings, and several other things which caused him concern.

Lieutenant Carson had never started to read her book.  She'd been more
interested in listening to Jim list all the things wrong.  The longer
the list grew, the more she thought about what Mr. Walker had said.  As
a result, her respect for him grew.  She watched Jim climb off the roof
and jump into the cargo area, landing in front of her. Pointing with her
head she said, "Mac, I think we're about to get company."

Jim noticed the friendliness was back in her voice and that she called
him, Mac, instead of, Specialist.  All these things, plus the fact she
was giving him advance notice had to mean she was softening towards him,
at least partially.  Jim glanced back to see Wright and another man
approaching.

"Thank you, Lieutenant.  I appreciate it."

Lieutenant Carson smiled and said, "You're welcome, Mac.  Is this thing
safe to fly?"

"Technically, I suppose so, but personally, I wouldn't fly in it from
here to the other side of the post.  May I sit down?"

Lieutenant Carson smiled and moved over to give him room.  Walker came
around the aircraft's nose at the same time Wright and a Spec-Six
approached.

Wright spoke, "Specialist Dill, this is my pilot, Mr. Walker and my crew
chief, Specialist MacLaughlin, and Lieutenant Carson."

Spec-Six Dill was a tall man about six foot six and thin, not weighing
more than one hundred fifty pounds.  Dill saluted, then placed both
hands on his hips and developed an all business expression.  "What seems
to be the problem, Sir?"

"Are you the Tech Inspector who signed this aircraft off?"

"Sir, if you looked in the log book you know I did."  Jim looked at
Lieutenant Carson seated beside him and in a soft voice said, "And you
called me a smart mouth."

She only smiled.  Walker's voice was now all business.  "Specialist
Dill, I'm really not in the mood for any smart ass answers, you got
that!"

"Yes, Sir."

"Do you let all the aircraft you work on out of maintenance looking like
this?"

"No, Sir."

"Then why this one?"

"Because, Sir, that's the way we got it.  All we do is depot level
maintenance.  In this case that meant replacing the transmission mounts.
We don't paint or put missing sound proofing in or replace loose rivets.
All that type stuff is done on a company level."

Jim said, "You mean to tell me that those push-pull rods on top
shouldn't be replaced?"

"I didn't tell you anything of the kind, all I said is we don't do it."

"Not even if its got excessive play?"

"They don't have excessive play!"

"I think they do!  How about the dampers?  You can't even see their
sight gauges they're so cloudy."

"I don't remember looking at 'em."

"Specialist, would you fly this thing?"

"Sure."

"Just like it is for ten hours a day for ten days?"

"I don't know what that's got to do with anything."

"The point is that there isn't any one thing the aircraft can be
grounded for maybe, but all together it's an accident waiting to happen.
As a Tech Inspector you should be ashamed of yourself for letting the
thing be test flown, let alone released!"

The two NCO's simply stared at each other until Mr. Walker said,
"Specialist, I don't understand how this crate can look so terrible and
that chopper right beside us look brand new."

"Sir, the biggest reason is that it is almost brand new.  As I remember,
it doesn't have two hundred hours on it yet."  Jim asked, "What is it in
depot for?"

"It came from the 195th Skychiefs up at Long Binh.  It had a sudden
stoppage."

Lieutenant Carson asked, "A sudden stoppage, what's that?"  Dill looked
at Jim and replied, "You're such a hot shot and think you know my job
better than I do, you tell her!"

In a very pleasant voice Jim said, "Specialist, I am a Specialist E-5,
which, in case you have forgotten, makes me an NCO just like yourself.
Therefore, I would appreciate not being insulted in front of two
officers and an enlisted man.  Furthermore, not because you want to know
how much I know, but because I happen to like Lieutenant Carson, I'll
answer her question for you.  Lieutenant, a sudden stoppage is when the
rotor blades hit a solid object, like a tree, causing them to stop
suddenly.  The problem, Lieutenant, with a sudden stoppage is there
isn't any place in the power train to allow for any slippage.  Power is
delivered from the engine into a shaft called a short shaft, from there,
directly into the transmission, directly into the mast, directly into
the rotor head; where it is finally delivered to the rotor blades. Since
there isn't any place in the system for slippage when the rotors hit
something solid enough to suddenly stop them, it causes a massive
internal hemorrhage.  Gears break, bearings rupture and bolts pop.  As a
result, everything that turns has to be removed and replaced: engine,
transmission, drive shafts, bearings, everything.  And that, Lieutenant,
is what a sudden stoppage is all about."

Dill nodded his head and said, "Very good, Specialist, very good
indeed."

Jim had an idea.  "Specialist Dill, who's supposed to get that ship?"

"The 195th gets it back.  When we're done with them, they're test flown
and if everything checks out okay, they're parked here 'til picked up by
the receiving company."

Mr. Walker said, "In other words, Specialist, you're not going to fix
anything on this helicopter to make it safer to fly?"

"Sir, it's been test flown and signed off as safe to fly."

"I guess that's a matter of opinion, isn't it?"  Dill just stood there
and looked at the ground before finally saying, "Sir, if there isn't
anything else, I'll be going."

Dill was standing between Mr. Walker and Jim, who was still seated
beside Lieutenant Carson.  Mr. Walker glanced at Jim, who shrugged his
shoulders and shook his head slowly in disgust.  Walker looked back at
Dill and said, "That will be all, Specialist."

Everyone sat there in silence and watched as Dill walked off.  It was
Wright who broke the silence.  "Well, what are we going to do now?"

Jim and Walker looked at each other and both knew what the other was
thinking.  Jim spoke, "Lieutenant, would you rat on us if we committed a
little grand larceny?"

Lieutenant Carson laughed and answered, "After listening to you two
talk, I'm not interested in riding in this one."

Walker said, "Mac, we'll have to get the log book somehow."

"I can think about that while I preflight the chopper.  Keep an eye open
for somebody who might see me."  In a few minutes Jim returned. "Well, I
don't see anything wrong with it and Dill is right, that ship's almost
brand new.  I've got an idea about the log book.  Mr. Walker, tell me
what you had to do and how many people were there when you signed for
this crate."

"There was only a staff sergeant seated at the front desk.  There was
another desk behind him but no one was there.  I told him who I was and
what company I was from and that I was to pick up a Huey.  He got the
papers I signed from a file cabinet, and the log book was with a stack
on his desk."

"How many times did you sign?"

"Just twice."

"What did he do with those papers?"

"I'm not sure.  One was in duplicate.  In fact, I think I left before he
did anything with them."

"What drawer did he get the papers from?"

"Top."

"Okay, Mr. Walker, you can't go back in there because they'll recognize
you.  So if you and I trade shirts and hats, I'll go in and try to find
the papers you signed.  I'll leave this log book here and pick up 647's
book.  I'll have to sign your name to new forms."

"Mac, one wasn't a form, it was like a sign in sheet that was on a clip
board on the front desk.  Besides, you'll never get away with this. That
sergeant isn't going to sit there and let you go through his files."

"That's where a beautiful lieutenant dressed to knock your eyeballs out
comes in handy."

Lieutenant Carson interrupted, "Just wait one minute!  I'm not going to
have anything to do with this!"

"Lieutenant, please, all you have to do is go in, ask the desk sergeant
to show you where the ladies room is and have him escort you there."

"No!  You're talking about stealing a helicopter, impersonating an
officer, forgery and enough other things to send you and anyone involved
to jail for thirty years.  I don't want any part of it!"

"There isn't any forgery unless Mr. Walker presses charges, which you're
not going to do, are you, Mr. Walker?"

"I'll swear it's my signature."

"As for the impersonating an officer, who's going to say, hey, you,
you're not an officer!  Nobody knows Mr. Walker or me, so no one's going
to question me.  As for stealing a helicopter, if I sign all the forms,
it's not stealing.  It'll be a simple case of the sergeant giving the
wrong forms to Mr. Walker to sign.  As for you, nobody will ever connect
you with it.  After all, you're just a damsel in distress who asked the
nice sergeant to show you to the ladies room."

"You two are crazy, you know that!  What if someone walks in on you?"

"I'll have Wright stand outside to warn me."  Now's your once in a
lifetime chance to be part of a military operation, usually called
something like, 'a midnight requisition'."

"Yeah, except this is in broad daylight."

"And that's the biggest reason it'll work.  Come on, be a sport!"
Lieutenant Carson looked at the three men standing there staring at her.
"You're crazy, you really and truly are crazy, all three of you!"
Looking at Jim she said, "Especially you."  She paused for a moment then
continued, "You won't go off and leave me?"

Walker answered, "I give you my word as an officer-you'll leave with
us!"

"Your word as an officer!  You're talking about stealing a helicopter
amongst other things and you're giving me your word as an officer?"

"Please, Lieutenant."

Lieutenant Carson smiled and shook her head, "Well, I do need to use a
latrine, but I'm not going to help you guys."  Jim smiled at her and
said, "Thanks, Lieutenant."  Lieutenant Carson stood up and brushed her
clothing.  "I'm giving you guys a direct order, forget about this whole
idea."  With that she turned and walked towards the office.  Jim and
Walker traded hats and shirts.

"Mac, I sure hope we get away with this."

"If we don't, you can always fly us out of here in this crate and hope
it holds together 'til we get home."

Jim and Wright were almost to the office door when Lieutenant Carson
walked out talking to a staff sergeant.  "Wright, you wait outside.  If
someone comes, rap on that door twice and once more when the coast is
clear."

"Mac, don't take too long!"

Jim walked in the door and everything was just as Walker had said. He
headed straight for the first desk and started frantically hunting for
Walker's forms.  Surprisingly, it didn't take him long to locate both.
This done, he pulled open the file cabinet's top drawer, pulled out the
first blank form he found and ripped out the carbon paper.  He threw the
blanks in the trash and placed the carbon between the two forms.  Moving
to the typewriter, he picked up the correction fluid and wiped out the
helicopter number.  As he blew it dry, he was glad he'd thought of this
because once he'd seen the forms, he knew there were far too many things
to fill in.  Once dry, he placed the forms with carbon in the typewriter
and typed in the new numbers.  Quickly, he threw the carbon away and
placed the forms back where he found them.  Last, he switched the log
book from the sergeant's desk with the one in his shirt, and changed the
number on the clip board form beside Walker's name.  As he walked around
the desk, he heard Wright rap on the door twice.

Jim walked outside just as a staff sergeant approached.  The sergeant
saluted and Jim returned his salute.  "Sir, can I help you?" the
sergeant asked.

Jim responded just as any other officer, "Is your CO around, Sergeant?"

"No, Sir, but I can get him for you in just a second, if you'll step
back inside."

"Thank you anyway, Sergeant, I've got a couple of other things to do,
I'll just stop back in an hour or two."

"Yes, Sir."

Jim looked over at Wright, "Let's go, Specialist."  Jim and Wright
walked away as the staff sergeant entered the maintenance office.  "Mac,
you didn't forget the log book did you?"

"Nope, it's inside my shirt.  Man, you talk about being close, I'm sure
glad he didn't get back thirty seconds sooner!"  Jim, hardly able to
control his excitement, slapped Wright's hand, "We did it, Wright, we
really did it."

"Mac, let's don't celebrate yet, we still have to get out of here. I
just hope that staff sergeant doesn't notice he's got a log book
missing."

"I'll drink to that."

They moved quickly back to Walker, who saw them coming and moved to the
new ship.  Jim handed Walker the log book and said, "It worked like a
charm, let's get out of here!"

"Lieutenant Carson isn't back yet, give me my shirt back and go untie
the rotor blades."

"Yes, Sir."

Lieutenant Carson approached as they were changing shirts and quickly
climbed into the chopper.

"Well, Mac, I see all went well."

"Somehow I get the impression you'd have found a way."  Walker, who was
already strapped into his seat, yelled, "Clear!"  Jim responded,
"Clear."

Walker hit the start switch and yelled at Jim, "Mac, you want to drive?"

Without responding, Jim climbed into the copilot's seat.  He strapped
himself in and plugged in his helmet.  Walker knew keeping a crew chief
happy was easy; give him some stick time and treat him like a person
should be treated and you got along just fine.  Walker asked ground
control for permission to taxi.  Permission was given along with
instructions for the path to be followed to the runway.  As they taxied
out of the maintenance area they went by several choppers parked off to
the side.  Jim had been looking each ship over carefully and on the next
to the last ship he saw what he was looking for.

"Mr. Walker, set it down quick!  I'll be right back."  Walker, who
didn't know what had happened, instantly dropped the chopper to the
pavement.  By the time Walker had it on the ground, Jim was unstrapped
and climbing out of his seat.  "Mac, what's wrong?"

Jim didn't answer as he unplugged his helmet and jumped out the door. He
ran to the Huey parked only slightly behind and off to the side.  In one
leap, he jumped through the ship's open cargo doors, grabbed the large
water jug and started to leave when he had another thought. Setting down
the water jug, he ran around to the right side of the chopper and opened
the storage compartment door.  There it was, a tool box.  Jim grabbed it
and ran without even closing the door.  The tool box was so heavy, he
knew it had to be well stocked.  With the tool box in one hand and the
water jug in the other, it was all he could do to walk fast.  Wright saw
him coming and jumped out to help.  As Jim threw the tool box on board
647, he looked back to see two enlisted men running towards them as fast
as they could.  He jumped on board and motioned to Walker to take off
quickly.  Jim sat in the cargo door briefly and watched the two men grow
smaller and smaller as Walker moved it down the runway.  As he turned to
climb back into the copilot's seat, Jim saw Lieutenant Carson smiling
at him and slowly nod.  Jim returned her smile and winked quickly at
her.  He then climbed back into his seat, plugged in his helmet and
said, "Hi, I'm back."

"I can see!  You're crazy, you know that?"

"Yes, Sir, but I got us a water jug and a tool box, neither of which I
could get out of supply back at Tay Ninh."

"Any idea who the two trying to run us down were?"

"My guess is they were Skychiefs and that was their aircraft whose load
we just lightened.  Come to think of it, this was probably their
aircraft also.  I'll bet that's why they were parked there, they'd
brought a crew down to pick up their ship."  All three men laughed a
good, deep, hard laugh.  Lieutenant Carson, not having a helmet, just
sat there wondering what was so funny.  Once they'd stopped laughing,
Walker said, "Mac, you've got it."

Jim took hold of the controls.  "I've got it.  We have enough fuel to
make it to Tay Ninh?"

"No, but it doesn't make any difference; we have to stop at Long Binh
Replacement and pick up some new pilots.  We can get fuel there."

"You didn't tell me about that."

"Mac, I don't tell you everything I know, and in case you've forgotten,
I am the officer in this crew!"

After refueling, they made the short hop to Long Binh Replacement Depot.
Once on the ground, Mr. Walker told Wright to go over to a group of men
seated not too far away and ask if any were headed for the 187th.
Shortly, Wright returned followed by six warrant officers carrying their
duffel bags.

"Mac, are we going to get off the ground with all that weight?"

"I don't know, Sir.  If I had known there'd be six of them, I wouldn't
have topped it off with fuel.  They probably average one hundred sixty
pounds each with another eighty in each duffel bag. That's two hundred
forty times six, or fourteen hundred forty pounds, plus the three of us
and Lieutenant Carson.  Of course, we don't have the guns and ammo, and
this thing is supposed to have a brand new engine, but the thermometer
says forty-two degrees.  That's awfully hot, well over one hundred
degrees Fahrenheit.  I don't know how much humidity there is, but you
can bet a bunch.  I guess there's only one way to find out, give it a
little try and if you can't get it off the ground all we can do is kick
one of them out, which should make it light enough to get airborne."  As
Jim talked, he and Walker watched the new pilots load their duffel bags
and eyeball Lieutenant Carson as they climbed in.  It was obvious she
was becoming very uncomfortable with the looks.  Lieutenant Carson
looked up in time to see Jim and Walker looking back over the radio
console.  Unsnapping her seatbelt, she climbed over the duffel bags and
leaned over to talk to Mr. Walker. Walker pushed his lip mike out
towards her and keyed his switch to make it easier to hear what she had
to say.  "Mr. Walker, take me back to Vung Tau."

"What?"

"You heard me, take me back to Vung Tau."

"Lieutenant, I can't do that.  I'm supposed to take you to Tay Ninh.
Besides, I'm not really anxious to take this ship back to Vung Tau right
away.

"Come on, Mr. Walker, I've changed my mind.  I'm not going to Tay Ninh.
I want to go back to Vung Tau."

Walker turned just enough to look Jim in the eyes.  He shrugged his
shoulders and gave an 'Oh, brother' look, then spoke into the mike so
she couldn't hear.  "Sir, she does out rank you."

"Yeah, I'm painfully aware of that."  Walker turned back to Lieutenant
Carson.  "Lieutenant, I've got orders to take you and these men to Tay
Ninh.  I can't go back to Vung Tau."

"Mister, I don't care what your orders are.  I'm giving you new ones.
Take me to Vung Tau!"

"Yes, Ma'am."  Walker turned around, looked out the windshield, and
spoke to himself.  Jim didn't need the intercom to tell what Walker had
said.  He was getting better at lip reading and the 'well, shit' came
across Walker's lips as clearly as if he'd keyed his mike.

Jim wasn't very happy about going back to Vung Tau, either.  He'd been
looking forward to getting home before the rest of the flight and having
a couple hours of daylight.  He could take a nice hot shower then hit
the club before anyone else got there.  That was out now.  They'd be
lucky to make it home before dark.  Walker was already on the radio
getting the necessary flight clearances.  Once airborne, Walker said,
"You wanna drive?"

"Sure."

"Okay, Mac, you got it.  Keep it on this heading and just shy of red
line.  I'm not going to fiddle around taking this bitch home.  I just
hope some bastard at Tay Ninh doesn't raise hell with me because his
piece of ass for the night changed her mind."

Jim held it just shy of the one hundred twenty knot red line all the way
down to Vung Tau.  As a result, it didn't take long to get there.

There's a lot of difference between one hundred twenty knots and the
casual eighty knot cruising speed.

Once on the ground, Lieutenant Carson jumped out with her bag and took
only a couple of steps before setting it down and returning to the ship.
She had gotten out on Jim's side, so it was his door she opened. He
pushed his lip mike out for her to speak and keyed it so Wright and
Walker could also hear what she had to say.  "I just came back to thank
you guys for a very interesting and unusual day."  Looking at Jim, "I'm
glad I met you."  Glancing over to Walker, "Both of you."  Jim smiled as
she stepped down and shut his door.  She waved good-bye as she stooped
to pick up her bag.  Walker watched Jim wave good-bye slowly, and with a
strange look on his face, turn the wave into a salute.  Lieutenant
Carson, whose eyes hadn't moved from Jim's, broke into a big smile and
returned the salute.

Walker, who couldn't believe what he was seeing said, "What the hell was
that all about?"  There was only silence for a response.  "Mac, what'd
you do, fall in love with that whore?"

Jim laughed and said, "Don't be silly."

The two men sat and watched her back side as she moved briskly across
the pavement.  "I'll tell ya, Mac, that's one hell of a lot of woman!"

"Yes, Sir."

Only slightly sarcastically Walker asked, "Be okay if we go home now?"

Jim, still not wanting to take his eyes off her, nodded his head and
replied, "Yes, Sir."

As Walker pulled pitch to the rotors and headed down the runway Jim
asked, "Mr. Walker, can we red line it going home, too?"

"Yep.  You got it, and I'll get us as straight a path home as artillery
will allow."

In the west, orange and red rays streaked skyward from the rapidly
setting sun.  It was beautiful, even though the black bellowing smoke
from the burning fuel dump in Saigon made a sobering contrast.  VC
sapper squads had blown and burned a large part of the Saigon fuel
storage area the night before.  As a result, from fifteen hundred feet
above Tay Ninh, one could still see the flames that leaped skyward
changing into clouds of deep, rolling black smoke, which rose several
thousand feet.

Jim was glad they were on short final approach.  It meant they'd be on
the ground ahead of the flight and with enough daylight left to pull his
daily inspection.  With just a little luck, he could even get a warm
shower and still have plenty of time for a drink at the club.  Once on
the ground, Mr. Walker parked beside the fuel pumps for wright to top it
off.  From there he took it to their revetment and started shut down
procedures.  Once Wright had opened the pilots' doors, Jim climbed out
and saluted each new officer and shook hands.

He introduced himself and was giving them directions to the company area
when Mr. Walker turned around and shouted, "Hey, Mac!  Put your helmet
on!"

Jim excused himself and motioned to Wright to tie down the rotors. He
noticed the new pilots just stood around as though they didn't know what
to do.  As he put on his helmet, then plugged it in he said, "Yes, Sir."

"Mac, the flight's on long final and Chalk Two has lost tail rotor
control!"

Jim jumped into the cargo area and flipped the switch allowing him to
hear the flight.  "Chalk Two, this is Lead.  I've got clearance from the
tower for you to put it down on the runway.  Flight, the rest of us will
move directly into the revetments.  Chalk Two, good luck and remember to
keep your airspeed up."

"Roger, Lead, see you in the club."

Jim, looking out the cargo door, could see the single ship headed for
the runway as the flight approached short final on the revetments. The
brave words of Chalk Two's pilot didn't hide the nervousness in his
voice as he called out his airspeed and altitude.

The tail rotor's sole function was to prevent the helicopter from
spinning like a top at slow speeds.  Once the helicopter reached a speed
of about sixty knots, the air flowing by it would hold a Huey straight,
so to land a Huey without a tail rotor required landing on a pair of
skids at about sixty knots.  Jim knew the procedure.  Twice he'd come in
without tail rotor control.  Fortunately, on both occasions, his pilots
had the skill to do it right; one little mistake meant a crash and roll.
There wasn't any question in his mind it was the most dangerous of all
the emergency landing procedures.  Perhaps it was even more dangerous
because the pilots never practiced it.  Whatever the reason, Jim was
glad he wasn't on board Chalk Two.

Everyone's eyes were glued to the single ship as it rapidly approached
the runway.  Mr. Walker broke the silence, "He's too high. He'll never
make it.  I know what he's done, he's forgotten the runway's at twelve
feet above sea level and his altimeter is set at zero.  He hasn't made
the mental twelve foot subtraction.  He's twelve feet too high!  He
thinks he's at twenty-four feet and he's really at thirty-six!"

Chapter Twelve

WHAT'S IN A HAND?

Jim ripped off his helmet as Walker switched the radio over so he could
talk to Chalk Two.  Jim yelled in terror, "Wright, he's going to crash!
Come on, let's go!"  Pointing his finger at the closest pilot still
standing there holding his duffel bag, Jim ordered, "You, get the fire
extinguisher out of our ship and follow us!"

As they ran, Jim kept praying the pilot would touch down with both skids
at the same time.  If he didn't, he'd bounce and flip over.

Jim, and the rest of the group behind him, stopped running about a
hundred feet from where the broken machine first bounced.  They stood
and watched as it slid only a short way before spinning and skipping
sideways.  Then like a giant wounded monster, it flipped over onto its
right side and died, throwing rotor blade pieces and various other parts
of its anatomy in all directions.  Jim and Wright ran to the wounded
chopper and started climbing up its skids.  Screams of intense pain
could be heard inside as Wright opened the pilot's door to help him out.
Jim climbed inside to find the gunner struggling to climb out.  Shouting
at the gunner over the continuing screams of the injured crew chief,
Page, Jim asked, "You okay?"

"I see two of everything."

One of the new pilots had climbed up to help, "Sir, help him down he's
got a concussion."

That done, Jim climbed on down inside.  The screams of pain coming from
both the crew chief and peter pilot caused Jim to lose precious seconds
wondering if he could get both out.  As he looked at the peter pilot he
could see through the window the others were working from the outside to
free him.  Jim turned to the crew chief.  The smell of JP-4 fuel
penetrated his nostrils and he knew all caution had to be discarded.

The crew chiefs left hand was pinned between the ground and the edge of
the ceiling.  Two bones protruding from the compound fracture made it a
grotesque sight with blood seeming to be everywhere.  Jim heard the
psst!psst!  of the fire extinguisher as he ripped his belt from its
hooks;

"Page, this is going to hurt!"  Page only nodded his head and
continued to moan.  Quickly, Jim slipped the belt under Page's arm,
hooked the webbing into the buckle and pulled it as tight as he could.
Page let out a scream that caused Jim to look back at him lying there
gritting his teeth.  But the bleeding had pretty well stopped. Looking
up at Wright standing on the skid looking in, Jim shouted, "Wright, try
to rock it so we can get his hand free!"

"You got it!"

Looking back at some officers standing there watching Wright, he
shouted, "Hey you guys, give me a hand!"

Jim looked at Page and said, "Pull?" It was useless, the hand wouldn't
budge.  Then it happened-Jim heard someone yell, "Fire!"

Wright, still on the skid shouted down, "Mac, it's on fire!  Get the
hell out of there!"

Jim felt his heart jump and the adrenalin rush through his system. Page
almost in tears cried, "Mac, don't leave me!"

Jim's hand moved swiftly in and out of his pocket.  In the same flick of
a second that the blade flashed from its handle, Wright shouted, "Mac!
Get out!  It's going to blow!"

As though in that same fraction of a second Page shouted in panic, "Do
it, Mac!  Do it!"  The blade was sharp and Jim struck where the bone
protruded.  With the first slice, Page let out a scream that came from
the very depths of his soul, and collapsed into a state of unconscious
shock.

As a farm boy Jim had helped butcher hogs and cattle since childhood. He
knew how much force it took to cut raw meat and with the second slice
the hand was completely severed.  Next, he cut the two shoulder straps
on Page's chicken plate, with each requiring only one quick stroke.  At
the same time but with his left hand, Jim ripped open the velcro strap
at the waist allowing the chicken plate to fall free.

Only a few short seconds had passed since Wright's first shout of fire.
Now there were several people yelling, 'Fire!', but Wright was still
standing on the skid waiting to help get Page out.  Jim quickly refolded
the knife and slipped it back into his pocket.  With the adrenalin still
flowing in his body, he threw Page over his shoulder in a fireman's
carry.  Using the pilot's seats as steps, he climbed high enough for
Wright to reach the still unconscious Page.  With the help of a pilot
who had joined Wright, they got Page over the side and into the arms of
others.  Now there was only Wright left on the skid to help Jim out as
the others had all started to run away from the burning aircraft. As Jim
threw his leg over the side, Wright jumped and Jim saw the flames
leaping up from the engine compartment.  He could feel the heat and hear
the crackling of the fire.  Jumping as far away as he could, he hit the
ground and fell, rolling over once and coming to his feet on a run. Only
two steps had been taken before the explosion behind him knocked him
once again to the ground.  This time Walker was there to help him up and
the two moved quickly to a safe distance where the rest of the group
greeted them with applause and cheers.  Everyone wanted to shake Jim's
hand and pat his back.  Yet the fire behind him drew their attention
like a magnet.  Jim also turned and looked back and for the first time,
heard the screams and realized they hadn't been able to get the peter
pilot out.  The burning blob of human flesh caused his heart to sink
rapidly, and the screams of pain caused shivers to race up and down his
spine.  The burning body twisted and jerked and its face contorted with
pain making it look as though its eyes would jump from their sockets.
Someone off to the side asked, "Major, should I shoot him?"

Major Hobbs said, "Give me your M16.  I'll do it."  Before the major's
hand could reach the offered rifle, a second explosion sent a giant
fireball skyward.  With that explosion the pilot's pain ended.

Jim turned and walked through the crowd hypnotized by the burning mass
in front of it.  As he passed through the back of the group, he saw
Halsey approaching and thought, I hope I don't have to put up with any
of his shit.  Mr. Halsey was unaware of all that had just transpired,
other than the obviously burning aircraft.

"Mac, what happened?"

Jim, with tears in his eyes, only looked at the ground, then slowly
shook his head and shrugged his shoulders, "MacLaughlin, you're a mess,
no hat, no belt.  Where the hell's your belt, anyway?"  Jim never knew
why he did it.  In fact, it happened almost before he realized what he'd
done.  Maybe it was just a gut response which caused his right hand to
fly up with all the force left in his body and strike Halsey in the left
cheek, sending him sprawling to the ground.  Halsey looked up in an
expression of shock that changed to a smile.  Finally, he sat up and
laughed as he said, "Thanks, MacLaughlin, you don't know how happy this
makes me."

Jim didn't respond.  He simply turned and walked away, sure that by
morning he'd be, at the very least, a Spec-Four again.  Jim hadn't gone
very far when Kenny pulled up in the platoon quarter-ton pickup.

"Mac, you've got blood all over you.  You hurt?"  Jim looked at himself
for the first time and realized how bad he did look.  Blood was on both
hands, arms and down his right pant leg.  "I'm okay, Kenny.  Do me a
favor, will you?"

"Name it."

"Give me a ride back to the revetment so I can pick up my stuff, and the
new ship's log book."

"Hop in," Kenny turned around and drove off quickly.  Once at the ship,
Jim collected his gear and was back in the pickup in less than a minute.
As Kenny drove towards the maintenance area he said, "Mac, I saw you hit
Halsey.  I just want you to know I'll swear he fell down on his own if
you want."

Jim smiled and patted Kenny on the shoulder replying, "Thanks Kenny, but
you don't want to end up in the brig with me, do you?"

"Hey, if it gets rid of Halsey..."

Once back in the company area, Jim showered and put on clean clothes. He
was in the mess hall eating when Gillett came in.  Their eyes met and
Jim knew it wasn't good.  "Mac, the CO wants to see you."

"Would it be okay if I finish eating first?"

"Sure, I've got to go find Kenny anyway.  He wants to see both of you.
Why don't you meet me in the hooch?"

Jim entered the hooch and heard muffled sobs.  Walking back through the
hooch, he found Green sitting on his bunk crying, "Green, what's wrong?"

Green only shook his head and said, "Nothing."  Jim noticed the letter
in Green's hand and sat down beside him, "Come on, Green, you might as
well tell me."

"I got a letter from my mom.  Mary Ann, she's my girl; we were going to
get married when I got home.  My mom says she announced her plans to
marry some guy she met at college.  In two months she'll be Mrs.
Somebody Else.  Oh, Mac, I loved her so much.  My chest, the pain...the
pain!  Why couldn't she wait?  I waited for her.  I never messed around,
not so much as a flirt.  I love her so much!"  Green lowered his head
into his hands and cried.

Jim patted his shoulder and said, "I'm sorry, Green, I know how you
feel."

Green, between sobs asked, "You got a girl, Mac?"

"No, she dumped me when I joined the Army.  I wrote her letters but she
wasn't even kind enough to write back."

"She get married?"

"Not yet.  She marries the day before I get home.  I get the privilege
of thinking about her on her honeymoon my first night home."

"How long did it take you to get over it?"

"I haven't.  The pain's still there but I go on.  They say time heals
all wounds; maybe it will, maybe it won't.  Right now, Green, I think
when I'm fifty I'll still love her, but maybe by the time I'm fifty I
won't even remember she ever was."

"Thanks, Mac, but somehow it doesn't help."

"I know, Green.  I know.  Try getting drunk and passing out, when you're
unconscious or asleep, it doesn't hurt anymore."

Green sat there and cried with Jim holding him.  Shortly, the hooch door
opened and Gillett hollered, "Mac, you in there?"

"Yeah, I'll be right there."

Green fell flat on his bunk and covered his head with a pillow as Jim
stood to leave, but turning back he said, "Green, you might as well have
it straight.  The hurting doesn't go away, it just gets to the point
where you think it's normal.  Once you reach that point, you'll forget
what it feels like not to hurt.  Then you'll think you're back to normal
and who knows, maybe you are.  At least you don't realize you're still
hurting."

Jim joined Gillett and Kenny waiting just outside the door, "Hi, Mac."

"Hi, Kenny.  What's the Old Man want you for?"

"Oh, Halsey probably told him I saw something."  Gillett interrupted to
say.  "You two go ahead and go on over to the orderly room.  I've got to
take a leak.  I'll be right with you."

Kenny and Jim headed in the direction of the orderly room.  "Mac, this
has to be a rather familiar walk for you."

"Yeah, one I'm getting tired of."

"Mac, tell me what you're going to say so I'll have the same story."

"Look, Kenny, tell him the truth.  There isn't any point in lying, there
were too many other guys standing around.  All you'll do by lying is get
yourself in trouble, and it won't help me in the end."

They entered the orderly room and were told to sit down.  Kenny leaned
toward Jim and whispered, "I'm going to tell him I didn't see a thing. I
was watching the fire."  Jim nodded his head.  The two sat silently for
what seemed like hours.  Jim tried to think of all the possibilities and
decided his only chance was to plead memory lapse, due to what he'd just
been through.  Gillett came in shortly after they'd been seated and was
called into the CO's office.  Finally, he came back out and said,
"Kenny, Major Hobbs will see you now."

Kenny entered, had the usual problem walking to the CO's desk, came to
attention and saluted.  "Sir, Specialist Kenny reports."

Major Hobbs returned the salute but kept Kenny at attention.
"Specialist, tell me what you saw happening on the flight line this
evening."

Kenny told the Major everything just as he remembered it, except he left
out seeing Jim hit Halsey.

"Specialist, did you leave anything out?"

"No, Sir."

"You didn't happen to see Specialist MacLaughlin hit Mr. Halsey, did
you?"

"No, Sir.  Did he do that, Sir?"

"Yes, he did!"

"Well, Sir, I was watching the fire and driving at the same time and
didn't see anything like that."

"Specialist, have any of the other enlisted men said anything about
seeing him hit Mr. Halsey?"

"No, Sir."

"Very well, you're dismissed."

Kenny saluted and left.  As he walked by MacLaughlin he whispered, "I
told Hobbs I didn't see a thing."  With that, Kenny walked outside and
found a place in the dark, where he could wait unseen and watch the
door.

In the meantime, Major Hobbs turned to the three men standing along the
wall, "Captain Wolf, what do you think?"

"Well, Sir, he could be telling the truth, or he could be lying. Either
way, as long as he sticks to that story, he's worthless as a witness."

"Mr. Halsey, how about you?"

"Sir, I think the man's lying through his teeth.  He was in that quarter
ton headed straight for us.  He had to see it!"

"Yes, so you said.  Sergeant Gillett, your turn."

"Yes, Sir.  Well, Sir, I agree with Captain Wolf."  Hobbs smiled and
said, "Very diplomatic of you, Sergeant."  Captain Wolf turned to Mr.
Halsey and said, "Too bad none of the officers saw it."

"Yes, Sir, it is.  But just like you, they were watching the fire."

"There wasn't anyone besides you who could possibly have seen anything?"

"No, I don't think so.  I got there after everyone else, and MacLaughlin
had started to leave by himself."

Captain Wolf, with the irritation he felt showing, barked, "Mr. Halsey,
stand at attention!  Damn it, you play this game with the enlisted men
all the time and that's part of the reason we're here now. I am a
Captain, and your superior, and you will address me as such! We're not
in the club having a beer and you damn well better remember it!"

"Yes, Sir!  I will, Sir.  The point is, Captain, I was struck by an NCO
and I want him jailed for it!"

Major Hobbs broke in, "Captain, Mr. Halsey, this isn't getting us
anywhere!  Sergeant, did you tell Specialist MacLaughlin why he's here?"

"No, Sir."

"Okay, Sergeant, bring him in."

"Yes, Sir."  Gillett walked out to the orderly room where Jim was
waiting.  Jim's mind had been at work and he had decided several things.
One, he wasn't going to admit to hitting Halsey.  Two, they must not
have any officers as witnesses or they wouldn't have messed with Kenny.
Third, and the thing that bothered him only slightly, was Kenny had said
Hobbs, not Appleton.  Why would the Major be running things?  Gillett
looked at Jim and said, "Your turn, Mac."

"Gillett, can I talk to you first?"

Gillett glanced over to the CQ seated only a few feet away at the
company clerk's desk.  "I don't think that would be a good idea.  Let's
go, Mac."

Jim nodded his head only slightly and knocked on the door.  "Come in."

This time he wasn't surprised to see Halsey standing alone against the
far wall with Captain Wolf seated in the chair Major Hobbs had occupied
only the night before.  Once again, he made a sharp entrance and came to
attention directly in front of Major Hobbs.  "Sir, Specialist
MacLaughlin reports."

Jim raised his right arm in salute and it was a real race to see which
man got his arm down first-Hobbs returning the salute, or Jim.

"Specialist, I assume you know why you're here."

"I haven't been told, Sir."

"At ease, Specialist.  Mac, we're all very proud of what you did to get
Page out.  You put your life on the line.  Captain Wolf wants to put you
in for a Silver Star.  Personally, I think you deserve it.  The only
problem is, Mr. Halsey thinks we should send you to jail.  What do you
think?"

"Sir, I think the medal would be very nice."  Major Hobbs slowly shook
his head.

"Perhaps, Sir, it would be best if we just forgot about the medal and
also Mr. Halsey's idea.  I'm even willing to transfer to another
helicopter company, if that would be acceptable, Sir."

"Did you hit him, Specialist?"

There was a long pause, during which Jim tried to figure what Hobbs had
in his hand that he was willing to play verbal poker.  "Sir, I'm not in
the habit of lying and I'm not going to start now."

"That doesn't answer my question, yes, or no."  Jim looked over at
Captain Wolf, "Sir, do I have any trouble with any officer except Mr.
Halsey?"

"Mac, you're not answering the Major's question."  Major Hobbs spoke,
"Yes, or no, Specialist!"

"Sir, if I say 'yes', what happens to me?"

"We'll talk about that after you say 'yes." We're not playing poker,
MacLaughlin, because your hand's exposed.  Now I want a straight answer
out of you."

"Sir, can I tell you what happened?"

"Specialist, I'm trying to be nice.  Now, I'm giving you a direct order,
yes or no?"

"In that case, no, Sir."

"Okay, now that we've finally got that out, tell me what happened."

"Sir, I've changed my mind.  I don't care to explain."

"Just who the hell do you think you're talking to, MacLaughlin?  I gave
you an order.  Now I want an explanation, and I don't want anymore of
your smart ass answers.  You got that, Specialist?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Well, you'd better, or you'll find yourself a PFC just because of your
mouth.  Now everyone in this room knows you hit Mr. Halsey, so we might
just as well find out why!"

"Sir, I'll not admit to hitting Mr. Halsey and I don't think you'd
expect me to.  I knew their chopper was going to crash, and in my hurry
to give aid to the guys in it, I didn't take the time to get my hat out
of the chopper I was in.  Mr. Halsey stopped me afterwards and dressed
me down for not having a hat on or a belt.  I'd used my belt as a
tourniquet on Page's arm.  He also didn't like my uniform being so
dirty.  It was Page's blood and the dirt from being knocked down when
their ship blew."

Jim could see both Major Hobbs and Captain Wolf look over at Halsey.  It
was obvious he hadn't told them some or all of it.  Major Hobbs spoke,
"Mr. Halsey, is there anything about Specialist MacLaughlin's story you
disagree with?"

"Only that he could have explained, instead of hitting me, Sir.  He
didn't even try to explain..."

Jim interrupted, "Sir, you could have fallen down and busted your nose
and blamed it on me."

Halsey shouted, "MacLaughlin, you've got more brass than a fuckin'
monkey.  You know that?"

Hobbs interrupted, "Okay, stop it!  Both of you, at attention!  Mr.
Halsey, you're dismissed.  Wait in the other room."

"Yes, Sir."  Halsey saluted and left.

Jim, still at attention, waited for Major Hobbs to speak, "At ease, Mac.
How old are you?"

"I just turned twenty, Sir."  There was a long pause before Hobbs spoke.

"He's right, you know.  You're brass, for one so young.  It's really
gotten you in trouble this time.  I understand you also stole that
helicopter today.  Oh, don't look so worried.  I know all about it. You
switched shirts with Mr. Walker and forged his signature.  You've had
quite a day, haven't you: stole a Huey, cut a man's arm off, and busted
Mr. Halsey in the mouth."

"Sir, I never said I did that and unless there is a witness...
"MacLaughlin, shut up before I chew you up and throw you to the dogs."

Jim stood there silently.  "Specialist, I'll tell you what I'll do. You
accept an Article 15 and I'll only take one stripe and a couple hundred
dollars."

"And if I don't accept it?"

"Mr. Halsey will probably insist on a court martial.  Which would mean
jail if convicted."

"Can I think about it, Sir?"

"Hell, no, you can't think about it!  You know that.  Make up your mind.
Now!"

"Sir, are there any witnesses?"

"That's not necessary and you know it.  All you have to do is look at
his swollen black eye."

"Sir, I'll take the court martial."

"That's the stupidest thing you could do and you know it!"

"Yes, Sir, but a lot could change between now and then.  I could be
killed or wounded by then and, if not, I'll go into it denying
everything."

"That's enough, Specialist, I get the message!  Now let me give you one:
right now, you're only looking at thirty days down at LBJ.  You kill
Halsey, or even try, I'll see to it you spend the rest of your life
there!  You got that?"

Jim allowed himself to let only the slightest smile cross his lips.
"Yes, Sir, I've got it."

"Very well, you're dismissed."  Jim saluted, turned and left.  On his
way through the orderly room Halsey's eyes met his.  Jim smiled broadly
at Mr. Halsey and walked on by.  Neither man spoke.  Jim stepped outside
and took a deep breath.  Kenny walked up, "Mac, how did you come out?"

"I took a court martial."

"Damn that Halsey!  It's too bad that frag the other night wasn't live."

"You know, Kenny, I'm beginning to think the same thing."

"Come on, Mac, I'll buy you a beer."

Jim put his arm around Kenny's shoulder, "Kenny that's the best offer
I've had tonight."

Back in the CO's office, Major Hobbs looked at Gillett and said,
"Sergeant, you're dismissed.  On your way out tell Mr. Halsey to step
in.

Gillett came to attention and saluted, "Sir, could I speak openly to
you?"

"I wish you would, Sergeant."

"Without repercussions, Sir?"

"What do you want to say, Sergeant?"

"Sir, do you know how this feud between Mac and Mr. Halsey got started?"

"I believe it was the broken window incident, where Mr. Halsey ended up
paying for the window and getting an Article 15."

"Yes, Sir.  Ever since then Mr. Halsey has made life unpleasant for
MacLaughlin.  I'm surprised he hasn't punched him out a long time ago."

"Or thrown a frag under his bed?"

"Major, you know as well as I do, Mac didn't do that."  Major Hobbs
looked startled, "Gillett, you know who did it, don't you?"

"No, Sir."

"Don't lie to me, Sergeant!"  He paused, "Wait a minute, you did it!"

"No, Sir, I didn't and I've got enough witnesses as to where I was to
prove it."

"Well, then, you know who did!"

"Yes, Sir, I do!  And so does MacLaughlin.  In fact, he knew when you
offered him your deal.  But as much as he hates Mr. Halsey, he refuses
to burn someone else for trying to help him."

"How did he find out?"

"He guessed and, after leaving here the other night he simply tricked
the guy into admitting it."

"You really like MacLaughlin, don't you?"

"Yes, Sir, I do.  And I don't think he deserves what he's going to get
out of this.  The whole company would be better off without Mr. Halsey.
It wouldn't be better off without Mac."

"Who did the fragging, Sergeant?"

"No, Sir.  You said I could speak freely.  Sir, you and I both know in
the States Mac wouldn't stand a chance.  But here, Sir, you're the law.
You don't have to send him up regardless of what Mr. Halsey wants. Sir,
you won't have any more trouble from Mac, he's only got about two and a
half months left in country.  He's put up with more than he should have
had to already.  You can hold this over his head if he gets out of line,
which he won't, and I think Captain Wolf will agree.  That's all, Sir."

"Very well, Sergeant.  You're dismissed, and thank you for your
honesty."

Gillett saluted and left.

In the club, Jim, Kenny and Athia were all on their way to a good drunk.
Gillett walked in, sat down, and was the first to speak, "Well, Mac, how
are you going to get out of this one?"

Jim laughed and said, "Something will come along, you have to have
faith."

"Mac, I don't think you truly grasp the severity of this situation."

"You're wrong, Gillett, I grasp it.  I just don't know what the hell I'm
supposed to do about it."

"Well, for starters, you could have taken the Article 15."

"No, I'll get to the court martial and drag out every little shitty
thing Halsey has ever done.  I may go to jail, but I'll fix it so he
never gets promoted again."

"Mac, don't kid yourself; besides it's not worth it."  Kenny
interrupted, "Gillett, I've got a question.  Do you think we could scare
Halsey out of pressing charges?"

"Not without the officers' help."

"They'd help, there are several of them who don't like Halsey any more
than we do."

"I don't know.  I'm not sure they'd risk it for an NCO.  What kind of
scare do you have in mind?"

"Well, you know Mr. Lucas is always running some kind of lottery. Maybe
we could get him to run one on when Halsey gets killed."

"That's enough!  I don't want to have any more of that kind of talk!"

"Gillett, I wasn't going to suggest we really kill him, just talk like
we will."

"It could backfire, too, and make the bastard determined to send Mac up,
regardless of what happens to him."

"But, Gillett, if the officers will help, they could convince him to
drop the charges."

"I don't know.  What do you think, Mac?"

"Sounds like the best idea I've heard so far."  Gillett saw Wright walk
in and said, "By the way, Wright will get a Bronze Star for helping get
Page out of that chopper."  Jim looked at Gillett and said, "Big deal.
He can take that Bronze Star and it'll still cost him a dime for a cup
of coffee."

Wright walked up and sat down, "Hi, fellows."  Everyone returned
Wright's greeting before he said, "Hey, Mac, did you hear the good
news?"

"What's that, Wright?"

"I get a Bronze Star for this afternoon!"

"Hey, that's great, Wright!  I'm really glad, you deserve it!
Congratulations."

"Mac, could I fly as your permanent gunner?"

"Wright, I don't really think you'd want to.  For one thing, I probably
won't be flying more than a day or two."

"What are you talking about?"

Jim and Gillett exchanged glances.  "Wright, you get a Bronze Star; I
get a court martial."  Wright couldn't believe it.  "What in the world
for?"

"Halsey says I hit him."

"When did you do that, and why?"

"Why, Wright?  I'm surprised at you, not even asking if I hit him." Jim
smiled and added, "You know I'd never hit a superior officer."

Wright sat there looking stunned as Gillett said, "Mac, let's go see
what's happenin on the other side."

The two got up and walked through the door to the NCO side.  Both drank
Jack Daniels Black and RC as they talked, figuring it would be their
last chance.  The hours slipped by quickly.  Finally, Gillett reminded
Jim he had to fly tomorrow and it was past midnight.

Jim used the latrine and was almost back to the hooch when, on impulse,
he made a right turn and headed for the hospital.

Walking through the big double doors, he entered a brightly lit hallway.
Not sure where to go he started to walk forward slowly, when a nurse,
carrying a tray, stepped out of a door just in front of him, "May I help
you, Specialist?"

"Yes, Ma'am, I'm looking for a Spec-Four Page.  He was brought in
earlier, with his left hand cut off."

"Oh, yes!  I remember him.  He's two doors down but you can't go in
there now, it's almost twelve-thirty.  He's had major surgery and
wouldn't be coherent."

"Lieutenant, please.  I'm the guy who cut his hand off."

"Oh!"  There was a short pause before she said, "In that case, we can
check and see if he's awake."  The Lieutenant led the way to Page's
bedside and turned on a bedside light.  Very softly she said,
"Specialist, if you're awake, you have a visitor."  There was no
response, so the Lieutenant turned to Jim and said, "I'm sorry, but he's
asleep and you'll have to leave."

"Lieutenant, could I just sit here in a chair for a while?"

"No, I'm afraid not."

As they turned to leave, a Captain walked in.  The Lieutenant addressed
him, "Doctor, this is the man who cut Specialist Page's hand off."

The Captain looked at Jim and said, "Tell me about it."

"There's not much to tell, Sir.  He was pinned inside a Huey that was on
fire.  The only way to get him out was to cut off the hand where the arm
bones were sticking out."

"What did you use?"

Jim reached in his pocket and slowly pulled out his knife.  He held it
out slightly, pushed the button and the blade sprang into a lock
position with a clang, "This."

The Lieutenant's eyes bulged only slightly larger than the Captain's,
whose mouth was also hanging open.  The Captain closed his mouth and
swallowed, then said, "Where did you get that thing?"

Jim answered as though it wasn't any big deal, "Supply.  It's Army
issue.  Sir, did you happen to save the belt I used as a tourniquet?"
The doctor looked down at Jim's waist and then back up questioningly,
"Sir, I had another belt, but I would like to have the buckle back." The
captain turned to the nurse and said, "Lieutenant, see if you can find
his belt and buckle, please."

"Yes, Doctor."

Looking back at Jim he said, "You can put that thing away.  I'd also
like to say, you did a good job.  Are you going to get a medal?"

"No, Sir, I'm getting court martialed."

"For cutting his hand off?"

"No, Sir.  Could I speak to you in confidence, Captain?"

"You bet!  I want to hear this.  Just a minute, I'll take off my gown.
Come on over here and sit down."

Jim told the doctor the whole story, leaving out nothing.  He added the
necessary background information on Mr. Halsey and had just finished,
when the nurse walked in.  "Specialist, here's the buckle.  I don't
think you'd want the belt."

"Thank you, Lieutenant."

The Captain stood and said, "Lieutenant, set a chair up beside
Specialist Page's bunk for this man.  How soon is his medication due?"

The Lieutenant took the chart from Page's bunk, looked it over and
answered, "In about ten minutes, Doctor."

She handed the chart to the doctor, who looked it over and hung it back,
"He gets a couple of shots so he'll be waking up.  You can talk to him
then.  Just don't stress him.  If he falls asleep, let him sleep."

"Yes, Sir.  Thank you, Sir."

"You're welcome, Specialist.  What did you say your XO's name was?"

"Major Hobbs, Sir.  Captain, are you going to talk to him?"

"Oh, I might remind him he could find himself in my care one day."

"Thank you, Sir."  The captain only smiled as he left.  Soon the
Lieutenant returned pushing a medical cart.  She woke Page and gave him
his shots, then told him he had a visitor.  Jim walked over and sat down
in the chair she'd provided.  Page saw him coming and smiled, "Mac!"

"Hi, Page, How ya' feel?"

Page spoke slowly and with great effort, "Not very good."  And yet Jim
could see a faint smile as Page continued, "but better than the
alternative."

"Page, I'm glad you're not mad at me.  I was afraid you'd hate me for
cutting off your hand."

Page started to cry softly as tears crept down his cheeks.  "You didn't
have any other choice.  Mac, that chopper was on fire when you climbed
in."

Jim slowly shook his head, "No, Wright and I got there at the same time
and there wasn't any fire.  I probably wouldn't have climbed inside if
it had been on fire."

"Mac, I can remember hearing fire extinguishers."

"Yeah, so do I, but not until I was already inside."

"Mac, did everyone else get out?"

There was a second's hesitation before Jim spoke, "No, Page.  Your peter
pilot didn't make it."

"Mac, tell me everything, just as you remember it, including what I
said."  Jim started at the point where Mr. Walker told him to put his
helmet back on and finished with his getting into the quarter-ton with
Kenny.  Page smiled and slightly laughed, "Mac, I would have loved to
have seen that.  It's just too bad you didn't use a live grenade on him
the other night."

"Page, I swear, I didn't do that."

"True?"

"True!"

"Did Halsey get mad about being punched out?"

"Yeah, you should have seen him lying there on his ass.  The only
problem is, it looks like I take a court martial for it."

"Mac, I'm sorry."

"What for, you didn't hit him."

"I kind of feel responsible."

"You're not!"

"Mac, I may not get another chance-so I want to say, thanks."  With
broken voice and tears visible, Page continued, "Thanks for my life."

"You're welcome, I'm just glad I could get you out."

"Mac, I feel kind of stupid asking this, but do you believe in God?"

"Absolutely!  Why?"

"I once saw a Huey burn!  Did you ever see one go up in flames?"

"Three times now."

"It's quite a sight, isn't it?"

"It sure is."

"Mac, the one I saw was up at An Loci don't think it was on fire more
than thirty seconds before it was completely consumed and exploded. You
had to be inside my chopper for a good three minutes.  You'd been in
there over two before I passed out.  So why didn't it go up a lot faster
and blow before it did?"

"Well, Page, in the first place, I don't think I was in there that long.
Maybe I was, I don't know.  I guess the reason it didn't go up was Jesus
wasn't ready for us to die yet."

"Us or you?  I mean, the second you're out, it goes up."  For the first
time that night it dawned on him.  Jim knew in his heart that the hand
of God had once again reached out and restrained the Angel of Death
until they were safe.  What was there in his future he was being spared
for?  Maybe it wasn't him.  Maybe there was someone in his life whose
prayers for him had been answered.  He didn't know which it was but he
knew Jesus is no respecter of persons-He cared as much for Page as He
did for him.

"Mac, you didn't answer me."

"Page, we're alive tonight because of the divine protection of Jesus
Christ.  I know nothing more."

"Were you raised in the church?"

"Yes, I was raised a Lutheran, but it was here in Nam that I really came
to know Jesus.  Now, I'm really thankful for all the Bible background
and training that Lutherans stress, because I know what I believe-I'm
not perfect by far, but I know Him."

"Mac, tell me about Jesus and what you believe."  Jim took a deep
breath, "I believe in Jesus Christ as my personal Lord and Savior.  He
died on the cross and rose from the dead to take away my sins.  In other
words, even though I sin, and I know I do, Jesus is able to wipe my sins
away as though I'd never sinned, each time I ask Him to forgive me.
Because of that, I'm allowed into heaven when I do die."

Page asked questions and Jim answered as best he could late into the
night.  Finally, Page fell asleep as Jim continued to tell him about
Jesus.  Even though he knew Page was asleep Jim said, "Good-bye, Page,
and may the peace of Jesus Christ be with you always."  Jim looked at
his watch, quarter after two.  He'd have a hard time staying awake
tomorrow.  He shut off the light beside Page's bed and returned the
chair to where the nurse had gotten it.  He saw no one on the way out,
and even though he thought about looking for that doctor, he simply
left, unseen by anyone.

(There are many ironies about the Vietnam war.  Howard Page would return
to the States and enter school at Capital University in Columbus, Ohio.
After being accepted by the Lutheran Seminary at Capital, Howard started
writing letters to everyone and every organization he could think of in
an effort to find Jim MacLaughlin.  He was the one person Howard really
wanted at his graduation and also his ordination service, when he would
receive the full rights of a Lutheran pastor.  Letter after letter came
back getting him no further than when he started. Howard even visited
the Pentagon one summer in hopes of finding some of Jim's records with a
home address.  His search was fruitless, as he never found Jim
MacLaughlin.  Yet, Jim lived only a short distance north of Columbus;
his name, address and telephone number were listed in the Columbus phone
book.)  News of MacLaughlin's court martial traveled fast.  It was the
only topic of discussion at the officers club by the time Halsey came
in.  He saw Captain Wolf already seated and headed for a table close by.
Changing his mind, he approached Captain Wolf, "Mind if I join you?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact I do, but sit down, anyway, I want to talk to
you."  As Halsey sat down, Mr. Lucas walked up.  "Hey, Captain, you want
in the pool?"

"What pool?"

"Well, Sir, I'm calling it the Halsey pool.  You see I think Halsey is a
walking dead man.  "They're going to kill him just as sure as the sun
rises in the East."  Halsey sat there almost in shock.  "The pool works
like this, Sir.  You can place a bet on the day they kill him and how
they kill him.  Each bet costs you fifty dollars.  For example, I've got
bets they hit him tomorrow and with a door gun in the first hot LZ we
hit.  The winner of the pot is the person who gets both right.  In case
of a tie, I'll split it even.  You in, Captain?"

"No thanks, I'll pass this one up.  Although if I were going to bet, I'd
bet on tonight with a frag-a live one this time."

"You know, Captain, that's where most of the money's at.  Second high is
he gets it in the showers with a grenade tomorrow."

Halsey interrupted, "Lucas, you'd bet on anything!"

"You bet; my old man was a pit boss in Vegas."

"Just what makes you so sure they'll try to kill me?"

"Haven't you heard?  Walker was looking for MacLaughlin in his hooch and
overheard some of the men talking about how to do it.  Plus the barkeep
in the NCO Club was here about ten minutes ago and said your demise was
the only topic of conversation over there.  See ya, Captain, try to make
it through tonight would you, Halsey?"

Lucas turned and left as Walker sat down, "Captain, Admiral, how's it
feel to be a walking dead man?"

"Walker, don't call me that, and I don't believe any of this shit!"

"Oh, you can believe it all right.  Personally, if I was in your shoes,
I'd drop all those charges and see to it the word gets passed before
people start going to bed.  Did Lucas tell you he's moving into my room
for the night?  Just in case a grenade does go off in your room, he
doesn't want to be sleeping beside it.  You know, Halsey, you don't have
one friend in the enlisted men's ranks.  Mac could have hit any other
officer in the company and the rest of those guys wouldn't raise a
finger to help him.  But with you, they see it as their chance to get
rid of you.  Try to remember, everyone of those guys hates your guts.
You know, I've spent a lot of time with Mac.  He believes he has a
guardian angel, and I've been flying with him long enough to think he
may be right.  I've seen too many things that did or didn't happen,
which should have gone the other way.  I'm telling you, Halsey, the man
isn't alone, Somebody's looking after him Who's more powerful than
either of us.  Somehow, I just can't see him ending up in jail.  Just
look at what happened earlier today.  Halsey, that ship was on fire, but
it didn't spread until he stepped out of it-then suddenly BOOM, the
whole thing erupted into flames and blows-almost like it was waiting for
him to get out."

"You're crazy!"

"Halsey!  You ever see a Huey go up?"

"Once."

"And how long did it take?"

"Not very long."

"I rest my case.  In fact, do me a real favor and stay away from me from
now on, I don't want to be too close when it happens."

Walker stood up and said, "Good-bye, Halsey.  See ya, Captain."

Halsey looked at Captain Wolf and said, "Captain, you think they're
serious?  I mean in the infantry, sure, but not in aviation!"

"Halsey, you're a hell of a slow learner.  What do you think that fake
fragging was all about the other night?  That was somebody's way of
telling you to back off.  These guys aren't any different than the
grunts; they all came from the same United States.  If I were you, I'd
drop those charges before the men go to bed."

"Can't you have MacLaughlin locked up tonight, Sir?"

"I could, but I'm not going to.  Besides, it wouldn't do any good.

If he doesn't get you, somebody else will.  Anyway, you have to sign the
papers and the Major said he wouldn't have them ready 'til tomorrow."

"Captain, I refuse to be intimidated.  Just to be safe, though, could I
bunk with you tonight?"

"HELL, NO!  I'm like Walker, I don't want you anywhere near me. You
change your mind, you go tell Major Hobbs.  I don't want you close to me
after I leave this club."

Halsey had heard all he wanted to and decided to leave.  When he got to
the door, Walker was standing behind him.  "Well, Admiral, it's a long
walk and those lights are perfect for a sniper."

"Walker, you don't scare me!"

"I'm not trying to scare you, man, I'm trying to keep you alive."

"Look, they won't try anything here because of the company area guards."

"Halsey, those guards are enlisted men from our own company.  Look, you
and I've had our problems, but I don't want you killed, especially by
our own men.  Come on, let's sit down and talk it over."

Once at a table, Walker ordered two beers.  "Okay, let's look at the
pros and cons of this situation.  First of all, if you drop the charges,
you lose a little pride and have a black eye for a while.  Hey, get
somebody to take your picture and send it home, then you can tell
everybody at home you got it in a crash.  At least you're alive.  I
mean, man, is the risk really worth it?  Halsey, if I'd been fragged,
even with a dud, I'd thank God I was still alive and become the nicest
guy in the company."

Halsey sat there and looked Walker in the eye, then took a big drink of
beer and said, "Okay, I'm convinced, but the SOB shouldn't get away with
it."

"He will, Halsey, because you got greedy.  If you had asked for company
punishment, you'd have gotten away with it.  Plus, you could have
laughed at him every day.  But, no, you had to play hardball and go for
the court martial.  One final piece of advice, Halsey, your life depends
on those men every single day.  They fix the helicopters you fly in. You
get shot down, who do you think's going to be out there walking through
the jungle with you, with a loaded weapon?  There've been more than one
officer shot by his own men in this war.  You get in a fire fight on the
ground and, believe me, you want enlisted men around who like you.  Man,
you don't want to hide from Chuck and your own men. Come on, I see Hobbs
over there, let's go talk to him."

Kenny was seated on his bunk when Mr. Walker came in and sat down beside
him, "Well, Kenny, we got Mac off the hook!"

"Great, that's really great!  How'd it go?"

"Just like we talked about.  Now look, nobody knows about this but Mr.
Lucas, you and me, and it damn well better stay that way or we could all
find ourselves in a sling.  You got that?"

"Yes, Sir."

"One more thing, it worked once, it'll never work again.  By the way,
where is our golden glove friend?"

"Probably still in the club.  He and Gillett were beginning to really
tie one on."

Walker hadn't been gone but a minute when Gillett walked in.  "Hey,
Kenny, they're going to try to get a convoy through tomorrow.  It'll be
a five day trip, so pack a bag.  You'll take the company truck and
you're to leave at 0500.  You got any questions?"

"No.  Where's Mac?"

"He should be along any second.  We left the club together.  You know, I
wonder where he did go?  He should have been here before now. Oh, well,
he can't get lost.  See ya in the morning, Kenny."

Jim carefully felt his way into the hooch.  It was pitch black in there
and he didn't want to wake anyone by falling over something.  He made
his way to the wall locker, felt for the lock and without much trouble,
unlocked it.  The flashlight he kept on the top shelf almost fell as he
groped for it.  Instead, he was able to lay it quietly on his bunk after
turning it on.  Jim sat down and started to untie his boots when the
door opened and an unseen face called, "Sergeant Gillett?"

"He's in the bunk straight across."

The intruder turned his flashlight in Gillett's direction and
approaching his bunk said, "Sergeant Gillett, wake up."

"Uh, what?  I'm awake, I'm awake, get that light out of my eyes!"

"Sergeant, we need another crew and the names of the men you sent on the
earlier mission."

"I don't know who went.  I couldn't find MacLaughlin any place!  I went
next door to see if he was over there and their platoon sergeant said
not to worry about it; he had a guy who's been wanting to fly some of
those night missions.  So I said fine, I'll just let you fill the crew
and he did.  Why?"

"We've got a dead crew chief, a wounded copilot, and a broken ship we
have to go get."

Jim said, "Gillett, I'll go."

"Mac, you just getting back?  Where the hell you been?"  'At the
hospital with Page.  Hey, runner, how'd they get it and where are they?"

"I don't know.  All I know is they left here about a quarter 'til one to
pick up a long range recon group.  The next thing I know I'm being woke
up and told to go find Sergeant Gillett, to get the name of the dead
crew chief, and have him fill another crew."

"Okay, Gillett, I'm dressed, get me a gunner.  I'll go preflight the
ship.  By the way, what am I flying?"

"Take the new one you brought in yesterday!  Hey, runner, you getting
officers?"

"Yeah, I woke Captain Wolf before coming here; he had me wake up Major
Hobbs.  He said the Major had been upset that he hadn't been able to go
on the earlier one.  The Major said he'd get a copilot.  I've got to
go."

The runner walked out the door and Gillett turned to Mac, "Mac, how's
Page?"

"Under the circumstances, pretty good.  He'll make it."

"Mac, you realize the only reason you're not that dead crew chief is
that I couldn't find you?"

"I realize.  Maybe that's why you couldn't find me."

"You've got no idea what you're going into out there!  You don't know
where you're going!  All you know is the guy who took your place is dead
and so you jump right in there and say, 'I'll go!" You got a death
wish?"

"No, it's just that I'm already dressed.  I just walked in the door.
There's no point in waking someone else.  See you later, Gillett."  Jim
locked his locker and left as Gillett tried to wake somebody on down the
hooch.

Jim had just started with a preflight of the ship when two officers
walked up.  He knew from what the runner had said that one of them would
be Major Hobbs.  Acting like he hadn't seen them approach in the dark,
Jim continued with his inspection until Major Hobbs spoke, "Hey, up on
top, this is Major Hobbs.  Who am I flying with tonight?"

"MacLaughlin, Sir.  Sir, I'm almost done and then I'll be right down.

I don't know who the gunner will be."  The two officers climbed into
their seats.  Jim didn't think anything of it when Hobbs climbed into
the peter pilot's seat, since he hadn't been made an AC yet. Wright came
around the revetment carrying his M60's, so Jim helped him mount them
and, since it was already untied, the pilot started to crank the engine.
Jim climbed into the cargo area and for the first time looked at the AC
who was busy starting the aircraft.  Jim felt a streak of panic leap
through his body as he recognized the form of Halsey.  Now he knew why
Hobbs had been watching him so closely as he'd put on his gear.  Jim
plugged in his helmet and said, "Mr. Halsey?"

"Welcome aboard, Mac!"

"Go to hell!  I'm not flying with you!"  Jim unplugged his helmet and
started to get out of the chopper.

Hobbs, who had been watching him, moved faster than Jim could believe
possible; especially for a big man.  By the time Jim had removed his
helmet and chicken plate, Hobbs had gotten out and grabbing Jim by the
shirt, flung him against the revetment wall.  With his massive size
pinning Jim against the wall, and the Major's two fists holding him by
the shirt a couple inches off the ground, Hobbs spoke in his most
forceful and commanding tone, "Listen to me, you smart mouth little son
of a bitch!  I've just about had it with you.  I'm not real sure how,
but you managed to get Halsey to drop the court martial.  So you're off
the hook, but I'll not allow you to talk to my officers like that!  You
got that?"

"Yes, Sir!"

"Now, I'm going to tell you something else.  You'll fly with whomever I
tell you to fly with, when I tell you to fly with him, and as often as I
tell you.  Now, you get your insubordinate little ass on that chopper
before I stick my size twelve boot in it!"  Still holding Jim's shirt,
the Major stepped aside and half threw Jim into the chopper. Both
climbed into the cargo bay and Hobbs gave Halsey the thumbs up sign.  In
seconds they were airborne.  Major Hobbs, with some difficulty, worked
his way over the radio console and into his seat. Jim had replaced his
chicken plate and helmet and, like Major Hobbs, returned to his seat.

"MacLaughlin, you on line?"

"Yes, Major."

"Good, flip it over to private."

"You there?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Good!  How do you feel right now, Mac?"

"Oh, slightly humiliated, upset and confused.  We both know I shouldn't
have spoken to Mr. Halsey the way I did, and you could get in as much
trouble for shoving me around."

"But I won't, will I?"

"No, Sir, I won't rat."

"Speaking of ratting; who fragged Mr. Halsey?"

"I don't know, Sir."

"Yes you do, and I know you knew it when I first made you a deal.

So why didn't you take it, Mac?  Then all this unpleasantness wouldn't
have happened."

There wasn't any response, so the Major pushed him a little harder.
"Don't think too long, Specialist, because I only want two answers. One,
the name, and two, why you didn't rat earlier."

"Sir, I don't know what you're talking about."

"The hell you don't."

"Major, what makes you think I do?"

"That's unimportant, just give me the name!"

"I don't know it."

"You're lying!"

"Major, this isn't going to get us anywhere, because you're just going
to say, yes, you are, and I'm going to say, no, I'm not.  So, if you
don't mind, would you tell me what you meant by 'no court martial?"'

This time it was the Major's turn to pause, "You mean you haven't
heard?"

"No, Sir.  I spent the evening at the hospital with Page.  I just got
back to my hooch when they came looking for a crew for this mission."

"Okay, well, it seems that Mr. Halsey has decided that in the interest
of 'esprit de corps,' he'll make the first move towards burying the
hatchet by not pressing charges against you."

"That's very generous of Mr. Halsey, Sir."

"Yes, it is and you had better decide to reciprocate."

"Sir, it wasn't me who had the problem to begin with.  The mere fact
that he's the officer and I'm the NCO should tell you who had been
harrassing whom."

"Yes, I know, but you're not entirely blameless.  Okay, Specialist, I'll
tell you what I've already done and you damn well better not tell
Halsey.  He's not going to find out until tomorrow morning.  As of then,
Mr. Halsey will be in the other flight platoon.  I decided not to enter
anything into your records.  That means you won't get any medal, but
when you get to the States nobody will ever know how much trouble you've
been in over here or how close you came to jail."

"Thank you, Sir."

"Mac, have you ever considered extending your tour over here?"

"No, Sir!"

"Well, consider it.  You're made for it.  The Colonel's right, you
simply enjoy living on the edge and this is the only place you'll be
able to.  Besides, you've got fifteen months left in the service when
you get back.  With that much time you'll get sent back over anyway-so
you might as well stay to begin with; at least for another six months.
That way you'll go home with less than a year left and not get sent
back.  You can fly with me as my crew chief, once I'm made CO.  I'll see
to it that you get the medals you deserve, and you won't have to worry
about people like Mr. Halsey."

"I don't know, Sir.  How can I live on the edge as you put it, flying in
circles at three thousand feet?  As for the medals, they don't mean that
much to me anyway.  I don't doubt for a second you could get them, after
all, Colonel Appleton got a Silver Star a couple of months ago for
flying courageously at thirty-five hundred feet while the rest of the
flight got the hell kicked out of them in the Hobo Woods."  Major Hobbs
sat there and slowly shook his head, "Mac, you don't respect anybody or
anything, do you?"

"Sir, only if it's earned.  So let me ask you a question, Major. Why me?
Of all the guys in the outfit, why do you want me?"

"Who knows!  Look, we're almost to Dau Tieng.  Think about extending,
Mac.  Better switch back to intership commo.

Jim saw the Major reach down and heard the click of his going off
private.  Reaching up, he turned his switch back to intercom also and
sat there quietly listening to Mr. Halsey update the Major on their
status.  Soon they were on the ground not far from the UH-23 chopper's
hanger.  Two warrant officers and a Spec-Four approached, then one
warrant stuck his head in the Major's window.  Major Hobbs directed them
to get in as he said, "Their ship's at the far end of the runway.  Let's
go see what's wrong.  Fortunately, we're not going to lose a pilot; he's
just got some small shrapnel in his right arm."

Everybody but Mr. Halsey jumped out almost as soon as they were on the
ground, leaving him to shut down.  The lone Huey was only about twenty
feet away but, for some reason, nobody approached it until Major Hobbs
spoke, "Okay, let's go find out what's wrong with it."

Jim turned to one of the warrant officers and asked, "Sir, why did you
land here?  I mean, did you lose power or hydraulics or what?"

Major Hobbs shouted, "Don't answer that!  Mac, you're supposed to be
good at your job, let's find out how good-you tell us what happened!"

Jim shrugged his shoulders and shook his head, "Okay, Major, whatever
makes you happy."  Jim returned to his chopper, climbed in and turned on
the search light, lowered it and shined it in the direction of the other
chopper.  Now he had plenty of light but, just in case, he held on to
his flashlight.

The whole right side of the Huey was pot-marked with shrapnel holes. Jim
looked underneath and saw a puddle.  He put his finger in it and then
smelled it-fuel.  He then opened the engine compartment and, after
checking it, climbed on top.  After about ten minutes, Jim walked up to
Major Hobbs, snapped to rigid attention, saluted and said, "Sir,
Specialist MacLaughlin reports."

Major Hobbs smiled, returned the salute and replied, "I guess I deserved
that.  Okay, Mac, as you were.  Now what did you find?"

Turning to the wounded officer, Jim said, "Sir, you either took a mortar
round or a grenade on your right rear side.  Which?"

"I don't know."

"Was your crew chief killed instantly?"

"Yeah, along with two of the long range recon people."

"You must have had your arm out the window?"

"No, just my elbow."

"Okay."  Turning back to the Major, Jim continued, "Sir, I believe a
mortar round hit just off their right side and slightly behind the crew
chief's seat.  As a result, there's a massive rupturing of the chopper's
skin, including the right upper and lower fuel cells.  They're supposed
to be self sealing and some of the smaller holes have sealed but there
are just too many that are too large.  Therefore, I suspect they ran out
of fuel.  Also, the engine shows it's taken a small piece of shrapnel
through the intake, breaking and chipping off some of the blades.  I
also suspect they had a drastic loss of power.  There's hydraulic oil
all over the place but I can't see a ruptured hose, so I suspect it's a
small break somewhere.  Without the lines being under pressure I can't
tell where the break is."  Turning back to the warrant, Jim continued,
"If you hadn't lost hydraulic assist yet, you would have very shortly."
To Major Hobbs, he said, "The tail boom has several holes in it. Without
taking the time to open the inspection panels, I'd say there's probably
structural damage; possibly damage to the tail rotor control cables.
It's unimportant, anyway, because the ship's unflyable.  We'll have to
get a Chinook to take it home.  The only other thing I found was a hole
in one of the main rotor blades which probably gave you a vibration.
That's all, Sir."

Turning to the Warrant Officer Jim asked, "How correct am I?"

"I'm impressed.  We landed here because we were losing fuel so fast we
couldn't get any further.  Hydraulic pressure was taking a steady drop
and we didn't have more than two thirds power, plus a pretty good
vibration in the stick."

Jim, with a big smile, looked Major Hobbs in the eye, "Will that be all,
Sir?"

"Yes, There's no way it'll fly home, right?"

"No, Sir!  You might just as well call for a hook."

"You did a good job, Specialist.  Let's go home.  We'll have it hooked
in the morning."  Mr. Halsey was standing beside Major Hobbs.  As
everyone started to walk away, Jim touched Mr. Halsey's arm, causing him
to turn around.  Extending his right hand Jim said, "Mr. Halsey, peace?"

Halsey looked at Major Hobbs and then back at Jim, "Yeah, why not, Mac?
Peace."  Mr. Halsey extended his hand and, somewhat begrudgingly, shook
Jim's.

Everyone but Jim and Major Hobbs had climbed aboard.  Jim untied the
rotor blades and walked around to hold the Major's door for him, "Mac, I
bet you play a mean game of poker!"

"Major, I don't particularly like the game."

"Well, you've played one hell of a hand tonight."  Jim, not sure of what
he meant, showed a puzzled look as he replied, "Sir?"

"Never mind.  You been to bed yet, Mac?"

"No, Sir."

"Flying tomorrow?"

"Yes, Sir."

The Major looked at his watch and said, "Well, you're only going to get
about an hour's sleep, I put the word out last night, everyone has to
stand reveille from now on."

"Sir, I thought this was a combat zone, not basic training.  Do you have
any idea how important those extra few minutes of sleep are to me?"

"I've got a real good idea, but that's no reason to relax military
discipline.  Get in.  Let's go home!"

Jim motioned for the Major to climb in, which he did.  Jim pulled the
armor plating on the seat forward to the lock position and shut the
door.  Halsey had already started the engine, so as soon as Jim was in
his seat, he gave Halsey the thumbs up sign.

Chapter Thirteen

Sure I'm Mean, But Don't Make Me Prove It!

Both men were only a few steps from the hooch door when they heard the
now familiar whistle of the Russian built 122MM rockets.  Jim, who was
closest to the bunker, turned and headed through the doorway. Tripping,
he fell over a body as he entered.  Wright, who'd been directly behind,
fell on top of him.  Both were startled at landing in an entanglement of
hot, clammy bodies that had already started cursing and making unkind
references about their mothers.  Finally, a flashlight was turned on,
showing a bunker packed so full of men they were sitting on top of each
other, with no place to stretch out their legs.  It had been hot
outside, but the added body heat made it unbearable inside.  By now the
rockets were falling so fast, one couldn't be distinguished from
another.  The continuous whistle and grumbling of the incoming rockets
had all blended into an ear shattering sound, made even worse by the
explosions as the rockets hit.  The very ground on which they laid began
to shake and vibrate as the pounding continued.  Each man pressed his
hands to his ears in a futile attempt to ease the pain.  This was
undoubtedly the worst bombardment Jim had ever been in.  Though it
seemed to each man that hours had passed, it had lasted only twenty
minutes.  Suddenly, as though someone flipped off a switch, it stopped.

The first sensation Jim felt was the ringing in his ears.  Slowly,
almost as though someone was tuning in a radio, his ears began to pick
up other sounds and tune out the buzzing and ringing.  A couple of guys
were crying and another was shouting obscenities at the VC, at the Army,
at Lyndon Johnson and anybody else who came to mind.  Someone turned on
a flashlight and the shivering in Jim's spine began to subside.  He
could see several guys still holding their ears and shaking.  Most
everyone was wearing only their underwear as they had obviously gotten
out of bed.  It wasn't much longer before someone said he couldn't stand
the smell of mildew and rot any longer; besides, his legs were aching
from someone sitting on them, and he was getting out.  It was the signal
they'd all been waiting for and the bunker slowly emptied.  Jim was
close to the doorway, and therefore, one of the first outside.  Once out
he waited for Gillett, who came crawling out wearing only his green
boxer shorts.

"Gillett, how long you guys been in that bunker?"

"Since shortly after you left.  This last one was the worst by far.
How'd you get along?"

"No problem.  In fact, I'm glad I went.  I wouldn't have gotten any
sleep in that bunker.  I'm going to bed.  See you later, Gillett."

"What time is it, Mac?"

Jim shone the light on his watch and answered, "About five 'til five."
Gillett shouted to anyone within hearing distance, "Listen up, you guys!
You might just as well get dressed, because everybody who's still
walking and has it swinging has to stand formation in five minutes!"

There was much cursing and moaning from everyone in the area, but it was
Hunter who hollered from the far side of the hooch, "Hey Gillett, if I
bind mine up, do I still have to stand reveille?"

"Yes!"

Gillett left to start the generator and shortly the hooch lights came
on.  Almost at the same moment Kenny started screaming.  His wall locker
had a six inch hole in it.  Jim looked at his own bed.  The mosquito
netting had been destroyed by a piece of shrapnel, but the bed itself
had been untouched.  Looking up at the metal roof that now had more
holes in it than a block of swiss cheese, Jim saw Kenny's monkey still
alive and cowering in the far corner.

By the time the company was called to attention, the confusion over
where to stand had yet to be worked out.  Major Hobbs could hardly
believe it; he had a whole company of people and two thirds of them had
never stood formation since joining the company.  They didn't know where
their platoon was, or where to fall in once they'd found it.  Others
didn't even try to find their platoon, they just fell in the end of the
first line they came to.  Very few people were happy about the
formation.  For one thing, it would only take one rocket to wipe out the
entire company.  Finally, at 0517, the reports were given and the Major
stepped forward to address the troops.

Jim heard Hunter behind him say, "I hope he makes this short.  I'm
getting hungry."

Jim smiled to himself at the typical lack of respect for officers. Major
Hobbs spoke, "Men, I know we've all had a rough night, but I'll not
accept this kind of slop for a formation.  Tomorrow morning every man in
this outfit BETTER know where he belongs and be there!  We've lost so
much time getting into formation that we can't have a police call of the
company area-so what I'm going to do is this: you can just get up
fifteen minutes earlier tomorrow morning, and you'll get up fifteen
minutes earlier every morning until you get it right.  By the time the
flight lands tonight, I want all the holes in the company area made by
those rockets filled.  First Sergeant, I also want a work crew to start
filling more sandbags and stacking them around the living quarters. Both
clubs will be closed until the hooches are patched and the sandbags are
raised to at least six feet from ground level around all the living
quarters.  You might just as well find out now that I've ordered enough
paint to paint all the buildings in the company.  There are going to be
a lot of improvements in this company in the next few days and I know
you men can handle it.  Finally, I think it's important that you know
we're going to be part of one of the largest operations of the war to
date, Yellowstone.  First Sergeant, dismiss the company!"

"Yes, Sir.  Company, ten hut!  Fall out!"

Gillett and Jim were among the first in the mess hall.  Each looked at
the other with an job no' type look, as they listened to the
conversation in front of them.

"Hey, Cookie, what's the idea of hamburgers for breakfast?"

"Look, it's just this simple, Charlie blew up our powdered eggs, powered
milk and boxes of cereal, along with most of our other supplies. About
all we've got left is bread and hamburger.  I can't even make creamed
beef!"

Gillett had just sat down when Major Hobbs approached from the kitchen
area that divided the officers' side from the enlisted mens'. "Sergeant
Gillett, there are some things I need to go over with you. Why don't you
bring your tray and join me on the officers' side?"

"Yes, Sir."

Hobbs turned to leave as Gillett stood up.  Gillett looked down at Jim
and said in a quiet, yet commanding tone, "What did you do now?"

Jim looked up and speaking through his teeth, answered in a slightly
forced manner, "Nothing!"

Jim was standing outside the hooch, his steel pot half full of water,
resting on top of the wall of sandbags protecting the hooch front. Being
careful not to lose any of the toothpaste he was applying to his
toothbrush, he didn't see Gillett walk up and slap him on the back.
"Well, Mac, I've got good news and bad news, which do you want first?"

"Give me the good and somebody else the bad."

"Sorry, you only had two choices.  But to show you what a nice guy I am
I'll give you the good news first, anyway.  Halsey has been transferred
to the other platoon."

"Is that it?"

"Yes."

"Hobbs told me that last night.  What else you got, Gillett?"

"Well, aren't you just full of little surprises.  That's all the good.

The rest is bad."

"And I'll just bet there's a lot more of it, isn't there?"

"Yes.  Well, to start with, Hobbs will be flying your right seat today."

"That's okay, he's not bad to fly with.  Besides, as long as he's on
board, there are only two places we'll be flying, lead or trail.  I
won't get stuck on some side mission."

"You're flying trail."

Jim finished spitting out the rinse water and gave the remaining water
in his steel pot a fling.  "I hope that's the worst of the bad news."

"It's not.  Hobbs has ordered in enough soap and buckets so that we can
start washing the helicopters."

"The man is crazy!"

"Mac, that's not the half of it.  He also ordered in enough paint to
completely paint all the choppers and enough paste wax, in fifteen pound
cans, no less, to paste wax all those suckers."

"The man is totally insane!  What time does he want us to do all this?
Let me guess, midnight to two o'clock?"

"I don't know, Mac.  I also don't know what we're going to do about it.
Any ideas?"

"Not right off the top."  The two friends stood there looking disgusted.
Jim had a thought, "Hey, Gillett, did he also order in rags or sponges?"

"No, he didn't."

Gillett's face broke into a smile.  He knew there weren't any sponges in
the company, and supply was so tight with rags they had to be signed in
and out.  An old rag to wipe your hands with was something jealously
guarded.

As Jim walked to the flight line, he took time to look over the company
area.  The place was a mess.  Although, for the pounding they'd taken
during the night, they'd gotten off pretty cheap.  One other hooch had
taken a direct hit and been turned into kindling.  Another hooch had
lost its front and several had roof damage.  There were countless pot
holes and one place where the drainage ditch had been widened.  Most
every hooch had some holes in its sides and several had roofs that
looked like someone had tried to open a can with a screwdriver instead
of a can opener.  The flight line, for some reason, didn't look like it
had received more than a few strays.

It was only a little after six and already the heat and humidity had
caused sweat beads to roll down Jim's back, soaking his shirt.  The sun
was up and serving notice.  It would be unpleasant today.

There were places the dust was ankle deep, making it hard to walk.

In a few weeks it would start raining and that dust would become ankle
deep mud, which would be even harder to walk through.

Jim was glad his helicopter was still there.  Once up in the air it
would be a whole lot cooler; just one of the little benefits of being a
flyboy.  Jim opened the left cargo door and put his water jug inside,
directly behind the console.  Next, he pulled out the green,
plastic-covered log book.  His entry from just a few hours before was
the last one.  There wasn't any reason that something should have been
added, but one always checked the log book anyway.  He could remember
more than once going to the ship he'd been assigned, checking the log
book and finding anything from a radio to an engine had been pulled out
during the night.  He'd finished his preflight and was having some water
when Gillett drove up in the quarter ton.  Wright jumped off the back
and pulled out two M60's.  Gillett waved a greeting as Jim shouted,
"Hey, Gillett, where's Kenny?"

"I sent him on a convoy to Saigon.  By the way, I've some more good
news.  They decided to let the gook K.P.'s back on post today."

"You don't suppose one of them would like to have monkey stew tonight,
do you?"

Gillett smiled broadly and said, "I'd had that thought myself." Gillett
drove off.

Jim helped Wright mount his guns as the pilots approached.  Wright
spoke, "Man, oh man, Mac.  Kenny is sure going to be mad when he gets
back and his monkey is gone."

"Yeah, he'll flap around like an old rooster that's just been wet on.
Won't it be wonderful?"

Major Hobbs, who had just walked around the ship asked, "Won't what be
wonderful?"

Jim and Wright came to attention and saluted both Hobbs and Walker,
"Good morning, Sir.  Wright and I were just talking about how nice it
will be to finally get rid of Kenny's monkey."

Major Hobbs smiled, "You mean one of the men has a pet monkey?"

"Yes, Sir, and it's disgusting.  It's like living in a zoo.  The damn
thing shits on people or shits and then throws it at somebody.  It
jacked off the other day and dumped its load all over Hunter's wall
locker."

The Major was laughing so hard he had to sit down.  "Sir, I'm glad you
find it so funny.  Believe me, you wouldn't if you walked in the door
and WHAM!  A load of monkey shit hits you between the eyes!"

The Major regained his composure long enough to ask, "Mac, did you
preflight this thing yet?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Do it again.  This time, though, I want you to show me everything
you're looking for.  I want to learn as much about a Huey as I can while
I've got the chance."

"Well, Sir, let me be the first to welcome you to Mac's school of
preflights."  Jim showed the Major everything he did on a preflight, and
during that time there was a running conversation between the Major and
the SP-5.  Jim asked about Colonel Appleton, since he hadn't seen him
for a while.  Major Hobbs was pleased to inform him that the CO had been
called to Saigon for a few days but would join them today as C and C,
thus explaining Hobbs being in the command position.  The Major was very
friendly during the preflight even though Jim took a jab at him when
asked about extending.  He explained to the Major he didn't have any
time off as it was, and the idea of washing nd waxing Hueys when he
could be sleeping didn't excite him.  Jim told him that was
stateside-type duty, not combat zone.  That if he was going to pull
stateside duty; he might as well be there.  They hadn't finished the
preflight when Lead ship started to crank.  Hobbs quickly climbed
inside, called Lead and informed them his ship had been n a single ship
night mission and would need fuel.  Jim laughed to himself as he could
picture the lieutenant flying Lead ship kissing hobbs ass by politely
telling him to go refuel.  Anybody else would have received a
not-so-polite chewing out.  It wasn't long until they were parked at the
fuel dump.

Jim had just climbed back into his seat when Hobbs came over the
intercom.  "Men, take a good look, because the first day I'm made CO of
this company, that's something you'll never see again."

Jim looked up to see a hog making its usual struggle to take off.

A hog was a classic example of the American adage that a little is nice,
but a bunch is a whole lot better.  It always amazed Jim that a hog
could get off the ground at all.  Hog pilots had their own routine; they
always refueled first, then hovered to the opposite end of the flight
line where the ammo bunker was located.  There the gunner, crew chief
and, if in a hurry; the copilot rearmed the ship with rockets and
grenades.  Once fully fueled, armed and crewed, a hog was about one
thousand pounds over maximum gross for take off.  Thus, the pilot always
landed at the ammo bunker with the ship's nose pointed down the runway,
because he couldn't hover to change directions.  Whatever direction he
was pointed, he had to go.  Take off wasn't so much a thing of graceful
beauty, as it was an accident full of explosives on its way to a
happening.  The pilot had to bring the engine and rotors up to full RPM,
then tip the ship over onto the curved, forward part of the skids, which
made it look like it was standing on its nose.  Then, by jerking pitch
into the rotors giving it lift, the pilot could literally hop down the
runway until he had enough airspeed to make the transition into flight.
Even then, he had to stay close enough to the ground to use the prop
blast from the rotors to help him in the air.  Only after most of the
runway had been used did a hog ship have enough airspeed to raise its
nose and gain altitude.  After topping off with fuel, Major Hobbs
informed Lead he was ready to go.  Instantly, Lead pulled pitch and
hovered out of his revetment.  Everyone in Jim's ship waited patiently
as each ship slowly flew by, then the ninth one went by and it was their
turn.

Walker pulled pitch into the rotors and hovered away from the fuel dump.
He turned the ship to the right and started out over Tay Ninh Village.
The Major had just finished calling Lead and telling him the flight was
up when it happened-there was a crashing sound and Jim instantly knew
they'd been hit.

Both the door gunner and crew chief had an M60 machine-gun hung by
bungie
cords.

as Walker tried to regain control.  It was a startled Major Hobbs who
shouted into the mike, "What the hell?"

Jim could see Hobbs trying to climb out of his seat backwards and then
sink back down.  Walker spoke, "You okay, Major?"

"Yes, I guess.  Turn it around, Mr. Walker, we'll have to change ships
while maintenance replaces this windshield."  It was then the Major
picked up the dead duck in his lap and threw it onto the cargo seat.

Jim came over the intercom, "Major, what happened?"

"That damn duck just flew through my windshield and hit me in the
chicken plate.  I don't mind telling you, it scared the shit out of me."

"Well, Sir, I've heard of a man shitting a brick before, but this is the
first time I've ever seen anyone shit a duck."

Jim could see Walker laughing so hard he could hardly drive. Hobbs, now
laughing also said, "I'm just damn glad I had on a chicken plate or that
stupid duck would have broken every rib I've got."

"What kind of duck was it, Major?"

"Hell, I don't know, but it's a dead one now!"  Walker called Lead and
told him what had happened, assuring him they'd be back in the air just
as soon as they changed ships.  Lead wasn't very happy; so after talking
to Lead, Walker called Operations and asked where to land and where
another ship could be found.  They were told to park it on the
maintenance pad to get the window fixed because there weren't any other
flyable aircraft.  Lead had been listening in and made it clear he
couldn't understand anyone flying into a duck.  Once on the maintenance
pad, three men hurried their direction.  One carried a tool box, one had
a new window still wrapped in its protective paper and the third was a
Spec-Six tech inspector.  Jim couldn't help but be impressed.  Service
like this he'd never had before.  Maybe flying with a Major wasn't so
bad after all.  He'd put windows in by himself before and it wasn't that
easy, plus it took a long time.  Something told him this job would be
done in less than twenty minutes.

Jim tied down the rotor blades and walked around to where the
maintenance men were attacking the broken windshield like ants after a
cube of sugar.  Since there wasn't any room left for him to work on the
windshield, he decided to get out of the sun.  The large maintenance
tent was only twenty feet away, so he casually walked over and found an
empty spot inside on one of the work benches and sat down.  Directly
overhead was a large NO SMOKING sign that someone was using as a shirt
rack.  It might just as well have been used as a dart board, since he
was the only man in the tent who didn't have a cigarette hanging out of
his mouth.  It was slightly cooler inside the tent, but only slightly,
with a faint, hot breeze moving through the open ends.

There were two slicks parked beside each other having their PE's pulled,
each with cowling off, inspection panels open, and in various stages of
being broken down and put back together.  Jim leaned back against the
stiff canvas wall of the tent and closed his eyes.  At the sound of
heavy footsteps approaching, he opened one eye and saw Major Hobbs
standing there looking at him.

"They said I'd find you in here.  If you were sleepy, why didn't you
rack out on the chopper's seats?"

"Because, Sir, there was a dead duck on it that belonged to you and it's
a lot cooler in here."

Hobbs smiled, "It is at that.  Mind if I sit down?"  Jim moved over to
make room.  "You know, Sir, I came over with a company as a maintenance
man; I pulled many a P.E.  Man, am I glad I'm out of that routine.  I
may not get any sleep, but it's a lot more fun flying.  I mean, Major,
how many of these guys can go home and tell about having a duck fly
through their window?  By the way, Sir, you going to have it stuffed or
what?'

"I just took it to Cookie and let him know I wanted it dressed and ready
to eat the night I make AC.  I'll have a special party for you, Wright
and Mr. Walker.  You do eat duck don't you, Mac?"

"It couldn't be any worse than the zoo I've eaten with the Special
Forces before we were made an all combat assault company.  Those guys
eat whatever their Montagnard friends cook, which could be anything from
dog, monkey, rat or snake, to the water buffalo that died of old age, or
hoof and mouth.  You know, Major, I'll just bet the cook was tickled
pink about having to cook that duck."

Hobbs laughed as he replied, "He didn't say much."

"I can imagine that!  Major, do you mind if I ask you a question?"

"Go right ahead."

"Sir, you've got infantry written all over you.  What are you doing in
aviation?"

"Well, to make a long story short, I took ROTC in college, liked it, and
decided to make a life of it.  I graduated in '63 and was getting
nowhere fast in the States, so I went to jump school and then
volunteered for 'Nam.  I was sent to Okinawa in January of '65 and
joined the 173rd Airborne Brigade.  We came to Nam on May 7th that same
year and operated out of Bien Hoa.  It was a hell of a good unit.  You
know we were one of the first units into Vietnam.  In fact, I remember
General Williamson, he was Brigade commander, telling us we were only
here temporarily until an airborne brigade from the States relieved us.
They're still here, up at An Khe, but we were supposed to be temporary
because we were the only Pacific command quick reaction unit around.
Anyway, I ended up spending eighteen months over here before rotating
home.  But I hadn't done too badly; I'd been a platoon leader and hoped
to make company XO.  In fact, that's what I'd stayed for.  The only
problem was every other officer who had been commissioned since the
Korean War saw Nam as a chance for promotion.  So I ended up at Fort
Bragg with the 82nd Airborne Division behind a desk, doing nothing but
reading the newspapers and being bored to death.  After about a year of
that, I decided this war wasn't going to end in a year or two, and I
might just as well get back in it while the getting was good.  Besides,
I loved it here.  This is where it's at.  You and I are alike in that
respect.  You just haven't admitted it yet.  You get back to the States,
you'll realize this is reality and there's nothing else like it.  It's
just one hell of an ego trip.  Anyway, after my first tour over here, it
was obvious that helicopters were where the action was, so I put in for
flight school.  I'll tell you what, it didn't take that request long to
come through.  So I was off to Fort Rucker in Alabama and Huey flight
training.  From there I joined the 101st Airborne at Fort Campbell and
we arrived at Bien Hoa on November 19, 1967.  I made Major in January.
About a month ago, I happened upon an old friend of mine in Saigon who
worked in Corp Headquarters.  During the course of the conversation, he
mentioned this unit needed an Executive Officer, and here I am."

The tech inspector walked in and told them their ship was ready. Jim
couldn't believe it.  Only seventeen minutes had passed since he had
tied the rotors down.  Jim picked up a strange looking device that he'd
asked one of the guys in sheet metal to make for him a few days ago, and
headed for the ship.  He explained to Major Hobbs how it was used to
cook c-rations.  He was also impressed with the speed of maintenance.
Hobbs was really pleased when Jim told him it would have taken an hour
or more for him to do it by himself.  Then, pointing out all the rivets
that went all the way around the windshield to Hobbs, he explained how
they were removed and then replaced with new ones.  The man seemed
genuinely interested in learning everything he could and Jim enjoyed
teaching him.

They were airborne again and he had a chance to think about the Major's
story.  Jim had been in the Army long enough to be able to read between
the lines and there were sure some big holes in that story.  Oh, he was
probably telling the truth about not getting anywhere after college.  It
was a peace time Army with several Korean veterans still around, and if
you're an infantry officer, you just about have to be airborne in order
to make it up the ladder.  Plus, old Hobbs had been smart enough to see
a chance to get that all important combat experience.  And it's not too
hard to believe that bit about every officer since Korea volunteering
for Nam, also.  I'll bet he stepped on somebody's toes or he wouldn't
have ended up behind a desk doing nothing in the States.  If he went
over in January '65 that means he went home in June '66.  The buildup
was underway by that time, new companies were being formed from scratch,
and there's just no way a Captain with experience as a platoon leader in
combat would get filed away.  I wonder what he did.  He should have been
in a position to climb right up the ladder, quick.  Whatever it was, he
must have been passed over for promotion at least once back in the
States because of it; possibly even once before that in Nam, with the
173rd.  That would have been twice, once more and he'd have been riffed
out of the service.  That's why he put in for flight training.  If he'd
really loved combat as much as he let on, he'd have put in for Ranger
school instead of flight school; although helicopters would get him out
of the infantry and give him a chance to start fresh.  The Army needed
helicopter pilots badly, so he got in quick, but I'll bet he shit his
pants when he ended up with the 101st Airborne.  That's why he went to
Saigon and happened upon a friend.  Happened upon, my butt, I'll bet
he's gone and hunted him up. Old Hobbs had to get out of that infantry
unit.  Even if he was driving helicopters for them, he was still in the
airborne.  That friend of his at Corps had enough rank, or else had the
right job, with access to records and information to know we needed an
XO.  I'll even bet he arranged the man's promotion to Major.  Hobbs did
say he'd been promoted in January.  I'll bet his buddy's got the
promotion and orders sending Hobbs up here all on the same set of
orders.  After all, if Corps knew we needed an XO, it knew we would need
a CO in about a month.  If the buddy in Corps had that ability, then
there wasn't any reason to believe he couldn't purge Hobbs' records for
him, also.  Not a bad deal, really. Hobbs had taken out of his records
whatever it was that kept him from being promoted, never to be seen
again; he gets orders sending him up here, and the promotion to Major.
When he goes home at the end of this tour, he'll have one of the most
important flags on his 201 file an officer could have, command of a
company during combat.  One thing was certain, any officer who gets a
star in the next twenty years will have to have that flag on his
records.  No combat leadership command, no star.  For that matter, it's
going to be just about as important for an enlisted man to have Nam on
his records.  After all, the officers who are promoted will be Vets and
they'll surround themselves with enlisted men who are Vietnam Vets also.
I wonder what Hobbs had to give his buddy at Corps?  That might explain
Hobbs' attitude towards Halsey and me.  Maybe he's walked in my boots.
He just might have had a Halsey back in the 173rd without anybody to
protect him.

By the time they had rejoined the flight, one lift had already been
made.  Mr. Walker pulled into the trail position as Hobbs advised Lead
of their presence.  Troops were picked up at Dau Tieng and added to
those already in position.  There had been no contact made to this
point, so it was beginning to look like another long, quiet, boring day.
From the LZ they flew to Tay Ninh and picked up more troops.  These were
put in a different location and the flight headed back to Tay Ninh.

By this time, Major Hobbs was getting wise to Mr. Walker's way of waking
Jim up before each landing, but Hobbs was so tired he didn't really
care.  In fact, he wished he could rack out also.

They were almost back to Tay Ninh when Six called Lead and told him
their mission had been changed.  Nothing was happening with the troops
they'd put in, and all hell had broken loose up north a ways; so they'd
been released from the 25th Infantry and Operation Yellowstone.  They
were to pick up troops from the 1st Infantry Division at Lai Khe and put
them in at an LZ just northeast of Song Be.

The flight up to Lai Khe took half an hour, during which Jim woke up
long enough to say, "clear right" just prior to touch down.  Jim noticed
Major Hobbs was asleep while he put on fuel and troops.  Having been to
Lai Khe before, Jim recognized the place, but since he'd been asleep he
had no idea why they were there, where they were going or why they were
picking up troops from the Big Red One.  He turned on all his radios
after refueling, except AM Saigon, so it wasn't long before Lead's
conversation with Six in C and C told him just about everything he
wanted to know.  Jim figured the flight all the way up to Song Be would
take a little over an hour, so once again he pulled his visor down,
turned off the radios, and put on his seat belt.  Sleep came quickly as
he sat there watching the rice paddies turn to woodlands.

Just outside Song Be, Mr. Walker had to wake not only Jim, but Wright
and Major Hobbs.  The Major was very apologetic about dozing off, even
though Mr. Walker told him not to feel bad about it and had made light
of his sleep-talking.

Song Be was a small village only a few miles from Cambodia and almost to
the Second Corp area.  It was heavily wooded and slightly rolling; some
would say picturesque best described the area.  It was also a U.S.
Special Forces Camp.  Yet for everyone in the flight of ten Hueys on
long final approach, it was just another place to land, be shot at, and
for some, to be wounded and die.  They all knew it wasn't going to be
good.  An ARVN unit had gotten things started by sending out a patrol
that was ambushed and ran.  This upset the ARVN commander, so he sent
his entire unit out to engage Charlie.  The only problem was his men had
back bones made of a substance slightly softer than mush.  As a result,
once the shooting started, they fell in behind the largest trees they
could find and had been screaming for help ever since.

Mr. Walker called the roll to make sure everyone was awake.  Major Hobbs
was upset that Mr. Walker would be checking on him again, and made it
clear Walker wasn't to do it again.

"Major, would you like to drive?  This LZ is going to be good and hot!"

"Mr. Walker, I'd be glad to drive.  What makes you think it's going to
be so hot?  The gunships didn't get any ground fire during their prep."

"Yes!  Sir, that's one reason I think it'll be hot.  We know they're
down there.  I mean somebody kicked the shit out of that ARVN unit.  If
they've got enough training and discipline not to fire on our gunship,
then they're NVA.  Believe me, it'll be hot.  Okay, you two in the back,
we're on short final, once we cross that road just ahead, open up.  ARVN
is supposed to be all on this side of the road so, Wright, if it moves
down there cut it in half!"

"You got it, Sir."

"Mac, you copy?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Okay, there goes the road."

Both door guns opened up, causing the usual vibration.  The grunts on
board knew that was their sign.  They all shifted in their seats and
looked a lot more alert: some tightened their chin straps, some checked
their weapons, one even retied his left boot.  It was eight seconds from
the time the doorguns opened up until Hobbs sat it down and the grunts
jumped off.  Walker had been right.  It was hot.  It was very hot. There
was a steady flow of muzzle flashes coming from both tree lines. As the
grunts jumped out, Jim's M60 was working perfectly.  He gave the usual
one word signal that the troops were all out, "Go!"  and instantly the
Huey started to lift.  Out of the corner of his eye, Jim saw the grunts
start to move forward, when one stood up straight, threw both his arms
up and out, with his M16 being released and flying through the air. His
face showed the pain his scream expressed.  In that same movement his
arms came back in, clutching his midsection as his knees buckled and his
head jerked forward; collapsing his body in a roll on the ground.

Jim shouted into his mike, "Major, put it back down!  Now!"  Like any
good pilot, Major Hobbs instantly, and without question, followed his
crew chiefs command and sat it down only ten yards from where they'd
dropped off the grunts.  Jim waved to the two grunts who had come to
their wounded buddy's aid to put him on board.  At the same moment, he
started firing his M60 into the trees and talking to his pilots.  Less
than two seconds had elapsed since he'd told Hobbs to set it down.

"Major, I've got a WIA back there!"

"Well, tell 'em to hurry up!  We're sitting ducks here!"  As the two
grunts helped put the wounded but still conscious GI on board, Mr.
Walker called Lead.  "Lead, this is Trail, you've got nine ships up.
We're still on the ground putting on a wounded grunt."

"Roger, Trail.  Take him to Phuoc Binh, Lead, out."  The wounded GI was
a large black man with an unusual pot belly for a grunt.  He was losing
a lot of blood fast as it flowed freely onto his shirt and pants. There
was a small white man under his right arm, and another black under his
left arm.  They quickly lifted him into the chopper's cargo area, with
Wright's aid.  As they pushed his legs inside, the short white man
slammed face first onto the floor as though pushed by some unseen force.
He struggled to stand, only to slide off the edge of the chopper's
floor.  The black man beside him reached down and pulled him to his
feet.  Blood was now making the back of the little man's shirt soggy. In
one big push, the black man shoved the smaller white man onto the Huey
and then threw in his M16.  Mr. Walker had taken the controls and run
the RPM up enough so when Jim said, "Go!  Go!", the ship literally
jumped into the air and disappeared.

As Jim climbed over the seats to help Wright give first aid, Mr. Walker
said, "How many hits did we take, Mac?  And how bad are those two?"

"Sir, I heard at least two hits, but I was kind of busy, so I wasn't
really listening for them.  How many did you hear?"

"I counted at least three.  Check it out close when we get to Phuoc
Binh!"

"You got it!  Sir, you asked about these two."  Jim had been working as
he talked, and it didn't look good.  "The white guy's not too bad, he
took a slug in the right shoulder.  If you can turn around and look at
this black guy you should.  I've never seen anything like it before."

With that, both officers turned in their seats to look back.  Major
Hobbs spoke instantly, "Holy shit!  He's going to need major surgery, we
better get him to Tay Ninh."

Jim said, "Major, he'll never make it to Tay Ninh.  I don't know what's
at Phuoc Binh, but even if there's only an aid station with a doctor, he
can do more than we can to stabilize him until a med-avac can transport
him."

"You're right, Mac, it would take us a half hour to get to Tay Ninh, and
we're on long final to Phuoc Bilth now."

Jim had bandaged the shoulder of the wounded grunt who, still conscious,
had positioned himself so the black man's head rested on his lap.  Tears
slowly rolled down his cheek as he softly stroked his black friend's
head.  Wright had removed the flak jacket and opened the Black's shirt
only to have his intestines fall out.  The bullet had made a perfect
incision just below the belly button.  What Jim had thought was a pot
belly were, in fact, the man's guts hanging out.  It was at times like
these Jim marveled at the punishment the human body could endure and
still survive.  Neither Wright nor Jim knew what to do. Every time they
tried to push his guts back in, more came out.  There was blood all over
the place but no place to put a tourniquet. Likewise, there wasn't any
place to apply direct pressure as could be done with a muscle wound.
Every time they tried to apply direct pressure to the jagged edges of
the tear, more guts and blood came out somewhere else.  For some reason,
there didn't seem to be any sensation in the area because he never once
showed any signs of pain.  He was obviously in shock.  One look at his
badly dilated eyes and dazed expression confirmed it.  Yet, he never
made a sound.

Finally, they landed.  A man with a stethoscope around his neck and only
an olive drab t-shirt met them.  Jim figured he was the doctor. There
were three other bare chested men who were taking orders from t-shirt.
Jim could hardly believe his eyes as he watched the black hold his own
guts on top of himself as the others placed him on a stretcher.

Both crewmen had removed their flight gloves to work on the wounded
grunts, but had wiped their hands on the shirts of the infantrymen as
t-shirt and his men arrived.  Walker was in the process of shutting it
down as Jim and Wright threw dirt and sand on the floor to help dry up
the blood.  Jim opened Major Hobbs' door and slid his seat's armor
plating back.  He was somewhat surprised when the Major climbed out and
said, "Well, Mac, it's turning into quite a day.  First we have a duck
fly through our windshield, then we have some poor grunt spill his guts
all over the floor."

"Sir, I feel sorry for him."

"Mac, me too.  You've got to give him credit though, he's got balls of
steel.  There aren't too many men who wouldn't have passed out.  Then
when they put him on that stretcher he just gathered in his guts and
held on."  Hobbs laughed as he added, "Just like he was saying, 'By God,
they belong to me and nobody else can have 'em!"'

"Major, you are hard!  I mean really, making fun of some poor guy who's
had his guts shot out."  Jim shook his head and walked around the
aircraft's nose as Hobbs followed laughing.  There was one bullet hole
in the fiberglass lid that housed some of the radios and a battery.  Jim
pointed the hole out to Hobbs.  "There, Major, another two feet in your
direction and you'd have had that one in the leg.  You might have even
gotten a free ride to the States out of it."

"I'll be damned!  I'd have put a band-aid on it, and maybe taken a
couple days off just to help the guys in the company area get things
straightened out, and been right back at it."

"Sir, if you want, I'll find you some old rusty nails for breakfast!"
Hobbs at first was taken back, then a small smile crossed his lips,
followed by his larger than necessary laugh.  "Mac, you're alright, you
know that?  I like a man who's not afraid to give it to me straight.
Something tells me you'd walk right up to General Westmoreland, himself,
lay it on the line and not give a shit how many stars he's got.  You and
I'll get along just fine."

They found the second hole in the tail boom.  There wasn't any damage to
anything except its skin.  They looked and looked for the third one that
Walker was sure he'd heard hit, but couldn't find.  Jim had even started
to climb on top for a second look when Wright hollered, "I found it."

One round had passed through the soundproofing in the ceiling, almost in
the middle and above the cargo door opening.  It had then exited through
the track on which the cargo door hung.  Once Jim saw it, he tried to
shut the cargo door, but it wouldn't go past the bullet's exit hole.
Looking over at Major Hobbs, who was standing there watching, Jim said,
"Major, we'll have to take this door off once we get back to Tay Ninh,
or we won't be able to get into the engine compartment on the left side.
Plus, it'll have to stay off until maintenance can get a new track put
on."

The Major took another drag from his cigar, frowned, slowly nodded and
more slowly said, "Why do I get the impression I'm going to have to
crack some nuts to keep the doors on all the helicopters?"

"Because, Sir, the cargo doors are a pain in the ass.  Besides, I didn't
put that bullet hole there."

It wasn't long before they'd joined up with the flight on their way out
of the same LZ.  Another Huey company had joined the Blackhawks on this
lift and what should have been a major battle, was underway.  The NVA
found themselves in a box.  On one side, American troops, on another,
ARVN, and both were to be pushing the NVA towards Cambodia. But between
Cambodia and them stood the American Special Forces camp of Song Be, and
all their mountain friends who hated the North Vietnamese more than
anything or anyone else.

There was one more lift put in a different LZ by each Huey company.
These were to dig in and hold in an effort to force the NVA towards Song
Be.  There was only one small problem, the ARVN troops weren't moving.
This had irritated the American Commander to the point he'd ordered his
troops to hold until they'd received confirmation that ARVN was on the
move.  Thus, the Blackhawks had been ordered back to An Loc.

The flight was on short final approach when Mr. Walker spoke, "Hey, Mac!
Sounds like we might have a little time, how about cooking our C's?"

"You got it, just don't shut if off too quick."  Once on the ground,
Walker kept the Huey running at idle speed.  Jim quickly jumped out and
closed his cargo door.  Then, opening the storage compartment door, he
pulled out the four C-ration boxes, and the metal holder he'd just
picked up earlier that day after having one of the guys in sheet metal
make it for him.  He took the main meals from each box, placed them in
his pockets, opened the engine compartment and climbed onto the
platform.  Then, using Wright's asbestos glove (used for changing gun
barrels), he placed the rack with the C's in it inside the engine's
exhaust pipe just after Mr. Walker shut it off.  The heat still
radiating from the turbine engine quickly heated their lunch.  Still
using the asbestos glove, he carefully removed each can and placed it on
the platform beside his feet.  Then he removed the holder and threw it
on the ground to cool, but it didn't hit the ground until after bouncing
off a highly polished combat boot.  Jim looked down at a short, slightly
plump little man wearing a uniform that looked like it had come from a
dry cleaners in the States with extra starch.  It was then that Jim saw
the star in the center of the baseball cap.

Jim saluted as best he could and at the same time glanced at the tall,
straight-backed first lieutenant standing with a clipboard behind the
general.

"Good afternoon, General."

Both officers returned his salute as the General spoke, "Good afternoon,
Specialist.  What were you doing?"

"Sir, I was cooking our C-rations."

"Very ingenious.  Did you make this, Specialist?"

"Yes, Sir, with the help of some of the guys in sheet metal."

"Everyone in your company have one of these?"

"No, Sir, just me.  That's the second one I've had.  I lost the first
one after only using it a couple of times when my ship was shot down and
burned.  My friend in sheet metal knew it, so he made this one and I
just got it this morning."

The General bent to pick it up and burnt his fingers.  "Sir, that's why
I use my gunner's glove."

The General looked up disdainfully and said, "Get down from there!"
Looking inside the aircraft, the General saw Major Hobbs and Mr. Walker
still in their seats talking, with the Major smoking a cigar.  In no
time the General had all four crew members standing at attention in
front of him.  "At ease, men.  Do any of you four know who I am?"

The General searched each man's face.  Getting no response he started to
speak when Jim said, "Sir, I do."

The General turned to Jim, who was standing there looking like he wished
he didn't know.  "Very well, Specialist MacLaughlin, is that
pronunciation correct?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Very well, Specialist, why don't you enlighten your fellow crew
members!"

"Sir, you're Brigadier General Amber, Commanding Officer 1st Aviation
Brigade."

"Very good, Specialist, and how is it you know that when your Major
doesn't?"

"Well, Sir, he hasn't been in country that long."

"Specialist, I didn't ask you to make excuses for your officers."

"No, Sir.  I was a member of the 191st Assault Helicopter Company at
Bear Cat before being sent up here.  We had a formation one day,
complete with TV cameras and you were there passing out medals.  After
you'd finished decorating people, you climbed up on the platform to
speak, when you were handed a note.  I remember your asking our
Operations Officer if this was for real and he assured you it was. Then,
you somewhat disgustedly spoke into the mike and told us a tactical
emergency had been declared and all members of the flight crews were to
man their ships.  I think almost everybody in that formation let out a
scream of joy and half of us threw our hats in the air.  It was nothing
personal, Sir, we just didn't want to stand out there in the sun and
listen to speeches.  I guess, Sir, I remember your face from that day."

"You mean you remember my nose."  Jim didn't respond, but couldn't help
but smile.  "It's okay, Specialist, I know they call me Hook-Nose Six.
But with a horn like this, I can't blame anybody but my old man. You
know, I remember that day also.  It sure was hot.  Believe it or not, I
felt so sorry for you guys I'd decided to cut my speech from fifteen
minutes down to just a couple.  After all, I've stood in a few of those
formations myself.  If I remember right, you guys flew all the way down
to Cau Mong that night.  Got yourself into quite a fight, too, didn't
you?"

"I don't really know, Sir.  I was in maintenance."  The General simply
smiled and said, "Hmmrn.  This your ship, Specialist?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Why isn't your name on it as crew chief?"  Jim glanced over at Walker,
and the Major then replied, "Sir, it was just transferred to us
yesterday."

"Do you smoke in your aircraft when it's on the ground, Specialist?" Jim
knew what the General had in mind.  "Sir, I don't smoke at all, but if I
could add, Sir, Major Hobbs has been very kind to me, Sir.  I'm
convinced he'll make an excellent pilot and commanding officer.  He
hasn't been in the company long enough to know one isn't supposed to
smoke in the ship on the ground."

Again there was only the 'Hmmm' from the General before he said in a
very commanding voice, "Lieutenant!"

"Sir!"

"Lieutenant, it appears we have three Article 15's to pass out here.
Major, you get the first one for smoking in an aircraft on the ground
with its engines shut off.  That'll cost you one hundred fifty dollars.
One hundred dollars for smoking, fifty because you're the company XO and
should set a better example for your troops.  Give the Lieutenant your
full name, rank and serial number!"

If looks could kill, General Amber would have dropped dead on the spot.
As the Lieutenant took the information from Major Hobbs, General Amber
asked, "Mr. Walker, you're the Aircraft Commander?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Then you alone are responsible for everyone on board your ship
regardless of whether they're crew members or passengers.  They're your
responsibility.  As a result, they take orders from you even if they are
majors.  I understand your problem with rank, but you have no choice but
to make it clear that you disapprove of their actions.  Did you say
anything to the Major?"

"No, Sir."

"Because you didn't say anything at all to the Major about his cigar,
it'll cost you one hundred dollars.  Give the Lieutenant your full name,
rank and serial number."

Turning to Wright who was next in line, Amber continued, "You seem to be
the lucky one today.  You get off scot free.  Just have a seat in the
aircraft and see to it you don't move up the line.  By this time
everyone in this flight who smokes has lit up and I'm going to get every
one of them for one hundred dollars.  So just have a seat and enjoy your
lunch.  I'm sure it's still warm."

Then turning to Jim, the General said, "And as for you, I don't know. At
least you had good motives."

Jim took this opening as his only chance.  "Sir, have you ever eaten
cold beans and weenies or, even worse, cold pork slices with so much
grease it looked like lard?  Then when you ate it, even after scraping
off the greasy lard, it stuck to your teeth and mouth until you were
willing to use a GI brush to get it off?"

"Yes, Specialist, I have and so have thousands of others and there'll be
thousands more after you're gone.  Give the Lieutenant your serial
number."

"But, General, I wasn't doing it just for myself.  If everyone could
cook their C's, we'd all be a lot happier.  Happy troops make better
troops, and Sir, I wouldn't keep it for myself.  I can very easily see
the Army putting one of these in each chopper."

"You're a real humanitarian, Specialist.  Now, before you become a
Spec-Four, give the Lieutenant your serial number!"  Jim decided it
wasn't going to do any good to continue on, especially after being
threatened with the loss of a stripe.  In a voice that clearly conveyed
his displeasure, Jim said, "RA and I USED to be proud of it!"  The
General shouted, "Specialist, one more smart ass remark out of you and
you'll be an E-1.  Aren't you afraid of me at all?"

"No, Sir.  I always thought a General was supposed to have the good of
his troops at heart.  So why should I be afraid of someone who's
supposed to be looking after me?"

"Just give the Lieutenant your serial number."

"Yes, Sir.  RA11701118, Sir!"

The two men's eyes held each other's for a full second before the
General turned and walked towards the next ship in line.  Hobbs, Walker
and Jim stood there with their eyes fixed on the General's back.  It was
then Jim saw Hunter happily cooking away with what he knew had to be a
C-4 ball.  It was a very common practice.  The C-4 plastic explosive
came in sticks, and almost every chopper had part of a stick stuck in a
corner of the storage compartment.  It reminded Jim of Play dough.  The
stuff would stick to anything.  Then, when one had enough time to heat
his C's, he just pulled a little loose, rolled it into a ball about the
size of a marble, put it between some stones on the ground and set it on
fire.  The stuff was truly wonderful.  It would burn extremely hot, but
never explode.  It took a blasting cap to make C-4 explode, which made
it totally safe to cook with.  The only problem was some officers didn't
like the idea.  Jim knew it was going to cost Hunter one hundred
dollars, which made Jim realize the General hadn't told him the amount
of his fine.

It was at this point, Major Hobbs spoke.  "There goes a truly sorry son
of a bitch."

It was Wright seated inside the aircraft who let out a loud, hard laugh
that made the other three turn and give him the evil eye. Wright's
laughter stopped instantly and he said, "Major, it just reminded me of
how I feel about washing and waxing Hueys!"  Jim said, "You know, Major,
our wonderful Commander didn't even tell me how much he's going to stick
me for."

The Major turned and looked surprised as he said, "You lucky bastard!
I'd swear you could fall in a shit pile and come out smelling like a
rose!"

Startled, Jim asked, "How do you figure that?"

"If the man didn't tell you how much that Article 15 was going to cost
you, then you're not getting one."

"Why not?"

"Because!  It's a matter of pride for someone like him.  If he didn't
tell you how much, then you won't get one.  He didn't take your name
either, did he?"

"No, Sir, just my serial number.  Sir, do you think he forgot, or did I
talk him out of it?"

"Mac, it's hard to say, it could be either, or the fact that you knew
who he was."

"Sir, he could always stick a figure in later."

"He could, but I'd bet money he won't."

Major Hobbs was right.  In two weeks there was a company formation for
all flight crews, during which the CO called off the names of all the
men who had an Article 15 waiting in his office courtesy of General
Amber.  Jim's name was not on the list.  He often wondered why not, but
never knew for sure.  All the officers caught smoking in the Hueys paid
one hundred dollars for the education they received that day.  The
enlisted men's education wasn't quite as expensive, but at fifty dollars
each, it still hurt.  It was Mr. Walker who turned to Major Hobbs and
asked, "Major, you going to warn the rest of the flight?"

The Major watched General Amber move on to the next ship up the line.
After watching his lieutenant start to write down more names, Hobbs
turned to Wright, who spoke before the Major had a chance. "Major, if
you really don't mind, the General told me to sit here and be a good
little boy and that's just what I'd like to do.  Unless of course, you
order me to walk past that man.  I'm sure he wouldn't hold me
responsible for obeying a direct order."

Major Hobbs said, "Yeah, I can't blame you for that.  You know I could
call Lead on the radio, he probably has someone monitoring company
frequency in case six tries to contact us.  But what the hell, misery
loves company.  Mac, any of the C's still hot?"

Jim gave a 'how should I know' look at Hobbs and then picked up the four
still warm C-ration cans.  He placed each can beside its box, but held
on to the beans and frankfurters.  In the box was a can of crackers and
cheese and a pound cake.  He watched with interest who took what meals,
as he tore open the accessory packs.  Major Hobbs took spaghetti with
beef chunks.  Mr. Walker took beans with meatballs in a tomato sauce,
leaving Wright with the chopped ham and eggs.

Every time Jim opened an accessory pack he had to laugh at the Army.
They just couldn't bring themselves to allow anything to keep its common
name and the accessory packet was an excellent example.  On the pack was
a listing of everything inside: matches, chewing gum, toilet paper,
instant coffee, cream substitute, sugar, salt and a stimulater
interdental.  Whoever heard of a stimulater interdental?  Who even knew
what a stimulater interdental was?  It was only through the process of
elimination that he'd found it was a toothpick.

They were just about finished eating when Lead's crew chief walked up
and told them all the officers were wanted at Lead ship.

Once the pilots left, Jim stretched out on the ship's passenger seats
for a nap, using his chicken plate as a pillow.  Wright started to play
with some local kids who'd come out from nowhere.  There was something
about Wright that just seemed to attract them.  For the life of him, Jim
couldn't understand why.  All Wright ever did was torment the poor kids.
There were five of them ranging in age from about four to seven, each
with the same sad little cutoffs as shorts.  Two of the kids had shirts
on, one still had two buttons but no sleeves and the other had sleeves
but only one button.  All five were barefoot and their dark skin was
deeply tanned.  They must have all gone to the same barber who knew only
one type of haircut, a butch.  The biggest one had only a stump where
once had been a right hand.  No doubt one of the saddest by-products of
war.

The saddest thing about the whole group was their eyes; those poor, sad,
deep, dark little eyes.  Yet, these same little sad eyes could instantly
turn to life and sparkle with all the alertness of a normal, healthy
child whenever Wright pulled out some little trinket.  It didn't take
much, something like a roll of toilet paper or a packet of creamer and
Wright would have those kids doing all kinds of tricks.  Just like
training a puppy, you show him his treat, then have him do a trick and
you give him his reward.  The better the trick, the greater the reward
and the same for those kids.  Wright's fame in the company came from
once getting a group of kids to make a human pyramid for a can of beans
and weenies.

Jim awoke to a terrible racket which caused him to sit up.  There were
three South Vietnamese CH 34's taxiing down the runway.  Wright stopped
playing with the kids long enough to tell Jim they'd landed for fuel
while he'd been asleep.  Both GI's watched what were commonly called,
'flying death traps', lumber down the runway.  The CH 34's had picked up
that nickname because the crew chiefs seat was located directly under
the transmission, which had the tendency to break loose during a hard
landing and fall on him.  When the CH 34's had been given to the South
Vietnamese, their pilots were so short the foot pedals had to be
extended for their shorter legs, and the seats raised so they could see
out the window.

By this time almost everyone in the area was watching the South
Vietnamese pilots roll their helicopters towards the end of the runway.
Jim, like most of the other Blackhawks, began to wonder when they were
going to pull pitch and become airborne.  Like a magnet, all eyes were
drawn to the first of the three CH 34's as it reached the end of the
runway and rolled down the hillside without ever leaving the ground. The
second chopper followed the first in perfect formation right down the
side of the hill, being preceded in death by the explosion of the first
chopper.  Not wishing to be outdone, it also exploded like the first
into a giant fireball.  The third pilot in line, having seen the fate of
the first two, pulled pitch for all he was worth and managed to get his
34 off the ground at the last second.  He was obviously unable to
maintain flight as he dipped his nose down and disappeared below the
trees.  Yet, there was no explosion, and everyone who wasn't running in
that direction stood with their mouths open, not really believing what
they had just seen.  Then, as though resurrected from the dead, the
third chopper suddenly reappeared above the trees and headed south.

Wright returned to playing with the kids, a group that had expanded to
twelve.  Jim moved up into his seat behind the M60 and picked up his
camera.  These were the type pictures he liked to take.  Kids doing
their thing, local people in their daily lives, and general aerial
photographs of the countryside were what he wanted to record on Film.
Unlike some guys, he'd never taken that first photo of a dead or wounded
GI; it wasn't what he wanted to remember.  There were guys who took
pictures of every dead or wounded person they came across.  It was
almost as though they needed to prove to themselves or to others they'd
been where the action was.

Jim had just finished taking a photo of Wright holding a C-ration can
above his head and the kids trying to get it, when one of them grabbed
the obvious leader of the group.  It was almost like instant panic set
in, the Vietnamese kids' normal fast chatter and smiles turned to shouts
at machinegun speed, and their smiles were gone.  In seconds the whole
bunch had left with the smallest one quickly running back the ten feet
he'd already traversed to make one final gesture for Wright to give him
the can of C-rations.  Wright handed him the can and turned to Jim.
"Hey, Mac, what the hell scared them off?  You'd have thought Ho Chi
Minh himself just popped up."

"I don't know, Wright.  Something sure scared them off quick.  It kind
of looked like they were afraid of those other kids coming, but there
are only five of them, even if they are a little older.  Besides, kids
usually work their way up the line of choppers.  Those little guys just
split.  I don't understand."

"Ya know, Mac, I had the impression that little guy who came back was
trying to tell me something.  He kept saying, 'Number ten, number ten,'
but I thought he was talking about me making them beg.  Mac, hop out,
I'm going to shut this cargo door."

Jim put his camera back in the corner and helped Wright slide the door
shut.  Jim thought about walking on up the line to Athia's ship, but
decided it might not be a good idea to leave the ship since they
couldn't shut the left door.  So he opened the peter pilot's door,
climbed in and sat down to watch the ship and Wright until those kids
left.  Besides, it was so hot his shirt back was soaked with sweat and
he wanted to stay in the shade.

There were five kids in this group.  All were older than any of the
first group, most were in the eleven to fourteen age bracket.  Wright
started right in on them, just like every other group, by holding a can
of C-rations as though he didn't know what to do with it.  Both GI's
relaxed as this group of kids responded just like every other.  Shortly
Wright was doing his routine.

Jim turned on AM Saigon.  Turning all the other radios off and the
volume up on Hobbs' helmet, he could easily hear the DJ in Saigon giving
the time and temperature.  No wonder his shirt was all wet down the
back, 106 degrees in the shade and like the DJ said, "I know all you
GI's out there in the bush are in the shade and if you aren't, you
really don't want to know how hot it is in the sunshine."

Jim almost jumped through the windshield as a single 38 caliber pistol
shot rang out right next to him.  Turning, he saw Major Hobbs standing
there with smoking pistol in hand.

All the officers had collected at Lead's ship while the flight waited
for instructions.  It hadn't been long when the pilot monitoring the
radios broke up their chatter.  He'd just received word the South
Vietnamese were sending up an elite ranger unit to help move their
infantry unit forward.  It didn't take a genius to know how that would
work.  The rangers would land behind the ARVN unit and simply tell them
to move out or be shot.  They'd move.

It was almost an hour later when the ARVN choppers landed to put on
fuel.  As they touched down all kinds of fun was poked at them by their
American counterparts.  The general lack of respect by the Americans was
even more evident as the ARVN aircraft started to roll down the runway.
They laughed and joked about how it wouldn't be surprising if the gooks
flew those 34's down the hillside instead of into the air.  Yet all
stood with their mouths open in a shocked state of disbelief as each CH
34 went down the hill.  No one moved, the laughter stopped and the
American eyes slowly dropped to the ground.

There was a steady stream from the end of the runway of people running
towards the downed choppers.  It was Major Hobbs who finally turned to
the American pilot monitoring the radio and said, "You better call C & C
and tell them what happened to their elite ranger unit."

It was over an hour before they received word from Blackhawk Six. The
American officer in charge of the GI's on the ground had decided he
wasn't sending American boys in to fight North Vietnamese when South
Vietnamese refused.  The order came down to pull out the American troops
they'd just put in.  The South Vietnamese troops were to provide cover
for the extraction, and then walk out.

Major Hobbs and Mr. Walker had headed for their ship together, talking
as they walked.  At the helicopter before theirs, Mr. Walker cut between
ships to speak to another pilot.  It was then that Major Hobbs first
looked ahead at the kids beside his ship.  There was Wright teasing a
group of kids with a can of C-rations, yet something was wrong.  As
Major Hobbs slowed his pace, he couldn't understand why one of the
smaller kids was standing back towards the storage compartment by
himself.  Each step for the Major was slower than the preceding one. His
eyes were glued to the little kid standing alone.  He was barefoot, with
ragged cutoffs and a short sleeve shirt about two sizes too large. The
child's haircut was the standard Vietnamese boys cut, a butch, but it
was his left hand that held the Major's attention.  His left hand was
holding something inside his partly unbuttoned shirt.  Major Hobbs had
stopped walking beside the preceding ship's tail rotor.  He didn't yet
know what was going on but figured, what the hell, they'd be in the air
in a couple of minutes.

It was at the same moment, he saw the kid's right hand reach up and open
the fuel cap.  Major Hobbs shouted, "Hey kid, what the hell you doing?"

With that, the other kids started to run.  Wright turned to look at the
Major as the kid pulled the pin on the now exposed hand grenade. Only a
fraction of a second passed, but Major Hobbs knew he was too far away to
stop him physically.  In that same fraction of a second, Major Hobbs
knew what he had to do and he did it.  The snubnose.38 came out of his
shoulder holster in a flash, and one round was fired just as the kid
raised the grenade to stick it in the fuel tank.

No one said a word as the Major ran up to the prone kid.  He was dead, a
bullet hole in the right side of his head just above and in front of the
ear.  Major Hobbs picked up the hand grenade and without speaking, held
it out to show the large rubber band holding the handle in place.  There
were several GI's from the next couple of ships up the line who stood
there gaping.

It was Wright who finally broke the silence.  "My God, Major, he was
just a kid!"

"Yes!  A kid who would have blown this helicopter and everyone on it,
including your young ass, into a thousand pieces!  Mr. Walker, get on
the radio and see if you can get some MP's out here to pick him up! The
rest of you, get back to your ships.  Now!"

Jim and Wright remained standing beside each other after the others had
started to leave.  Major Hobbs picked up the pin and placed it back in
the grenade's handle.  Looking up at Jim and Wright, he spoke somewhat
curtly.  "What are you two looking at?"

Without hesitation, Jim spoke, "You, Sir."

"What's the matter with you, MacLaughlin?  He was VC.  He just tried to
stick a grenade in your fuel tank."  Hobbs could see the look of disgust
in Jim eyes.  "All right, MacLaughlin, what would you have done?  I was
clear up to the next ship.  There was no way I could have reached him
before he dropped that grenade inside your fuel tank.  Let me ask you
something, Mac.  You going to fly in this thing knowing there's a
grenade with only a rubber band around its handle in the fuel tank?"

Jim slowly shook his head.  "Okay, so if you're not going to fly in it,
are you going to help pull the fuel cell out, knowing that every second
that passes, the JP-4 fuel has weakened the rubber band a little bit
more?"

"I wouldn't be very happy about it, Sir."

"I didn't think so.  Look, I'd already hollered at him.  That didn't
stop him, nothing short of a bullet was going to."

"Sir, it didn't have to be in the head!"

"How the hell do you know?  Were you standing where I was standing? Did
you see my line of fire?  Look at it this way; he had a great future
ahead of him as a Viet Cong.  There are a lot of GI's he'll never kill!
Mac, back to the first question, what would you have done?"

Jim paused and slowly said, "The same thing, Sir."  Jim turned and
walked towards the fuel cap, stepping over the dead kid.  It bothered
him, it really did.  Yet he knew deep down inside the Major was right.
He had done just exactly the right thing, there was no question about
it.  If he'd hesitated for even a second, it would have been too late.
Whoever said, 'war is hell' was right, but he should have added, 'it
also makes you want to puke.'

There wasn't any of the usual chit chat as the helicopter lifted and
fell in line behind everyone else in a trail right formation.  The
tension between the enlisted men and Major Hobbs could be felt by all
aboard the ship.  It was Major Hobbs who decided he had to do something
to get his crew's minds off recent events.

"Hey, Mac, you back there?"

"No, Sir, I took a flying leap."

Major Hobbs decided to ignore the obvious sarcasm.  "I was talking to
one of your admirers at Lead, a Mr. Gail.  He told me quite a story
about the one time you two flew together."  There was only silence for a
response.  "Well, Mac, come on, let's hear it."

"Major, I thought you said Mr. Gail already told you."

"He did, but I wanted to hear it from you.  There are two sides to every
story and I don't care what you called him, it's water over the dam. I'm
not going to do anything about it now.  But I will nail your balls to
the wall if it happens again.  So, tell me the story."

"Major, I really don't remember what you're talking about."

"MacLaughlin, I've got hammer and nails back at Tay Ninh.  I could start
nailing tonight unless you want to tell me a story now!  I mean,
everybody loves a good story.  Wright, you'd like to hear Mac's story,
wouldn't you!"

"No, Sir."

Jim laughed to himself, Good old Wright, the man does have brass. Hobbs'
anger was clear in the tone of his voice, "Alright dammit, I've tried to
be nice about it; now tell me the damn story and that's an order!"

"Okay, Major, I'll tell you what happened.  Polaski was the gunner, Mr.
Gail and another pilot from the other platoon drove, and I was the crew
chief.  Mr. Gail, by the way, is in the other platoon also.  That's why
I've only flown with him once.  I didn't refuse to fly with him or
anything like that.  I can't remember the peter pilot's name or, for
that matter, why we didn't have pilots from our own platoon.  You have
to remember, Major, that was back before they made us an all
C.A.company.  We'd fly maybe one or two C.A.'s per week and the rest
were all single ship missions.  We called them ash and trash, or milk
runs.  Basically, you name it and we hauled it, and very seldom were any
of them dangerous.  I remember one time, just as an example, I spent the
whole day flying sampans from Saigon to some little hamlet way down in
the Delta.  I knew I got picked for that job because I had one of the
few helicopters in the company that still had a cargo hook in the hell
hole.  Most guys take the hooks out because they are hardly ever used
and they make it really tough to crawl up into that hell hole.  Anyway,
this fishing hamlet had been hit by VC the night before and Chuck had,
as a parting gesture, burned all the sampans.  So our Uncle bought 'em
all new ones, and we hauled them down there."

Major Hobbs broke in, "Mac, what's that got to do with you and Mr.
Gail?"

"Nothing, Sir.  I just thought if I talked long enough, I could stray
far enough off the subject that you'd forget what I was supposed to be
talking about."

"And you're still trying it."

"No, Sir, I'm getting to it, it just takes a while."  Jim took a deep
breath and said, "Anyway, we'd spent the morning hauling around a light
Colonel and a Captain from Psychological Operations.  Mostly we'd been
down in the Delta.  We'd take them to this place or that place, and
they'd get out and talk to somebody for a little while, then we'd take
them someplace else.  I remember at one point, we came across an old
outdoor oven that had some old pots sitting around it, some were broken,
some weren't.  That Colonel wanted me to break the rest of the pots.  So
while Mr. Gail circled the oven, I shot up the unbroken pots and then
started on the oven.  I'll bet I wasted eight hundred rounds on that
stupid oven before the Colonel decided it wasn't going to shoot back at
us.  We'd also spent some time over in the Plain of Reeds area dropping
leaflets asking Chuck if he wouldn't like to give up, with instructions
on how to go about it."

"Mac, would you get on with it!"

"Okay, okay, I'm getting to it.  Anyway, when it came time for lunch we
took our passengers back to Bien Hoa.  They told us we could have an
hour and a half lunch.  So Mr. Gail got all excited and started hopping
up and down in his seat.  He was going to the officers' club in Saigon
for lunch.  Well, we flew on over to Saigon and the two officers hopped
out almost before the main rotor blades had quit turning.  So I hollered
at Mr. Gail as he hot footed it off, 'Hey, how about us?" You see,
Major, they didn't give us C-rations except when we were flying C.A.'s.
Otherwise, we were supposed to eat in somebody's mess hall. Well, Mr.
Gail said he didn't care what we did, just so we were back and on the
ship by 1345.  That way we'd have plenty of time to fly over to Bien Hoa
by two o'clock.  He even suggested we go to the enlisted men's club and
eat.  Well, I'd been there before and it takes over a half hour to walk
one way.  There was no way we could have walked there and back, plus eat
and be on the ship by 1345.  So I asked if we could go to the PX; it was
only about a fifteen minute walk one way and we could get something to
eat there.  Mr. Gail told us, 'Sure, go ahead, and to pick him up a can
of shaving cream while we were there." So Polaski and I headed for the
PX.  We ate at the snack bar and still had plenty of time, so we decided
to walk around the PX for a while.  Man, oh man, is that place
something.  I'd never been in a place like that before, it's enormous.
Plus it had everything under the sun for sale: cameras, and lenses the
likes of which I'd never seen, diamonds and all kinds of rings and
jewelry with rubies and sapphires.  You can buy all kinds of clothes,
even have a complete suit hand made.  There's even one desk there where
you can order a brand new car, any make you like, made to your
specifications and delivered to the dealer closest to your home or next
duty station.  Anyway, we both got some things we needed along with Mr.
Gail's shaving cream, and got in line to check out.  There were only two
people in front of us and I remember looking at my watch and thinking we
still had about nine minutes to spare.  The next thing I knew, three
officers walked up and got in line in front of the two guys in front of
us.  Now we were five people back.  The check out guy was working on the
last officer when up walks two captains, and they pull the same trick.
I'm beginning to think I'll spend the rest of my tour over here just
trying to get checked out.  Of course, by this time the line behind us
had gotten long enough, you couldn't see the end.  The thing that
finally got things moving again was when some Air Force Full Bird walked
up and wanted to know why the line was getting longer instead of
shorter, just as a group of four army warrants jumped the line.  Man,
did that Air Force Colonel get mad.  He'd been waiting in line and so
could they.  When he got done with 'em, they went to the end of the
line.  I remember he sat his stuff down on the checkout counter and
asked where he could find the officer in charge.  He was going to put a
stop to this crap.  "By this time it was, of course, way past time for
Polaski and I to leave.  So we sat the stuff we were going to buy down
and left.  I'm telling you the truth, Sir; we ran all the way back to
the chopper.We still got there five minutes late.  But from where we
were parked it only takes five minutes by air to get back over to Bien
Hoa.  "Mr. Gail saw us coming and by the time we got to the ship, he'd
untied it and had it running.  The last thing Polaski said before we
reached the chopper was, 'Mac, what's this guy's problem?  We've still
got ten minutes to get to Bien Hoa and that's plenty of time." I told
him I didn't know.  But if he's in such a hurry that he's got it running
already, we can expect to catch hell for being late.  Anyway, when I
climbed in, lo and behold, there in the passenger's seat sat another
warrant officer whom I'd never laid eyes on before.

"We were in the air before I had my helmet or seatbelt on.  In fact, I'd
climbed in, sat down, and started to put on my flight gloves when he
pulled pitch and took it up.  Needless to say, I took my own sweet time
putting my helmet on and hooking it up.  Less than a second after I'd
plugged it in, Mr. Gail said, 'MacLaughlin, you plugged in yet?" I told
him I was and the first thing he asked me was, did I get his shaving
cream?  So I told him what had happened to us at the PX and he never
said a word.  I asked who our passenger was and Mr. Gail said he was an
old friend of his from flight school.  That was the last thing said
until we got back to Bien Hoa.  In the meantime, he'd redlined it all
the way up to Cu Chi where he dropped our passenger off, and then
redlined it all the way back to Bien Hoa.  Needless to say, by the time
we got back to Bien Hoa we were almost thirty five minutes late, and
there, standing on the heliopad at parade rest was our Captain.  So Mr.
Gail says, 'Oh, shit, that man is pissed!  MacLaughlin, if I catch hell
for being late, I'll nail your balls to the wall." Well I don't mind
telling you, Major, his telling me that really jerked my chain.  I told
him, 'Hey, look, we'd a been on time if you hadn't taken that joker all
the way up to Cu Chi, so you don't need to go sticking the blame on me.
Besides, a man admits to his mistakes and you made one, not Polaski or
me." Needless to say, that jerked Mr. Gail's chain completely out of its
socket.  The only thing that kept me from catching it right then was
that we were on the ground and the Captain had Mr. Gail standing at
attention, chewing him up one side and down the other.  To say he was
upset would be a major understatement.  The funniest part was when the
Captain had just finished with him, out walked the Colonel, and he
started in on him, too.  Finally, it was Mr. Gail's turn and you could
see the little worm passing the buck to Polaski and me.  Once he got
back in the chopper, nobody said poop to anyone.

"The first place we landed was just outside the Hobo Woods.  The
infantry had found a VC tunnel and the Colonel wanted to talk to the
tunnel rat when he came out, if he came out.  Anyway, once we'd landed,
the Colonel told us to shut it off, we'd be there awhile.  So, while I
was back there tying the main rotor blade down, Mr. Gail walked up and
said, 'MacLaughlin, come here, I want to talk to you.  We walked another
twenty feet away from the chopper where it was just him and me.  He
started in by giving me this line that one of his goals when he'd
entered the Army was to spend his time without handing out any military
discipline, but it looked like I'd just made that goal unobtainable.  So
I asked him why, and he said, 'Two reasons: one I was late reporting for
duty after lunch and two, my smart mouth in front of others.  As an
enlisted man I had no right to question his decisions and I didn't have
the right to make smart ass comments or give him any kind of back talk.
Did I understand that?" Well, to make a long story short, I told him I
understood and he wouldn't have any more problems from me."

Major Hobbs interrupted, "Mac, you just skipped the part I've been
sitting here listening to all your rambling for.  You've made this story
as long as you possibly could.  Now, Mr. Gail remembers very well what
was said next."  There was a long silence before the Major continued,
"Mac, I'm waiting."

"Major, I'd just as soon forget about it if you really don't mind."

"Let's put it this way, I mind."

Again there was silence before Jim finally said, "Sir, isn't there a law
against self incrimination?"  Major Hobbs practically shouted,
"MacLaughlin!"

"All right, Major.  I asked him if he'd passed the buck about our being
late to me.  He told me, 'that was irrelevant." I knew it was just the
two of us and that nobody would be able to prove later what either of us
had said.  So I told him, 'Like hell it was.  I knew good and well he'd
been too big of a coward to take the rap himself for his own mistake,
and that if he hadn't taken that joker to Cu Chi, we would have been on
time and he knew it.  Besides, we were out here having this little chat
probably because the Colonel had told him to.  Further, that I
personally thought he was lower than a toothless, yellowbellied swamp
snake with the bite of a sabertooth crotch cricket, that not only had a
yellow belly, but had a yellow streak running down the center of his
back going from one shoulder to the next.  And as far as his goals were
concerned, there wasn't going to be any military punishment and we both
knew it.  In the first place, it wouldn't be too hard to find that Air
Force Colonel from the PX.  In the second place, I wouldn't have been in
that line if he hadn't asked me to buy him shaving cream, and finally,
even if I'd been on time, we still wouldn't have made it to Cu Chi and
back to Bien Hoa on time.  Anybody with the brains of a stick knows
that, including him when he was offering that warrant officer a ride.'
Well, he started jumping up and down claiming he'd break me to E-1 for
talking to him like that.  I just told him, 'Look, I won't give you any
more trouble on the ship, but I'll deny ever having had this
conversation.  So it'll be your word against mine, and without a
witness, you haven't got any more chance than an ice cube in hell,'
which was about how mad he was when he turned and walked away.  That's
the last I've heard about it until today.  Is that what you wanted to
hear, Major?"

"Yep."

"Well, Major, how much difference was there between Mr. Gail's version
and mine?"

"They were almost word for word at the important parts."

"So what happens now, Sir?"

"I told you, nothing, before you started and I meant it then just as I
do now, nothing."  The Major was pleased with himself.  MacLaughlin
wouldn't be thinking about that kid for a while.

Lift after lift was made without incident and the Blackhawks had quickly
settled into the boring routine of extracting troops from point A and
putting them in at point B.  The day had been long and everyone was
tired.  It also had been hot, very hot and humid.  As a result, the
engines weren't putting out as much power as they should have and the
men alternated between sweating on the ground during pickups and being
chilled when that sweat hit the cooler air at eighteen hundred feet.
Thoughts of a cold beer, a warm shower and bed, even if it was an Army
fold up cot, began to creep into everyone's mind.  One more extraction
and they could head home.

Everyone on board Jim's ship had been laughing about how this had been
such a bad day, starting right off with that duck and going straight
down hill from there.  It was agreed by all, they'd feel a whole lot
safer back at Tay Ninh on the ground for the night.  After all, there
were only two worse things that could have happened to them, to go down
in the trees, or for someone to take a hit.

One of the unwritten rules on board a helicopter was never to suggest
the possibility that one of the four crew members could be killed,
wounded yes, but never, never killed.

The flight was on short final when Lead came over the radio, "Flight,
this is Lead, this is the last extraction for the day.  The ARVN troops
will be providing ground cover on this lift and then walking out.  There
are some things your crew chiefs and gunners should remember.  First, if
we start receiving fire it will probably be on the way in,
unfortunately, you won't be able to return it because of the ARVN
troops.  However, I want you to keep your eyes on those troops.  If you
see one of 'em turn and open up on us, blow the bastard away.  Just be
damn sure it's us he's shooting at.  Lead out."

Mr. Walker spoke as soon as Lead quit, "Okay, Wright, just for your
information, it's on this kind of lift that we usually find a real hot
LZ.  ARVN will turn tail and run and Charlie knows it, so he won't
hesitate a second about trying to put us on the ground with a few
grunts.  Just to make you feel better, it's usually Trail who gets it
the worst.  In other words, if you're sitting there looking at muzzle
flashes, don't ask permission to return fire, just blow 'em away as Lead
says.  Any questions?"

"No, Sir."

They were only a few seconds from touch down when the left tree line
erupted like the Fourth of July, with sustained bursts of light. The
American troops were on board even before the chopper touched down, and
in less than two seconds they were up.

"Flight, this is Lead, open fire on that left tree line." Instantly,
every one of the Flights' ten door gunners opened fire.  Jim, being on
the right side of the chopper, could only sit and listen as the door
gunners opened fire.  The radio cracked with background noise, as first
one, and then a second ship reported taking hits.  The first ship
continued to fly and reported no apparent substantial damage.  It was
the second one that got everyone's attention; one of the grunts on board
had taken a hit as they passed over the tree line.  Mr. Walker had been
busy.  He hadn't anymore than finished giving Wright instructions than
they were in the LZ.  The grunts started to jump on before he was on the
ground, which he always hated.  It's hard enough to land a Huey without
four or five guys jumping on the skids rocking it.  The temptation was
always to just drop it straight down, but if he caught a foot or leg,
it'd be crushed.  All he could do was try to hold it steady and work it
on down.  They were all loading from the same side, which made it only
slightly easier.  Just as he'd gotten it down, Wright had said, "You're
loaded, GO!"

He called Lead and said, "Trail to Lead, we're loaded, Sir."  As though
lifted by puppet strings from an unseen hand, the Flight lifted as one
and moved forward.

Walker had heard the first two reports of ships hit and knew it would be
a wonder if his didn't take damage, too.  That was the worst thing about
flying trail, you were the last in and the last out, and you caught the
most lead.  At times he could just about feel Charlie's frustration.  As
each ship escaped, the VC turned their attention to the one chopper they
could have their guns on the longest, Trail.

Time always seemed to move so terribly slow for Walker as he raced his
ship towards the safety of the sky.  It just seemed at times like this
he'd twist the throttle grip off, his hand would actually ache from the
twisting grip he held on that throttle.  He even found himself rocking
back and forth in a futile effort to gain airspeed and a quicker escape.
It was now their turn to cross the tree line where the others had taken
fire.  Their airspeed indicator read seventy-two knots, which meant
Charlie wouldn't have much of a shot at them.  Both door guns were
raking the tree line with lead and all on board thought they'd made it
by safely.  Wright was still firing and Jim had just quit when Major
Hobbs' foot pedal bubble exploded, and Mr. Walker saw Hobbs jump like
he'd been hit with an electric prod.  It was Major Hobbs' voice that the
other three crew members heard screaming in their earphones.  "I'M HIT,
MY GOD, I'M HIT!"

Jim's head jerked to the left in time to see Major Hobbs slump into a
fainted position.  Walker yelled, "Mac!", and was interrupted by Jim's,
"I'm already on my way," and indeed he was.

The monkey belt had been unhooked and a grunt pushed out of the way. The
grunts, unaware of what had happened, watched dumbfounded as Jim climbed
into the cargo area and half motioned for the grunts behind Hobbs' seat
to move as he shouted, "Move!  Move!"  Dropping to his knees, Jim
grabbed both red handles at the bottom of Hobbs' seat.  In one big yank,
he broke the small safety wires and pulled the seat retaining handles
down.  With his right hand, Jim reached up to the handle on top of the
seat and gently pulled the back down.  The grunts, now aware of what was
happening, started to help by removing Hobbs' helmet as Jim released the
Major's seatbelt.  This done, they pulled him back into the cargo area.
There was so little blood it took Jim a minute to locate the wound. Once
located, his switch blade quickly cut away the left pant leg, exposing a
nice neat.30 caliber sized hole.  Jim went to work bandaging Major
Hobbs' leg and almost cried with envy.  The man had the perfect wound.
It was small caliber and had entered and exited his calf muscle without
doing any major damage.  It hadn't hit the bone, and from the small
amount of blood it was obvious there wasn't any damage to the major
blood sources.

Jim had been aware of the grunts' activities over Hobbs.  Now, however,
for the first time he looked up.  To his great surprise he saw a black
PFC giving mouth to mouth and another man pounding on Hobbs' chest.  Jim
sat there stunned, the implication was obvious.  The mean, super tough,
'I eat nails for breakfast,' Major Hobbs had gone into shock and had
heart failure, all from a wound that wouldn't even have gotten him out
of the country.  He'd have spent a week or ten days in a Saigon
hospital, followed by another two or three weeks back in the company
area on restricted duty.  Instead, he lay on the Huey's aluminum floor
whiter than snow.  The grunt giving mouth to mouth stopped long enough
to feel Hobbs' neck for a pulse.  He slowly shook his head and stopped
his buddy still pushing on the Major's chest.  "He's gone," was shouted
over the roar of the Huey.

Jim's response was rage, not only at the grunts because they were
quitting, but even more so at Hobbs for dying.  Jim's shouts could be
heard by all the grunts as he jumped on Hobbs' chest.  "Live, you stupid
son of a bitch, live, damn you, live!"  Grabbing the Major's shirt, he
shook and shouted at the same time.  "Damn you, don't die on me, you son
of a bitch, you're so fucking tough, wake up."  The tears were gently
rolling down the side of Jim's face when the first grunt pulled Jim back
and slowly shook his head.

"He's dead, man, he's dead."  Then pulling an olive drab handkerchief
from his pocket, he handed it to Jim who wiped his eyes and blew his
nose.

They were almost on the hospital pad before Jim plugged in his helmet,
which had come unhooked as he climbed forward to pull Hobbs out of his
seat.  Neither Wright nor Mr. Walker could believe what Jim told them.

The ride home was in silence and seemed to take forever.

Chapter Fourteen

Is This What We Really Fight For?

When Gillett found Jim, he was alone at a corner table writing a letter;
there was a bottle of Jack Daniels Black, a can of Coke and a coffee cup
to keep him company.  Gillett got a Coke from the bar before walking to
Jim's table.

"Hi, Mac!"

"Hi, Gillett, have a seat.  Help yourself to the bottle."  Gillett took
a big gulp of Coke, poured a healthy amount into the can from Jim's
bottle and slowly swished it.  "I hear you had quite a day.  It should
make interesting reading for your folks."

"If I was writing about it, it probably would, but I'm writing about the
weather and Hobbs making us police the flight line.  I haven't gotten to
it yet, but I'll add the duck flying through our windshield and that's
about it."

"What do you think you're doing, protecting them?"

"You're damn right!  At least my parents know I'm here and flying combat
missions; that way if I get it they won't be too surprised, but they
don't need to know any more.  It wouldn't do any good for them to know
more."  There was a pause before Jim continued, "You know, Gillett, for
the life of me I don't know how those guys who tell their folks they're
in Alaska get away with it.  I mean what in the world would you write
about?"

"I don't know, but there are guys who do it and, of course, with only an
APO number for an address, they get away with it."

"Yeah, and if they get their brains blown out, their parents go into as
deep a state of shock as Hobbs did.  I take it you've heard about
Hobbs?"

"Yeah, I talked to Wright a little while ago.  He also told me about the
kid with the frag.  Just between you and me, I'm not all that unhappy
about Hobbs.  I don't like to see anybody killed, but I'm real glad he's
not going to be in the company any more."

"Gillett, he'd have been all right!"

"I don't think so, Mac.  He'd a had us playing all kinds of stupid
games."

"Only until he made CO, then they would have stopped."

"Well, Mac, we'll never know whether you're right or not, and
personally, I'm glad.  Speaking of good news, I've got some that should
cheer you up.  They let the KP's back on post today.  So I asked one of
them who had done some things for me before if he wanted a monkey.  That
guy got a long stick, stuck an orange on it and got the monkey out of
the rafters with it.  Then when the monkey was on the floor eating its
orange, the gook clubbed the hell out of it with his stick.  Then he
tied the monkey to the same stick, I never saw one stick get so many
uses."

Both men laughed as Jim asked, "Where was Kenny during all this?"

"Remember, I put him on a convoy going to Saigon this morning." Jim
looked surprised, "Gillett, he was on the EM's side of the club when I
came in a little while ago."

"Well, I know he was in the convoy when it left post this morning.

I checked.  Which reminds me, how'd you get your daily inspection done
so fast?"

"I didn't do it, that's how."

Gillett looked disapprovingly at his friend and said, "You'd refuse to
fly with anyone who pulled that kind of trick."

"Yeah, I know."

"Mac, you look beat, why don't you finish that letter and go to bed?"

Jim drained the cup as he watched a tall, over six foot, skinny bean
pole Spec-Four rank approach.

"Sergeant Gillett?"

"That's me."

"Sergeant, Operations sent me to tell you they need a crew and a ship
for a night mission."  Jim responded instantly, "I'll take it, Gillett."

"Just a minute, Mac.  Okay, Specialist, tell 'em I'll get a crew and
then report personally to Operations.  By the way, did that convoy that
left this morning come back?"

"Yeah, it got back about an hour, hour and a half ago.  The NVA had
knocked out one of the bridges between here and Dau Tieng that the
engineers had just replaced yesterday, so they just turned around and
came home.  Will that be all, Sergeant?"

"Yes, thank you."

The walking bean pole hadn't gone out the door yet when Gillett turned
to Jim, "Mac, I can get somebody else.  Go to bed."

"Oh, I'm okay, besides, I'd rather fly than sit around here bored to
death getting hit with 122MM rockets."  Gillett looked Jim over good. He
didn't have to let him go.  He could send someone else and order Mac to
bed.  His eyes were puffy with dark circles and the left one was a
little blood shot.  He needed a shave and his face was still splotchy
with mosquito bite welts from walking in the jungle.  Yet, the fatigue
that had been so very obvious just moments ago had already begun to
disappear with the prospect of flying.

"Okay, Mac, go ahead, I'll get Wright."

Jim had just locked his wall locker after putting his writing paper away
when he heard Meyers let out a loud, long profanity.

"Hey, Meyers, what's wrong with you?"

"Oh, Mac, that damn mother of mine screwed me over good."

"What?"

"A couple of weeks ago I wrote home and told my Mom to send me five
hundred dollars from the money I've been sending home.  I'm supposed to
go on R&R next week if they get it opened up again.  Anyway, I've been
sending all my extra money home and having my Mom put it in a savings
account for me.  She knew it was my money and she knew what I was saving
it for.  Tonight I get a letter saying she's very sorry but she's
emptied my savings and bought my sister a new car.  The little bitch
just turned sixteen a month ago.  You know, Mac, it's at times like
these I can understand why my dad used to beat the hell out of that
stupid woman.  I've wondered for a long time why he ever married her,
but I'll tell you, I KNOW why he divorced her."

Jim looked down at the boyish-looking nineteen-year-old Spec-Four from
Texas.

"Hey, Meyers, it'll work out; some of us can go together and loan you
enough so you can still go.  Plus, you might get another pay day in
there first, which would help.  Just one more thing, you may know why he
beat her, but it still wasn't right.  It's never right!"

"I know, Mac, and thanks for the offer of money, I really appreciate
it."

When Jim got to his ship, Mr. Walker and Mr. O'Neal were already there.
Greetings and small talk were exchanged as Jim untied the rotor blades
and prepared for flight.

It was Green who walked up and threw his gear on the ship instead of
Wright.  He explained that Gillett couldn't find Wright, so he'd
volunteered.  Once in the air, Mr. Walker explained they were going to
Saigon to pick up an entertainment group.  At Hotel Three, the group of
entertainers loaded their gear quickly and climbed in.  Three women with
bags, rabbit fur coats, spike heels and speakers sat awkwardly through
the ride back to Tay Ninh.  They looked as much out of place as they had
to feel.  It was the contrast that struck Jim.  Only a few hours ago a
dead Major and infantrymen covered with sweat and mud had sat in the
cargo area now occupied by these three women.  The fur on the rabbit
coats whipped back and forth and each woman tried unsuccessfully to hold
her hair in place.

Steadily the craft flew northwestward, going over artillery fire where
it could and around it where it couldn't.  The women didn't see or know
of the F-4 Phantom that shot by on their left, or the B-52 strike they
flew around just south of Cu Chi, nor would they ever know of the small
arms fire directed their way on short final approach into Tay Ninh.  No
return fire was given since no hits had been taken and to keep the women
from knowing just how far away from the civilized world they really
were.

Once on the ground, the three struggled to walk in their spikes.
Besides, those rabbits which probably felt good in the air, had to be
terribly hot now.

They were met by a jeep and a three quarter-ton pick up.  The girls were
quickly loaded into the jeep, but not without exposing more than their
legs.  Once the jeep had departed, the enlisted men loaded the pickup
and made numerous comments about the girls, not all of which were nice.
Jim rode back to the company area in the pickup and then headed straight
for the hooch.

He quickly stored his gear and went to the club.  The partitions between
the NCO side and the EM side had been removed to allow for greater
viewing area.  GI's were busy on the stage setting up mikes and other
sound equipment; all the tables had been removed and chairs were stacked
along the walls.  Jim headed for the bar thinking a beer would taste
good, but it had been closed until after the show.

It was another twenty minutes before the CO climbed on the stage and
asked for everyone's attention.  "Men, we're very lucky tonight that our
company clerk was able to bring in this entertainment on such short
notice.  They were supposed to go down to Tan An tonight, but Tan An is
under siege, so they're here instead.  I just want you men to know I'm
damn proud of you, you're the best assault helicopter company in the
world.  You deserve the best and, believe me, I know you won't be
disappointed."

There was a big applause with cheers as the CO held up both hands to
regain control.  With a big smile the CO continued, "Besides, I
explained that I have the only transportation off this island, so you
damn well better not be disappointed.  Without any further ado, I give
you the Australian Pussy Cat and her Two Kittens."

With that the three girls stepped through the door behind the stage.
They were jumping, shaking and singing.

By now the club was so jammed with GI's shouting and cheering, it was
not possible to move.  They were one solid mass of humanity standing and
stomping on each others' toes watching the three women singing and
wiggling.  Their singing wasn't that great, but they did know how to
wiggle and that's all most of the GI's really cared about.

The Pussy Cat was dressed in typical show girl attire.  Bright blue
spike heels and a very loosely flowing full length dress that was split
up the left side to just above her knee.  There was a long white feather
shawl wrapped around her shoulders to partially hide the low cut front
of her dress.  As the shawl moved and was finally discarded during one
of the songs, it left her exposed down to the nipples.  She was dark
complected with dark hair and slightly overweight, with hardly enough
makeup to hide the fifty some odd years she'd been around.  The two back
up girls, one light black and one blond, played guitars and wore
matching outfits, bright red with high neck lines but backless and a
hemline about eight inches above their knees.

They told bad jokes, sang poorly and stripped.  By the end of the show,
the two kittens wore only their shoes and had swung their breasts around
enough to have made a man sore, let alone two women.  Yet it truly was
the Pussy Cat who was the show's star.  She, too, had stripped during
the course of the show, leaving her with only a G-string and her shoes.
It was, however, the muscle control she had in her chest that stole the
show.  Able to move one breast independently of the other, or together,
she had the group of GI's not believing their eyes and shouting for more
by the show's end.

Within a few minutes of the show's completion, all the officers and most
of the enlisted men had left the club.  Jim moved over to the NCO side
and ordered a Coke and his bottle of Jack.  Hunter, already seated at a
table, waved for Jim to join him.  It was only minutes later when Athia,
with beer in hand made it a threesome.  There was a lot of joking,
laughing and discussion of what they'd just seen.

Twenty minutes later Gillett walked up, "Mac, where the hell you been?"

Jim looked up with a bewildered look, "Right here.  Why?"

"Because everybody's sitting on your ship waiting for you.  You're
supposed to take those girls back to Saigon."

"Gillett, you've been telling me I should quit flying all these night
missions, so I think I'll just sit this one out.  Besides, nobody told
me I was supposed to fly 'em back.  And I really wouldn't call them
girls."

"You what?  Get your ass out there!"

"Hey, Gillett, stay cool, man.  I'm telling you, I'm not flying them
back.  Get somebody else or let 'em walk for all I care."

"What the hell is eating you, Mac?  Didn't you like the show?"

"Sure, I enjoyed it at the time, but the more I think about it the less
I think of it, and I'm not going to waste my time flying them back to
Saigon."

Athia spoke up, "Hey, Gillett, I thought it was a great show, I'll fly
'em back."

Jim looked over at his friend, "Athia, you're a jerk, you know that?"

"Oh, Mac, get off your self righteous kick.  You enjoyed what you saw as
much as the next guy and, in fact, you were probably breathing heavier
than most."

"Athia, you're so damn stupid, you can't even see that's the point! What
good did it do any of us?  Furthermore, the only reason those broads
were here in the first place is they can't sing or dance well enough to
get a legit job anyplace else.  And the only reason they take off their
clothes is they couldn't get anybody to pay them to do anything else.
Besides, that Pussy Cat is so damn old, the only place she could get
anybody to watch her take off her clothes is where there are a bunch of
GI's shut off from the world."

Athia, who had risen to leave, turned back towards Jim, "MacLaughlin,
you sure know how to ruin a perfectly good evening, you know that?  But
what do I care, I get to fly 'em back to Saigon.  See you later,
Sucker."

The alcohol was working on Jim by now and it heightened his anger.
"Athia, you're an asshole.  What do you think you're going to do, fly
'em home and have one of 'em suck you off on the way?  You know that's
never going to happen just like I do.  In fact, I'll bet you fifty bucks
you don't even get a peck on the cheek.  They've got their thirty pieces
of silver and to hell with you and me and how we feel, or our emotions."

Athia looked down at his friend and said half out of anger and half from
a feeling of comradeship, "Fuck you, Mac."

Several days later, Athia and Jim were in the club having a drink. Athia
brought it up by saying Jim had been right and he had known it even
before he'd left the club that night.  Jim laughed and bought the next
round.

After Athia left the club, Gillett sat down with Jim.  "Mac, you and I
are the old soldiers in this outfit."  Jim interrupted, "Yeah, and I
just turned twenty years old.  Now, ain't that a gas?"

"You know what I mean.  You've only got about two months left before
your year's up and you go home.  I'm the only one in the platoon who's
been here longer than you, and that's only because I extended for six
months so I could get out of this crummy Army early.  The point is, you
know I'm not going to pull rank on you unless you back me into a corner,
so don't pull that kind of trick on me in front of somebody again.  Most
of these guys already know you and I are old and close friends.  They
also suspect I don't treat you quite the same, even though you and I
both know better.

"Look, you've had too much to drink, you're tired, and you've had a
stressful, trauma-filled day.  Besides, you look like you're physically
exhausted.  Go to bed!"

"Okay, Gillett, just as soon as I finish my drink."

"You hear about Willard and Mr. Tracy?"

"No, what happened to them?"

"Well, you know we've been flushing some of the older engines the last
couple of weeks, and Willard's ship had one that should have been
replaced a hundred hours ago, but we can't get any new engines.  You
remember the proper flush procedures?"

"Sure, I've done it enough.  Have somebody turn the engine over without
starting it while you throw a quart of solvent in the intake. Let it set
for half an hour then run it up and throw about five gallons of water
through it."

"Right.  Well you know how Mr. Tracy is such a know-it-all and us poor
crew chiefs are all stupid as hell?"

"That's the one allright."

"Well, Mac, he really stepped on himself tonight.  He was mad because he
had to help Willard flush his ship, so when Willard told him how it's
supposed to be done, Mr. Tracy told him just throw in the solvent while
he was running it.  Willard told him he was crazy, that he'd just end up
ruining the engine.  Well, Mr. Tracy gave Willard a direct order to
throw the solvent in while it was running.  You care to guess what
happened?"  Jim was laughing as he answered, "Willard did it, and that
would be about like throwing gasoline into a burning pot belly stove, so
I'd say he probably blew it up?"

"You got it.  The sucker threw about a fourth of its turbine blades
out."

Both men were laughing hard enough that others began to look their
direction.

"I'll tell you the best part, Mac.  Captain Wolf told me just before the
show started that the Colonel is making Tracy pay for the engine.  He
has a nice little sum taken out of his paycheck every month, and he also
loses his AC status.  Don't you know that'll just kill our Mr.
Know-It-All."

"You know, Gillett, we had a pilot like Mr. Tracy in the company I came
over with, a Second Lieutenant Point.  He was the maintenance officer
until he got sent to another company.  The man had no more idea of how a
Huey works than a nurse does.  He didn't even know the difference
between an open-end and a box-end wrench.  Anyway, he was always trying
to tell us guys in maintenance how to do things and he was always wrong.
So we'd just say, 'Yes, Sir,' and as soon as he left we'd do it the
right way.  Well, one night he showed up to test fly a ship we'd just
put a new engine in, but he was drunk as a skunk.  The guy in charge of
our maintenance crew told him he was too drunk to fly and refused to get
into the aircraft with him.  As you well know, you don't do that.  In
fact, if anybody on a crew refused to fly on the test flight, you had to
pull it back in and do it all over again.  But for some reason, our crew
leader was able to convince the lieutenant the only reason we wouldn't
fly with him was because he was drunk.

Needless to say, Lieutenant Point was mad as hell.  He started it up and
began to taxi to the runway.  He was doing just fine until he started to
turn to take off and turned the tail boom into another ship parked,
ready to come into maintenance that night.  Talk about an instant change
in a man's attitude.  The good lieutenant hadn't anymore than crawled
out of the aircraft, than he was trying to buddy up to us. He kept
talking about how he'd lost tail rotor control and how glad he'd been
that none of us were on board.  The man didn't have a chance.  He'd
totaled it, but it hadn't burned, so we checked out the tail rotor
controls that same night.  They were fine.  The next morning, the CO
called our whole crew in, one at a time, and asked what had happened.
Everyone of us told him the lieutenant was drunk and unfit to drive,
that was why we hadn't flown with him and why he'd crashed.  So, to make
a long story short, the CO pulled Point's AC status, put him into the
flight platoon as a peter pilot and fined him enough so that he'll get
about fifty dollars per month for the rest of his time in service.  With
that on his record, you know he'll never make captain."

Gillett watched Jim finish his drink and said, "Mac, go to bed."

"Okay, I'm on my way."

Chapter Fifteen

From The Depths of Terror To Euphoria...

The sharp pain that struck Jim between the eyes drove itself deep into
his brain.  Pulling the covers over his head protected his eyes from the
overhead lights that Gillett had turned on, but not from the platoon
sergeant's mouth.

"Okay!  Everybody up!  It's another bright and beautiful day! Let's go.
Let's go.  Out of your rack!"

As Gillett moved on down the row of bunks still shouting and clapping
his hands, Jim pulled the covers off his head.  He had one terrible
headache.  For some reason life didn't seem so wonderful, even if it was
a "bright and beautiful day".  Not only was his headache getting worse,
but the rest of his body's sensor controls were beginning to function
and report to his slowly operating brain.

His mouth was full of cotton, his eyes wouldn't focus, his tongue was
twice as large as it should be, his nose reported a fowl bitter smell
and as he slowly stood, his back and shoulder muscles reported they were
all still very sore and stiff from carrying Mr. Mace through the jungle.

Jim stood partly bent over with his head resting against his wall
locker.  One eye was only slightly open as he worked the combination
lock, first one direction and then the other, until, with a metal thunk,
it fell open.  It was Gillett's hand that rested on Jim's left shoulder
and Gillett's voice almost in a whisper, "Mac, you'd feel a lot better
after a shower.  The only problem is the officers' shower is the only
one with water."

"What time is it, Gillett?"

"Four thirty-eight."

"I think I'll go take a shower.  I feel terrible."

"Don't get caught or your butt will be sore from getting your ass kicked
out."

Jim smiled as he headed out into the all consuming darkness.  The
officers' showers were constructed basically the same as the enlisted
men's.  There weren't any lights and it had a gravity fed water system.
It also wasn't quite as busy since there were about fifty less officers
than enlisted men.  Still, of the two hundred fifty men in the company,
one hundred were pilots and officers, so it wasn't like the place was
never used.

Jim knew the officers didn't like it one bit when an enlisted man used
their showers or anything else that belonged to them.  But as long as he
didn't say anything, no one would be able to recognize him in the
darkness.  Still he was a bit uncomfortable as he entered since the
water from one of the faucets was running.  Jim acted like he belonged
there and his attire (flip flops and towel wrapped around him) was the
same as any officer coming in for a shower.  He headed for the faucet
farthest from the naked body being rinsed off.  Jim had just turned on
the water and stepped under its ice cold flow when he heard the all too
familiar voice of Mr. Halsey.  "Good morning."

Jim's first thought was, Oh, shit!  His second thought was, What do I do
now?

Again Halsey spoke, this time a little louder, "Good morning!" This time
Jim stuck a hand out and waved hello.  "Hey, who is that down there?"

By now Jim had quickly soaped and was rinsing off.  In a jolly voice Jim
answered, "Good morning, Mr. Halsey!"

"MacLaughlin, what are you doing in here?"

"There isn't any water in our shower, Sir."

"Life can be a bitch can't it, Mac?"

"Yes, Sir, especially over here."

"Okay, you've had your shower, now get your smart ass out of here!" Jim
finished drying and wrapped the towel around his waist.  "Mr. Halsey,
you know, Sir, the two of us are standing here naked and I just can't
see any bars tattooed on your shoulders."

"Are you disobeying me?"

"No, Sir, I'm leaving but I do want to know something."  Leaning closer
he almost whispered, "How old are you?"

"Twenty, why?"

"I was just thinking that if you have any desire to be twenty one, grow
up and start being an officer instead of a jerk.  In case you're
thinking about it, I'll deny ever being in this shower, let alone
talking to you."  With that he walked out.  Dawn was beginning to break
over South Vietnam, and it was already hot and humid.  Moisture dripped
down Jim's back, wetting his clean shirt.  With each step, miniature
dust clouds puffed up, masking the polish on his boots and the air
already reeked with the stench from the burning of human waste.

As he climbed the two steps going into the mess hall, Jim stomped his
feet and brushed off his clothes in a futile effort to separate himself
from the world in which he lived.

Gillett and Athia were almost finished eating as he sat down.  As
always, Jim forced down the malaria pill with the heated black water. It
was Athia who spoke first, "Mac, you look exhausted!"  Jim looked up
from his plate of over easy eggs, smiled and said, "Athia, you looked in
a mirror lately?"

All three men laughed.  Gillett finished the last bite of toast and
asked, "Mac, did you get caught in the shower?"

"No, nobody there but me."

"Good, I was sure with your luck Halsey would decide to take a shower at
the same time!"

Gillett hadn't finished speaking when Kenny walked up and said in a very
angry voice, "Gillett, you gave my monkey to the gooks!  Didn't you?"

Gillett looked up, unsmiling at the still standing Kenny, "Yes, I did.
I..."

Kenny curtly interrupted, "I don't give a shit what you think, you son
of a bitch, you had no right!  It was my monkey.  I fed him, took care
of him.  He was mine!"

Gillett and Jim glanced into each others eyes when Kenny made the
reference to Gillett's mother, neither man could believe what they'd
just heard.  Gillett, trying to control his anger, fingered the staff
sergeant insignia, looked up and spoke sharply, "Kenny, what's this?"

"So you're an E-6, big deal.  You still had no right..."  Gillett, who
had risen to his feet, leaned with both hands on the table in Kenny's
direction.  His voice now slightly raised, clearly showing the anger he
felt as he interrupted Spec-Four Kenny, "Shut up, you stupid asshole,
and come to attention!  Just who the hell do you think you are anyway?"
Kenny had halfway straightened up.  "I said, come to attention!  Now!
Lock those heels!"  Gillett then lowered his voice to a more normal
tone, "I want to tell you something.  First of all, I'm your platoon
sergeant and I don't have to justify a damn thing to you, Specialist.
Secondly, you're dead weight around here.  You don't fly because nobody
will fly with you and, if I felt like it, your stupid big mouth would
get you a trip to LBJ.  Instead, you just got yourself a week's KP, so
be good at it or I'll take a stripe just for the hell of it.  Finally, I
gave you a direct order to get rid of that monkey and you didn't do it.
The Captain told you to get rid of it and you didn't do it.  So you got
any more smart ass questions?"

"No."

"No, WHAT!?"

"No, Sergeant!"

"Okay, you're dismissed, and do yourself a favor, Kenny, don't let me
see your face for the rest of the day starting right now!  You got it?"

"Yes, Sergeant."  Kenny turned and left.

The season's first monsoon had started sweeping across the company area.
Rain beat viciously against the mess hall's tin roof making it
impossible to talk without shouting.  As a result, each man sat quietly
looking out at the force of nature as it swept by.  Someone turned on
the lights and Jim realized how dark it had gotten, yet it was more than
just dark, it was a deep, opaque blackness that worked its way into
every crevice.  Wind rocked the mess hall roof, walls and floor and Jim
felt his smallness in the hands of God.

Suddenly, as though a mystical hand had turned off a valve, the rain
stopped.  The wind quit blowing and light once again showed itself on
Blackhawk land.

Gillett stood and turned towards the guys behind him.  In a louder voice
than necessary, he said, "Okay, you guys.  It's over.  Let's go to work.
And for you men who just went through your first monsoon rain, get used
to it.  The one that just went through was a baby.  During the peak
season, we'll have two or three a day and they'll all be bigger, meaner
and longer than that one.  Okay, let's go."  Gillett gave two quick
claps with his hands and watched as the place cleared out. Gillett
turned back to look at the still seated MacLaughlin, "Mac, what are you
waiting on?"

Jim looked up and smiled as he said, "The applause."

"I'll swear, Mac, you're hard!  You know that?"  Jim gave a look of
half-surprise and half-amusement that caused Gillett to chuckle.  Jim
stood, picked up his tray and with Gillett at his side, headed for the
trash barrel.

"You know, Mac, this war will go down in history as the one that
destroyed military discipline.  I mean really, just look at the way
enlisted men talk to their NCO's.  In the Second World War, you'd have
gotten an Article 15 for a smart ass remark like that.  And Kenny, he'd
have gone to jail for that little outbreak of his."

"Well, Gillett, look at the way we talk to our officers.  I know I'm
probably worse about it than a lot of guys.  But almost anybody who's
been here for a few months says whatever he damn well pleases to any of
these warrant officers.  For that matter, there aren't many of the hard
bars who get a lot of respect."

"That's true, but then we don't have to put up with a lot of the
bullshit from officers that our fathers did."

"Hell, no!  Gillett, there isn't an officer in country today who doesn't
have some of his actions controlled by the fear of being fragged."

"Or having his knees shot off."

"True, but you know, Gillett, a lot of us EM are just as smart or
smarter than some of our officers.  I mean, we're high school grads and
that's all most of them are.  You have to wonder how some of em got
through high school."

"There are some good ones though."

"No question about it.  There are some who are very smart and are very
good officers, plus being nice guys.  The trouble is there are too many
like Halsey who cause a loss of respect for all officers, not just the
bad ones."

"It's called guilt by association.  But you're right.  If a man doesn't
respect his officers, how can you expect him to show any respect for his
NCO?"

When the two men walked out the mess hall door, they stopped at the
bottom step and looked at the giant mud puddle that had been ankle deep
dust when they went in.  There was no way around it, so each man
resigned himself to having wasted his time and effort putting Kiwi on
his boots.

By the time Jim got to his ship, his boots were covered with the reddish
brown mud that had replaced the dust.  The first thing he noticed was
the left cargo door was shut, which meant maintenance had been out
during the night and fixed the track.  He stowed his gear and checked
the log book.  Just as he'd suspected, his old friend, J.B., had taken
care of him once again.

J.B.  and Jim had first met shortly after the 191st had arrived in
country.  Both were in maintenance and ended up living in the same
hooch.  Although they weren't in the same work crew, they did
occasionally work together when two crews would work on one ship.  As a
result of working and living together, they had become friends.  After
all the recovery crew except Jim had been killed, he asked to join the
same work crew as J.B.  Then they both were infused up to Tay Ninh.  At
Tay Ninh, everyone dragged their duffel bags off the Chinook and fell
into formation.  The officers were called out by their new platoon
leader first, then a staff sergeant stepped forward and called out his
crew chiefs and door gunners.  When he had all his people, he left with
them and the next staff sergeant stepped forward and started reading off
the names of his crew chiefs.

J.B.'s name was the last crew chief he called out.  There was only one
problem, J.B.  wasn't a crew chief and didn't want to become one. His
response was a surprised, "But, Sergeant, I'm not a crew chief, I'm in
maintenance."

"Well, Specialist, you're in the flight platoon now!"  There was such a
look of surprise and disbelief on J.B.'s face that the sergeant looked
down at the orders he held in his left hand.  After reading aloud J.
B.'s full name, rank and serial number, he looked up and asked, "Is that
you?"

"Yes, Sergeant, but I don't fly!  You can ask any of these guys I was in
maintenance with.  I didn't even fly on test flights, which caused me a
lot of problems until our maintenance officer realized I wasn't just
trying to get away with something."

"Look, Specialist, I don't care what you did in the other company. These
orders say you're in my flight platoon and that means you're a crew
chief, so fall out with the rest of my group."  J.B.  didn't move.
"Sergeant, look, I promised my mother when I joined the Army I wouldn't
fly anymore than absolutely necessary and I'm not going to break that
promise!"

In a very sarcastic tone of voice, the sergeant replied, "Well, mommy's
boy, I don't care what you promised your mommy.  You're either going to
fly or go to jail!"

After a short pause J.B.  said, "Sergeant, I don't want to go to jail.
But I'm not going to fly."

The two men stood looking each other in the eye when Jim spoke,
"Sergeant, if I may, I think I can solve this problem."

"Good, how?"

"I'll fly in J.B.'s place."

The sergeant looked at Jim's name tag and then down at his papers. He
found Jim's name and read it aloud, along with his rank and serial
number.  Then he asked, "Is that you?"

"Yes, Sergeant."

"Okay, you're the same rank with the same M.O.S.  I can do that. It'll
be less paperwork than sending your buddy to jail."

That was how Jim became a crew chief.  J.B.  never directly said thanks,
but his signature or initials signed off a great deal of work on Jim's
ships.  Plus J.B.  got him parts other crew chiefs couldn't get. A good
example was the fire extinguisher.  It had been about three months ago
when Mr. Halsey had been flying as the peter pilot.  He'd decided to
give Jim's ship a super close preflight inspection.  Not finding
anything wrong that wasn't already written up in the log book, Halsey
opened the peter pilot's door.  The fire extinguisher in a Huey is held
by a quick release clamp on the floor beside the right hand pilot's
seat.  For some reason, about a third of the company's fire
extinguishers were missing or empty.  So when Halsey saw this one he
removed it from the clamp and looking at Jim asked, "Does this thing
have anything in it?"

"Yes, Sir."

"You checked it lately?"

"Yes, Sir."  Jim turned and leaned inside the cargo area to remove the
log book with the intention of showing Halsey the page where he'd
recorded the date of inspection and weight of the extinguisher.  He
turned back just as Halsey pulled the pin.  Jim, in a slightly raised
voice said, "Hey, what are you doing?"

Halsey spoke and squeezed the handle at the same time.  "Checking to see
if it really works."

A spray of foam shot onto the ground as Jim shouted, "Don't!"  With a
look of exasperation, Jim spoke, "You stupid jerk!  Thanks to you, now I
don't have a fire extinguisher either!"  Lieutenant Buton walked around
the aircraft's nose just as Halsey had pulled the pin.  He looked at
Jim, "Hold it right there, Mac.  That man is an officer you're talking
to."  Lieutenant Buton was an ROTC man who had the respect of all the
enlisted men.

"Well, Lieutenant, it's the truth.  I HAD one of the few fire
extinguishers in the company!  Because I took care of it, even to the
point I hid it in the ship at night.  Then Mr. Halsey comes along and
because he doesn't know what the hell he's doing, I now have to fly
without a fire extinguisher and if this aircraft has a fire, it's my
butt that burns up because of him!"

Halsey, realizing he'd made a mistake, tried to replace the pin as the
extinguisher made a soft, almost silent hiss.

"Oh, come on, Mac.  All I've got to do is replace the pin and it'll be
okay.  I didn't waste that much."

"Mr. Halsey, once you pull the pin you can't put it back without first
fully recharging the extinguisher, and once you squeeze the handle it'll
just keep on leaking until it's empty.  And finally, Sir, so you don't
decide to do a stupid trick like that again, you check an extinguisher
by its weight.  When fully charged its weight is at least as great as
specified on the tag.  By the way, Sir, you can check the log book to
see when it was weighed last."  That exchange had taken place what
seemed to Jim a long, long time ago.

The pilots were beginning to arrive at their respective helicopters. Mr.
Lucas and Mr. Euclid were laughing as they simultaneously threw their
gear onto the aircraft's passengers seats.

Jim came to attention and saluted.  "Good morning, Mr. Lucas, Mr.
Euclid."

Each officer returned Jim's salute as Mr. Lucas said, "Morning, Mac! How
are you this morning?"

"I'm fine, Sir.  Where's Mr. Walker?"

"He's got a toothache this morning."  Still laughing, Mr. Euclid added,
"He's the butt of all the jokes this morning.  The poor guy was hurting
so badly he tried to get the dentist during the night.  We tried to tell
him, "Army dentists don't make house calls, and the club was closed so
he couldn't get any liquid pain killer.  Finally, somebody found some
aspirin but I don't think it helped a whole lot."

"Well, Sir, at least he has a dentist here on post.  Think of all the
guys who wake up like that and then have to get a chopper to take em to
a dentist."

"This thing ready to fly, Mac?"

"Yes, Sir!"

"Okay.  Let's you and I preflight it."

It was sometime later the flight picked up troops to start another day
of search and destroy missions.  There hadn't been any activity out of
Charlie as lift after lift was made.  On the last lift before lunch, the
flight was diverted to a new LZ and still there was no activity.

Once on the ground, the C-rations were quickly distributed and the
officers headed for Lead's ship.  Jim ate and took the opportunity to
get some badly needed sleep.  When Wright awakened him, he was soaked
from perspiration.

In later years he'd find it somewhat ironic that he often awoke 'in
country' saturated from the heat, having never had the first nightmare
while there.  Back in the States, he'd often awake in the comfort of his
own bed, saturated from perspiration simply due to his dreams.

"Mac, get up!  Here come the pilots on a run."

"What's happened?"

"I don't know.  I'll untie it."

Jim sat up and put on his chicken plate just as Mr. Lucas came running
around the ship's nose.  He was very excited, and with a burst of
nervous energy, leaped into the cargo area and from there to his seat.
As he moved quickly past Jim, he shouted, "Come on, Mac, move it! One of
our gunships is down!"

Jim closed the door behind Mr. Euclid, who had entered through the
pilot's door and taken his seat.  Jim hadn't yet given the all clear
signal when Mr. Lucas started to crank the engine.

Putting his helmet on Jim asked, "Sir, what happened to the gun?"

"Shut up, Mac.  I'm listening to Six now."  Jim climbed into the ship
and turned on all his radios so he'd be sure to get Six's transmission,
but it was over.  It seemed to take forever to get troops onboard.  Then
they sat on the ground at idle speed for several more minutes before Six
told Lead to bring 'em airborne.  Once in the air and over the crash
sight area, Six couldn't decide where to have the flight land.  The
other gunship had made several passes over the downed ship and had seen
no signs of life.  There was a clearing within a hundred meters that was
large enough for a single ship to land in.  The gunship's AC had asked
permission of Six to land and send his crew chief and gunner to check
out the downed ship.  Six had refused permission since he was the only
gunship on station.  Almost everyone in the flight disagreed with that
decision but no one spoke.  Still time slipped by and the flight
continued to circle.

Jim had already once advised Mr. Lucas about the chopper on his right
being too close; now they were slowly getting closer and closer. "Mr.
Lucas, do you have this ship on the right?"  Jim could see Lucas turn
his head right, followed by the helicopter moving a few feet to the
left.  It wasn't more than a couple of minutes when Jim once again felt
Mr. Lucas had drifted far enough right to be at an unsafe distance.

"Mr. Lucas, could you take it left please, Sir?"  In a slightly
irritated voice, Mr. Lucas responded, "I've got it, Mac!  Okay?"

Jim didn't respond, but the aircraft didn't move left.  He sat and
wondered what to do and finally decided it would be better to try once
more than to die in a crash, all because of some hotshot pilot who lost
his cool.  So, in a normal voice, Jim said, "Mr. Lucas, you're still
flying too close, please take it left to a safe distance."

Mr. Lucas's voice reflected the nervous state he was in. "MacLaughlin,
I've told you before and I'm not going to tell you again! I've got him,
I see him and I'm getting sick and tired of your mouth! So just sit
there and keep your mouth shut until we land!  I don't want to hear
about the chopper on my right again.  I'm beginning to see why you have
so much trouble with some of the pilots.  You got it, MacLaughlin?"

Jim didn't hesitate, "Sir, you better get something straight!  I'm the
crew chief on this aircraft and as such I have several jobs besides the
overall maintenance of the aircraft.  One of those jobs, Sir, is to
advise you when you're flying at an unsafe distance to another aircraft!
And that, Sir, is exactly what I've been doing, and I'm going to keep on
doing until you move it left far enough to be safe and keep it there!
Furthermore, if you can't keep it at a safe distance then you should
turn it over to Mr. Euclid, which you ought to do anyway because you've
blown your cool and shouldn't be driving until you get your act back
together!  Finally, for you to give your crew chief an order to sit
there with his mouth shut is in direct violation of Army General
Aviation orders!  Not to mention common sense, and it puts his life,
your life and the lives of everyone on board this aircraft in danger.
Believe me, Mr. Lucas, I don't like telling you to move left more than
once anymore than you like hearing it.  But you wouldn't look good with
this guy on your right's rotor blade stuck in your windshield!"

There was no response from Mr. Lucas or anyone else, and Jim didn't have
to tell him to move it left again.  The troops were finally put in about
a half mile from the crash sight.  The flight then returned to Tay Ninh
to sit and wait for the troops to find and secure the crash site.

Once on the ground, Jim sat in his seat for a few seconds looking empty
faced at the clay colored soil.  Here or there a weed or bunch of grass
made a valiant effort to survive.  And behind the row after row of
black, L shaped revetments, stood the dirty brown buildings the
Blackhawks called home.  Slowly, as though resigning himself to the
futility of trying to hide, Jim climbed out of his seat.  He stepped up
on the skid after opening Mr. Euclid's door and watched the gauges as
Mr. Lucas shut it down.  Hearing Lucas's voice, Jim looked the pilot in
the eyes as Lucas spoke, "Mr. Euclid, you can finish shutting her down."

Jim watched Mr. Lucas's eyes lead a path to the radio control switch
where the pilot's right hand rested.  The hand made only a small
movement as it turned the control knob and Mr. Lucas's head and eyes
moved in a manner to direct Jim to his own radio control switch. Nodding
his head in recognition, Jim climbed up into the cargo area, turned his
control switch to private and sat down on the passenger's seat.
Expecting a first class chewing out, Jim looked up and slightly to his
left.

Mr. Lucas had turned in his seat to the right so he could face Jim when
he spoke.  "You there, Mac?"

Jim knew perfectly good and well Mr. Lucas knew he was there.  He
watched him turn his control switch to private, and he could hear Jim's
breathing just as Jim could now hear the pilot's breathing due to the
'hot' or live mike situation between the two men.  Yes, Sir."  There was
no expression on either man's face as their eyes locked.  "Mac, I want
you to know I'm sorry for climbing on your back there."

"Forget it."

"No, it's important for me to say.  You were right, I lost my cool and I
was using my rank to cover it up.  You had every right to tell me to
keep it at a safe distance.  That's your job and that's all you were
trying to do.  I know that.  I'm sorry I lost my cool and I'm sorry I
got on you because of it.  Thank you for valuing your life and mine
enough to stand up to me."

His facial expression told Jim he was finished.  "Forget it, Sir. It's
over.  It's done and who knows, maybe you'll be a better pilot and
officer because of it."  First there was a big smile, then Jim could see
Mr. Lucas's face fight back the tears.  "Mr. Lucas, forget it!  It's
okay, really.  Hey look, anybody who's been in combat every day for
several months has lost his cool at some point."

"Somehow I can't picture you ever losing yours.  Jim slowly nodded his
head and said, "I did."

"How?  Why?"

"When I first came over, I was stationed at Bear Cat.  We got hit with a
few mortars which I never thought were much more than big cherry bombs.
After we were there a few weeks, they quit, and we had things pretty
easy.  Then I got sent up here.  I hadn't been here a week when all hell
broke loose one night.  The CO said later that we had averaged one 122MM
rocket hit in our company area every second.  I don't remember how long
this went on, but it was something like one or two hours.  I was in the
bunker beside my hooch and I was scared.  I mean, I had never been so
terrified in all my life.  The grating sound those rockets make just
before they hit, which you only hear if you're within thirty meters of
ground zero, had me totally terrified.  Then these sirens started
blowing just as the rockets quit.  Our platoon sergeant at the time was
in the bunker with us and somebody said, 'Hey, Willie, what's that siren
mean?" Just then, the rockets started to fall again but not quite as
bad.  The sergeant shouted, 'It means the post is being over run!" I had
goose pimples all over my body.  I could just see some gook throwing a
frag into that bunker and all of us being killed.  Just as I had that
thought, I could see, because of a flash light someone had on, this guy
crawl into the bunker.  He looked just like a gook to me.  He even had
on one of those round pointed hats they wear.  He squatted down right by
the door just like they squat.  Mr. Lucas, the Lord Jesus Christ knows
every man's heart, and believe me, He and I both knew if I'd had my M16,
I'd have killed him.  I even looked around trying to find one I could
get hold of, and then move real slow so he wouldn't see me pointing it
at him.  Believe me, I give thanks to God every day that I'd left mine
in the wall locker and I couldn't find another.  I kept thinking why
doesn't he just drop his frag and run?  But then I figured he didn't
want to get killed by his own rockets and as soon as they quit again,
he'd drop it and move out the door.  Finally, I got control of myself
enough to poke Gillett, who was sitting beside me, and said, 'Hey, look
at that guy by the door!" Gillett picked up the M16 he had on the other
side of him and, pointing it at the guy, said, 'Hey you in the gook hat,
you better speak English and identify yourself, or you're dead!" The guy
raised his head and said, 'Who me?" Gillett said, 'Yeah, you!  What's
your name?" 'Zettler, and what are you pointing that thing at me for?" I
knew at that moment I'd lost my cool totally and would have killed a man
because of it.  It was by the grace of God I didn't have a gun handy.  I
promised myself then I'd never ever lose my composure again, no matter
how bad things got.  And I haven't.  I later learned the guy was one of
the pot heads in the other flight platoon who thought it was cool to
wear one of those stupid hats.  By the way, Mr. Lucas, you're the only
person I've ever told this story.  Zettler never knew how close he came
to being killed that night because of that stupid hat and my fears.

"That's my story, Sir.  Now you have yours."

Mr. Lucas smiled slightly, "Mac, you probably know you're quite the
point of controversy in the officer's corner.  But I want you to know I
now understand why Walker and some of the others think you're the best.
And I'd consider it an honor, if anything ever happens to Walker, if
you'd ask for me as your AC.  I really am a good pilot and officer, and
after today, I'll never loose my cool again, no matter what."

Jim's face had a great big smile on it as he responded, "Thank you very
much, Sir.  That's very kind of you.  I hope nothing ever happens to Mr.
Walker, but if it does, I'll keep you in mind."

Mr. Lucas reached down and turned his switch back to internal.  The
flight sat there for about an hour before one of the ships was sent to
pick up the remains that had been secured by the grunts.  The always
present black rubber body bags had somehow not landed on Jim's ship, for
which he was thankful.  Several minutes after the chopper had left to
pick up its cargo, Jim decided to listen in on the company frequency to
hear whatever was said about the crash.  It was several minutes more
before Chalk Seven's pilot came on the radio, "Lead, this is Chalk
Seven, do you copy?  Over."

"This is Lead, go!"

"Lead, we have all four remains on board and are headed for Saigon. Be
advised also my crew chief swears up and down that the mask was cut off
by the rotorhead.  I will have to agree the rotorhead is quite a ways
from the crash site and both the mask and head have some strange marks
on 'em."

Suddenly another voice broke in.  "Chalk Seven, this is Six! Discontinue
this conversation right now!  Do you copy, Mr.?"

"This is Chalk Seven.  Yes, I copy."

"Very good, Chalk Seven.  Now I want to see you and your entire crew at
my ship after we're discharged for the night!  Understood?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Lead, this is Six, you're to crank the flight at once and go pick up
those troops.  We're not going far with them, just a few kilometers and
I'll mark your LZ once they're on board.  Let me know when the flight's
up!  Six out."

"Roger, Six."

Jim could see the pilots moving quickly back to their ships as he
stepped out.  He untied the main rotor blade, put on his chicken plate
and helmet.  Mr. Lucas had started to crank the engine as Jim plugged in
his helmet.  "Mac, you there?"

"Yes, Sir.  What do you need, Mr. Lucas?"

"I don't get any engine oil pressure!"

Jim knew exactly where to look for the gauge.  It was the second one
down on the left just below fuel pressure.  Mr. Lucas was right, the
gauge that measured engine oil PSI read zero.

"Sir, shut it down, right now!"

Jim heard the reduced pitch in the engine and at the same time heard Mr.
Lucas say, "You got it, what's the problem?"

"Probably just a bad sensing unit or gauge but I'm not flying in it 'til
I find out."

"Okay, Mac, check it out.  I'll call Lead."

Jim finished and walked around to Mr. Lucas, who was just climbing out
of his seat, "Sir, I can't find anything, we'll have to call maintenance
and have them do a more complete run down."

Mr. Lucas put on a big smile and tapped Jim playfully on the chest with
his finger.  "I'm already ahead of you, Mac.  I called Operations and
they said there was a ship just out of maintenance that was being test
flown now.  We're going to trade.  I'll bet this is it now."

The dust being kicked up by the landing Huey caused both men to turn
their backs and pull up their collars.  Sand and dirt went into their
ears, hair and down their backs.  It was almost as though the
maintenance officer who was driving got a sadistic joy out of dusting
them off and held pitch in the rotor blades just a little longer than
necessary.  Finally, he rolled back the RPM and leveled out the rotor
blades' pitch.  Mr. Lucas ducked under the rotor blades and opened the
pilot's door to talk to the maintenance officer.

Every time Jim saw someone walk under the still turning rotor blades, he
cringed and a rapid shiver went down his spine.  He remembered well back
at Bear Cat, standing and talking to another fellow as a Huey landed on
the maintenance pad.  The pilot had shut it down and climbed out.  With
the main rotor on its last cycle, the tall slender pilot removed his
helmet and started to walk.  He would have been okay if the helicopter
had been running, as it wasn't possible for the blades to tip while at
speed.

Once the helicopter had been shut off and the rotor blades slowed down
to the last couple rotations, the weight of the blades and the slow
speed allowed the pilot's controls to be pulled forward.  This, in turn,
allowed the rotor blades to dip down low enough to strike the pilot
squarely in the head.  His head exploded like a ripe, slightly rotten
pumpkin, sending pieces of hair, bone, brain, skin, teeth, tongue and
eyes flying to the left of the slowly falling torso.  Jim still, all too
clearly, remembered having to pick up every last bone chip, tooth, glob
of brain or flesh and putting it in a bucket.  When someone from the
hospital arrived with the black rubber bag, they placed the torso inside
and poured the bucket's grotesque contents into a pile where there
should have been a head.  They then zipped the black rubber bag shut and
left.

As the maintenance officer signed off the log book clearing the
helicopter for flight, everyone else moved guns and ammo to the other
ship.  Jim was pretty upset with himself for forgetting to take his
tools, water jug and some of his personal gear.  He still had his camera
around his neck as he read the log book's last few entries.  As he moved
back into his seat, Mr. Lucas asked, "Log book okay, Mac?"

"Yes, Sir.  It was in for an electrical short but I'm not sure from the
way it was signed off that they're sure they found the problem.  So it
might be a good idea to keep a closer eye on the gauges than usual."

"Anything you say, Mac."

They had just cleared Tay Ninh Village and were about a thousand feet up
when Mr. Euclid said, "Hey!  We've got circuit breakers going off like
popcorn!"

Then it was Mr. Lucas's voice that broke in with control, but still
betraying his concern, "Mac!  I've got a light on that says engine
fire!"

Jim looked out and back at the engine compartment and knew the light was
correct.  Almost shouting, Jim commanded, "We're on fire, put it on the
ground!  QUICK!"

Mr. Lucas didn't hesitate.  He jerked the controls into a maneuver he'd
never practiced but had heard others talk about.

There was only one way to get a burning Huey on the ground from that
altitude fast enough.  It required laying the aircraft on its left side
so it would fall like a rock, unobstructed by the rotor blades. The hard
part was to pull it out before you crashed, but not too early.

Jim, still strapped in his seat, looked out his door and suddenly found
himself looking straight up at a clear blue sky.  Speaking to himself
and his God he thought, Oh, God, help us, we're going to die. Able to
see nothing but the sky as it went rushing by him almost as though he
was falling backwards through a tunnel, Jim grabbed the metal support
post on his left and waited for the impact.  Suddenly he heard a
terrible metallic scream.  It was almost as though the helicopter was
fighting the giving up of its soul as Mr. Lucas pulled it out of its
dive and righted it to land.  It wasn't a perfect landing and as a
result, the skids were about half-way flattened out.  Nobody cared since
they were all alive and on the ground, though still in a burning Huey.

Once Jim felt the sudden jerk of the ship being righted, his mind went
to work deciding what to do first.  By the time they hit the ground he
had his M16 in his right hand and his left on the seatbelt buckle. Only
a fraction of a second passed between impact and the time Jim had his
seatbelt off.  He was out of the now rapidly burning aircraft in less
than a second and moved in one leap to Mr. Euclid's door.  It was jammed
shut from the hard impact.  Jim could see Mr. Lucas climbing out the
other side as he jerked on the still jammed copilot's door. Realizing it
wasn't going to open, he grabbed the safety pin on the bottom and gave a
big jerk.  It came out, and in the same movement Jim threw it, he
grabbed the top pin and pulled it out.  Before he could get out of the
way, Mr. Euclid kicked the door open and jumped out, landing beside Jim.
The two helped pick each other up as they tried to run and stand erect
at the same time but found themselves stumbling more than running.
Finally at a safe distance, they turned to watch the flames leap from
the aircraft.

It was Mr. Euclid who broke the silence, "Somebody in maintenance should
have their ass kicked."

Jim didn't know why it struck him so funny but he stood there and
laughed and laughed.  Mr. Euclid started to laugh also, and the two had
to hold their stomachs, they were laughing so hard.  By the time Wright
and Mr. Lucas arrived, they had just about gotten control of themselves.

Mr. Lucas spoke first with hands on hips and head slightly back, "I
don't see what you two stupid fools find so damn funny!"  All that did
was make the two laughers start all over and laugh that much harder.  It
was a good five minutes before they finally got enough control of
themselves to quit causing each other to laugh by just looking at each
other.  After regaining control, Jim sat for a few minutes more in an
effort to catch his breath as he looked at his surroundings for the
first time.  They'd landed in a clearing that separated the jungle from
the rice paddies.  Another twenty meters one way and Mr. Lucas would
have put it in the trees.  Fifty meters the other way would have put
them on the rice paddy dike where they all now sat.  Looking behind him,
he could see several villagers heading their way, walking on top of the
dikes, past the almost ripe rice that ever so softly waved in the breeze
like an endless golden flag.

Rising, Jim walked over to where Mr. Lucas was seated.  Sitting down
between Lucas and Wright, Jim said, "Sir, you're right.  You're a damn
good pilot.  You did one hell of a good job!"  Looking over at Jim, Mr.
Lucas smiled and responded, "I didn't lose my cool either, did I?"

"No, Sir, you didn't.  You did a very good job.  This is something you
can tell your grandchildren about.  After all, there will only be a
handful of men who will ever do that maneuver and live to tell about it,
and you're one of them.  Congratulations!"

"Thank you, Mac.  Just out of curiosity, how much time do you think we
had to spare?"

"Not more than two or three seconds.  It was already uncomfortably hot
by the time Mr. Euclid got out."

Mr. Euclid looked their way and said, "By the way, thanks Mac, for
sticking around and getting my door open."

"You're welcome."

"And I don't think we had three seconds.  When my door wouldn't open the
first time, I looked around back thinking I'd go between the seats and
out the cargo door, but the floor was already on fire."

Wright spoke for the first time, "Do you suppose anyone besides the
villagers know we're here?"

Mr. Euclid responded, "I hope so but I only got out one May Day before
we hit the ground."

Mr. Lucas kiddingly interrupted, "What do you mean hit the ground? That
was a precision, controlled landing!"

"Yeah, that's why the skids were flat and my door wouldn't open. But
don't misunderstand me, I agree with Mac.  You did a wonderful job. I
think I'll even put you in for a D.F.C., The villagers who came
scurrying across the rice paddy dikes were all old men or young
children.  As three of the old men shouted in Vietnamese and made
gestures at the four Americans, the children looked over the charred
remains in the background.  Mr. Lucas tried without much success to
converse using sign language, but the constant chatter from the farmers
just kept on coming.

Standing and watching, Jim was impressed by the difference in the two
groups.  The Americans were all taller, more muscular, in uniforms with
boots and each had a mouth full of normal healthy teeth.  The locals all
stood between five foot or five foot five, but were wiry looking men
with an obvious strength beyond their sizes.  They wore thin black
shirts with four buttons, and pants that ended just above the ankle made
from the same material.  Each wore homemade sandals constructed from old
rubber tires that were probably better for the feet than the jungle
boots the GI's wore.  Like most locals, their teeth were a mess.  Some
teeth were missing but the ones that were there made a person half sick
to look at them.  They were green and black stubs with only the smallest
flakes of gray enamel still visible.  Some teeth had half moon shapes
missing from the sides, others looked like an upside down T, while
others were simply points sticking out through the gums.

All the Americans were happy to first hear the whap-whap of approaching
Huey blades, and then see the familiar silhouette headed their way. None
were as happy as Mr. Lucas, who had thrown up his hands in frustration.

Once back in the company area, they learned that Operations had heard
their May Day.  Operations then contacted the courier ship that was due
into Tay Ninh about that time and asked them to pick up the downed
Blackhawks.

By the time the courier ship dropped off its passengers and they
reported in at Operations, maintenance had also reported Jim's ship as
fixed and flyable.  Wright and Mr. Euclid went to supply to pick up two
new M60 door guns while Jim and Mr. Lucas checked on his ship.  It had
been test flown from the spot they'd left it back into its revetment, so
it took them longer than it should have to find it.  The first thing Jim
did was check the log book.  Mr. Lucas stood watching Jim's face as he
read the signed off form.

"Well, Mac, what did they find?"

"All that was wrong was a bad engine oil pressure gauge.  They replaced
the gauge, test flew it and signed it off as okay."

"You mean to tell me the four of us almost burned to death because of a
bad gauge?"

"That and some dumb ass in maintenance who let that other crate out
before it was fixed."

It was several minutes before Mr. Euclid and Wright walked up, each
carrying an M60.  Jim, in the meantime, had checked his gear and was
pleased to find everything he'd left on board still there.  From the
revetment, they hovered over to the ammo bunker and put on ammo.  Jim
also picked up two frags and hid them in the storage compartment.

They were told by Blackhawk Six to rejoin the flight at Duc Hoa, picking
up ARVN troops for transport over to the Plain of Reeds.  It would take
almost an hour to get down to Duc Hoa, so Jim dropped the dark sun visor
on his helmet and pulled his seatbelt up tight.

He'd just settled in for a nice nap during the long, boring flight, when
Wright's voice came over the intercom, "Hey, can anybody see those fixed
wing jobs flying formation at about 10 o'clock and low?"

Mr. Lucas was the next voice Mac heard, "Yeah, I've got 'em.  Those are
C-130's.  Wouldn't that be something, flying at tree top level in a V
formation with three C-130's?"  Wright asked, "What are they doing?"

"Spraying a defoliant," answered Mr. Lucas.  "I can't remember what it's
called."

Jim said, "Agent Orange."

"Yeah, that's right.  I remember now, they got the name from the orange
stripes of the drums the stuff comes in.  The whole idea, of course, is
to kill all the vegetation so Charlie won't have anyplace to hide.  Or
course, he'll see us coming better, but we're not supposed to worry
about that."

Wright said, "If they put enough of that stuff on to kill all the
vegetation, what's it do to people?"

Lucas spoke, "Nothing.  The only things it hurts are plants."  Jim
interrupted, "Not according to some of the Special Forces guys I've
talked to."

Lucas said, "Mac, I've seen the poop sheet on the stuff.  It's totally
harmless to everything but plants.  Besides, you know the Army, or for
that matter the government, would never use a chemical that could harm
people.  All that stuff has been thoroughly tested for years before it's
used."

"Yes, Sir, I know.  But I also know I was on a single ship night mission
about a month ago.  We picked up a group of Green Berets and, while the
pilots were being briefed on where we were going, I got a conversation
started with a staff sergeant in the group.  I'll tell you what, he was
most unhappy about where they were going.  He kept calling it Death
Valley.  I finally said, 'I don't know where that's at.  I'd never heard
of the place and I'd been almost everywhere in the Third Corp area." So
he said it was just a little ways outside Tay Ninh, that Death Valley
was slang for almost anyplace that had been sprayed with Agent Orange.
He couldn't understand why they were being sent in there. They never
found any signs of Charlie.  He was smart enough to stay out of there.
The thing I found most interesting was when he told about finding dead
birds and animals.  He claimed there was nothing alive in Death Valley,
not even insects.  I remember him saying it was so quiet in there that
at night it was really eerie.  He claimed it was so dead, even the ant
hills were dead.  Not to mention the fact there wasn't any plant life-no
trees, no bushes, no grass-nothing, and if he had his way he wouldn't
ever go in it again.

Mr. Lucas said, "Mac, I can't believe you're so gullible you fell for
that story.  That man was pulling your leg.  He saw someone he could
tell a tale to and be stupid enough to believe it."

"If that's so, Sir, then everyone in his group was in on it because they
all agreed with him.  There is nothing alive in those sprayed areas and
anyone that goes into 'em is stupid."

"Mac, look, I don't care what they said.  You know the government
wouldn't use something that strong.  I mean, if it's going to kill
animals, it'll kill us and they don't want us dead."

Jim said very sarcastically, "Whatever you say, Sir."

Chapter Sixteen

"But I Don't Want To!"

Duc Hoa was just like every other Vietnamese village with its wood
shacks, dirty ragged kids and dirt roads.  The ARVN camp was undoubtedly
the saddest part of all.  Whole families lived in ten foot square
cubicles, sectioned off inside one long wooden rectangular building with
a plywood divider to separate their living quarters.  The tin roof was
coming loose in several places and was completely gone from one section.
It was hard to imagine as many as three generations living in one
cubicle.

The ARVN troops were all lined up and waiting.  Their uniforms were
almost identical to the Americans with the only real difference being
the rank insignia.  The NCO's stripes were upside down and the officers
wore funny little things that Jim seldom could figure out.  There was
pride in those uniforms, though, as they were clean and most all had
been tailored.  It was their faces and mannerisms that struck Jim as
being the most out of place.  Whenever they picked up Americans for a
lift they were always quiet, reserved, sometimes openly afraid of where
they were going, yet never lacking the courage to climb on the
helicopter, even if they were a bit hesitant.  Yet here stood ARVN
troops, slapping hands, obviously making jokes with their M16's.  It was
almost as though they couldn't wait to get into combat like green troops
who still thought combat would be a lot of fun; a great adventure, a
chance to prove their manhood, a place to find fame and glory, and
totally believing in their invincibility.  Was it possible they didn't
yet realize there would be no music, no stirring drum beat in the
background, and no trumpet blowing, only the extreme loneliness of their
own thoughts and fears?

Climbing on the choppers, they continued to laugh and make brave
gestures with their M16's.  Maybe they would be lucky and not have any
contact with the enemy and could live another day in their illusion of
grandeur.

The air blew cold over their charged bodies as it rushed in through the
open cargo door.  At two thousand feet it hit their sweat soaked shirts
causing each man to move a little closer to his buddy.

The Plain of Reeds was appropriately named.  It was a large flat lowland
marsh type area.  Grass and various reeds grew to heights taller than
the helicopters that would be landing shortly on another dirt road.

From one dirt road to another they had flow.  Unlike the first one, this
dirt road had been built up several feet to help maintain a dry base and
there were no friendly, happy and excited troops awaiting their arrival.

"Flight, this is Lead.  Six advises there is pretty good reason to
believe we'll be landing very close to a VC command center.  Everybody
stay sharp, there are no friendlies down there and all guns can open
fire at will."  With a sudden increase in tempo and pitch the same voice
said, "I'm receiving fire from the right!  My God we're going to land
right on top of it!"

Jim could already see the muzzle flashes and like everyone else opened
fire.  He'd only seen this type of fire a couple of times before. It
came up at them directly from the ground itself, which meant only one
thing, bunkers.  They were right along the road and so well camouflaged
one could have walked by and never seen that first one.  Jim aimed his
fire at the flashes directly across from where he would be landing
shortly.  Every fifth round the door gunners fired was a tracer,
allowing Mr. Euclid to follow Jim's tracer rounds as they went in on the
opposing machine guns.  Each machine gunner knew what he had to do to
live, and like the duelist of old, was putting all his skill into that
one objective.  Jim could now see the gun barrel as it continued to fire
on his aircraft and moved ever so slowly to gain a better shot.  For a
full second more the two machine guns threw lead at each other with all
the fury of the machines of death that each gun was.  Then suddenly the
still firing machine gun barrel protruding from the ground jerked
straight upward and fell silent.

Mr. Euclid, with joy and excitement unrestrained in his voice said,
"MacLaughlin, that was beautiful!  You must have held your fire on him
for a full four seconds!  I kept wanting to shout, get him, Mac!  Get
him!  I could see those tracers going right down his hole and wanted to
shout, 'You got him, Mac!  Get him!  You got him just hold it on him!'
But man I wasn't saying shit, except to myself!  Because I didn't want
to do anything to distract you!  You were doing a fine job and we're one
hell of a lot bigger target than he was and not more than fifteen feet
away!"

Jim's gun stopped firing, the ARVN troops had started to jump off. As
Mr. Euclid stopped speaking Mr. Lucas pulled pitch and started to leave.
As he finished the last few words of his sentence, Mr. Euclid turned to
look at Jim.  Much to his surprise, there in the center of the bench
seat, with his back pressed tightly against the soundproofing, sat an
ARVN soldier.  Without ever breaking off his sentence Mr. Euclid said,
"Hey, there's still an ARVN soldier on board!"

Mr. Lucas, who had only moved it about forty feet immediately put it
back down and said, "Mac, get him out of there!"

Jim unhooked his radio and seatbelt.  Stepping around the seat he could
see the fear in the ARVN's face.  Jim felt no emotions, he was simply
following orders, and not wanting to waste any more time in a hot LZ, he
grabbed the fear struck soldier by one arm and tried to rip his clamped
fingers loose from the seat.  With the second jerk the ARVN's right hand
ripped loose, but not the left.  The two allied soldiers shoved and
pulled at each other for a full five seconds before Jim looked around in
frustration at Mr. Lucas who was looking back in his direction.  With
one quick movement of his hand and facial expression, Mr. Lucas made his
meaning clear, "Get him off, and get him off, now!"

Jim's movement was quick and without hesitation.  The right fist came
crashing in hard against the ARVN's left cheek, sending his head
backwards and bouncing off the soundproofing behind.  Jim grabbed the
stunned soldier by the shirt and, in one motion, threw the crying ARVN
soldier off the helicopter.  As Mr. Lucas pulled pitch to leave, Jim
threw the ARVN's M16 off.  Swinging around the bench seats to get back
into his own seat, Jim could see the same ARVN soldier running after
them down the road with M16 in hand.  Suddenly the ARVN stopped in
mid-stride.  His head jerked backward as both arms flew outward,
releasing the M16 into midair.  His body leaped forwards and landed
several feet ahead of his original position.  Jim sat down and hooked up
his seat belt.  It took him longer than usual to reconnect the helmet's
radio wires, "Mr. Lucas, I just killed that man."

"For crying out loud, Mac, you didn't hit him that hard!"

"No, Sir, but he got up and started to run.  He took a machine gun burst
square in the chest."

"Well, we can't go back and get him.  We have to join the flight and
take in more troops, so we can bring him out then.  Besides, it's hard
to believe we didn't take any hits back there as it was."

Mr. Euclid said, "You're telling me.  I thought sure that bunker would
get us but Mac quieted him and then we sat on the ground for a full
fifteen seconds trying to get that stupid ARVN off."

Lucas interrupted, "They probably figured we were shot down, unable to
fly.  So why waste time and ammo on a dead bird, you can always cut his
head off later.  Besides, Mac, you did what you had to do.  If that
stupid gook won't fight for his own country, how can he expect us to?"

Jim lowered his head into both hands and wept.  No one but the wind
could hear him crying as it rushed by his face and melted his sobs into
the roar of the engine and the scream of the transmission.  Locked in
the subconscious of his mind he would remember the ARVN soldier's eyes
only in his dreams.

There were two more lifts made into the same area.  On the last lift
Jim's ship had an American TV man on board.  The batteries and camera
had to be a real pain to carry around.  It was the antenna sticking up
that Jim figured would make him no one's friend.  Even the greenest of
troops knew an antenna would draw fire like bees to honey. After all an
antenna usually meant a radio, which meant an officer, and it was always
important to remove an officer no matter what side you were on.  After
the drop Jim watched as long as he could and wasn't surprised to see the
ARVN soldiers move quickly away from the cameraman. He tried to stay
with them but nobody wanted him around.

After the last lift the flight was sent to Saigon to pick up as much
food as they could transport back to Tay Ninh.  From the unloading
platform the ships refueled and then parked for the night.

Jim had to pull an intermediate fifty hour inspection.  It was already
dark when he got started and, by the time he finished, it was almost
ten-thirty.  There wasn't any question about what he'd do first-shower.
The water was cold but felt better than the grease and oil he was
washing off.

Once back in the hooch Jim sat down on his foot locker to put a little
Kiwi on his boots.  He'd just started the first boot when the screen
door flew open and in walked Gillett.  The giant steps and hunchback
stance indicated Gillett was all business.

Using his voice of command, Gillett barked out, "Schott!  You got that
letter written yet?"

"Yes, Sergeant, right here."

Rich Schott was your basic, good ole Southern boy, complete with
Mississippi accent, wiry frame, about an inch shorter than Jim and an
easy going, happy go lucky disposition.  However, in an irritated
manner, Rick walked up and slapped an envelope into Gillett's
outstretched hand.

Gillett said simply, "Thank you."  Then turning to Jim, "You just get
in?"

"Yeah, I had an intermediate to pull."

"Find anything?"

"The only thing was a little metal on the internal transmission oil
filter, but nothing I thought was unusual."

"Good.  Come on, Mac, put something on besides your shorts and I'll
share my bottle of Jack."

"Thanks anyway, Gillett, but I'm exhausted.  I'm going to bed as soon as
I brush off this polish."

"Okay, see you in the morning."

Jim finished his boots and walked down the aisle to Schott's bunk.
Sitting down on the next bed's foot locker so he could look Rick in the
face he asked, "Rick, what was that all about?"

Rick sat up on the side of his Army cot and answered, "Mac, this Army is
so screwed up I can't believe it, but my sorry ass mother is worse." Jim
half laughed as he asked, "What are you talking about?"

"My mother, God bless her, called the Red Cross, asked them to find out
why her little boy Rickie hadn't sent her a letter for almost a month.
So the Red Cross at home called the Red Cross in Saigon.  They called
the CO who asked the First Sergeant to look into it.  The First Sergeant
told Gillett he'd like to meet the asshole who was responsible for the
CO having to spend ten minutes on the phone with the Red Cross in
Saigon.  I'm telling you, Mac, when the man got done with me, I had to
check to see if I had any ass left or if he'd chewed it all off."

"So why haven't you written home?"

"I did!  I try to get a letter out every week or ten days.  Well, you
know there hasn't been any mail leave here since Tet opened up until
today.  So, of course there's a letter in there, but since it's gone,
the First Sergeant can't check to see that I'd put a letter in the mail
drop the night Tet started.  And, I had a letter on board that plane
that went down a couple of weeks ago.  To say nothing about the fact
we've been kind of busy lately.  I mean, she must think I have nothing
to do but write her letters.  Anyway, my letter must be laying out there
in the jungle rotting, courtesy of the US Air Force.  So you'll never
guess what I get to do now, Mac.  I get to sit down each and every night
and write my dear sweet mother a letter.  For two full weeks, it doesn't
make any difference how late we land, how bad a day I've had, or if I
even have anything to write about.  Then I have to put it, unsealed, in
Gillett's hand each night, who then has to put it on the First Jerk's
desk the next morning, who will not read my letter, but check to make
sure I wrote a full page worth, before sealing it and mailing it.  So I
wrote her a real nice letter telling her what she did, and how much
trouble she got me into, and that she'll get her fourteen letters and
not another single one for the rest of my nine months over here."

The two men just looked each other in the eye before Jim said, "Rick,
don't punish your mother for loving you.  When she gets your letter
she'll realize she made a mistake and did a stupid thing, but she still
loves you and that's why she did it.  Besides, if you think about it,
it's probably easier for us over here than it is for them at home. They
know we're in an all combat assault company and where we're stationed.
They watch the six o'clock news every night and know we're right in the
middle of the biggest battle of this war.  My man, we're right smack in
the middle of this thing and they know it.  This is just like the Battle
of the Bulge in WWII with better news coverage.  As a result, those
letters are the only thing that they can touch and hold and say 'Hey, at
least I know he was still alive and okay when he wrote this letter,
dated whenever."

"Besides, what happened to you that was so terrible? You got a good
chewing by Top, and right now you're a little embarrassed.  Big deal!
That doesn't give you the right to punish her like that, just because
she loves her son, does it?"

Somewhat dejected Rick replied, "No."  There was a pause before he
continued, "Mac, how'd you get so damn smart so young and only a
Spec-Five?"

"Hey, when I get home I'm going to college to get my book learning,
because I've already had my education."

Epilog

Many call the Tet Offensive of 1968 America's biggest defeat of the
Vietnam War.  In fact, it was America's greatest victory of the war.  If
the North Vietnamese could have held their offensive for another two or
three days they would have kicked us out, just like they did the French.
The North's only hope was that American forces would run out of fuel.
That, in fact, happened and for two days the only JP-4 fuel available in
the II Corp area was at Saigon and Vung Tau.

Yet American Forces survived because it truly was an Air Mobile Army. We
lived and died by the helicopter.  Because of that we were able to pull
troops that were in the bush back to base camps and regroup.  Army and
Air Force units brought in fuel bladders and we struck back with the
finest Army ever assembled on the face of the earth.  When Tet was over
we had won, the war was over.  All that remained was to go in and finish
it.  What came very close to being America's final defeat turned out to
be her greatest victory of the war. There was only one problem. Anti-war
activists at home, both in and out of Congress, had forced President
Johnson to decide we would fight to lose.  One needs to understand that
by definition a country either fights to win a war, or it loses.  So Jim
MacLaughlin, like the thousands who would follow him, would continue to
fight the war to lose. Jim was eligible to quit flying May 5, 1968, but
by his own request continued past that date.  After Tet, there wasn't
that much activity so he didn't feel too concerned about it.  The only
thing that bothered him was that there were no more VC.  When contact
was made it was always against NVA who were better trained and better
armed.  The Viet Cong had all been killed during Tet. On May 14th, Jim
flew his last mission. Mr. Walker and Wright had threatened to break his
arm that night if he didn't tell Gillett that was the last one.  He left
Tay Ninh for the last time along with several others on the 17th.  He
spent that night at Cu Chi jumping in and out of a bunker, as Cu Chi was
under mortar and rocket attack all night.

On May 20, 1968, after countless inspections for contraband, Jim stepped
on board the TWA freedom bird that would take him home.  He saw several
of the guys he'd come over with and wondered if he looked as much older
to them as they did to him.  His last memory of Viet Nam is of waiting
on the concrete under a tent to board the plane home and watching the
big round thermometer slowly climb as the hours passed.  He walked by it
as he stood in line to board, one hundred nineteen degrees in the shade.

The first stop was Guam, then Alaska.  It was in Alaska the pilot came
over the speaker just after touchdown and said, "Gentlemen, we just
touched down in Alaska, I want to congratulate you on your completion of
a tour in Viet Nam and I want to be the first to say, WELCOME HOME!
You're in America now!"

A great cheer went up and the stewardess laughed and applauded and then
cried.

Their next stop was Mcguire Air Force Base, Maryland.  Fifty-two hours
after his last look at the thermometer in Viet Nam, Jim kissed his
mother and father "hello" and gave his sister a hug.

As he walked in the back door of their home, he turned and looked at the
land around him and said to his father, who was the only one in hearing
distance, "You know, there was more than once I thought I'd never live
to see this place again."  They both wiped away their tears and entered
the house.

He had thirty days leave during which he went to parties, worked the
farm, had several dates, and did a lot of sleeping.  It wasn't until
sometime later that he realized his introduction to women during R & R
was an unrealistic and a bad experience and certainly one he'd have been
better off without.

After thirty days leave Jim reported to Fort Rucker, Alabama, to spend
the remaining fourteen months time in service.  During that time he was
trained to teach school.  It was during this training he received the
first of four sets of orders which would have sent him back to Viet Nam.
Jim got out of that first set of orders because he was still in Army
schooling.  It was then he made up his mind he would not go back. He
would not desert, but they'd have to put him in chains and carry him
onto the plane.  He figured Christ had kept him alive during one tour
and Jim wasn't about to put Him to the test twice.  Jim also knew that
if he'd been back only sixty days and received one set or orders it
wouldn't be his last.  Yet deep inside he never doubted that Jesus would
not allow him to be sent back.  His parents wrote their congressmen and
senators.  They received very nice letters in response saying basically
how sorry they were, but Jim had a critical job that was in high demand,
and there was nothing they could do to prevent his return.

Jim's second set of orders sending him back came down about sixty days
later.  His CO brought them to him one day at work (he was teaching
aircraft engines) and said, "'Mac, I've got a set of orders here sending
you back to Viet Nam.  You want to go?"

"No, Sir, I do not!"

'Are you happy here?  What I'm thinking is if you'd like to stay here
and teach, I'll try to get you out of 'em."

"Thank you, Captain, I'd really appreciate it if you would.  I don't
want to go back!  Besides, I do like it here, this is a wonderful
place!"

The Captain laughed and said, "You don't have to be quite so sarcastic.
Mac, understand two things.  One, I'm going to try.  Because you put out
one hundred percent, you're very good at your job and have never given
me any trouble.  Two, I don't know if I can do it, but I play golf once
a week with the major in charge of personnel and he owes me a couple. So
let me hang on to these orders for a few days and we'll see."

"Thank you, Sir, I really do appreciate it."  The third set of orders
came down while Jim was TDY (temporary duty) at Edgewood Arsenal.
Military regulations prevent a person from receiving orders for a new
duty station while on TDY.  The final set of orders came down and he had
a new CO who wouldn't help him out.  So he figured he might as well
spend the time processing out, thus giving Christ the time to once again
work a miracle.  When he reported to personnel, there was a room full of
people who were starting to fill out the paperwork.  The NCO running
things asked if there was anyone in the group with less than ninety days
left in service, Jim's hand went up.

"When is your ETS date, Sergeant?"

"One September '69, Sergeant."

"You're right, you've got eighty-nine days left.  You can go back to
work, unless you want to go back to Nam.  If you do, I can get you a
waiver to sign, otherwise, we can't send you back unless you have ninety
days or more left."

Jim stood and walked toward the NCO, dropped the orders on his desk and
said, "I don't!"

While teaching at Fort Rucker, Jim came in on break between classes one
day and found one of the men (the last of three) represented by Mr.
Walker waiting for him.  That night they went for a drink and talked
over old times and people.

The character Mr. Walker, in this book was in reality three different
permanent pilots and several temporary AC's.  The first of the three was
shot in the shoulder, operated on in Nam, and had a good start toward
recovery when put on a hospital aircraft for home.  The second one
developed a personality conflict with Jim after they had flown together
for several months.  Finally, Jim refused to fly with him again.  About
a month before Jim rotated home, he flew a single ship night mission
where the second Mr. Walker was the AC.  The only reason he'd flown it
after recognizing the AC, was as a personal favor to the platoon
officer.  He has always been glad he did.  The mission was dangerous and
required a high level of skill by both AC and crew chief. Everything
went smoothly because Mr. Walker number two was good, very good, in fact
the best.  After they landed back at Tay Ninh and Jim was left alone on
the mike with Mr. Walker, Jim said, "Sir, I just want you to know there
is no one I would rather have had in the left seat tonight than you."

"Mac, I've been trying for the last half hour to think of a way to tell
you there isn't anyone I'd rather have had in the back seat than you.
And I'm not just saying that because you did."

"I know, Sir."

"You know I'm sorry we had to go our own ways.  It was really great
being a team again, and Mac, I wish you the best and hope you make it
back okay."

"Thank you, Sir.  That means a lot to me and I wish you the best, and I
truly do hope you make it back also.  You know, if I didn't already have
an AC I'd ask for you back."

"I'd accept, if I didn't already have a ship and crew chief."  It was
the third Mr. Walker who told Jim the second one had made it okay, and
that Mr. Halsey was still playing his stupid games and had less respect
from the men than when Jim had left.  Mr. Lucas had become one of the
best pilots in the company and had been made platoon maintenance
officer.  As a result, he'd become the EM's best friend in the company
and was always trying to help them out in any way he could, even going
to bat for some of them when they'd gotten into trouble.  Needless to
say, he'd become one of the nicest and best liked officers in the
company.

Schott, Wright, Green and Meyers were all okay and Meyers was due to
join them at Rucker in a couple weeks.  Athia, Gillett and Kenny all
made it home.  Mr. Euclid had been shot in the butt, and got a free ride
home out of it.  Hunter was killed in action.

It was at Fort Rucker the nightmares started for Jim and would last off
and on for the next nine years.

Glossary As They Occur In The Book:

OD - Officer of the Day - Officer in charge of guard detail.

Claymore mine a mine that is flat, thus being a one directional mine.
The front is filled with large steel shot and the back is filled with
plastic explosive and used to propel the shot outward in a sixty-degree
arc.  Strictly antipersonnel and used in defensive positions by American
troops.  It was connected by a wire to a hand held generator that had to
be squeezed to fire the claymore mine.

Grunt - American infantryman (slang).

vc - Viet Cong.

Mrici - Machinegun used for medium to heavy fire support.  Fires a 762MM
round.  Also used as door gun on Hueys (helicopters).  Fired six hundred
rounds per minute.

Heavy fire team - Three or more gunships.

Light fire team - Two gunships.

PFC - Private First Class, third lowest ranking soldier in Army.

Manchu Company - 4th Battalion, 9th Infantry, part of the 25th Infantry
Division.

Slicks - Slick ship - Huey helicopters UH-1 used for troop transport and
resupply missions.

CO - Commanding Officer, Company Commander, also called "Six" as in
Blackhawk "Six"

Blackhawk - Call sign and name of the 187th Assault Helicopter Company.

Mr. - Proper way to address a Warrant Officer.

Chicken plate - Bullet proof vest worn by flight crews.

Preflight - Visual inspection of aircraft before flight.

Hot LZ - Receiving fire from landing zone.

WIA - Wounded in Action.

ETA - Estimated time of arrival.

RPM - Revolutions per minute.

Hell Hole - Hole in the bottom of a Huey where the cargo hook sticks
out.  It is directly under the transmission, very oily and barely large
enough for one man to fit in from the waist up.

Six - Designates a Commander, Company, Division or otherwise.

Monkey Harness - Restrainer straps that went around the waist and over
the shoulders and interlocked in the front with a quick release buckle.
A long tail (thus the name) comes from the back of the harness and hooks
onto a ring or secure part of the ship.  This tail allowed movement
while still being strapped in.

C and C - Command craft that is filled with communications gear.  Used
to direct and coordinate operations from the air.

XO - Executive Officer, second in command to Company Commander.

EM - Enlisted man.

Gook - Slang for any Southeast Asian person.

Saigon Warrior - Person who has not seen combat and tells fictionalized
combat stories.

Nu Ong - An area containing three mountains in a very flat area.

Steel Pot - Steel part of an infantryman's combat helmet.

Dual Quad 50 - 50 caliber machinegun with eight barrels firing together.

ASAP - As soon as possible.

UHF - Ultra high frequency radio - used for long range communication
(mostly Air Force)

VHF - Very high frequency radio - used for medium range communication.

R & R - Rest and recreation.

MP - Military police.

Hotel 3 - Main heliport in Saigon.

Nui Ba Den - Mountain just outside Tay Ninh.  On top was a Special
Forces Camp protecting a long range radio complex.

AC - Aircraft commander.

KP - Kitchen police.

MM - Millimeter.

Cholon District - Chinese area of Saigon.

PE - Periodic inspection of ship which is done every one hundred hours.
Takes five men about eight hours to do if they find no major problems.

Beehives - Small needle like darts tightly packed in an artillery
canister.  Fired from an artillery piece as an antipersonnel weapon at
close range.  Approximately 20,000 needles per shell.

Puff - Air Force C-47 aircraft with three mini guns on one side, each
firing 6,000 rounds per minute.  On each pass the C-47 fired 18,000
rounds per minute with every fifth round a tracer.

Fish Hook - Nickname for an Eastern section of the Cambodian border.

C-130 - Air Force cargo plane.

Bird Dog - Fixed wing, single engine aircraft used for observation.

ARVN - Army of the Republic of Viet Nam.

Police Call - Picking up everything that isn't supposed to be in the
area, such as cigarette butts.

LBJ - Long Binh jail.

CQ - Charge of quarters, always an E-5 or above, usually there was a
lesser ranking EM used.

Class A Uniform - the light, short sleeved khaki dress uniform.

Dress Right Dress - Means of obtaining proper spacing in a group
formation.

Scrambler - Radio unit that garbles all radio transmissions on that wave
length.  Makes it impossible to understand unless the receiver also has
a scrambler.

Sapper - vc and NVA demolition people.  Usually willing to blow
themselves up along with their target.

Yellowstone - 79 day operation (8 December 1967 - 24 February 1968)
small in size and duration - conducted in Tay Ninh Province war Zone C)
with units of the 25th Infantry Division, 1254 known enemy casualties.

Right Seat - Co-pilot's seat.

RA - Indicates a person who has enlisted, as opposed to a Us.  for
draftees.

E-1 - Lowest rank in the Army.

CA - Combat Assault.

Tunnel Rat - Small GI.  sent in vc tunnels.

In Country - In viet Nam.

MOS - (Job title) - Military Occupational Specialty.

DFC - Distinguished Flying Cross.

Fuel bladder - A rubber, collapsible fuel drum that held between 2,000
and 50,000 gallons.