by Matt Jackson
“Who was the pilot on that aircraft?” the major asked, looking at the Ops officer.
“Sir, that was Mr. Bailey. He caught the main on a tree limb coming out of a hover hole up at Song Be. It tore a hole on the underside. Too big for hundred-mile-an-hour tape.”
“Pull his AC certification,” the major said, looking at Captain Beauchamp. “Not going to have ACs getting blade strikes. Put him back into Pete Pilot status until he gets re-certified with the company IP.”
With a look of surprise, Captain Beauchamp came to Mr. Bailey’s defense. “Sir, Mr. Bailey is a damn good pilot. It was just one of those freak things that happens in this area and under these conditions. If you pull his certification, we can’t put an AC in each aircraft if we launch all twenty-one aircraft.” He paused. “In addition, if we’re down another AC, it’s just going to make it harder for other ACs to get leave or take their R&R.”
“Well, we best find a Peter Pilot that’s ready to move up to AC to take his place.” The major was standing firm on this decision, and setting a tone by sending a message to the remaining ACs: Don’t break the birds.
“Anything else, Captain Finn?” Major Adams asked. Captain Finn felt under the gun as Major Adams had been the maintenance officer for his aviation unit on his previous tour in Vietnam.
“No, sir,” Captain Finn said with a sigh of relief as no more questions would be coming his way.
“Supply?” Major Adams asked, looking at First Lieutenant Guidone.
“No issues, sir. If anything we’re getting overstocked with people wanting us to take their stuff so they don’t have to clean it and ship it. We’re excess in about everything,” said Lieutenant Guidone, a newbie pilot. Supply was an additional duty for him.
“Excess. No, no, no. We will not be excess. Don’t accept anything else from someone that just wants to dump it. If they dump it and we have to move, we have to ship it or haul it. I want just what’s in our TO&E,”23 the major directed. “In the next week, bring me a list of what we’re excess in so we can start looking at downsizing.”
The young Supply officer looked forlorn as it was common practice in Vietnam to stockpile items to trade for supplies you needed or would like to have but weren’t authorized.
“Yes, sir.”
“Medical?”
“Nothing serious, sir. A few cases of VD, mostly nonspecific urethritis, but that’s about it. A couple of people have malaria, all pilots but nothing serious,” Dr. Christeson explained.
“Aren’t the pilots taking their malaria pills?” the major asked.
“Yes, sir, but of the two pills, one affects night vision, and those pilots that fly most of our night missions have avoided that particular pill. I guess the fear of flying into something at night outweighs the fear of potential malaria.”
“Okay, I’ll buy that, but let’s keep track of any new cases,” the major instructed. “How many VD cases do we have? What do you call a few?”
“Sir, we can manage those cases okay and we are monitoring the situation,” Doc Christeson answered, avoiding the direct question.
“How many, Doc? Are any of them pilots?” Major Adams asked again, projecting daggers with his look.
“Sir, there are twenty cases at this time,” he replied, quickly adding, “All are gonorrhea, so nothing really serious.”
“Twenty? And what do you call serious? The black syphilis that sends a man to Dickless Island?” Major Adams asked as his voice rose an octave. Others were enjoying this exchange, watching Doc shift in his seat a bit.
“Sir, Dickless Island is a false rumor repeated by the new guys,” Doc responded, trying to extricate himself from this conversation. He wasn’t doing a good job of it.
“Really. Well, Doc, here’s what I want you to do. Interview each man and find out where he may have contracted the disease and report back to me. If it was at the massage parlor, then I will put it off-limits,” the major indicated.
“It’s not from the massage parlor, sir. I’ve already asked each man,” Doc indicated.
“Well, where is it from?” Major Adams asked with some frustration in his voice as he was tired of dragging an answer out of Doc. What the hell is he hiding? Everyone suddenly stopped grinning at Doc’s predicament and was studying their notes.
“Sir, I believe it’s from one or two hooch maids,” Doc reluctantly confessed. There were a couple of groans from the others and some heads snapped up to witness the major’s reaction.
Quickly, 1SG Miller injected himself into the conversation. “Sir, this is the first time in the two years we’ve been here that this has happened. Let me and Doc investigate this and find the infected hooch maids, fire them and make it known to everyone that a repeat of this will result in all the hooch maids being fired.”
After a minute of thought, the major responded, “Okay, I’ll go along this one time. Doc, I want you to examine every hooch maid for VD, physically and tests, whatever they are. When you determine who has it, I want them identified to the 1SG. Top, you will make a public display of firing them in front of the entire company and all the other hooch maids. Be sure the men know that if it happens again, the hooch maids are out of here. Am I clear?”
“Yes, sir,” 1SG Miller responded
“I’ll get started first thing tomorrow, sir,” Doc replied.
“Anything else anyone has for me?” the major asked, looking over the assembled group. “Nothing? Okay. This was a good update, and we’ll do this at least weekly. This company has a great reputation and performed very well in the past, and I expect it will do so in the future at whatever we are assigned to do. One observation I’ve made in my short time here is that we’re away from the flagpole, and as a result we tend to become lax in our military bearing. I’ve noticed that mustaches are a bit long, as is most hair. Boots are almost tan in some cases, probably having not seen polish since arriving in Nam. A couple of people I doubt have taken a bath since they arrived in Nam, especially that one pilot, and I think you all know who I mean. Tomorrow, 1SG, let’s take a walk through the hooches and see what kind of living conditions we have there. We need to clean up our acts a bit, gentlemen. We’re in a combat zone, but we’re still in the US Army. Any questions?” He paused. “If not, that’s all I have. Good night.” With that, everyone got up and headed out.
Back in the orderly room, 1SG Miller told the clerk to round up the platoon sergeants and tell them to get over to the orderly room, now. Best break the news to them early that there would be a barracks inspection tomorrow and they better get them cleaned up, if they wanted to keep hooch maids. And to keep the men off the hooch maids. Times were changing, and there was a new sheriff in town.
Two days later, Major Adams was leading a flight of six aircraft throughout the day in support of the ARVN Airborne unit. It was a good day of flying with clear skies for a change, cooler weather and no turbulence. Everything had gone smoothly, and he would arrive back in the company area early and hopefully get some correspondence done. Yesterday’s inspection of the barracks with the 1SG was satisfactory, and while certainly in these conditions, spit-shine appearances were out of the question, things were in order and clean. It was obvious that the platoon sergeants were performing their duties in a satisfactory manner.
Once he shut down the aircraft, he offered to help the crew chief with cleaning up the bird but was told that the crew chief and door gunner had it and his help wasn’t needed. He had known this would be their response but felt he should still offer as almost all the pilots did after a day of flying. Leaving Flight Operations, Major Adams started across the company area when he noticed a very long line of Vietnamese females outside the aid station. What the hell?
He entered the company aid station, where a medic sat behind a desk, writing down the name of each female. Looking up, he noticed the major. “Good afternoon, sir. Can I help you?”
“No. What the hell is going on?” Major Adams asked, a bit astonished at seeing all the women lined up in front of
the aid station.
“What’s going on, sir, is we’re conducting the VD inspection that you ordered,” stated Doc Christeson, coming out from behind a curtain. He pulled off some rubber gloves and tossed them in a trash can. Doc looked tired, and when he spoke, the major noted the frustration in his voice.
“Doc, you must have forty women lined up outside and four in here. How many have you seen?” the major asked.
“Sir, I’ve already examined fifty-two and they just keep coming. It seems that when it was announced we were examining all the female workers in the company, the entire village decided to come over and get examined. I don’t have a list of who works in the company, so I’m just examining all of them. Medical officers don’t turn people away that are seeking medical assistance, so this could go on for the rest of the day and possibly until curfew tonight.”
“Well, what are you doing with your findings?” Major Adams asked.
“Sir, I haven’t thought that far ahead yet. We have names, we’re recording their condition, and I’m giving it to the 1SG to figure out who works in the company area and who does not. The do-nots, I would recommend we give to the medical detachment that’s supposed to be treating the villagers, but that isn’t my decision. I’m just the medical officer. It’s his problem after that. I just examine them.” Doc picked up another set of rubber gloves. “Next,” he said and ushered a sixty-year-old woman into the back examining room.
Chapter 19
Return to the Roost
“Hey, Lieutenant,” the tower operator called out, “that’s your ride on final now.” He pointed at the approaching UH-1 helicopter.
Standing at the First Cav Division helipad, Cory watched the UH-1 Huey approach. Noting the green triangle on the door with the lightning bolt through it, Cory pulled his cap down tight and kept his sunglasses on. He didn’t want to give away the fact that he was back. He figured the right-seat pilot wouldn’t know him, but the aircraft commander probably would, unless he was really new.
Picking up his two duffle bags, Cory approached the aircraft, noting the name of the aircraft commander and crew chief on the side panel. He knew the crew chief but not the aircraft commander. The aircraft commander must have arrived as Cory was leaving back in August or might have been a newbie in the unit when Cory had left, and he just didn’t recognize the name. Cory approached the aircraft on the crew chief’s side and climbed in. The crew chief didn’t pay much attention to Cory until Cory turned, removed his sunglasses, and looked him in the eye. At first it didn’t register with the crew chief who this RLO was giving him the eye. Quickly Cory could tell the crew chief recognized him when he broke into a broad grin. Cory put his fingers to his lips to keep him quiet as he didn’t want it known just yet that he was back in the unit. The crew chief just nodded and shook Cory’s hand while patting his shoulder. Specialist Lovelace had been Cory’s crew chief when Cory had gone home.
From the air, Lai Khe hadn’t changed in four months. Rubber trees covered almost everything except the helicopter parking area and the four-thousand-foot metal runway. Highway 13 ran through the middle of the base from Saigon to the Cambodian border. On the west side of the runway and highway were a cluster of one-story buildings where workers on the base lived. So did the Viet Cong. Gone were the large number of US soldiers that had once occupied Lai Khe, replaced by a smaller contingent of Vietnamese Army soldiers—ARVNs, or Ruff Puffs as they were called. As the aircraft pulled into a revetment and shut down, Cory grabbed his bags, thanked the pilots and walked off towards the company orderly room to report to the company commander. Stepping inside, Cory saw the company clerk and first sergeant.
“Afternoon, First Sergeant,” Cory said to get his attention.
Looking up, the first sergeant eyed him, first with a blank look, then with recognition but no knowledge of who the officer was. Finally the lightbulb went off. “I’ll be damned, Lieutenant Cory. What the hell you doing here?” he asked as he stood up and came over to shake Cory’s hand, which Cory gladly accepted. Cory and Top had always gotten along.
“Well, Top, I’m reporting for duty. It’s a common practice to report to the company headquarters in case you didn’t know. Or should I have gone straight to the club?”
“Sir, you spent enough time in the club to make it a home. Can’t believe you’re back. You volunteered, didn’t you? Dumb bastard—no offense meant, sir.”
“Yes, and none taken.” Cory handed over his packet of paperwork. “Here are my orders and records.”
The first sergeant took the packet and tossed it to the company clerk. “Lockwood, get him in-processed. Assign him to the First Platoon.” Turning back to Cory, he said, “The CO is Major Adams, good man, no nonsense. He flies a lot of the combat assault missions. Been here about two months now, since just after you left. He’s flying today and should be back around eighteen hundred hours. I’ll let him know you’re back. I’ll have someone come get you so you can report. He’s one for proper protocol. What have you been doing?”
“I took the CG’s pilot’s body home and attended the funeral. Went and spent a week with my parents and then it was off to Fort Benning to attend the Infantry Officers’ Basic Course. Tried to get back here in an infantry assignment, but that didn’t work out. Next best thing they offered was coming here to fly. So here I am,” Cory explained.
“How’s your dad doing? He’s back in the States, isn’t he?”
“He’s doing good. Yeah, he’s back and took command of a Navy base in Coos Bay, Oregon. They do underwater research, so they say, but it’s a pretty hush-hush place. He was there before as the Operations officer and later as the executive officer. I got to attend the change-of-command ceremony. Thanks for asking,” Cory responded.
“Well, sir, I guess you need to take your supply records, flight records and medical records and get in-processed with each of them. You know where the RLO hooches are, so go get a bunk. First Platoon is the hooch closest to the O club. Platoon leader is Captain Grubitch. He arrived after you left. Captain Beauchamp is still here and is the Ops officer now, and Captain Wehr is the XO still, although he’ll be PCSing pretty soon.”
“Okay, Top, I’ll get out of your hair and get settled. Good seeing you again,” Cory said, extending his hand, which the first sergeant took.
Leaving the orderly room, Cory decided to head for the platoon hooch and drop his gear before completing in-processing. The company area hadn’t changed in his brief absence. The chicken was visible and hanging around the O club, looking for a drink, probably. Hooch maids were taking in laundry, and some off-duty flight crews were taking in the sun’s rays.
Entering the First Platoon hooch, Cory started looking for an empty bed. The first room he looked into answered his question. First Lieutenant Stu was seated in his lawn chair, writing a letter. He looked up. Recognition was absent for about five seconds, then he burst into a grin.
“Well, I’ll be damned. What the hell are you doing back here?” Stu said as he stood up and shook Dan’s hand.
“I got tired of stateside duty and thought I’d come have some fun. How you been?”
“Good, good,” Stu responded. Stu had previously overlapped with Dan by about three months and had now been in-country for seven months. His last name was of Russian origin, and Cory could never pronounce it right, nor could anyone else, so his shortened first name was used. Stu was single and a bit of a lackadaisical character, which previously had not sat well with the company commander. Cory figured if the new commander was about military protocol, then Stu was probably in hot water most of the time too.
“So where are you bunking?” Stu asked.
“Looking for an empty bunk. I just got in and gave my stuff to the first sergeant and he told me to head to the First Platoon. Any empty bunks in here?” Cory asked, looking around.
“There’s one across the hall. Conley left last week, and you’re the first RLO replacement to come in. The division is going home, so we aren’t getting a lot of re
placements. Right now we’re pretty thin on pilots, especially RLOs,” Stu explained.
“Okay, I’ll grab it. I need to go by Supply, Medical and Ops, so I best get my butt in gear. Beer later at the club?” Cory asked.
“You bet,” Stu responded.
Cory crossed the hall and dropped his duffle bag on the empty bed, then headed out. His first stop was Flight Operations. A new Flight Operations NCOIC had come in since Cory had left, and the Operations officer was out flying, so he really had no reason to stick around and reminisce. The same held true for his visit to the medical platoon and the unit supply. The Supply sergeant was the same NCO from when Cory had been there, but they’d had little contact during Cory’s previous assignment, so the conversation was limited. Getting his unit-issued flight gear, which was just a chicken plate, sidearm, and flight suits, as well as bed sheets, Cory headed back to his hooch to start unpacking and settling in. As he reached for the door, the company clerk approached him.
“Lieutenant Cory, Major Adams is in his office if you want to report, sir,” the clerk said.
“I’ll be right over as soon as I drop this in my room,” Cory responded and stepped inside. A few minutes later, he was entering the company commander’s office.
“Sir, Lieutenant Cory reporting for duty,” he said as he came to attention three feet in front of the commander’s desk and rendered a proper salute, holding it until the company commander returned the salute.
Standing and coming around his desk, Major Adams told Cory to stand at ease and extended his right hand, which Cory took. “Welcome home, Lieutenant Cory. Understand you’ve only been gone about three months. Sit down.” He motioned to a folding chair and sat on the edge of his desk.
“Yes, sir, but it wasn’t my plan to come back as a pilot. I was hoping to get an infantry assignment, but when it was obvious I wasn’t going to get that, I asked to come back here. I understand that the division’s going home but we’re staying.”