I Remember
The sound is
deafening, even through my flight helmet, as I struggle to see through the dust
cloud spreading out below the helicopter. My lungs and mouth fill with a heavy
mix of musty moist air, dust, sweat and the sweet acrid odor of jet exhaust.
“Loads off 20, 15,10, 5, slings slack, loads clear”. I struggle to stand as the
nose of the helicopter pitches down and the tail rises – the pilot is cowboying
the ship away from the drop zone as fast as possible. I listen for the sounds
and feel for the vibrations that I’ve memorized over that past few months that
tell me everything is running the way it should be. The intercom crackles with
seemingly unintelligible phrases causing the door gunners to quickly begin
squeezing off long bursts from their M60 machine guns - sweeping the canopy of
green that is disappearing all too slowly below. As I move toward the back of
the ship the noise level changes. I whirl to face the pocket of silence as my
helmet fills with a low moan from the earphones and I watch my crew chief slump
to the metal flooring.
Somehow I’m suddenly on the floor beside him; his
helmet’s rolling across the pitching floor and his head is in my lap. My hands
are pressed against his body trying to hold his life inside. The helicopter pitches
rolls and climbs in evasive maneuvers. He squeezes my hand for a few seconds,
as our eyes stay riveted on each other’s. We have no words to say. Then as the
ship steadies his grip begins to fail and an eerie stillness engulfs us.
I see it, I feel it, I hear it, I smell it and I taste it
all now, over 40 years later, just like it happened a second ago.
I have a letter of appreciation from the department of
the army, signed by the president of the United States – like so many others
have.
I have an army commendation medal, an air medal and a
Viet Nam service ribbon - like so many others have.
I lost a very close friend in war – like so many others
have.
At 20 years old I lost my invincibility, my naiveté, and
my trust in the longevity and value of close relationships.
At 50 I was still struggling to rebuild that trust, to
relearn the skills, and to be viable part of valued friendship.
At 60 nothing has changed, I close my eyes and it all
rushes back just like it was yesterday…
The words and art are mine as are the memories... Load's Clear...
The words and art are mine as are the memories... Load's Clear...
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