My Hero

41 years ago today a CH-47 Chinook helicopter, 64-13116 assigned to the 243^rd Freight Train was hovering over its eleventh sling load of the day. They were resupplying Korean firebases in the area surrounding Phu Hiep, RVN. The canvas rings for 3 loads - fuel, water and boxed items weighing 3 tons was slipped onto the hook. A young FE, who had just turned 20 called the load up and off the ground. At 30’ the loads all cleared and the helicopter continued to rise until the loads were at 50’.

After a hover check the copilot began his takeoff, but at transition to flight around 100’ off the ground the #2 engine failed. Rotor rpms dropped and the helicopter began settling back toward the earth. The pilot took control; the young FE punched the loads free with the aircraft still 60’ in the air and then the #1 engine began to fail. The aircraft lurched forward and took a nose high attitude. Unable to maintain control of the aircraft or altitude the helicopter hit a 9’ high berm making up part of the base’s perimeter and at the same time the aft rotors struck fence posts on the berm causing the blades to separate from the ship. At that point the aft section of the aircraft became airborne and pivoted around the forward rotor system. The helicopter hit the ground on its right side just inside the perimeter wire setting off claymore mines and flares. It caught fire instantly.

The pilot, copilot and crew chief were able to exit the right side cockpit door followed by the door gunner. It’s believed that the Flight Engineer and the only passenger, a Korean Liaison officer, were thrown to the back of aircraft when the nose rose after #1 failed. They were not seen by anyone after the impact. Fire completely consumed the entire aircraft in five minutes or less.

After analyzing the remains of the engines it was determined that the cause of the #2 stoppage was the failure of a small 2 to 3 inch drive shaft  inside the fuel control module and that the aircraft was outside of the flight limitations for recovery on a single engine (something that was done on a regular basis - usually without any consequences).

The young 20 year old Flight Engineer was my friend, Steven Kearns. He had joined the company as a maintenance tech about three months into my tour . We shared a number of things, not the least of which was a desire to fly in the worst way. As a team leader I taught him as much as I could – unfortunately he wasn't assigned to my team. Steven was a hard worker, putting in time and effort well beyond most of the other guys. When I moved to the TI shack we didn't get to see as much of each other, but I knew when I was checking out his team’s work on one of the aircraft that it was going to be done right!

Steven wasn’t all just business, he joined with all the guys taking time off to party or just have a good time. But there were never any excuses; he was always there the next morning ready to go!  That cheshire like grin and curly hair just kinda lit up your day.  We would occasionally talked of home – he was from Massachusetts and was looking forward to getting back there as soon as possible. He finally made it into the flight platoon as a crew chief and he was a damn good one. He crewed for me many times and I always knew I could depend on him to do a good job – the first time. As a Flight Engineer he was top notch, it was in his character. Do whatever you have to do! An example of that was one afternoon a helicopter crashed on landing at our airstrip. He was working on his ship on our flight line when it happened. He was the first guy there and he and another Freight Trainer pulled the pilots from the wreckage with no regard for their own safety. For that he was awarded the Bronze Star. That’s the kind of young man Steven Kearns was. On that fateful day in 1971 he exhibited that same character; he stayed his post and did his job without regard for his own safety.

I was back in states on extension leave when the accident occurred. I was devastated, it couldn’t happen, it didn’t happen! Once back in country I talked with everybody I could. I just didn’t believe it. Phu Hiep was a regular run for my ship, and I found out from a guy working in Ops that if I’d been there it would have been my ship’s rotation slot. To this day I can’t reconcile that…

Just last year I finally got up the courage and resolve to meet his family, his mother and two sisters – Nancy and Sue. To this day I have the note his mother so graciously wrote back in ’71 tucked away in a safe place. And I have Steven with me every day. In forty years I could count on one hand the number of days he did not cross mind, that I did not thank him for his sacrifice, that I did not wonder “what if I’d been there instead”…

If you ever have the opportunity to visit the Massachusetts Vietnam Veteran’s Memorial you’ll find his name carved in one of the stone obelisks. And you can also find a replica of a letter he wrote home in November of ’70 – one of a very few chosen to be a part of the memorial. 

In the grand scheme of things, his sacrifice may not seem like much… but to me and a number of his “buddies” in the 243^rd it is… We all knew what the possibilities were and yet we dedicated our time and efforts to getting the job done and done right. Unfortunately not all of us made it through.

As solemn an occasion as I would like this to be I also think it would be befitting as a celebration; a celebration of the commitment of my generation, despite all the chaos, to our country, to our freedom, to our families, to our friends and to ourselves. We were prepared to give all and some of us were called upon to fulfill that commitment.

Steve, buddy, rest in peace… you are MY hero and deserving of much, much more.

Loads clear…

In the foxhole...

I’ve sat down and tried to write a hundred times or more what and how the relationship is between men who have experienced war side by side. How it’s different than any other bond I’ve ever felt. You can talk about love relationships between a man and a woman, with your parents, with your lifelong friends, your “BFF” or whomever and most people get that. They’ve been there, they understand. There are words to explain it – words that make sense to almost everybody. I have yet to find the adjectives, the verbs, the context that conveys the feeling there is between guys that “share a foxhole”. 

It’s not like a first date and getting to know someone over time, it’s almost instantaneous. You hear people say they’d give up everything for so and so, they’d protect them with their own lives… push comes to shove, prove it, do it, every day… nowhere does that happen on a regular basis EXCEPT on a battlefield.

You look at the guy next to you “in the foxhole”, you know where he is, what he’s feeling, what he’s fearing, what he needs, what he wants. It doesn’t matter if he’s black or white, redneck or hippie, Christian or atheist, tall or short, married or single, or anything else. He has your back and you have his, with the ultimate sacrifice on the line. Sure you want to survive, you want to see home again, but there’s something beyond “me” that creeps in. A realization that you’re not the only one, there are others just as deserving of survival. You have to truly be willing to make that sacrifice, you have to be able to communicate that somehow and receive the same in return. Not very often are words spoken, its things as simple as a hug, a handshake, a look into their eyes, a slap on the back, a hand up. There is an intense connection that takes place, one that brings both trepidation and equanimity – calmness. Once a sincere commitment has been made and understood it will remain forever.

Down deep inside there are no nagging little questions about can I or should I or would I. You have the techniques that the military taught you, the tools of war and survival surround you; you have the obligation you made to yourself, your buddies and your country and you’re prepared to make good on them. Then one day it comes and you’re in that place, that position you prayed and hoped you or anyone would never be in. Chaos exists all around you and something clicks inside, somehow you just react. There’s no internal debate, no thought process, no scientific method to follow, no if-then. You move; you do what comes instinctively, using what resources, training and experience you have to get things done. Inside there’s no realization of what’s going on, your mind and body are set on achieving that one goal, that promise you made to yourself and those around you.

Imagine standing in the middle of a football field next to a downed helicopter surrounded by dikes and trees. Your three buddies have established a three point perimeter around you. Your air cover has been called away and you’d already sent your chopper to base to pick up the parts you need to fix and fly the cobra out. The four of you are there alone with no more than a basic load of ammunition for each of 3 M60’s, a couple of M16’s and your 45 caliber sidearm. The first “thump” was barely discernible but the next two or three were as clear as the day. All the mortar rounds impacted well behind the helicopter. Don’t stop to think that you’re standing next to hundreds of gallons of JP4, two rocket pods loaded with explosives and hundreds of rounds of 30 caliber and 7.62 ammunition. You move, finding the lowest depression you can 30 yards away from the helicopter. Your 45 is in your hand, locked and loaded as you scan the area. You’re the senior NCO, what’s your plan? You immediately start taking small arms fire from the tree line to the front of the ship, 60 yards away. No one is visible, no flashes, no markers of any kind. Your point perimeter opens up with his M60, just cutting leaves, as the incoming small arms fire continues. Unmistakably the sound and bullets of two or three AKs pierce the air eventually kicking up dust clouds around the point M60’s position and the front of the ship. From the two positions in the rear covering fire emerges. Glancing back they’re both exposed but continue to fire giving away their positions.

Without thinking, you know that the M-70, turret and 30 cal are electrically operated, you know that the aircraft electrical system is operational, you’ve been in the front seat before, you’ve fired the M-70 on test flights, you know where the 30 cal controls are, you know one well placed mortar, or a couple of AK rounds could set off the whole aircraft like a display on the fourth of July. You hear yourself yelling “cover” as you sprint to the chopper and vault into the front seat. Circuit breakers are reset, switches put in position and the aircraft begins to shake as a plume of dust and smoke rise from around the left wing. The chopper rocks back while in the distance the rounds pepper the dike area. The incoming fire stops briefly before starting again targeting the helicopter alone. A different set of switches, the M-70 thumps a few rounds into the same area. Suddenly two figures appear sprinting behind the dike headed for a tree line. All three M60s open up and the M70 drops a couple of rounds between them. As the dust settles, the firing stops - waiting for the next opportunity to make the kill. But all remains silent and then the aircraft radio crackles with traffic and the sound of incoming choppers increases in volume. The parts arrive, the cover aircraft have returned. Fixed and flyable in minutes the cobra is gone.

No one knows this story except for four young men left to fend for themselves for a couple of hours in a friendly zone, in a country at war and in a time far away. No one bothered to report it, there was no confirmation of kills, no damage to the aircraft, no physical wounds to anyone. What happened there has happened thousands of times before and since. There isn’t a hero here, just young men committed to doing what needed to be done and trusting enough in each other to believe that it would be. For some that commitment will never be tested and yet never be doubted either. For others it may come just once, but for a few every day or night or mission. Many will survive their test and so will their buddies. Some will not. The true reward for them is not a colorful ribbon and a place of honor as part of a list somewhere. The true reward is that others will take their place, will offer all that they have in the name of friendship, freedom, honor, country and pride.

Hundreds of thousands of American service men and women have offered all that they could give and it was taken from them in the name of freedom and brotherhood. Many thousands more offered but have not been asked to relinquish their tender. Behind them, alongside them and in front of them stand thousands more willing to make the same sacrifice. Thank God that they are there!

I Remember

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...

Vietnam Veterans Day, March 30th

March 30th has been declared Vietnam Veterans Day by the Congress of the United States... As a Vietnam Veteran I've elected to post this video here. The original was done for Veterans Day last year. It didn't have the complete narration and for this version I've only used pictures taken of and by the 243rd ASHC - my hook company for the first part of my tour... Welcome home to my fellow Vietnam Veterans!

I must have watched this video a hundred times putting it together, gathering pictures and listening to the sound track in the background. I really didn't have to fight to find the words I wrote and spoke, they seemed to just roll out into place. But seeing the faces, hearing the sounds always seemed to bring on a sense of loss and of love at the same time. Loss of the friendships over the years as we all went our ways, the death of a a good friend I flew with, the love and camaraderie I experienced as we worked  and flew and drank and lived day to day together. Looking out the front window into the dark, images of twisted safety wire, red hydraulic fluid, OD green sheet metal, roads of psp, sounds of whining auxiliary power units, the thunder of 6 blades churning up hurricane force winds, the spinning growl of transmissions and turbine engines, the acrid odor of burnt jet fuel, musty smells of 100 percent humidity, spent gunpowder, barbecued pig, tepid beer, burning refuse... all crowd my head. Tears begin cloud my eyes... so young, so proud, so invincible, so courageous - so vulnerable, so naive... I remember, I will always remember...