Spent a few hours on the phone with an old VN buddy in the middle
of the night last night, then Saw the recovery of two downed
fliers on the news this morning, it all came rushing back.
Dead and wounded being carried into your chopper while you fire
covering fire into the tree line, smell the burnt powder & hot
brass smell of the M-60 mixed with JP-4 from the turbine exhaust
and sun heated metal around you. Sweat of fear mingled in. Then
you take off and the prop wash and wind generated by flight
turns blood into a fine mist inside that sticks to your skin and
fatigues like paint overspray, very sticky. You can't hear the
moans and screams over the beat of the rotors or through your
helmet and earphones. You can see the writhing of pain or the
limp movement of the dead wrapped in poncho's. You can smell
the sharp coppery smell of blood mixed with urine and feces
though. And the floor gets pretty slippery sometimes.
The ground crews later use steam jennies or pressure hoses to
clean out the bird, but some how the smells are still there for
you, you wash up with tons of soap, but you still feel sticky
sometimes, in the middle of the night. You get up in the morning
or even in the night to do it again and again, because it's your
job, they are your brothers, they need you.
It's not about noble causes, it's about stayin' alive and surviving
one more day, one more day closer to returning to the world.
The real face of war is the reason real warriors hate war and
Pray for peace!
All you armchair commando's need to see what I have seen.
T LEE, OUT
