NAVY PILOTS are NUTS

During my last two months in Tay Ninh base camp, I roomed with two crazy Navy fighter pilots that had graduated from Annapolis. Because we shared the same hooch, we wound up spending our off-duty hours together and became good friends. They were both qualified to fly F-4 Phantom jets, but because they were number one and two in flight school, they qualified to attend helicopter flight school and thus qualify in two types of aircraft. In Vietnam, they flew Huey gunships above the riverine boats without any navigation lights. They flew side by side, their only collision avoidance a flashlight in each plane aimed at the other plane. Their jobs were hazardous, had a high casualty rate, and they both knew that their next flight might be their last. When they were not flying, they were grounded party animals. Usually, one night a week, we would get together, but they were totally in another league, and I could not keep up with their drinking or their nightlife fun. Both pilots were girl-crazy, preferring Vietnamese women with French blood running through their veins. I do not know where they found the time, but they managed to have girlfriends in Tay Ninh City and spent at least one night a week with them. They even offered to get me a Vietnamese girl, but I was engaged, not an option. Spending a night outside our compound in an enemy-held city was suicidal and I thought what they were doing was insane; if the Viet Cong caught them, they would be heading home in body bags, minus their dicks.
During one of our weekly outings, the pilots got an emergency call to fill in for another helicopter that got shot up badly. I don’t remember how they talked me into going with them, but before I realized what was going on, I was headed towards Cambodia to rendezvous with another attack helicopter. As I boarded the craft, the excitement of going on a combat mission overrode common sense, and it was not until the two helicopters got into a combat formation that I realized the seriousness (stupidity?) of my decision. We skirted our way around the Parrot’s Beak area on our way to the Mekong River where we were to meet the boats. We patrolled the area for thirty minutes and had made three passes across the river when the other plane developed an engine malfunction and we had to abort the mission. I did not see any action that night, but the potential was there, and my “pucker factor” was high. The flight back to Tay Ninh was, mercifully, uneventful. Still, the reflected moonlight across the rice paddies was beyond description, and even fifty years later, whenever I see a similar moon, I think about that night and the consequences that awaited me if shot down.
leo.