Surprised at Being Alive: An Accidental Helicopter Pilot in Vietnam and Beyond Read Online Free Page A

anyway. One of my uncles was a marine gunnery sergeant, a “Gunny.” Because of him, I had wanted to be a marine since I was a little boy. The marine recruiter was sitting alone reading a western novel when I walked to the front of his desk and stood there, waiting for him to look up. When he did, the marine smiled.
    Motioning me into a chair by the desk, the marine introduced himself as the Gunny, non-commissioned officer in charge, NCOIC, of the Marine Corps portion of the recruiting station. What could he tell me that was not already common knowledge? “The greatest fighting outfit the world had ever seen and after boot camp, you become one of us, you become a Marine. A two-year enlistment in the infantry would be the perfect start on life and an experience that you could tell your grandchildren about.” Still with a smile the Gunny said, “Boy, we’ll put you in the rice paddies and you can kill all the Cong you can find.”
    As the Marine talked about his own infantry experiences in “the Nam” I looked at the three rows of ribbons on his chest and the hardness of his smile. My Marine uncle’s experiences from boot camp, Korea, and Vietnam came back to me, and the Gunny lost his recruit. Rifles and rice paddies would be only a last resort. I would not voluntarily sign on for what the draft promised anyway. After listening politely for a decent interval, I thanked the marine and told him I would think about what he said. As I turned to go I saw the Army recruiter was now free.
    As I walked toward the Army recruiter he turned his head slightly and gave the marine a little grin. After a few questions about my background the recruiter asked, “How would you like to be a helicopter pilot?” Leafing through the pamphlets on his desk, he selected one, and laid it in front of me. The leaflet began, “90 Days Between You And The Sky.” As I read, the thought came to me that if I were to die, it would be better to fly to the spot rather than walk to it. Six months later I reported to Fort Polk, Louisiana. Nearly all warrant officer candidates (WOCs) went through Fort Polk and it was exactly what you would think it would be with the Vietnam War in full swing. Everyone smart enough to get out of military service had, leaving mostly National Guard and reserve enlistees, draftees and those of us who enlisted to “beat the draft.”
    Twelve weeks later, a couple hundred candidates-to-be boarded Greyhound buses immediately after graduation from basic training and traveled to Fort Wolters, Texas, for a month of pre-flight training and then primary flight training. The demand for pilots was so strong that the Army had ten companies of WOCs under training at once for many years. I joined 9th WOC, the Tan Hats.

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    CHASING BUZZARDS
    FORT WOLTERS, TEXAS ■ FEBRUARY 1969
    The OH-23 Raven was a three-man bubble helicopter designed by one of the pioneers of vertical flight, Stanley Hiller. The first ones came out in the early 1950’s and the final versions lasted long enough to see service as scouts in Vietnam. Even in 2013, a few OH-23’s soldier on as crop dusters or toys for people with the money to keep an old helicopter operational. The 23 was a typical bubble helicopter, i.e., slow, with a manual throttle that works opposite of a motorcycle (the grip was black rubber and read “Harley-Davidson”), and was a very rugged machine, as I discovered when I bounced one about 20 feet into the air after screwing up a simulated engine failure, with no damage to the machine.
    S eventeen flight hours into my aviation career, I couldn’t say I really had much of an understanding of the process of flying in general, and the process of flying helicopters in particular. All us warrant officer candidates (WOCs) struggling to get through Primary Flight training at Fort Wolters were in about the same position; that is, scared and confused, but never admitting anything, even to each other. To admit any fear meant running the risk of having