His hand was shaking as he lit his smoke. He was flying as gunner and they had just nursed the ship back to a safe A.O. A cold sweat spotted his flight suit as the MAYDAY, MAYDAY, MAYDAY still rang in his head. Stepping out of the ship and onto the ground was as sweet as anything he had ever experienced.

He now knew he had cheated death and was on borrowed time. Life tasted sweet, full, and amazing. Big trouble lay down the road, but that was secondary. He was alive.

They had been flying out of a Special Forces camp near Tuy Hoa. The sky was blue and the winds gentle, another day of paradise, as only Vietnam could give.

Picking up a load of civilian Vietnamese, they had headed across the mountains and bad guy country. They headed thru No Fly zones, but the air was good that day. A happy mood was on board, the crew was all friends, and the crew chief was 2 weeks short.

Gabby, the pilot, offered the chief a chance for a "Short Timer’s" stick time. The gunner, who had never flown on the chief’s side, wanted to sit there, knowing both his guns were in tiptop shape. The Peter Pilot didn’t care; he just wanted to sit behind a machine gun.

All changed places at 4,000 feet. What the heck, helicopter crews lived a dangerous life and became bored very easily with everyday dangers. This was new and exciting. The Vietnamese hadn’t a clue what was happening, and stared in wide-eyed astonishment as the crew climbed around seats in mid-air, laughing and smiling. After a few minutes of prep talk, the crew chief had the 'stick". He was doing ok, so everybody relaxed and enjoyed the flight.

Quite suddenly, the ship was hit with cross winds and the crew chief lost
control. The ship twisted and turned many ways, then started falling out of the sky. Just like in the movies, the sound of a shrill whine of an aircraft crashing was heard.

Wall insulation was ripped down by the wind, ammo belts were twisted around the gun mounts, altitude was fast disappearing, trees were growing bigger and bigger. The Peter Pilot, back in the gunners well, was calling out,  “Air speed Gabby, for Gods sake, airspeed!” Then he started calling Maydays and telling our position.

We were dead. Out of control from 4000 feet, falling like a rock.

The civilian passengers were all screaming and praying. The gunner made his peace with GOD, a feeling of calm came over him. He felt at peace, for the first time in his life…he knew he was going to die. He thought of his mom, and the hurt he would cause her by his death.

Somehow, perhaps it was lady luck, or just good piloting, the ship pulled out just at tree top level. Looking around the ship, it was a mess. People crying, insulation ripped off the walls, passengers "luggage" scattered everywhere. Everyone just sat back and couldn’t believe they were still alive. The Air Force spotter plane that had responded to the MAYDAYS, was told to disregard.

Flying at a very slow, treetop level, they collected their thoughts and actions. At that time, they were flying above a VC or NVA training camp, with dirt trails from trucks evident. Just then, an NVA soldier jumped out from under a tree and ripped off a clip of AK-47 rounds at the ship's belly.

“Incoming, incoming!” the gunner screamed into the mike, grabbing the butterfly handles of his M-60. He couldn’t fire back; his belted ammo was wrapped around the gun mount from the weird air steam. The Pilot was yelling, "Who is firing, who is firing?" “Incoming, incoming!” screamed the gunner again.

By that time, the ship had flown out of the fire zone, but new worries settled on the crew. All were checking the gauges and looking for tell-tale smoke or fluids slipping out into the slipstream in a thin, long cloud. Making a 180-degree turn, they headed back for the Special Forces camp…a place of safety to sit down in.

That’s when the cold sweat started. Were they hit? What kind of damage was done to the ship by pulling "over torques”? They limped back to SF camp, accompanied by the still crying passengers.

They landed, passengers scrambled off the ship, as if it were sinking at sea. The crew shut down the ship, and then all went to sit in the shade of a tree, in silence. Even the non – smokers lit up a smoke.

After perhaps a minute, the gunner started to check out the ship. Then the crew chief and pilot joined him. All was clear, till the gunner spotted some "anti torque" screws missing off the tail boom. The ship was then "Red Xed" - it couldn’t be flown again, till repaired. Radio calls went out and the crew was "rescued” and flown back to base. At every dip in the air, the crew of the stricken ship cringed.

Later that day, a Chinook was dispatched to pick up and sling the Huey back to base. Flying over the South China Sea at 5,000 feet, a sling broke loose. The gallant ship started to swing back and forth, so it was "cut" loose, to fall into the sea, never to be seen again. Meanwhile, back at the base, the shit hit the fan.

Who cares, I am still alive today.