After flying a number of flights in the local area, we were scheduled to fly to Udorn for another ABCCC mission. That had been my first mission as an aircraft commander, and I looked forward to a return trip. The late afternoon sky was filled with storm clouds as we climbed out to the east on our first mission, a night mission. We threaded our way through the buildups until we found a parcel of relatively open sky along a bend in the Mekong River. Through the clouds we could see the Mekong winding slowly past the low hills to the north and east. As the darkness increased, we could see lightning flashes to the north.
We leveled at 16,000 feet and began to fly a racetrack pattern from the northwest to the southeast. As the last of the sunlight faded, we lost sight of the river below, which disappeared into the bottomless blackness beneath. At first, our orbit pattern held us clear of clouds, but eventually, as the lightning flashes increased, we could see a massive wall of storm clouds moving slowly down from the northwest, and we began to drift south ahead of the intimidating mass. Our fuel burned off, and we climbed to higher altitudes, hoping to find clearer airspace above. And for a while we did, until the upper level winds brought more storm clouds toward us. We found ourselves being slowly forced south and east, toward Danang. The stormy weather was inhibiting activity on the ground as well, and the men in the communications capsule were having a quiet night on the radios.
The lightning continued to flash, to the north, to the east, above us. Finally, it began to flash to the south as well, and we had no place to maneuver. We turned in tighter and tighter circles. Then the rain fell on us. Even above the noise of the engines and the air conditioning system, we could hear the rain washing over the cockpit and the fuselage, inundating the aircraft. We soon began to pick up increasing turbulence.
“Mike, we’ve got to go someplace else,” I said. “See if you can find any clear area on the radar. Floyd, go back in the back and tell the troops to strap in until we can get out of this.”
Mike Jones looked for clear sky and finally suggested we head west. I turned out of our racetrack pattern and rolled out on a heading of 270 degrees. At first there was no change in the quality of the precipitation or the turbulence, but gradually the rain began to subside and the air grew smoother. Mike gave me adjustments to the aircraft heading as our path through the buildups became clearer on the radar.
Finally we reached a condition of smooth air and steady rain. In the darkness I couldn’t tell if we were in thin cloud or between layers. The rain interfered with our visibility. I focused on the flight control and navigation instruments, trying to orient myself according to their readings. Suddenly, someone said, “Holy Christ. Look at that.”
I looked up from the instrument panel. In the darkness surrounding the right wing, a strange blue-green glow was emanating from the leading edge. As I watched, the blue-green glow progressed out the front of the engine nacelles to the tips of the propellers and then illuminated the arc of the props. The blue-green light moved in a regular pattern out away from the prop spinners until it described a perfect cone shape at a 45-degree angle forward from the plane of the props. The same phenomenon developed on the left wing and engines. It was as if we had a blue-green neon light system rigged along our wings and engines which we had turned on in some kind of dazzling nighttime aerial display.
For a minute everyone on the flight deck was crowding up to the front to see the amazing sight. “What is it?” someone asked. “Saint Elmo’s fire,” I said. “The sailors on the old ships used to see it flashing from their masts during heavy weather.” We were all engaged in watching the wonderful sights of Mother Nature when suddenly there was a blinding flash of light and we could see tracks of cloud-to-cloud lightning immediately in front of us.
“Woops,” I said. “About face.” I grabbed the autopilot turn knob and turned the aircraft back to the left in a healthy bank, to get out of that area before more lightning occurred. We headed back to the east. Mike couldn’t find any more promising direction than that from which we had come. We held on course for as long as we could until the rain began to increase again and the turbulence began to pick up. We could hold about seven to ten minutes in each direction before we had to reverse course. Time after time we turned and turned about. Finally I decided I had to get out of the seat.
As I stood behind the flight engineer’s seat, watching the St. Elmo’s fire fade, one of the troops from the back climbed the steps up to the flight deck.
“Quiet night on the radios?” I asked.
“Very quiet,” he said, rubbing his ears. I could see the impression of earphones around his ears. Then came the inevitable question. “Where are we?” he asked.
I gave him the most truthful answer I could: “Halfway between the St. Elmo’s fire and the moderate turbulence,” I said.
About two hours later, the sky in the east began to grow light. The sun eventually shone through the dissipating layers of the night’s storms. The air was calm. By the time we landed at Udorn at seven-twenty, the sky was clear.
We flew two daytime missions during the following four days, and then our ABCCC missions were done. We had flown three missions in six days, for a total of forty hours of flying time. We left for Bangkok at seven in the morning, stopping at Korat and Takhli on the way in. Flying across Thailand in the early morning was always a pleasure, especially when you knew you were going to spend the night in Bangkok.
* * *
The next afternoon we flew from Bangkok to Clark, with one stop at Takhli, arriving at Clark shortly before eleven in the evening. It was an unexpected pleasure to have a day at Clark as well as at Bangkok. The crew was in a party mood, and we agreed to go together into Angeles City.
About nine o’clock in the evening, we caught a base taxi to the main gate, where we walked out and hopped into one of the jeeplike jitneys which were lined up there. The five of us barely fit into one. Mike had been there before so we put him in the front seat to make sure the driver’s navigation was good. As we sped into town to Pauline’s, a distance of about five miles, we passed the Philippine housing. The streets were full of people walking and engaged in animated conversation. The men wore short-sleeved shirts, mostly unbuttoned, and casual pants, and the women wore light, thin dresses, their shapely brown legs extending below the hem.
The jitney swerved to a stop in front of a large, white-washed building with a bright neon sign that proclaimed “Pauline’s Cavern.” We could hear music playing inside. We paid the driver, and he sped off, presumably back to the base for another load of party-minded airmen. We entered the front door and found the place was already crowded, filled with men from the base. There were a few folks in Army and even Navy uniforms.
We wedged our way up to the bar, standing room only, and ordered beers. The air was smoky and warm, and the noise was raucous. The band was playing loud over in the dancing area, and everyone was engaged in shouted conversations. Mike grabbed me by the arm and hollered something about finding a table. I said I would be right with him just as soon as I went to the john.
As I came back into the bar area, I saw Mike and the others pulling up chairs to one of the few remaining vacant tables. He waved me over. I grabbed a beer from the bar and began to walk over. Along the dividing area between the bar area and the dance area was an open space with a railing around it. I passed along it as I made my way past several men standing with Philippine girls. I edged up against the railing to get around one group and looked over. I had thought there would be a miniature garden or some kind of tropical plants in there, but when I looked over, I saw nothing but darkness. And then, as my eyes adjusted to the weak light, I saw, way below, something that looked like a pool of water. And then as I looked again, something moved in the water. And then another something. Several somethings.
Alligators! Jesus! I backed away. It wouldn’t be too hard to fall into that pit. I wondered if anyone had. With the noise and shouting and beer-drinking that was going on around me, I thought it quite likely that someone, sometime, must have fallen in. Or even jumped in, if the money was high enough. I looked up. Somebody was standing by me looking in.
“Mean mothers, aren’t they? See them thrashing around? They probably haven’t been fed yet.”
I looked again. The animals were moving around down there quite a bit. “Are those alligators?” I asked.
“No, not alligators—crocodiles, you bet your ass—and they look hungry. They’ll feed them a little later, when the crowd gets bigger. But don’t throw anything down there. The owners get really pissed. They’ll throw your ass in jail.”
“Thanks,” I said. “I’ll remember that.” I had no intention of interacting with alligators in any fashion.
When I finally made my way over to the table, I saw that we had been joined by a number of slender, good-looking Philippine girls. “Hey, A.C.,” Mike said, “meet our chaperones for the evening. This is Yvonne, and this is Gloria, and this is Estelle, and this is … I didn’t get your name, honey. What is it again?” Mike waved his hand as he called out the names. He was going too fast for me to place the name with the face of each of our female companions, but I figured it would all sort itself out eventually.
We sat and started talking, the usual get-acquainted stuff. Yes, we were aircrew members, passing through Clark on our way back to Taiwan. No, we didn’t fly jets, we flew something much better, the C-130. Yes, we flew in Vietnam, but right now we were coming back from Thailand. Yes, we were all single, and no, we didn’t have any girlfriends anywhere else. Yes, we would be happy to buy them something to drink, and hey, we needed another beer too.
I was paired off with Estelle, the tallest girl who had joined our table, an attractive girl with long, dark hair who had a rather long, sad face. She seldom smiled, and when she did, she still looked sad. She was doing her part to support the club by dutifully drinking the tea we were buying for her and her friends, but she looked a little bored. I wasn’t talking much, just looking around, studying the mass of people who were trying to talk or tell jokes over the noise of the band. I thought about Karla. The last time I had been in a bar, I had been with her. It had been a long time since I had seen her. I was impressed to think how accurately she had predicted the results of our night together.
I pulled out of my reverie to notice that Estelle and I were alone at the table. Everyone else was on the dance floor, dancing. Estelle looked at me. “You want to dance?”
I shrugged my shoulders. “I don’t know how to dance. Not with this new kind of music. I’m not a very good dancer.”
“That’s okay. I show you. Come on.”
I followed her out to the dance floor. Part of the dance floor was on an elevated area, which served as a stage for the floor show. As we made our way up onto the dancing area, I could see out over the large, noisy crowd. I looked around to see what the preferred mode of dance was. A few men were firmly holding on to their female counterparts, but most were gyrating vigorously in opposition to their partner. I didn’t see how I could ever get the hang of that form of dancing. I planted my feet firmly so as not to lose my balance, and began to wave my arms and hands in some kind of approximate rhythm.
“No, no, not like that,” Estelle shouted. “Like this. Watch me.” I continued to writhe mildly as I studied her movements. She made small, subtle movements with her arms, legs, and body. She made suggestive, flowing movements with her arms and hands while she moved her feet as little as possible. But her body was moving in syncopation with the beat of the music; her stomach especially was serving as the focus of her body movement, a pivot point between the movements of her hips and shoulders. I forgot about my dancing and bobbed up and down vaguely to the music as I watched her well-coordinated, rhythmic movements. She must have had lots of practice if she frequented Pauline’s every night. “Now,” she said, “follow my movements.”
At first I was hopelessly uncoordinated in my efforts. I moved my feet in motions that were much too large, and I moved my head and body in jerky up-and-down movements, like a heavyweight fighter in training. I was waving my hands and arms in a dangerous fashion. I caught one unfortunate dancer in the side with one of my flailing hands. Just as I began to imagine I might be catching the hang of it, the band took a break. I was warm and thirsty.
We walked back to the table. The table was filled with new faces and people; when I had walked off, I had left it unguarded. The rest of the crew spread around the room, shoehorning themselves in wherever they could find room. I found a chair for Estelle to sit in and waved at a passing waitress. “You want a beer?” I asked Estelle. She shook her head, no. I ordered two beers. “I don’t want a beer,” she insisted.
“I know. They’re for me.” When the waitress returned, I drank one in a hurry, then started on the next. After a while the band began to play again. “Ready to dance?” I asked. Estelle smiled a weak smile. “Good,” I said. “Let’s go.” I grabbed her hand and led her up to the stage.
I concentrated on the music, trying simultaneously to adjust to the rhythmic patterns of the music and then trying to develop movements of my body, arms and legs that caught the rhythm in as efficient and as coordinated a way as I could. I concentrated as intently as I could, closing my eyes and tuning out the wild assembly of bodies undulating around me. I began not to pay attention to Estelle, except when I lost my concentration.
Eventually I began to experiment with more varied body movements, always overdoing it at first and then figuring out how I could move more efficiently. The band was playing a variety of dances, a mixture of fast and slow, and I began to develop a series of rhythmic movements. Previously I had always preferred to dance to slow music because I could disguise my awkwardness more easily. But tonight I wanted the music to be fast, and the rhythm to be complicated and vigorous. I began to grow impatient whenever the band played a slow dance, leading Estelle off the stage to our table, drinking beer after beer.
I never stopped dancing. When the band took a break, I fidgeted, drinking beer until it started again. When the band started, I wanted to be the first on the floor. When I began to dance, I closed my eyes, moving with the music, disregarding everyone around me, eventually including Estelle.
As I danced, I began to listen to the music internally; it became more and more a part of me. I was not thinking about dancing at all. I was in synchronization with the music, I was moving with it. My mind, released from the effort of thinking about my physical movements, floated to other thoughts, never on anything concrete, specific, not on people, not on tasks, but drifting in a kind of free association.
An image began to take shape in my mind. I couldn’t tell what kind of image it was at first. I wasn’t aware that an image was trying to materialize. It was a kind of blank openness, a dark vista with approximate features. A geometric pattern, a long oblique line, was extending at an angle before me. A long line towards which I was slowly moving. A runway. A runway that shone vaguely in a blue darkness, in a kind of half-light as if under an overcast. A runway that seemed somehow familiar. And then I knew what runway it was. It was the runway at Phan Thiet, a long, wet strip with clouds overhead and hills behind and the sea in front. I was slowly moving closer to this shadowy dark runway, moving in time with the beat of the music. There were no aircraft, no people; I was not in an aircraft; I was the aircraft, and I was about to touch down on the runway at Phan Thiet.
The more the music continued, the clearer the vision became. There was no doubt. It was the runway at Phan Thiet, and I was there, I was touching down on that runway, in slow, suspended motion, as the vision slowly grew larger in my mind. But the sense of threat that had been associated with the vision when I had landed there was now only a vague sensation. It was being replaced gradually by a new sensation, a feeling of exhilaration, of pleasure, of physical release. I danced and danced, and as I danced the runway slowly moved closer and the feeling of threat receded and the feeling of exhilaration increased until I was dancing on the runway. The dance floor at Pauline’s was gone, the people were gone. I was dancing on the runway at Phan Thiet, alone, moving to the beat of music, moving all of my body, my arms, my hands, my legs, moving my shoulders, my torso, my stomach, all in an amazing exhibition of physical coordination, and my feet were light, lighter than they have ever been in my life. I might have been a ballet dancer. I was dancing on the runway of Phan Thiet, my toes were scarcely touching the dark, shiny surface moving slowly, slowly past beneath me. This amazing sight, who could have thought that the vision of Phan Thiet would return to me here, at Pauline’s, with the noise and the music and the beer, in a place I had never seen before and would never see again.
The vision stayed with me, remained with me, and I danced the remainder of the night not in Pauline’s but on the runway at Phan Thiet, surprised by the agility with which I was dancing, excited by my newfound talent for physical coordination, delighted with my achievement. When I looked up, after I had been within myself for some time, Estelle was not there. I saw that another girl had materialized in front of me. She was smaller, younger, with a happier face. I smiled, nodded, and kept dancing. She too seemed to be concentrating on something inside her. When the band took another break, I asked her if she wanted a beer. She shook her head. When the music started, we went up to the dance floor together.
I was still on the runway at Phan Thiet when the loadmaster came to tell me that the crew was going back to the base and did I want to go with them?
I pulled myself out of my vision. It was late. The bar was closing. The place was deserted, and the band had gone home. I was dancing by myself, along with one or two others, to music on the juke box.
“We thought maybe you wanted to spend the night with the girl you were dancing with and were going without you because you didn’t seem to want to leave. Do you want to go with her? It looks like she’s waiting for you.”
I looked down at the deserted tables. There sat Estelle, sitting next to the girl who had been dancing with me. “No,” I said. “Wait for me. I’m going back to the base with you.”
“Estelle,” I said, “are you waiting for me?”
She nodded. “I didn’t know if you wanted to go with me. You seemed to be having a good time with me. But then you didn’t seem to pay attention to me. So I waited.”
“Estelle, I am very happy you were here tonight. You taught me to dance. Dancing tonight was important to me.” She gave me a puzzled look.
“I have to back to the base tonight with my crew. Maybe I’ll see you here again some other time. Here, take this.” I gave her some money, enough to have paid for a night together.
The crew members were sprawled over the jitney in various positions of exhaustion. The only remaining seat was in the back. I jumped up, sat down as best I could, and hung on to the overhead brace for support. As the jitney lurched off into the darkness toward Clark, Estelle and her friend came out of Pauline’s. They looked in our direction, and I waved.
“Boy, that was some night,” someone said. “Wasn’t that a great place? Did you see those alligators move when they fed them? That was fresh meat they tossed in. Somebody said it was parts of some Philippine guy that owed them money.”
I said no, I had missed that part. “Missed feeding the alligators? Jesus, A.C., where were you?” But I couldn’t tell them.