part0007

“Cadet Cory, get these people in a formation,” he growled at me. Mr. Clinton didn’t really talk. He growled.

“Yes, sir.” Picking four cadets that I knew out of the group, I made them the squad leaders and told them to line up.

“Everyone will fall in on these four squad leaders on my command. Duffel bags in front of you. Fall in!” They did as instructed and stood in the position of attention. They all knew they were late and this could be trouble for them. Then Mr. Clinton stepped forward.

“You people had a twelve-hundred-hour report time, and you are late by sixty minutes. Evidently you don’t want to be here. I suspect you have been screwing off in Savannah this morning,” he stated as he walked along in front of the formation.

One cadet made the big mistake of offering an excuse. This was not the time to do that.

“Sir, we were all on the same flight and the fog…” He stopped as Mr. Clinton immediately got in his face.

“How dare you address me when you are at the position of attention and I am talking? Who the hell do you think you are? By tonight, Cadet, you will be in the infantry and out of this program. Now get out of this formation and go to the orderly room with your crap. You’re done! Anyone else want to say anything?” Everyone just remained at attention and said nothing as our classmate picked up his bag with a look of shock on his face.

“Cadet Cory is your class commander. Cory, march this bunch of misfits to the orderly room. There you will all sign your Article 15s for missing formation—or, if you are as stupid as I think you all are, you can request a court-martial. I don’t care.” And he turned and walked back to the orderly room.

Everyone was in a state of shock that they were getting Article 15s, which could result in loss of pay and a blemish on their records. Worse, though we didn’t realize it at the moment, this incident would be held against the entire class for some time.

The class cadet commander was responsible for all the class did or didn’t do. If the barracks weren’t cleaned to the standards set by the cadre, I heard about it. If someone failed a test, I heard about it. If the class was late getting someplace, I heard about it. Leadership positions were supposed to rotate after a week. For some reason, they did, but my position did not. After a week of being in this leadership position, I came to realize that I couldn’t be a friend to anyone in the class. I would have to be the hard-ass if I was to get the cadre off my back as well as the class’s. Our cadre consisted of one TAC officer, CWO2 Clinton, and one TAC NCO. The TAC NCO was a large, overweight man with numerous tattoos before tattoos became popular. I don’t recall him ever saying anything. CWO2 Clinton, on the other hand, was quite vocal. Over time, it became obvious to all of us that he had a drinking problem.

The first major phase of our training was instrument training. This was conducted in the Bell TH-13 aircraft with full instrument packages. As in primary flight training, half of the day was spent in the classroom and the other half flying. Once the instructor and cadet were in the aircraft, the cadet would place a hood over his helmet so he couldn’t see outside the aircraft and could only observe the instruments. Initially, the cadet was expected to maintain the aircraft in a level flight attitude, but we quickly transitioned to navigation and instrument approaches. Most of the cadets got through this phase of training, but not unscathed. Only one or two cadets weren’t able to master the aircraft in a safe attitude and were recycled to the next class for additional training. A couple of cadets went on to gain full instrument tickets, which usually destined them for Boeing CH-47 Chinook transition after graduation. This training took approximately two more months. In addition to our instrument classroom instruction, we were taught how to adjust artillery fire and given extensive meteorology instruction.

We were approaching the end of our instrument training when we returned to the barracks from the flight line the night prior to the meteorology exam. Mr. Clinton wasn’t happy with the condition of the barracks and had gone on a rampage, aided by a bottle of Jack Daniels. Beds were turned over; wall locker contents were lying on the floor; the fire hose was spraying water, and the contents of everyone’s footlockers were everywhere except in the footlockers. He was on a tirade. One cadet was singled out. Mr. Clinton was berating him. Evidently the cadet was responsible for his “five-o’clock shadow.” Mr. Clinton told the cadet to get into the pushup position. Once there, he placed a razor on the floor in front of him and told him to shave! The cadet looked scared, and I was mad. I had had enough of Mr. Clinton’s crap! With all the respect for his rank that I could muster, I stepped forward and got in Clinton’s face.

“Sir, you have been drinking and you are drunk. If you do not leave this minute, I am going straight to the company commander and have him resolve this situation. Now leave!” I shouted. There was dead silence. Mr. Clinton just stood there and glared at me with his bloodshot eyes. Everyone was watching. Finally, he laughed, turned and staggered out of the barracks. Everyone, including me, sighed with relief. We spent most of the night getting the barracks back in order, and no one had an opportunity to study for the weather exam. It showed the next day.

The exam was in the morning. When we returned to the barracks after flying in the afternoon, we were immediately informed by the company first sergeant that we were all restricted to the barracks until further notice and I was to report to the company commander’s office. When I arrived, the senior officer from the Weather Committee was present as well. I was told to sit down.

“Cadet Cory, do you know why I have restricted the company and called you here?” the company commander asked. Like I was some clairvoyant and could read his mind. This was the first time I had ever spoken to the man. Again, Dad’s words of wisdom came to mind.

“No, sir,” I replied, knowing this wasn’t the time to be a smart-ass.

“It appears, Cadet Cory, that most of your class failed the weather exam. We need to know why,” he stated. Oh, shit! Most of the class, which includes me too . Again, as class leader, it was my fault.

“Didn’t you people study for the exam last night?” asked the Weather Committee instructor, who didn’t look happy. Why did I suspect that shit rolled downhill here and it was all coming at me? However, I was seeing a U-turn for this shit storm.

“No, sir, we did not study last night. We had a party instead,” I replied. Their eyes bulged, and I thought both men were going to drop dead from heart attacks.

“You did what?” gagged out the company commander. “You had a party the night before one of the most important exams of this course? Do you realize that by having a party and failing that exam, you all could fail flight school and be sent to the infantry immediately?”

“Yes, sir,” I replied as I let them stew on this revelation.

Now the weather instructor had a grin on his face as he turned to the company commander. “Well, I guess the problem wasn’t with the instruction but the discipline of these cadets.”

I was beginning to see what was going on here. Somewhere above their level, the shit had hit the fan, and someone high up was looking for where to lay the blame. The Army needed helicopter pilots and at this point had spent considerable money training eighty cadets. The Army couldn’t afford to wash out eighty cadets at one time. The company commander wasn’t looking too good about now.

“Cadet Cory, why in the hell would you have a party the night before a major exam?” he asked in a dejected and resigned voice.

“Sir, we had no choice,” I answered sheepishly. I was beginning to enjoy this. I had been around the military long enough to know when people were in a state of panic over something that had gone horribly wrong. Oh, Dad, you taught me well.

“What the hell do you mean you had no choice?” The company commander was starting to lose it.

“Sir, when we returned from the flight line last night, Mr. Clinton had torn the barracks apart, to include turning on the fire hose, and told us to get that mess cleaned up before morning. We had a barracks-cleaning party to get it squared away, and that took until midnight. Lights out was at twenty-two hundred hours, but we worked on stuff in the dark until we had it taken care of. Only the married men had a chance to study last night as they were free to leave once we got back from class.” I had just let the cat out of the bag. They both sat in silence, staring at me with their mouths open. That lasted maybe fifteen seconds.

“You’re dismissed, Cadet Cory,” the company commander said, his face showing anger.

“Yes, sir.” I came to attention, saluted smartly and did an about-face out the door. When I got back to the barracks, everyone wanted to know what was going on. When I told them that most of us had failed the weather exam, a quiet state of shock fell over the place. Then the questions started, focusing on whether we would all be washed out and sent to the infantry. About an hour later, I was called back to the company commander’s office and told that the class would be restricted to the barracks but to go to dinner.

The next day appeared normal, until it came time to go to the flight line that afternoon. A clerk from the orderly room met me as we returned from class for lunch. “Cadet Cory.”

“Yeah, what’s up?”

“You are to report to the company commander, now, in Class B uniform,” he said and left.

Normally we wore our flight suits to go to the flight line. Why was I getting dressed up in my khaki uniform? This wasn’t good. As I arrived at the company commander’s office, he was coming out and told me to follow him. We walked in silence to the battalion commander’s office, which was in another building. The company commander entered the battalion commander’s office first and shortly thereafter came out and directed me to go in. His only words were spoken in almost a fatherly manner.

“Just tell him what you told me last night. It’s going to be all right.”

The battalion commander directed me to sit down and asked me to explain what had happened. He listened and took some notes. He didn’t ask questions, and at the end, he stood, picked up his hat and directed me to follow him. We left that building and walked to another building. The sign read School Commandant. This shit was rolling uphill now. The company commander and battalion commander entered the commandant’s office first while I waited in the foyer. Then the battalion commander came out and I was directed into the office of the school commandant. Since joining the Army, I hadn’t spoken to a full colonel, but here I was having an audience with one. Being a Navy brat, however, I had spoken to a lot of Navy captains, which is the same rank as an Army colonel. Dad had told me they all put their pants on the same way; don’t ever lie and always talk straight and respectful. Also in attendance was the chairman of the Weather Committee, who had arrived before us.

Entering, I stopped three feet in front of the commandant’s deck, came to attention and saluted. “Sir, Cadet Cory reporting as ordered, sir.”

Returning my salute, he indicated a chair. “Sit down, Cadet Cory. Your company commander has told me what happened in the barracks the night before the weather exam, but I want to hear it from you.” I repeated what I had stated before, almost word for word.

“Why do you think Mr. Clinton did that, Cadet Cory?” the school commandant asked. Time to play my hand.

“Sir, in my opinion, as on previous occasions, Mr. Clinton was intoxicated, as demonstrated by him putting Cadet Barker in the front leaning rest position and directing him to shave with a razor,” I replied. This was the first time I’d mentioned those two details. You could have heard a pin drop. The colonel looked around the room at the others, who were looking at each other, and then all eyes came at me.

“Do you realize what you just said? You have made a serious allegation against an officer of the United States Army,” asked the battalion commander, his voice slightly elevated.

“Yes, sir,” I stated calmly.

“Cadet Cory, you will return to your classes. You will not repeat any of this to anyone. Do you understand?” The colonel glared. “You are dismissed.”

I stood at attention, rendered the proper salute and departed. I began to wonder if I’d just sunk my own ship. When I walked into the classroom at the flight line, the instructor stopped in mid-sentence and everyone stared at me. Everyone wanted to know what had happened, but no one dared ask. The next day, three more cadets were told to get into their Class B khaki uniforms and report to the company commander, and all were instructed not to repeat what happened. And again the following day, three more were pulled from class.

Slowly, other items were coming out that the battalion commander and school commandant had not been aware of. Our class was in its eighth week of training and we were finishing up our instrument training. Since our arrival, our class hadn’t been allowed off post on pass, except for the married men who lived off post. Every other class received blanket weekend passes, but not us. It appeared that the stigma of so many cadets arriving late on day one had tainted us. Other instances of our TAC officer being intoxicated began coming out as well, as the barracks incident hadn’t been the first occasion. On Thursday we were informed that our class would retake the weather exam on the following Saturday. We were restricted to the barracks until such time but would all receive a weekend pass after the exam. Now if that wasn’t an incentive to study, nothing was. We studied individually and as a group, asking questions and making a game of it. Come Saturday morning, we were ready, and everyone passed the exam with flying colors. Getting ready to go to town was on everyone’s mind as we marched back to the barracks. Not so fast!

When we arrived back at the barracks, spirits were high. As we came through the door, there stood the battalion commander, and we immediately came to attention. He was standing in the middle of the hall along with another officer, a major.

“Cadet Cory, bring everyone in here and put them at ease,” he directed me.

Once we were all assembled, the battalion commander introduced himself. “I am Lieutenant Colonel Barlow, your battalion commander. I have not met most of you and normally do not meet cadets until graduation. However, because of this incident, I have met some of you and thought I should meet all of you. What you have experienced is not typical of the treatment of cadets. Changes have been made, the first being you have a new company commander. Major Kitter will be your company commander for the remainder of your training. Mr. Clinton and Sergeant First Class Moron will no longer be your TACs either. Major Kitter.” And he turned the meeting over to the major.

Oh shit , I thought. They’d relieved our company commander over this. That was a ruined Army career. No love lost for the TACs. Our new company commander was a combat pilot, as was every officer at the flight school, but this guy had a reputation as a gunship pilot. Judging by the awards he was wearing, he had seen some action. Silver Stars and Distinguished Flying Crosses didn’t get passed out easily.

“Thank you, sir. I know you’re all anxious to get into town, so I’ll be brief. You know what is expected of you for barracks standards and discipline. Maintain those standards and you can expect fair treatment from me. You will not have any TACs, but I will fulfill that role. Are there any questions?” No one did, or at least they were all smart enough not to ask at this point. Then the hammer fell, on me.

“Cadet Cory, you will remain as class leader. Any issues you have or I have, we will talk directly. Do you understand?” He was looking right at me, and so were all my classmates.

“Yes, sir.” No discussion needed.

“Now, cadets, get changed and enjoy your pass for the weekend. Cadet Cory…”

I had been around long enough to know what that meant. “Class, attention!” I bellowed out and they did smartly. After he and the battalion commander left, I put everyone at ease. Naturally, there were a lot of questions. Some cadets still didn’t understand that the company commander had been relieved and was probably being put out of the Army, as were the TAC officer and NCO. I closed the meeting with instructions on what time everyone had to be back on Sunday night and dismissed everyone. As I was changing clothes, another cadet from a lower class told me to report to the company commander’s office in civilian clothes.

When I arrived, Major Kitter was by himself in his office and told me to come in and close the door.

“Sit down. Do you want some coffee? I just made a pot,” he asked as he poured.

“Yes, sir, thank you.” I was in shock that he was being so casual.

“Got any plans for this weekend, Cadet Cory?” he asked as he looked over the rim of his coffee cup. This is not good , I thought.

“Not really, sir. Just going to see some of the sights in Savannah,” I responded slowly.

“Front Street is where most people go for the bars. You’re over twenty-one, aren’t you?” he asked with a grin.

“I am, sir, but I don’t normally barhop. I find hotel cocktail lounges are a lot quieter and off the beaten path.” Where’s this conversation going? I wondered as I sipped my coffee.

“I understand you want to go home to Morocco on Christmas leave. Who is in Morocco?” he asked. How the hell did he know that?

“Sir, my father is a naval officer and stationed there. They’re buying me a plane ticket.”

“You do understand that you have to submit a DA Form 1049 requesting permission to leave the country along with your leave request, don’t you?”

“No, sir, I did not.” I was sinking here.

“Do you have a passport?”

“I have applied for one, sir. It hasn’t come yet, but this being October, it should be here soon.”

“Okay. Monday morning, you get to the orderly room and have them prepare the 1049 requesting permission to leave the country for Christmas leave. Understand that you best be back here for morning formation on January fourth or you will be dropped from the program,” he cautioned me.

“Sir, I told my mom to have the plane bringing me back from Rabat to Savannah arriving on January first. I’m not taking any chances like what happened before with the fog.”

“Okay, then, I’ll sign it and recommend approval as soon as it comes across my desk.” We made some small talk about different people in the class, those that were doing really good and those that were struggling.

“Well, I won’t keep you. Just wanted to know if you had any questions. This was a messy situation, but we will get it resolved. I want you to understand that if there is a problem, you bring it to me, immediately. Here’s my home phone number if you need to speak with me after duty hours for any reason.” He handed a piece of paper to me.

“Oh, and one other thing. Your class moves on to Huey transition Monday morning and you are the senior class now, which means we have to have a cadet battalion commander overseeing the entire cadet corps. You’re it, along with being your class leader. Pick your staff and give me their names Monday morning. Any questions?” I was sure he was smiling, or laughing, behind his coffee mug.

“No, sir, no questions,” I stammered out.

“Good. Go enjoy your weekend. See you Monday morning.” He set his coffee mug down and stood. That was my signal to get out, which I promptly did. A thousand questions ran through my head, not the least of which was Why me? I had been in a leadership position longer than anyone and now was going to be stuck in it for another eight weeks. How many times was I going to get my ass chewed out now, as I was responsible for the entire corps of cadets? Thoughts of what I had to do now plagued my mind over the weekend as I mapped out what I thought needed to be done. I spent Sunday in my room, getting my notes in order to meet with the junior class leaders.

Monday morning began as usual, with one hundred percent of the company present for duty. We were to begin our transition into the UH-1 aircraft, the workhorse of the Vietnam War. Most of us would be flying this type of aircraft shortly in combat, so our training took on new meaning. We were riveted to our classroom and our flight instruction. Classroom work was understanding the different systems for the aircraft, to include flight control system, electrical system, engine and transmission. Flight training was one instructor with two students in the aircraft, and we were introduced to not only flying the aircraft but formation flying as well. Flying at two thousand feet with only a two-rotor-blade separation from the aircraft in front of you in different formations, including at night, was a bit hair-raising for me. I wasn’t comfortable with it. This was nothing compared to night autorotations, however.

In primary flight, we hadn’t done night flying or night autorotations. Night autorotations consisted of flying on the darkest night of the month and at one thousand feet, then closing the throttle so you immediately fell at a rate of one thousand feet per minute. At about one hundred feet, you turned on the landing light and executed a safe landing. We would joke that once you turned the landing light on, if you didn’t like what you saw, just turn the light off and it would go away. How we didn’t crash aircraft during this phase of training was beyond my comprehension. Very soon, I would learn different ways to do autorotations and proper formation flying, and at night.

Formation flying began in earnest when we moved to Fort Stewart, Georgia, for the last month of our training. We moved to a field camp that was representative of the living conditions in Vietnam. The hooches had fifty beds along the walls with a single corridor down the middle. We would receive our flight briefings in a hooch that served as the operations center. Two students would go with one instructor and conduct the mission. The instructor would sit in the jump seat behind and between the two students. If we screwed up, there was no way he could salvage a crash. We did not screw up.

Some days we practiced flying heavily loaded aircraft, which had water cans that added considerable weight to the aircraft. Some days we would conduct sling load operations with water bags tethered under the aircraft. Some days we would conduct formation flying with the formations changing while in flight. Once we had formation flying down pat, in daylight, we then got to practice it at night. Scared the crap out of me! Our passengers were Ranger students that initially had no idea we were students. They looked terrified for the rest of the flight once they found out. I really thought I would be better off flying gunships or medical evacuation missions.

The final exercise in our training was SERE training: Survival, Escape, Resistance and Evasion. We moved to a new field location, minus additional clothing, toilet articles or goodies. The first two days were spent attending lectures and demonstrations. The lectures were on land navigation by the stars and sun, first aid, and the Code of Conduct. The demonstrations were on how to build a shelter with tree limbs, vines and leaves; how to build snares and fish traps; how to skin a rabbit without a knife; and how to identify edible plants. The bottom line was, eat plants only as a last resort. In the area of resistance, we were instructed not to be heroes. Do whatever we were told to do. Do not look at our captors but look at the ground. Do not communicate with one another unless we could do it without the captors seeing it or knowing about it. The bottom line we all took away from this training was you best not get captured.

At the conclusion of the second day’s training, everyone was ushered into a briefing room. A chart board with a map was set up and one of the cadre came forward. He was wearing a black beret, black shirt and black pants. His insignia was foreign to us. He was of Asian descent.

“I am Colonel Nguyen, commander of the opposing forces, the OPFOR. Tonight you will be required to escape and evade my force. If you are captured, you will be sent to the POW camp, where you will be interrogated and reveal to my interrogator the location of your pickup point. Once you reveal that location, you will be allowed to eat and sleep. I look forward to welcoming you to my camp.” With that, he left. Next up was another cadre member, this one dressed in the uniform we were familiar with.

“Tonight you will be driven to the start point for this exercise. There you will be put into four-man teams. Each team will be issued a rabbit and a chicken to prepare for dinner, since you have not eaten in the past twenty-four hours. I recommend you prepare them quickly and eat fast. At some point, and you will know when it is time, move out and head for the pickup point, which is located nine klicks 2 to the north at this location.” He pulled a cover off the map, and you could hear the mumbling as we all looked at it.

“You will note that there is a major stream or river on both sides of this area. Do not cross the river or stream. Since it is December tenth, the water is about forty-five degrees and swift-moving. Across the river is out of bounds. There are several roads through the exercise area. If someone is injured, get on a road and wait. Colonel Nguyen will have vehicles on those roads looking for you. When and if you arrive at the pickup point, check in with the NCO there, and the exercise will be over for those of you that make it to there. Any questions?” Some spring-butt always had a question.

“Sir, where do we get maps and compasses?” asked Mr. Spring-Butt.

“The stars are your compass, and keep the rivers on your flanks. There are no maps. Now load the trucks, and good luck—you’re going to need it.”

We loaded the trucks, which were all driven by soldiers in black shirts, black pants, and black berets. As we loaded, comments such as “Be seeing you soon, Cadet” could be heard.

Each four-man team was given a live rabbit and chicken when they arrived at the start point. I broke the chicken’s neck and another cadet broke the rabbit’s back as they had taught us. Several campfires were already burning, so we filled metal coffee cans with water and boiled the meat. In about twenty minutes, we were eating what we could, and not having eaten in the past twenty-four hours, it tasted okay. Then all hell broke loose with gunfire, and we took off running. It was still daylight, so knowing which way to head was easy. Sun on the right and gunfire behind us sent us off in the right direction.

Soon, however, it turned into night with an overcast sky. The four of us kept moving in what we were fairly sure was the right direction. Whoever was walking point would walk ten to fifteen feet in front of the group and provide early warning if we walked into the OPFOR. That would give the other three time to escape, or so we thought. About three hours into the exercise, our point man raised his hand for us to halt and we did, going into a low crouch. He came back. There was a road ahead that was perpendicular to our line of escape. He wanted to know if we wanted him to cross it. We had not taken a break at this point and thought we would just lie there for a few minutes. As we did so, we began to hear movement off to our right. The ground cover was sparse, and we eventually saw this group moving through the trees. We didn’t know who they were, but they were traveling on a parallel course. We decided to just watch them.

They didn’t even stop when they got to the road, until the headlights from the vehicle parked in the woods across the road from our position came on. The OPFOR rushed over to take them prisoner. We didn’t even breathe. We lay there and watched four of our fellow cadets being tied, blindfolded and loaded into the truck and taken away. Only after we were sure that no other OPFOR were along that stretch of road did we move to the edge of the road, spread out and all at once sprint across the road. Our adrenaline was pumping as we moved on through the woods, right into a swamp.

At first we considered whether we might have bumped into the river on the left flank, but this water wasn’t moving, and trees were standing. It was cold and up to our thighs, but we thought it best to keep moving. We reasoned that there would probably be no OPFOR standing in a swamp getting wet waiting for our dumb asses. We didn’t consider that they might be wearing hip boots. At one point, we began to doubt our direction. Since I was the smallest guy in the group, it was decided that I would climb to the top of a tree and see if I could see anything. When I climbed to the top, the only thing I could observe was total darkness, and stars.

“Hey, guys, I see the North Star,” I called down.

“Great, which way is it?” came back the whispered reply.

“That way.” I pointed.

“Hey, dumbass, we can’t see you or which way you’re pointing,” came the reply. Oh yeah, I was so far up the tree that it was difficult for them to see me or me them.

“Okay, listen up. I’m going to toss my canteen down in the direction of the star. Listen for it.” The guys fanned out and I tossed it away from the tree in the direction of the star.

“Son of a bitch, you nearly hit me, pecker-head.”

I got down, and we moved out. Occasionally, we could hear some commotion off in the distance as another team was caught by the OPFOR. We began to see landmarks that indicated we were focusing on the pickup point. We became more cautious, however, when we saw a campfire. Could it be a trick to lure us into the OPFOR? We decided we would move in closer and observe the activities before we approached. We were cold and wet, and that fire looked so inviting. We could see figures standing around the fire, eating hot chow and drinking coffee. After thirty minutes, we decided that this was the pickup point and we should go in. Thankfully, another team went charging in as we were getting ready to move. They were immediately captured and bound! It was a trap. The commotion we had heard earlier was another team being rounded up at this point. We moved to our left and skirted this location, continuing to move north. About a half hour later, we came upon another campfire. This one really was the pickup point, but we exercised the same precaution. Hot oatmeal, powdered eggs and bacon had never tasted so good.

The bus ride back to Hunter Army Airfield and our barracks was marked not by jubilation but by snoring. We were all dead tired but happy because that had been our last exercise. Flight training was over, and we all knew we were going to graduate. It was also the start of the Christmas holidays, and we all would be going home on leave, only to return to Hunter for three days of out-processing. Naturally we would have liked to graduate first to go home as warrant officers, but the Army had other plans for us.

One of our members was from Montana and had been sending his pay home as his parents were not well off and his pay was a big help. He wasn’t planning on going home as he had no money. Before everyone left, he was handed a round-trip plane ticket home along with spending money, courtesy of everyone in the class. We were a tight bunch.

Once we returned from leave, it was a matter of three days of out-processing, which included more shots as we all had our orders to Vietnam. Of the eighty cadets in our class that had gone to Hunter for flight training, sixty-seven would be graduating, the others having quit somewhere in the sixteen weeks of training. Fortunately, we lost no members of the class due to crashes. Some of the class would go on to transition into other aircraft before departing for Vietnam, the other two aircraft being the CH-47 Chinook cargo helicopter and the AH-1G Cobra gunship, which had recently been introduced into service in 1968. We all had our orders. Bill and I were assigned to the First Cavalry Division; Bob was going to CH-47 transition and then to the 101st Airborne Division.

On graduation day, some had families attend the ceremony. The day prior, we were all appointed to warrant officers in the United States Army. My dad had flown in from Morocco and swore me in as a warrant officer. Johnson’s parents were there as well and so proud of him. He had a new pair of high-priced Corfam regulation low-quarter shoes. This was probably the last time we would see our fellow classmates. We left WOC country for the last time, only to return in our memories.