part0013

“What time is it? Why?” I asked.

“Sir, you’re flying today with Mr. Leak. Launch time is zero five hundred hours. It’s zero four hundred hours now. Mr. Leak said he would meet you in the mess hall,” said the ops clerk. Wonder if he ever gets cussed out for waking guys up?

“Okay, I’m up.” I’d just gotten cleared to fly yesterday. That was why I had come here, but so early? Hell, I’d been sleeping in each morning for close to a week. No need for a cold shower, so just a quick shave and brush my teeth. I was attempting not to wake anyone, and then I noticed that everyone else in our tent was getting up and moving. After dressing, I headed to the mess hall, which was the only “building” in our company area. Mr. Leak was just sitting down when I got in the line. What was on the menu? Coffee—that’s good; scrambled eggs—powdered eggs, really; bacon, undercooked; and pancakes with something that resembled syrup. I settled for the pancakes with butter and jelly. Of course coffee too. Sitting down next to Mr. Leak, I started to eat and then reconsidered after the first mouthful. Pancakes were undercooked. Just coffee today.

“You awake, New Guy?” asked Mr. Leak.

“Yep, what we got for today?” I responded.

“We’re flying log for First of the Seventh Cav down around Bien Hoa.” He went on to explain, “A log mission is generally flying to a firebase and staying there for the day, supporting the unit however they ask. You could fly supplies into company locations in the jungle, such as water, food and ammo. You might bring someone back that’s going home or on leave as well as take replacements to the unit. You might find yourself with the battalion commander in the back talking to his ground company commanders while you orbit at twenty-five hundred feet above them. Anything the battalion wants you to do, you do it. About all you don’t do is medevac missions, as medevac birds are called out for that, but in desperate situations you might. You certainly backhaul bodies as the medevac wouldn’t do that.” As we finished up our coffee, Mr. Leak said he’d meet me at the aircraft and to start the preflight if I got there first. We parted ways.

I stopped at my tent and grabbed my gear, which consisted of a flight helmet, leather gloves, and a sidearm as well as my map. I left the flak jacket and steel pot helmet behind as no one else was wearing them. Sergeant First Class Robinson had helped me put the map together and had cautioned me, “Mr. Cory, never mark unit call signs or frequencies on the map. If that map had those locations and blew out, that would be a serious security breach.” Words to remember.

My sidearm was a .38 Special pistol. I was a good shot with a rifle or a shotgun, but I couldn’t hit my ass with that pistol. I was convinced that I was going to have to get a long gun and soon. The Army issued M-16s at this time, and I also found those difficult to shoot, having used the beautiful and accurate M-14 in basic training. Looking at the other pilots, I realized we had an assortment of weapons and none of them were Army issue. Mr. Leak carried the M-1 carbine of World War II vintage. Another pilot carried an AR-15 that the Air Force issued to ground controllers. One pilot was carrying a World War II Browning automatic rifle! Swedish K and British Sterlings were popular as well. Lastly, one pilot was toting the M-79 grenade launcher with a sandbag full of grenades. Crew chiefs and door gunners carried M-16s besides the two M60 machine guns on the aircraft.

In flight, both the crew chief and the door gunner manned the two 7.62 mm M60 machine guns that were on fixed posts. The guns could be rotated 180 degrees front to back and five degrees up and ninety degrees down. Mounted that way, the crew couldn’t shoot their own aircraft, which had happened in the early days of the Vietnam War, when those guns were suspended from the ceiling of the aircraft on a cable. Ammo for the guns lay in a can strapped to the floor of the aircraft below the gun and usually had about three thousand rounds. When not flying, the crew chief was responsible for the maintenance of the aircraft and the door gunner was responsible for the maintenance and cleaning of the guns. Dirty guns didn’t work. He also assisted the crew chief.

I put my stuff in the right seat of the aircraft, which in this unit was where the copilot sat even though there were more instruments for instrument flight, which was seldom done. I climbed up on the top of the aircraft and started the preflight. Jesus nut, tight, slip marks aligned, check. Pitch change horns tight, slip marks aligned, safety wires connected, check. Push-pull tubes attached and slip marks aligned, check. Every nut on the rotor head had a slippage mark that would indicate if a nut was loose, and most had a safety wire as well that should be connected and not broken. Rotor mast, no cuts or cracks, check. Attention to details. Up top was all done, so I dropped down and started on the body as Mr. Leak walked up.

“Howard, did he miss anything?” he asked the crew chief.

“No, sir, seems New Guy knows what he’s doing,” Howard answered.

Crap, I was back to being New Guy. I continued my walk-around, checking the engine. No disconnected hoses; no broken safety wires; no loose bolts or nuts; slippage marks all aligned. Mr. Leak climbed up top and went over the rotor head as well and then looked at the tail rotor.

“Cory, always check the rotor head and the tail rotor as well as the tail boom bolts. Almost anything else can fall off the aircraft and you’ll be okay. Lose any of those three and your day is screwed. The only other thing that could give you a bad day is a frozen transmission, and there’s nothing you can do about that except check the oil temperature and pressure once you start the aircraft and hope you don’t get a chip detector light for either the engine or the transmission.”

Once Mr. Leak was satisfied, we climbed in and I started the preflight procedures. As the engine fired up, Mr. Leak set radio frequencies and called for takeoff clearance. As soon as I had completed the flight controls check, he said he had the aircraft, and I responded, “You have it.”

The door gunner and Howard came over the headsets next.

“Clear right.”

“Clear left.”

“Clear above.”

The aircraft came to a hover and we started backing out of the revetment. Once clear of the revetment, a pedal turn to the right and we were hover-taxiing to the runway with the rest of the Chicken Pen aircraft cranking engines, hovering to take off or already heading down the runway. The unit had twenty aircraft of which about sixteen were ready for missions each day. Those on the ground were in various stages of required inspections and maintenance. Those eight pilots were also sleeping in for the day.

As we hit the runway, Mr. Leak dropped the nose and pulled in the power, climbing out above the rubber trees that covered the base. The sun was coming up in the east and the sky was clear as we turned south and headed for Bien Hoa, which was a major facility in the Three Corps area. First Cav Division Rear was located there along with major Air Force elements, to include fighter aircraft, transport aircraft and a major POW camp. People departing on or returning from R&R would travel through here, catching airline flights to such places as Hawaii, which was the destination for most married men to meet wives. Singapore, Sydney, Tokyo, Kuala Lumpur, and Bangkok were the other popular destinations. There was a large post exchange as well for support of all the people located on Bien Hoa. The Army elements generally were located on the north side and the Air Force elements on the south side of the runway.

The Air Force liked keeping the Army on the opposite side of the runway. Seems when the First Cav moved down from the central highlands, this was the first really nice place they had been and things got out of hand that first night. Someone was kicked out of the Air Force NCO club and the result was a CS riot gas grenade being tossed back into the club. The Cav was uninvited after that for some time.

As it was mid-February 1969, the memory of Tet 1968 was fresh in the minds of the powers that be, so two infantry battalions were operating about nine to twelve klicks north of the base. About seven klicks was the range of the 120 mm mortar. The Fifth NVA Division was operating in this region along with Viet Cong, the indigenous guerrilla fighters.

“Dan, call Lai Khe Arty and get us clearance to Bien Hoa,” Mr. Leak said.

I switched to FM1. “Lai Khe Arty, Chickenman Two-Three, over.”

“Chicken-man Two-Three, Lai Khe Arty, over,” they came back to me.

“Lai Khe Arty, Chicken-man Two-Three is Lai Khe to Bien Hoa at three thousand.”

“Chicken-man Two-Three, you are clear all the way.” Must be a quiet day for the big guns this morning.

We left FM 1 on the Arty frequency to monitor. FM 2 was on the frequency of the unit we were going to support. UHF radio was for air-to-air communications, with the VHF radio tuned to Bien Hoa tower. At times, you would be listening to conversations on all four radios at the same time and, surprisingly, keeping up with what was important on all four.

Mr. Leak started pointing out important landmarks as we headed to the unit we were supporting for the day. “Phuoc Vinh off to the left. Highway 13 running from Lai Khe south to Saigon is over on the right. That’s the Song Dong Nai River, which comes down from Song Be and runs right north of Bien Hoa. It’s a major supply route for Charlie.”

“Is that a Navy landing craft I see on the river?” I asked.

“Yeah. He’s been there for a month now patrolling the river. They’re trying to prevent Charlie from moving rockets and supplies down the river at night. Last year for TET, that was a major supply route for Charlie into Saigon,” Mr. Leak offered.

“Do they move all their supplies that way?”

“No, I’ve heard from the guys that fly the Night Hunter missions that the gooks will chop a notch in the trees and place a candle in the notch to mark a trail to bring supplies down on bikes. I’ve hauled some of those bikes out when the grunts have found them. You’ll be hauling all sorts of captured stuff, from bikes to rice to prisoners. You name it, you’ll haul it. Call Sabre Six and let them know we’re inbound.”

Sabre Six was the call sign of the battalion we were supporting for the day. The firebase they were operating on was just coming into view. “Saber Six, Chicken-man Two-Three, over.”

“Chicken-man Two-Three, Saber Six India 4 , we’ve been expecting you. Come on in and shut it down,” the radio squawked.

“Saber Six India, Chicken-man Two-Three, roger,” I squawked back.

“Crap!” grumbled Mr. Leak. “I hope we’re not going to be sitting on our asses all day. Howard, you may need to come up with a maintenance need in Bien Hoa. I’ll give you the sign if necessary.”

Mr. Leak was looking at the fast-approaching firebase. “I hate sitting on my ass waiting for these guys to get their shit together for our missions. Some units have got everything ready to go first thing in the morning when we arrive. This unit never has it together, and we may sit all day until late this afternoon before they have anything for us. When that happens, Howard always has a maintenance issue that we have to go into Bien Hoa to take care of, like get a hamburger or a beer.”

As we circled the firebase, we could see the log pad where we were to land as all the various supplies going out that day were being positioned to load the aircraft. Cases of C-rations, water cans, mailbags and ammo cases, to name a few items. A grunt was standing at one side of the pad, raising his arms as a ground guide. Mr. Leak turned onto our final approach path and began explaining the approach to me.

“When we’re at about fifteen feet, the dust is going to start coming up. Before you get to that point, you want to have your touchdown point picked out and your glide angle set and just lower your power and speed. At about ten to five feet, it’ll be difficult to see below you but easier to judge your speed and rate of descent by looking with your peripheral vision. At about five feet, you’ll see the ground through your chin bubble and just set it down. You do not want to be hovering around in this dust.” And we touched down. “Any questions?”

“Nope,” I answered.

“Good, the next approach is yours. Shut us down, then follow me over to the TOC for our briefing and let’s hope they got it together today.” Howard and the door gunner opened our doors and then returned to the guns and started cleaning the dust from them, using paintbrushes to get the grit out of the receivers and ammo. At this point I was fascinated with what I saw going on all around me. Shirtless grunts were going about their morning tasks, shaving, standing guard on the perimeter, writing letters, playing cards. Even the ever-present shit-burning detail was busy stirring the pot. From the looks of things, everyone was doing something different, with nothing organized but everything efficient, I would learn.

“Bring your map, Dan.” Ah, it’s Dan and not New Guy . We walked over to the TOC, or Tactical Operations Center, which was located in the center of the firebase. Five 105 mm howitzers were on one side and behind the TOC were four 81 mm mortars. All was quiet from the guns. The TOC was two metal CONEX containers with open doors facing each other, buried in the ground ten feet with corrugated metal covering the opening between them and everything topped with two layers of sandbags. This was surrounded with three rows of concertina wire. Inside this area, the operations of the battalion were tracked and directed.

When we entered, a captain greeted us. “Good morning, you must be Chicken-man Two-Three. Glad to see you this fine day,” he said as he approached Mr. Leak.

“Good morning, sir. I’m Mr. Leak and this is New Guy.” Damn, back to New Guy.

“Good morning, sir. Mr. Cory,” I said as I extended my hand, and he took it with a smile.

“So am I, Mr. Cory. Been here a week myself.” Ah, camaraderie between New Guys.

Walking over to a map on the CONEX wall and pointing, the captain began his briefing. “First let me give you an overview of our area of operations and the enemy situation, then specifics for what we got today. The Fifth NVA Division have been moving supplies down from the north on a couple of trails that we have identified and set ambushes along last night. One comes down to the crossing point over the river as it’s shallow there, maybe chest deep. Alpha Company came across what looked like a possible .51-cal position on the edge of this clearing here.”

“Plot that location, Dan,” Mr. Leak directed, which I did with a grease pencil on my map.

The captain continued. “Alpha’s operating in this area with patrols. Bravo’s in this area, and Charlie is doing the same over here along the river. Right now, scouts are on the firebase. Now Bravo’s in need of a backhaul, and then they’ll be moving out, so that’s first thing right away. I can’t give you locations for resupply yet as the companies are on the move, so we’ll just have to wait until they’re ready to receive you. The old man may want to go up later, so that’s pretty much it for today.”

Mr. Leak spoke up. “Okay, sir, I’m going to need call signs and frequencies and a location for the backhaul for Bravo, and we can get right out there. Also, we have a maintenance issue that we need to run over to Bien Hoa to take care of, which should only take about an hour.”

The captain looked perplexed but smiled. “Yeah, that’s not a problem. I might have some guys to send over with you if it’s okay.”

“Not a problem, sir. The maintenance shop we need to stop at is close to the PX if you want to send some guys over,” Mr. Leak added. The bullshit lies had been told, acknowledged and accepted with grace and joy for all involved.

I got the call signs, frequencies for all the units and the location for Bravo Company so we could backhaul some stuff. Walking back to the aircraft, Howard looked up and Mr. Leak raised his arm and moved it in a circular motion, which meant we were cranking up. Howard and the door gunner immediately got up and started getting ready. By the time we reached the aircraft, they had their helmets on and the doors open, and Howard had a small fire extinguisher in hand. Once we were strapped in, Mr. Leak gave me a nod and said, “Crank it.”

As the engine was starting, Howard looked through a small inspection panel into the engine compartment to make sure we didn’t have a fire on start-up. When he was satisfied, he returned the fire extinguisher and climbed into his seat.

“I have the aircraft,” Mr. Leak said. “Now we know this is going to be a dust bowl as soon as we pick up, so no hovering. Also, this isn’t a combat takeoff—there’s too many people around us and no space for that. Here we’re going to pull in max torque quickly to bring us up out of the dust, and then we’ll nose over and make a normal departure.”

As I sat and learned, the crew cleared us.

“Clear left.”

“Clear right.”

“Clear above.”

This was something that the crew did every time the aircraft departed or approached a landing. Every crew, every time.

“Okay, here we go.” Mr. Leak pulled on the collective to thirty-four pounds of torque. The aircraft, being empty, leaped into the air, and at about fifteen feet, he nosed over the aircraft for a smooth climb out with minimum dust over the entire firebase. I was thinking it must suck being in all that dust, all day, every day. It did. As we were climbing out to two thousand feet, Mr. Leak directed me to tune in the frequency for Bravo Company and call them.

“Bravo Six, this is Chickenman Two-Three, over.”

“Chicken-man Two-Three, this is Bravo Six India, over.”

“Bravo Six, Chicken-man Two-Three inbound to your location, over.”

“Roger, Chicken-man Two-Three, popping smoke.” Although we had plotted Bravo Company’s location, we were never sure of the exact location where they wanted us, so the ground unit would toss a colored smoke grenade to mark their location. This would also provide information on wind direction and velocity. You always had the ground unit toss the colored smoke and the aircraft would identify the color.

“Bravo Six, I have Goofy Grape, over.” Goofy Grape was purple smoke. Mellow Yellow was yellow smoke and Rosy Red was red.

“Roger, Chicken-man, Goofy Grape. Standing by.” The smoke was drifting ever so slowly, which indicated very little wind for the landing. It also gave us an appreciation on the tree height, which in this area was not as high as those along the Cambodian border, these being only about thirty to forty feet high. Bravo was actually on the edge of a small clearing for an easy approach and landing.

As we made a pass over the intended landing point, Mr. Leak went into education mode. “Okay, the smoke tells us almost no wind, so that’s not going to be a factor. The trees on the south side look lower than the north side. The unit’s on the south side as well, so we’ll make final approach over the south side. Never make your approach the same twice in a row if you can help it. Always make the approach from a different angle each time, turning into final at the last minute if you can. You make the approach the same each time and Charlie will fire your ass up. Got it?”

Lesson learned. “Got it,” I responded.

As we dropped below five hundred feet, Howard and the door gunner brought their guns up and began scanning for enemy fire. We were ninety degrees and one hundred feet from our final approach path when Mr. Leak made a ninety-degree bank turn with a ninety-degree roll, decelerating our forward speed, dropping rapidly and flaring to a hover in front of a grunt ground guide.

“Any questions?” Mr. Leak asked. Questions? Hell, I’m still a hundred feet in the air and ninety degrees to the final approach and we’re sitting on the ground.

“No, no questions,” I lied.

The ground guide grunt hopped up on the skid next to Mr. Leak and started talking. “We have two turns for you. Those water cans and eight grunts that need to go back. Also a mailbag and six marmite cans.”

“Okay, give me four guys and the water cans on this trip and the rest when I come back.”

As the aircraft was being loaded, Mr. Leak resumed instructor mode. “Okay, to get out of here is pretty easy. We have a light load and probably could have taken it all in one trip, but I want to make it two. We have very little wind and the trees are the lowest on the south, which was our approach in. The friendlies are on the south as well, so we’ll come to a hover, pedal turn and fly out on our final approach path, gaining speed as quick as possible and turning off the approach path as quick as we can. Get in quick and get out quick.”

“You’re up, Mr. Leak,” Howard said as the last of the cargo and pax were loaded.

“Roger, coming up.” And the crew cleared us.

I looked back and saw four dirty, smiling faces. These grunts seemed happy to be on board. They were filthy and loaded down with all their equipment. Their uniforms weren’t much more than tattered rags. They looked like old men, but I would bet they were no older than me from the looks of their immature mustaches. The aircraft was rotating in its hover and slid forward with max power being applied. We cleared the tops of the trees by two feet and picked up speed quickly, flying at treetop level, eyeball to eyeball with monkeys in the treetops before suddenly entering into a power climb to two thousand feet at ninety knots.

Mr. Leak resumed instructor mode once again. “You’ve got to have airspeed or altitude, and preferably both. If you got both, you can survive an engine failure. If you don’t have altitude, then you best have speed, and vice versa. You want to go from treetop to two thousand feet as quickly as possible as that’s the prime range for small-arms fire, especially the .51-cal. If he tracks you at five hundred feet or less, you have big problems. He can touch you at twenty-five hundred feet, but not with a lot of accuracy. So the lesson is, stay fast at treetop and get to two thousand quickly with speed. When we get back tonight, check the -10 5 for the dead man zone. Okay, you got it. Now back to the firebase and the dust. Talk me through your approach.”

As we flew back with our passengers, I described to Mr. Leak what I planned on doing for my landing in the dust. He listened and then responded, “You got the words, now show me.” Damn, this guy is Mr. Personality.

I set up my approach and talked him through it as I was executing. We landed, not as softly as he had done, but we were safely on the ground and with no damage to the aircraft or anyone’s nerves. Mr. Leak just sat there staring ahead. The pax, as we called passengers, jumped off and waved goodbye as the ground crew pulled the cans off the bird.

“You’re up,” said Howard, and Mr. Leak just pointed straight ahead, indicating “Let’s go.”

Again I talked him through what I was doing as I was doing it. At least, I thought I was talking to him as he just sat and stared straight ahead. I wondered if his intercom had gone out. Oh, maybe he was pissed at that landing I made. He continued to stare ahead. Okay, I guess he wants me to take it in. I called Bravo Six India and let him know I was inbound, but no need for smoke as I had his position. This time, however, I changed my approach so I was making a ninety-degree left turn into the final approach, coming in fast and low.

As I flared to decelerate, Howard came on the intercom. “Watch the tail!”

I took a bit of the deceleration out, which raised the tail so I wouldn’t hit the trees, and then completed the landing. Mr. Leak said nothing. Shit, he is pissed .

“Howard, how close was Mr. Cory to the trees?” asked Mr. Leak.

“He wasn’t, sir. I was just screwing with him.” A small grin broke Mr. Leak’s stoic face.

“Thanks, Howard,” I said.

The aircraft was loaded and Mr. Leak said, “Let’s go.”

A pedal turn and out we came and headed back. My second approach, I said nothing but came in and made a much-improved landing. Sabre Six India came up on the net and told us to shut down, which we did. Howard and the door gunner began cleaning guns, Mr. Leak moved to the cabin area and pulled out a popular paperback to read: M*A*S*H* . He handed me the -10 and told me to look up the dead man zone.

Around noon, we had been sitting for three hours when Howard said he needed to go to maintenance to get some hydraulic fluid, or was it a hamburger instead of a C-ration? I forget. Mr. Leak walked up to the TOC and came back five minutes later with the captain. Seemed he needed to go to maintenance too. Oh, and here came a first sergeant as well. And the mail clerk needed to pick up mail in Bien Hoa too. I think I’m beginning to see a pattern here.

Everyone was strapped in, and Mr. Leak again pointed straight ahead without a word. I took us out and headed the fifteen klicks to the sprawling base at Bien Hoa. When we got to altitude, Mr. Leak said he had the aircraft. I tuned the VHF radio to Bien Hoa tower in anticipation of calling for landing clearance.

“Don’t bother the tower. We’re landing at the helipad on the north side, and there’s no need to call them. They’re busy with fast movers and cargo planes.”

There was the helipad. In a field that separated the main runway from the combination of wooden buildings and tents that constituted the Army area was a corrugated metal pad approximately the size of a football field with a large First Cav patch painted in the center. As we shut down, Mr. Leak told our passengers that they had one hour before we headed back. Technically, the captain owned the aircraft as he represented the unit we were working for, but Mr. Leak was giving the unquestioned orders, and all agreed, in compliance.

Once the aircraft was secured, the four of us followed our noses to what was a mess hall serving hot chow. No roast beef, but hot dogs, hamburgers, spaghetti with real meat sauce, ice cream. Shit, what world is this? I got a hot dog and a hamburger along with French fries. And the coffee was real. It was obvious that the rear echelon lived a lot better than those closest to the front action. We lived good as aviators, certainly better than the grunts, but these rear-echelon mothers, REMFs as we called them, were living the life. There was—always had been and always would be—some animosity between those on the front lines and those in the rear. Those in the rear areas enjoyed levels of comfort only imagined by those on the front. Clean sheets, hot chow, good boots, and movies were just some of the perks, besides never getting shot at and all the while bitching how tough they had it because of the paper cuts they received. History shows that General Eisenhower wanted Paris to be an R&R center for frontline troops. Just after it was liberated, one hundred and fifty thousand REMFs took up residence, and he could do nothing to dislodge them. Some things never change.

When we had our fill, we wandered back to the aircraft to find that our passengers were there and ready to go. The ketchup on the captain’s shirt told me he had gotten his maintenance taken care of—not sure where, though.

The rest of the day was more of the same. As units settled in to set up their night defensive positions, we hauled supplies out to them. Mr. Leak remained in instructor mode, pointing out things that he felt were important for a new guy to learn.

“First time into unit’s location, take thirty water cans. That gives you a manageable load until you can evaluate the LZ to see if you can take more or need to take less weight. It also gives the grunts time to fill their canteens and get the empty water cans back on the bird so they’re not stuck with empty water cans in case they have to move.”

When we were released by Saber Six to go home, we headed straight back to the Chicken Pen, stopping only to refuel the aircraft when we got to Lai Khe.

As we slid into the revetment, Mr. Leak said, “Let’s be sure and give her a good post-flight inspection. Howard, do we need to run water or walnuts tonight?”

“No, sir, we’re good.” To keep the engines performing at peak performance in really dusty conditions, the engine air intake filters were pulled out and cleaned off. In addition, water would be flushed through the air intake periodically to clean it out. To keep the turbine blades in the engine compressor clean, ground-up walnut shells would be tossed in to clean the blades while the engine was running.

The door gunner took both guns and started cleaning them as well as the ammo. Mr. Leak and I did a walk around the aircraft, conducting a post-flight inspection to make sure it was ready for the next day’s mission. This was Mr. Leak’s assigned aircraft and crew, and he wanted it all straight. Aircraft commanders had assigned aircraft and crews. The rest of us were rotated through aircraft commanders and aircraft. When done, he and I grabbed our gear and started walking back.

“Hey, Dan, you done good for a new guy today. You still have some schoolhouse hesitation in your flying, but that’ll wear off quickly enough when you develop a feel for the aircraft and flying her in these conditions. These aircraft can take a lot more than what you were doing with them in flight school. Don’t be afraid to stretch the boundaries with these birds, but remember, airspeed and altitude. You want both but need at least one of them. Oh, and you’re buying the beer for today’s lessons.” I was starting to see another pattern here. Lessons cost beers.

Reaching my tent, I dropped my gear and noticed a new face talking to Lou. Grabbing a beer, I walked over and introduced myself to a very clean-shaven face. He was a new guy, which in my eyes made me an “old guy.”

“Howdy, Dan Cory,” I said, extending my hand.

“Bill Hess,” he responded as he got out of my chair.

“Really glad to meet you.”

“Oh, why’s that?” he asked with a puzzled look.

“Because I’m no longer the new guy. You are,” I said with a smile.

Lou cracked a smile and finished his beer. “Hey, new guys, plural, get me a beer.” Some things just don’t change.

Bill had joined the Army almost right out of high school. He was from Newburgh, New York, and had the New Yorker accent and manners to prove it. From his build I would bet money he was a football player in high school, guard or linebacker. I had been a bench warmer masquerading as a linebacker. It appeared that he might be trying to grow a mustache, or just forgot to shave his upper lip for the past two weeks.