Bowling in Vietnam

"Did you see the monthly tonnage report?" Valdez blurted out as we approached my stateroom. "I've got a theory that they don't teach in War College". It had been an extremely nasty night off the ship with 5 foot seas and a low foggy mist hanging around. I wanted to get my "G" suit off and debrief. I offered an invitation since my roommate "Twitch" was out flying. "Take a load off and we'll figure this out,"I said.

I looked around the steel walled state room and all I saw was gun metal gray and lots of it. It made my head swim. Maybe it was the slamming sound of the hydraulic pumps catapulting the second wave of aircraft. Being a junior Lieutenant I didn't rate the best room on the aircraft carrier but a room next to hydraulic pumps was gritting on my nerves. Every 42 seconds there was a gnashing, screeching sound of the catapult cylinder hitting the end of its stroke. We would stop talking just before the stroke knowing it's coming. Nothing cheery about my temporary home sweet home these last eight months but the picture of my wife on my desk rattling around.

Valdez continued as soon as he entered the room. "There's over a thousand tons of bombs dropped over the North not including the part of the Ho Chi Minh trail in Laos. Do you think the Air Force is trying to look stupid?" I chimed in my simple observation. "Every flight all I see are the same trees knocked down and the holes we made in the dirt roads filled with rain water. You lock the door and I'll buy tonight." "Here's the theory". Valdez started to finish his original thought, I forgot he was in the room. "If we had dropped the same tonnage of bowling balls with no finger holes into the rice paddies of North Vietnam from the beginning of this damn war the Viet Cong would have surrendered years ago and still be trucking those balls to the coast."

I opened the the safe on my desk meant for storing secret documents and out came the bottle of Chivas Regal. I had picked up a large bucket of ice for this debriefing. Chivas over ice had a nice golden hue to it and as I brought it up to my nose it had the effect of an ammonia stick and I shook my head. It's four in the morning and still a humid 81 degrees outside. The air conditioning was working overtime in my room and I shivered as the scotch slid down my throat.

The midnight flying was going to kill me not the surface to air missiles they fired at us every night. We'd been out to sea for thirty four days straight and I was getting tired.
"What the fuck are we doing here?" I said "The Air Force gives us shitty targets every night. By the time we get the mission planned the Viet Cong move the ammo depot down the road and we knock down trees again. I feel like I'm in the lumber and swimming pool business."

My flight suit was still wet from the sweat in places so I moved around and pulled the nomex material away from my skin. It had been another night flight and my landing hadn't been stellar. The Landing Signals Officer had told me I was high in the beginning, low in the middle and needed power over the ramp. All true but I had made a save at the ramp, grabbed a wire with my hook and was back aboard. It's not so bad they're shooting SAMs at you as having to listen to the LSO rant about your landing every night.

"You want another?" I said as Valdez clinked his ice around an empty glass. "Yea, I have more to say about the stupid Air Force tonnage report." I figured it would take two scotches "Then drink up and let's hear it." I lit my third cigarette in as many minutes. I wasn't chain smoking but it was close. The scotch was taking effect and the nicotine was kicking in so I unzipped my flight suit a little bit and took a deep breath.

We had been out at sea so long I couldn't remember the good times I'd just had in Hong Kong. Get up, do paperwork, eat, bomb, sleep again, wake up to the screams of the hydraulic pumps. Was this ever going to end?

Valdez was on a roll now, "The skipper said not to hang around the target. Go in get the job done and come out. Don't get complacent about planning, missions and carrier landings." I added the obvious, "He's got 5,000 hours flying and 300 carrier landings so I think he knows what we're thinking or not thinking, gimme a light."

I'm thinking of my wife waiting in the Philippines not knowing when and if we're coming home. I want to go home. My wife reads the real newspapers and listens to other than Armed Forces Radio. She never thought much of President Nixon and now I'm coming on board with her. Here we are frustrated as hell and putting our lives on the line and they're arguing about the shape of the peace table in Paris. I've got to get this out of my mind. "Hey Valdez turn on the ship's radio!"

How bitchin' is that? Simon and Garfunkel singing "Sounds of Silence.

"And the people bowed and prayed
To the neon god they made
And the sign flashed out its warning
In the words that it was forming
And the sign said, "The words of the prophets are written on the subway walls
And tenement halls"
And whispered in the sounds of silence"

Senior speak

What Room Are You In?That should be a simple question, but it’s getting increasingly harder to answer. Room 451, no, 251 I think. Is it Dublin or Shannon? Was it the last trip I was in that same room or a different one? Are there two “R”s in Mar(r)iot(t) or two “T”s or both?Do I fly too much to Europe or is this the start of “Senior “ speak (what, was that for us)? I apologize to the younger co-pilots right now for the small memory or hearing lapses but I can remember where the crew bus picks us up in 32 different cities, so I think I’m good for something.The Euro makes it easier for all of us going to Europe, but I still occasionally call the local money by their older names (pound, punt, peso, sucres, soles). Pound and peso may still be good but what about soles? I don’t honestly remember. Current change is the problem (no pun intended). I can remember distinctly 1965 through 1975 but later on gets fuzzy. There’s only so much room in the old brain for changes or new information. I mean consequential information, of course. Aircraft systems and professional information is top priority. It’s the minutae of life that has the random access memory. When you shut down to sleep each night it clears the RAM. Next day you start over to fill it up. Lately I’ve been categorizing the crew members’ names on the printed crew list. MaryAnn gets an “F” (for front galley, of course), and Margaret goes by Jan. I believe Martha likes to be called Martita so I’ll annotate that. Does anybody remember the IRO’s name? I’m glad I flew nine different model B-727s when I was younger. Did we used to do a taxi checklist?

At Sea in Seventy Two

"Did you see the monthly tonnage report?" Valdez blurted out as we approached my stateroom. "I've got a theory that they don't teach in War College". It had been an extremely nasty night off the ship with 5 foot seas and a low foggy mist hanging around. I wanted to get my "G" suit off and debrief. I offered an invitation since my roommate "Twitch" was out flying. "Take a load off and we'll figure this out,"I said. I looked around the steel walled state room and all I saw was gun metal gray and lots of it. It made my head swim. Maybe it was the slamming sound of the hydraulic pumps catapulting the second wave of aircraft. Being a junior Lieutenant I didn't rate the best room on the aircraft carrier but a room next to hydraulic pumps was gritting on my nerves. Every 42 seconds there was a gnashing, screatching sound of the catapult cylinder hitting the end of its stroke. We would stop talking just before the stroke knowing it's coming. Nothing cheery about my temporary home sweet home these last eight months but the picture of my wife on my desk rattling around. Valdez continued as soon as he entered the room. "There's over a thousand tons of bombs dropped over the North not including the part of the Ho Chi Minh trail in Laos. Do you think the Air Force is trying to look stupid?" I chimed in my simple observation. "Every flight all I see are the same trees knocked down and the holes we made in the dirt roads filled with rain water. You lock the door and I'll buy tonight." I opened the the safe on my desk meant for storing secret documents and out came the bottle of Chivas Regal. I had picked up a large bucket of ice for this debriefing. Chivas over ice had a nice golden hue to it and as I brought it up to my nose it had the effect of an ammonia stick and I shook my head. It's four in the morning and still a humid 81 degrees outside. The air conditioning was working overtime in my room and I shivered as the scotch slid down my throat. The midnight flying was going to kill me not the surface to air missiles they fired at us every night. We'd been out to sea for thirty four days straight and I was getting tired.
"What the fuck are we doing here?" I said "The Air Force gives us shitty targets every night. By the time we get the mission planned the Viet Cong move the ammo depot down the road and we knock down trees again. I feel like I'm in the lumber and swimming pool business."
My flight suit was still wet from the sweat in places so I moved around and pulled the nomex material away from my skin. It had been another night flight and my landing hadn't been stellar. The Landing Signals Officer had told me I was high in the beginning, low in the middle and needed power over the ramp. All true but I had made a save at the ramp, grabbed a wire with my hook and was back aboard. It's not so bad they're shooting SAMs at you as having to listen to the LSO rant about your landing every night.
"You want another?" I said as Valdez clinked his ice around an empty glass. "Yea, I have more to say about the stupid Air Force tonnage report." I figuired it would take two scotches "Then drink up and let's hear it." I lit my third cigarette in as many minutes. I wasn't chain smoking but it was close. The scotch was taking effect and the nicotine was kicking in so I unzipped my flight suit a little bit and took a deep breath. We had been out at sea so long I couldn't remember the good times I'd just had in Hong Kong. Get up, do paperwork, eat, bomb, sleep again, wake up to the screams of the hydraulic pumps. Was this ever going to end?
Valdez was on a roll now, "The skipper said not to hang around the target. Go in get the job done and come out. Don't get complacent about planning, missions and carrier landings." I added the obvious, "He's got 5,000 hours flying and 300 carrier landings so I think he knows what we're thinking or not thinking, gimme a light." I'm thinking of my wife waiting in the Philipines not knowing when and if we're coming home. I want to go home. My wife reads the real newspapers and listens to other than Armed Forces Radio. She never thought much of President Nixon and now I'm coming on board with her. There are a lot of pilots frustrated that we're wasting our time and engery and putting our lives at risk. "Here's the theory". Valdez started to finish his original thought, I forgot he was in the room. "If we had dropped the same tonnage of bowling balls with no finger holes into the rice paddies of North Vietnam from the beginning of this damn war the Viet Cong would have surrendered years ago and still be trucking those balls to the coast."