It felt like the whole crew was tiptoeing, trying in vain to hide from the Germans. It didn’t work. I looked high and saw four little specks about the same time that the tail gunner announced that he had five of them heading our way. It looked real grim. The specks just kept getting bigger and bigger until they became angry-looking members of the Luftwaffe. They weren’t happy about losing the target and it looked like they were going to take it out on us.
“Where the hell did he come from?” the pilot yelled. A big green monster roared over the top of us heading back toward the Germans.
“If I didn’t know better, I’d say that was a Jug,” guessed the nav. “But I didn’t think they were going to be joining us today. Not that I’m complaining.”
Everyone started cheering at the same time. Now they could see the star on the wing that assured them that he was on our side. The Germans were as surprised as we were. It looked like a pack of rabbits suddenly being jumped by a dog. The whole bunch of them scattered, heading every which way. We saw the fifties on the wings of the Thunderbolt open up. One, then two of the fleeing fighters burst into flame and spiraled toward the ground. The Jug seemed to be everywhere at once. Before we knew it he had run them all off and was turning back to check us out. As he flew over and dipped his wings in a paternal nod, the nav yelled over the intercom.
“Hey, did you guys see that? It’s Dad.”
As soon as he said it I caught a glimpse of the bull’s-eye painted on the side of the P-47. So Dad had come out to take care of his prodigal children.
He slipped above us to ride shotgun on the way home. Twice more, we saw the bad guys lining up to jump us as we limped back to the home drone. And twice more Dad jumped them and scared them back to where they came from. I had never seen a pilot fly like that. He seemed to be everywhere at once. He made that Jug do things that the designer never even thought of. It was like watching an air show. But it was an air show that saved our butts individually and collectively.
Finally, as we crossed into Merry Olde England, he whipped the big Jug into a fast pass and dropped off to return to his base.
We limped in and landed on the field to the amazement of all the guys who had gone off and left us. They had surmised that we wouldn’t be coming to dinner that night. Everyone wanted to congratulate us and shake our hands for bringing the piece of junk back home. But to a man all ten of us had only one thought in our minds. We headed for the nearest phone to call and thank our guardian angel for getting us back.
It was kind of like the three stooges, or rather the ten stooges, all of us trying to talk on the phone at the same time. Finally the pilot did something that he rarely did. He took charge and ordered us to back off.
He took over the call and finally, from the way he kept saying sir every two seconds, got hold of someone in charge. He started to tell whoever it was that we were calling to talk to Dad. Then he got real quiet. He was able to say “I see” a couple of times and then his face went white and the phone dropped from his hand.
“What did they say? Why didn’t they put Dad on the horn?”
“They didn’t put him on the horn because they couldn’t,” the pilot said. His voice was low and quiet and it gave me a chill.
“It wasn’t Dad who came to our rescue today.”
“What do you mean, it wasn’t Dad?” demanded the nav. “It was too. We all saw him. You did too, pilot.”
“Yeah, I saw him, but according to his commander it couldn’t have been Dad. Dad didn’t make it to the combat zone. Dad didn’t even make it off the ground. His left gear collapsed on takeoff. He crashed.” The pilot stopped and turned away, unable to face us. “The Jug was full of fuel and ammo. It exploded. Dad is dead. He died before we even got airborne.”
“That’s some story, Red.” The young lieutenant took a sip from his cup of coffee, never noticing that it was stone cold. “Who do you think it was?“
“Well, we found out that there sure weren’t any of our fighters in the area. They were all busy with the decoy group that didn’t fool anybody.” The old gunner raised his head from the table and looked into the young man’s eyes.
“I think, no, I know, regardless of what happened, that it was Dad. Now I’m not what you would call a religious man and I don’t believe in miracles. I don’t know how it happened. But I think that Dad saved my bacon that day. And I know nine other old men who will swear to it right along with me.
“You know how pilots are. I’ll bet he wouldn’t believe he was dead until he got confirmation from higher headquarters. And you know how slow paperwork can get during a war.”
DUMB LUCK
I’VE always heard that there are no atheists in foxholes. I wouldn’t know. I’ve never been in a foxhole. But I know for a fact that all flyers are superstitious. It’s because of the uncertainty of war. Every flyer carries some little icon, some little lucky piece. Even if they really don’t help, they can’t hurt. And maybe some of them do work. Who knows?
When Larry Rogers came to the war in Southeast Asia, it was a very courageous thing to do. It was definitely a death-defying act. It wasn’t the fact that he was going to a police action that had blossomed into a very deadly war that caused all the concern. With Larry, it was the fact that he was traveling alone that increased the danger level to ridiculous heights. You see, Larry was a klutz.
He wasn’t just any klutz. He was The Klutz. He was a star of klutzdom. He was clumsy, uncoordinated, absentminded, and wholly unaware of the dangers of his surroundings. When he walked through a room, you could follow his progress by the disasters. He seldom tried anything new without hurting himself and any innocent bystander who had the misfortune to bystand Larry.
When Sharon, his wife of one year and several contusions and abrasions, put him on the plane at Travis Air Force Base, it was with severe misgivings. She wasn’t really afraid that the war was a threat to her husband. She was more afraid that the airliner was a threat. She thought Larry would probably fall down the boarding ramp and kill himself before he ever got a chance to go to war. In fact, as the aircraft taxied to the runway, she had to turn away. She couldn’t bear the thought of all those innocent people so near the danger zone around Larry for so long a time.
When Larry alighted from the airliner in Bangkok, Thailand, he stood at the base of the ramp and breathed in the foreign smell of the place. He stood in a vacant eddy of people departing the aircraft, oblivious to the fact that they were giving him a wide berth to save themselves further injury. He took in this first impression of the ancient country of Siam with a growing sense of pleasure. He was here, in a foreign country, a foreign land. Nobody knew him here. Nobody knew what a klutz he was. Maybe here he could start over. Maybe here he could walk on the earth as a normal person. Maybe here he could be reborn.
The spring in his step and his newfound confidence lasted all the way to the customs shed, where he managed, without any effort, to bruise his shoulder, break the handle from his suitcase, and endanger the lives of two customs agents. So much for the wide-open possibilities of a new country. Larry decided to try to survive all the way to the air base. One step at a time. And little steps at that.
Larry went to look for his ride to his air base. It was located at a former Thai airfield up-country, closer to the combat zone. An NCO who had watched Larry’s progress in the customs shack looked at him with something akin to trepidation. The tall, ungainly young lieutenant ambled up to his desk. The sergeant had already talked to two of the passengers who had arrived on Larry’s aircraft. He didn’t believe it possible for one young man to be such a danger to himself and others but he didn’t intend to take any chances. One did not return from a war zone by taking chances with the unknown.
“What can I do for you, Lieutenant Rogers?”
“I need a ride to my duty location,” explained the young man. “Here are my orders.”
He attempted to extricate a ream of paper from his bulging gym bag. The papers all came loose at the same time flyin
g from his hand and knocking over the sergeant’s coffee.
Larry made a grab at the flying papers and impaled his hand on an ink pen. He shook his injured hand vigorously, thereby spraying blood and ink over the few papers that he had missed with the coffee.
The sergeant didn’t know whether to try and help or jump into the nearest bunker.
Larry boarded the C-130 Hercules that was to take him to his duty station. He thought that the sergeant in charge of transportation had been extremely nice in spite of the accident. The NCO had gone out of his way to see that Larry got the first available aircraft going out. Now with his gym bag on his lap, he stared at the green of the jungle flowing like a carpet under the starboard wing. Even the throb from his bandaged hand couldn’t diminish the excitement he felt to be there.
A few minutes prior to landing, the pilot of the big green airplane came on the intercom.
“For all of you departing at our next stop, I have some good news and some bad news. First the bad. We have been informed by control that Mr. Charles is opposed to our landing you reinforcements at the base. He is at the moment lobbing mortar rounds on the field in honor of your impending arrival. To facilitate your safe exit from the aircraft and to insure that me and my crew spend absolutely the minimum amount of time on the ground, upon landing I will lower the tail ramp. If you will all gather by the ramp, the crew chief will assist your rapid departure when we come to a stop. Our time on the ground will be approximately seven seconds so don’t delay your departure. And thank you for flying the friendly skies of Southeast Asia.”
“If that was the bad news, what was the good news?” Larry asked the crew chief as he stood at the tail of the aircraft waiting for the ramp to open.
“I guess it must have been that we don’t have to get off with you,” shrugged the crew chief.
As the wheels thumped down and the ramp started descending, Larry grabbed hold of a strap on the side of the plane and leaned out as far as he could to see what was happening. He turned back to ask what he was supposed to do after he got off the Herky-bird. At that precise moment there was a loud Whomp as a mortar round landed near the side of the runway. The pilot jerked the controls involuntarily. Larry suddenly found out that the strap he had been holding on to was not attached firmly to the aircraft. It was attached firmly to a parachute that was hung not so firmly from a peg on the airplane. It came loose. Larry fell from the ramp. The chute snagged on an antenna. Larry found himself flying outside the aircraft down the runway at ninety miles an hour in the middle of a battle. Those who witnessed the sight knew deep in their souls that someone special had come to Thailand.
The guys at the squadron were actually happy to see Larry. War has a way of putting a real drain on manpower. Every man was needed. Even Larry. They had heard rumors about his method of arrival but were willing to discount the stories as mere wartime exaggeration.
The squadron commander was even happier to welcome Larry to the base. And not just because he was a sorely needed replacement. He had known Larry in the States, had flown with him. He knew that in spite of what he was on the ground, when Larry climbed into an aircraft, he was a pilot. And not just any pilot. Larry was a natural. He was one of those rare aviators who are able to become one with the air-frame. He flew by feel. He could feel everything that was happening to his plane and everything that it was capable of. The aircraft became an extension of his body and mind. With Larry at the controls, any aircraft would strive to its full potential and beyond.
It was strange. When Larry entered the cockpit, he became a different person. It was almost as if he was using up all his clumsiness on the ground. Because Larry was never clumsy in the airplane. In fact, he was the opposite of clumsy. He was the best.
The commander had actually asked for Larry to join his squadron of F-105 flyers. The “Thud” was a fast, capable, sturdy aircraft. It was also dangerous, difficult, and a handful to fly. It required constant attention and did not forgive mistakes. Only the best could handle the beast
The commander figured that if he could keep Larry alive and well on the ground, Larry could do wonders in the air. It was with this in mind that he asked two of his friends, Thai nationals, to keep an eye on the unlucky young flyer while he was a guest in their country. They were only too happy to oblige.
Thailand is an ancient country that learned many centuries ago the secret to winning a conflict. It’s called assimilation. Many conquering hordes descended on the fertile country of Thailand. In the short run the Thais won or lost the battles. In the long run Thailand almost always won, through the practice of assimilation. A conquering nation would occupy the country, make rules, dictate changes, demand obeisance to their gods, and remain firm for expected revolt. They would then be amazed to find that all their demands were accepted by the friendly and helpful subjugated locals. It was so easy that they lost their combative edge and slowly but surely attuned to the easygoing lifestyle of the Thais. Soon, it was hard to tell who were the victors and who the vanquished. They had been assimilated.
Suwon and Prayoun were benefactors of this least-painful method of conquest. Suwon was a former farmer from Laos who had migrated to Thailand in front of a flood that decimated his family farmstead. Since arriving in Thailand almost twenty years ago, he had prospered as he never had in his native land. He was now Thai by choice and a practitioner of this gentle art of subversion.
Prayoun was a descendant of another country who had conquered Thailand when it was Siam. His family started as visitors and now were locals. He was the youngest of the two, only five years out of high school. He had studied English so that he could get a job at the air base, the best employer in the town. Suwon spoke a version of English that was at best a pidgin learned from his friendly association with numerous GIs. The two Thais were introduced to their charge in a manner that was familiar to most of Larry’s friends.
Larry exited the squadron building deep in thought about his duties in the war and failed to negotiate the front steps. He fell the short distance and landed facedown in the only mud puddle for several hundred yards. He landed at the feet of his two unofficial keepers.
Suwon and Prayoun recognized him immediately. As they helped him to his feet, they exchanged a glance that clearly said that their assignment was going to be more difficult than they had thought.
As the days went by and Larry integrated into the war effort, his abilities in the aircraft started to be well-known. His airman skills were prodigious. As he handled assignments that were increasingly difficult and dangerous, he never failed to achieve success. In fact, he usually exceeded the mission goals. It got to be commonplace to call for Larry when the job looked impossible. He was the complete air warrior.
On the ground it was a different matter. The most impossible job seemed to be the one which had been accepted by Suwon and Prayoun. They went about it with everything they had, but trying to protect Larry from himself was just about a lost cause.
As they grew to know him, they began to respect his courage in the face of disaster. And Larry got to face a lot of disasters. Slowly their respect turned to friendship. Larry had fallen in love with Thailand. He was anxious to learn as much as he could about this ancient and provocative place. He wanted to see everything at once.
The three of them toured much of the countryside. The two bodyguards were more than happy to show off their home to Larry. And Larry never failed to draw a crowd. He had another quality. It seemed that people could sense what a danger he was to himself and his surroundings. And like strangers apprehensive about the wanderings of a toddler just learning to walk, they seemed to want to protect him.
Larry, when prompted, would talk to his new friends about his job. He could describe in detail the difficulties of fighting this most-unusual of wars. And the more they listened to his stories, the more concerned they grew for the safety of their charge. They had heard how good he was in the air, but never having seen him in action other than on the ground, they found it hard to b
elieve. Finally after a lengthy discussion with Prayoun, Suwon decided to do something about their fears.
Suwon left the village early one morning and was gone several days. Larry missed his friend and asked Prayoun about him. Prayoun would only say that Suwon was looking for something and would return when he found it.
Meanwhile, the air war heated up. The squadron’s operating area was moving farther and farther north and each mile up the length of Vietnam meant an increase in defenses. Larry continued to amaze. He had an almost-instinctive sense of the battle zone. His wingmen swore that Larry could see each and every round fired at his aircraft. He seemed to be able to pick the safest route to get the job done. He was able to avoid the surface-to-air missiles, the SAMs, with uncanny ease.
But the sheer volume of defenses was even starting to show on Larry. He found it was harder and more dangerous each day to get to the target and get back home. And fewer of his comrades were able to get back home. Those without Larry’s skill were the first to be lost. Even the skilled warriors were limping back to base with aircraft barely able to remain in the air. The war was getting serious.
After one particularly grueling mission, Larry was delighted to hear that his friend Suwon had returned. Prayoun said that he would meet them in a local restaurant for dinner.
After dinner, Larry asked Suwon about his travels. His friend said that he had been looking for something, something for Larry. He reached into his pocket and removed a silk-wrapped package. With reverence he unwrapped the bundle and took out a tiny statue. It was a golden statue of a figure seated in cross-legged fashion. The face was unusual. The central feature was an enlarged nose. On the back was what looked like characters in some obscure cuneiform.
Prayoun gasped. “You found one. I didn’t think you could.”
“What, what is it?” asked the young aviator.
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