by Mark Berent
PARTMENT OF THE AIR FORCE
HEADQUARTERS 3RD TACTICAL FIGHTER WING (TAC)
APO SF 96227
SPECIAL ORDER 51 19 JAN 1966
1. The following named officers, 531st Tac Ftr Sqdn (TAC), this stn, are designated as Flight Leader in the F-100D/F aircraft. Authority: Para 9-2B, TACM 55-100.
CAPT COURTLAND EdM. BANNISTER A03021953
CAPT LAURENCE M. DALTON 69040A
CAPT RICHARD F. FARRELL 69330A
FOR THE COMMANDER DISTRIBUTION "C"
JACK E. MINTON, 1STLT, USAF
Chief, Administrative Services
……………………………………………………………………..
2100 Hours Local, 19 January 1966
Officers Club, Bien Hoa Air Base
Republic of Vietnam
As flight lead, Court flew two more missions before the end of the day. That night in the O’ Club he sat with Doc Russell at a small table off to one side. He had a Budweiser, the Doc was drinking Scotch and water.
"I spent some time with Rawson," the Doc said. "I'm keeping him on Thorazine and Seconal to quiet him down. He talked a bit. Said you pulled a gun on him. That true?"
"Yes, it is."
"Why, Court?"
Court lit a cigarette with his rubber band-covered Zippo, and sank a drag deep into his lungs.
"Did he say where we were or what we were doing? Did he tell you he panicked in a low threat situation when some of our guys were in trouble; Fairchild, for one? Or, that the Mike Force was down there with a Dash-K chewing on them? Did he tell you about that?"
"No, he didn't. All he said was he tried to tell you the engine was overheating, and you pulled a gun on him."
"Look, Doc, there was a hell of a lot more to it than that. Nothing was wrong with our airplane, and the guys on the ground needed everything they could get. We still had two CBUs and all our 20 mil." Bannister exhaled a strong puff of smoke, looking squarely at Russell.
"You think that's reason enough to kill a man?" Russell said, returning Bannister's gaze with steady eyes.
Bannister thought for a while. "I probably would not have pulled the trigger," he said finally, "in this case."
"Why not?"
Bannister took a pull at his beer. "Other airplanes were there with ordnance. I wasn't the only one that could help take out the gun pinning down the Mike Force. Also, there was the possibility my shot could have gone wild and damaged the airplane, so we both would have had to punch out."
"What do you mean `In this case'?"
"There were other people there. It wasn't a one-on-one situation.,"
"You mean if you were the only one with ordnance to take out that gun, you'd have killed to do it? You'd kill one man to save another?"
"Shit, Doc, isn't that what we try to do every day?"
"Look, Court, that's not how I meant it and you know it."
Bannister took another drag. "I suppose I do. But that's about as far as I can go with your corkscrew logic. I don't know where you're going with this, but I'm not going to try to stay up with you. Loc Ninh was what I considered a tight situation requiring something I could provide. I went the most direct route to provide it. Fortunately, things all worked out."
"Not quite. Rawson's been relieved of command and is in the hospital."
"Doc, with all due respect, that man has been coming apart for some time, and should never have kept the position he did." Court was silent for a moment watching Russell's eyes. "In fact, Doc, since you brought this mess up. Isn't part of your job as squadron Flight Surgeon to keep an eye on us, on our mental well being and all that?"
"Yes, it is," Russell said, "but I don't go around pulling guns on people to do it."
Bannister sat back. "Doc," he said, "the long and short of it is that my job is to take people apart, and yours is to put people together."
"True," Doc Russell said, "but the real long and short of it is my job is more satisfying because my craftsmanship results in life whereas yours results in death." The Doc delivered his words with strong conviction. Bannister looked away for a moment.
"Doc, you ever think maybe I'm saving lives? That in the long run the enemy I take out--"
Russell interrupted, "The people you kill, you mean. Say them, say the words, people and kill. That's the trouble, Court, you use words like `enemy' and `bad guys' when you mean human beings and words like `take out' or `waste' or `blow away' when you mean kill." Doc Russell's face flushed.
"Hold on, Doc. I'm a professional. My job is to kill these people now before they--"
Russell interrupted again, "Yeah, yeah, I know: `Before they are on the streets of San Francisco.' Right?"
"Something like that, Doc. Only closer, like say Saigon. Before they are on the streets of Saigon. Our whole job here is to push out the bad guys, kill them if you will, who are trying to take over South Vietnam and who kill those who resist them. What about that NVA outfit that took a flamethrower to the Montagnard village when the men were gone and torched 200 women and children? Or the VC here in the south who decapitate and disembowel teachers and village mayors who wouldn't teach what they want or give them sanctuary? And you know about their stringing the guts of live G.I.s they've captured down the trail so their buddies walk on them. What about that, Doctor Conrad Russell? And what's the matter with you, anyway? You didn't used to talk like this."
"Calm down, Court, for God's sake, or you'll need some of the same stuff I'm giving Rawson. I shouldn't be ragging you and I know it. I'm sorry. I'm getting fed up with this whole sorry scene, that's all. Politicians running a war. Hypocrisy. Euphemisms. The War Department is now the Defense Department. Bombs are weapons and airplanes are weapons platforms. At least in my business, a scalpel is still a scalpel."
Russell held his glass up, "Here, a toast. In the words of the immortal beagle, the great Snoopy, FUCK WAR," the Doc boomed. Court Bannister grinned and clanged his beer off the Doc's glass, "FUCK WAR," he echoed.
Two wing weinies at the bar looked over at them and shook their heads.
