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Again and Again
I have this recurring nightmare:
Even though we were scheduled to be "2nd Up", we've flown into the same hot LZ again and again today, under fire, to rescue the wounded - a dozen at a time. On our 5th mission this day, 11 Nov 65, I recognize the soldier I'm loading. God, no! It's the medic who's been bringing me his wounded - again and again - all throughout the battle.
[Infantry soldiers are trained to seek out whatever cover or concealment they can find, but when the ground medic hears "Doc, I'm hit!", he will rush toward the enemy guns to rescue his wounded buddy. Under fire! Without hesitation! Again and again!]
We've loaded everyone we can cram onto the Huey and lift off; now I can triage my patients. God, no! The medic's gut-shot, and I can't save him! I have other wounded aboard I can try to keep alive until we get them to the field hospital; maybe the Chaplain can help those I can't.
Then I wake up again, in a hot sweat again, and apologize again to my wife for kicking her out of bed with my thrashing - again. My war is long over, we remember, and I go back to sleep.
But it's not over. Now I'm being deployed overseas, again. I've lost more buddies than I've saved, so I've stopped counting. I don't know if I can keep any of them alive anymore; I know I can't keep them from being wounded, and that drives a cold stake through my heart. But I have to go - again and again - because they will need me - again and again. God, no!
Then I wake up again, but this time I don't go back to bed. After half a pot of coffee I realize the second nightmare is not mine - It's that of the medics I may never know, who have been deployed - again and again!
But I DO know them, and their buddies - and so do you. God, no!
Jim Van Doren
Dustoff Medic
Vietnam, 65-66
The following is used with the exclusive written permission of the author; all rights reserved:
I served as a line Grunt and Scout/Sniper in Nam. This [ITSOTB] film brought to the light things I have kept buried for over thirty years. I'm enclosing a poem I wrote about my dustoff. May God always hold in his loving hands the living and dead of those aircrews, for if it were not for them I would not be here today.
The Sweetest Sound*
Not songs of choice nor lover’s voice will ever compare
To the sweet sound of rotor blades as they beat through thick humid air
I am a Viet Nam vet I served in the Infantry
The word Grunt refers to men like me
I have seen war at it’s worst and men at their best
Sadly, I’ve wrapped brothers in ponchos and sent them to their final rest
Now many years later as I lie here in bed
The visions come back to race through my head
The scars on my body will forever remain
As I touch them, once again I feel the pain
Once again I find myself on the ground
With blood, my blood, all around
As I lay there in unconscionable pain and fear
Came the sweet sound of rotor blades as my Dust-Off drew near
When at long last I reach my final day
I will look back on my life and say
I’ve heard beautiful songs of choice and the sweetness in my lover’s voice,
And yet these cannot compare
To the sweet, sweet sounds of rotor blades
As they beat through thick humid air.
By Ernie Smiling Hawk
This is a poem that was written by SP/6 Hurlie Cook, B-Co.25th Med.Bn.,25th Inf Div.(3rdBde), while in Pleiku,VN, [1965-66]
MEDEVAC
The bravest men I've ever have known
Are the men of the "Dust Off" crew,
They risk their lives from day to day,
For men like me and you,
Capt.Hopkins is one of these brave men,
And so is every man on his crew,
When he is needed, he's on the way,
And he answers to ":Dust Off 22"
When the call comes in for Medevac,
They're seldom ever late.
For another man and his brave crew,
Is Capt. Tuller on "Dust Off 28".
I have great respect for all these men,
I admire the job that they do.
They risk their lives in an unarmed ship,
With only an M-60 or two.
Capt.Carroll is another courageous man,
And so is his crew you see.
He'll come to the rescue of wounded men,
And he answers to "Dust Off 23"
The everyday life of the Dust Off Crew,
Is very seldom a bore.
Capt Mills will agree with me on that,
For he's the pilot of "Dust Off 24"
So men remember when you are on the line,
Fighting "Charlie" with grief and despair,
When you need Medevac for a wounded friend,
"Dust Off will always be there.
I've tried to relay my feeling, friend,
I've tried to give you some faith too.
Just put your trust in these great men,
The men of our "Dust Off crew.
This VERSE was sent by Mrs. Hank Mayer and credit at this time, is given to CW2 David G. Alderson, 45th Air Amb., Circa 1965.
The Dustoff pilot is a strange breed of man,
Going places where no one else can.
A big Red Cross is his weapon of war,
One on the front and one on each door.
The Dustoff man has one belief,
Which many times brings him grief.
Through enemy fire like a cold steel knife,
Get the wounded and out and give him life.
The enemy sees a Red Cross in the air.
He aims his rifle with great care.
The big Red Cross means one thing you see,
A big red bulls eye, he shoots at for free.
He fires his rifle again and again,
Knowing the ship is for wounded men.
Somtimes they live and sometimes they die,
But from these brave men, there is never a cry.
A dedication to a deadly task,
They wear emotions behind the mask.
Afraid, yet above all, ever ready to go.
Dustoff, the brave ones, ask the wounded, they know.
Afraid tho' proud, ever near death's grip,
"Above the best" in their Cross bearing ship.
We have permission from the author's son to post this on our website:
JUST A COMMON SOLDIER
(A Soldier Died Today)
by A. Lawrence Vaincourt
He was getting old and paunchy and his hair was falling fast,
And he sat around the Legion, telling stories of the past.
Of a war that he had fought in and the deeds that he had done,
In his exploits with his buddies; they were heroes, every one.
And tho' sometimes, to his neighbors, his tales became a joke,
All his Legion buddies listened, for they knew whereof he spoke.
But we'll hear his tales no longer for old Bill has passed away,
And the world's a little poorer, for a soldier died today.
He will not be mourned by many, just his children and his wife,
For he lived an ordinary and quite uneventful life.
Held a job and raised a family, quietly going his own way,
And the world won't note his passing, though a soldier died today.
When politicians leave this earth, their bodies lie in state,
While thousands note their passing and proclaim that they were great.
Papers tell their whole life stories, from the time that they were young,
But the passing of a soldier goes unnoticed and unsung.
Is the greatest contribution to the welfare of our land
A guy who breaks his promises and cons his fellow man?
Or the ordinary fellow who, in times of war and strife,
Goes off to serve his Country and offers up his life?
A politician's stipend and the style in which he lives
Are sometimes disproportionate to the service that he gives.
While the ordinary soldier, who offered up his all,
Is paid off with a medal and perhaps, a pension small.
It's so easy to forget them for it was so long ago,
That the old Bills of our Country went to battle, but we know
It was not the politicians, with their compromise and ploys,
Who won for us the freedom that our Country now enjoys.
Should you find yourself in danger, with your enemies at hand,
Would you want a politician with his ever-shifting stand?
Or would you prefer a soldier, who has sworn to defend
His home, his kin and Country and would fight until the end?
He was just a common soldier and his ranks are growing thin,
But his presence should remind us we may need his like again.
For when countries are in conflict, then we find the soldier's part
Is to clean up all the troubles that the politicians start.
If we cannot do him honor while he's here to hear the praise,
Then at least let's give him homage at the ending of his days.
Perhaps just a simple headline in a paper that would say,
Our Country is in mourning, for a soldier died today.
FOR KEVIN DONOHUE, DUSTOFF MEDIC, 57th Medical Detachment, Vietnam 70-71
We fly by day, we fly by night, in all kinds of weather Dust-off Hueys into the flight. Urgent Medi-Vac is the call. We won’t leave until we have them all. 1st up, 2nd up, stand by. It’s a race against time so they won’t die. Hot L.Z. the ground troop’say. We take a vote and go in any way. Big Red Cross painted on our side. The enemy knows we have no place to hide. But still we go into the fray. And hope we live to fly one more day. Single ship missions unarmed we go. Our missions of mercy only them and us know. The grunts know we are on the way. They still speak of us to this very day. In the front seats our beloved pilots are in complete control. Their skill and courage must not go untold. As they guide our ship skillfully thru the night. I sometimes wonder if they feel my fright. Mean while in the back, the wounded scream, and they bleed. As we lean in close we see the need. Stop bleeding, treat for shock, I.V’s in. God please don’t let the heart stop. When I have your wounded is our battle cry. Side by side we stare death in the eye. So others may live, that’s why we fly. A band of Brother’s and Sister’s till the day we die.
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