One Full Trip around the Sun (eBook)

One Pilot's Year with the &quote;Hornets&quote; 116th Assault Helicopter Company - Cu Chi, Vietnam

Glenn W. Herpst FRAeS (Autor)

eBook Download: EPUB

2022 | 1. Auflage
324 Seiten
Bookbaby (Verlag)
978-1-6678-2719-3 (ISBN)

Infos

'One Full Trip around the Sun' is a dramatic and suspenseful story of a young man's journey flying helicopters during the Vietnam War, from May 1968 through May 1969. Both historical and deeply personal, this book shares the intensity, horror, sadness, and even joy from the events that took place during the time it takes the Earth to make one full trip around the Sun.

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"e;One Full Trip around the Sun"e; is a dramatic and suspenseful story of a young man's journey flying helicopters during the Vietnam War, from May 1968 through May 1969. Both historical and deeply personal, this book shares the intensity, horror, sadness, and even joy from the events that took place during the time it takes the Earth to make one full trip around the Sun. Vietnam veteran Glenn W. Herpst shares his experiences as a young Army Warrant Officer helicopter pilot as he makes his way to the Vietnam War. Through vivid and rich storytelling, he chronicles his adventures from the departure from his hometown to his arrival in Vietnam. Readers will develop an understanding of what it was like to live and fly with the men and soldiers of the 116th Assault Helicopter Company "e;Hornets"e;. Throughout the story, you will meet other members of the unit and come to understand their trials and tribulations as young flyers in an ongoing war. You will be with these men through their long days and nights from May 1968 through May 1969. They will live, grow, hurt, and die. And those who make it to the end of their tour, will return to a much different world from the one they left.

Textauszug

Chapter 1:
Departure Baltimore

It was April 1968; I was in the Army and preparing for a great journey. That I was going to Vietnam was a given. The non-war war was accelerating, and the powers that be needed to get as many soldiers into the fray as could be politically justified. As a nineteen-year-old officer in the United States Army, with shining new aviator wings pinned to my uniform, I was hardly thinking about the political ramifications of the military’s troop count. I had more immediate things on my mind. My pre-deployment leave was over. I had said my goodbyes to friends and had taken care of familial obligations with what may have appeared to be lighthearted bravado. Inwardly, however, I had many concerns about what I would be facing in just a matter of days. This would be my first expedition outside the United States.

What does a kid of nineteen know about the world? Not much! So many questions were going through my mind: what would Vietnam be like, would I survive, would I be shot, would I be captured, would I be tortured; just what was in store for me? All these questions and no answers. My sincerest hope was that I would acquit myself honorably and without outward indications of just how frightening I found this journey. I knew I was on a journey of self-discovery as much as an adventure to face any and all demons imaginable. I was going to war.

My parents drove me to Friendship International Airport, near Baltimore, for the official send-off. My parents agreed to stop by Johns Hopkins Hospital’s emergency room so that I could say goodbye to my new girlfriend, who was an emergency room nurse. Goodbyes are not the most joyous of occasions and this one was certainly no different. At least this part of my send-off would be a private one, albeit with tears and pledges of hopeful everlasting love, and that I might return in one piece. This was tough, letting go of a warm and tender young woman’s embrace and not knowing if I’d ever feel that loving embrace again. There is never an easy way to leave.

The remainder of the ride to the airport was uneventful except for internal musings, on my part, regarding my destination. I really don’t know what my parents were thinking, although I do know they completely supported what I was doing and were there for me when needed. The conversation was kept light, and we did not delve into what I would be doing for the coming year or so. We arrived at the airport and entered the departure terminal.

As we were waiting for the flight to be boarded, we were completely shocked to find that the parents of my new girlfriend were at the airport. However, they were there with their other daughter, my old girlfriend, who did not know she had been replaced by her sister. This was awkward at best. Two sets of parents who do not know one another, a girlfriend unaware that she has been replaced, and a completely freaked out guy going off to war. I had not been prepared for an additional emotional encounter, and my stomach was tied in knots. I was entering the full flee of the fight-or-flee reflex.

I just wanted to get on the plane. It was rather surreal, too many balls in the air, two families wanting to say things to one another, not knowing how, and making the best of a well-intentioned situation. After tearful goodbyes, hugs, kisses, and well-wishes all round, I thankfully got on the plane to San Francisco and buckled up. Hell of a send-off!

For the length of the flight, I was pretty much in a world of my own. Trying to make sense of the airport scene was too much for me. I was just a passenger alone with my thoughts and the other people on board the plane. A change of scenery would be most welcome.

It was late afternoon when the plane touched down in San Francisco, Tony Bennett’s town. The wild and free home of hippies and Haight-Ashbury, full of freaks and music and free love. If only. As I departed the plane, I made sure my uniform was in proper form and headed down the jet bridge, leaving my thoughts behind. I walked into the terminal and off to baggage claim. As I was standing there, looking around at other passengers waiting for their bags, I spotted an old buddy from high school.

Holy shit! It was Chas, and he was in uniform also. I quickly noted he was collecting a suitcase whereas I was collecting what is fondly known as a “duffel bag.” That may not seem incongruent to most, but I wondered why he would be taking a suitcase off to war. As we talked, I found that he was not going off to war after all. He was going to the Monterey Institute for Language Training, and not for Vietnamese.

This lucky stiff was going to learn German and be shipped off to Germany to keep the East Germans and Russians at bay while I protected our Asian flank. Chas and I decided to make our way to a nearby hotel and share a farewell drink and perhaps a meal before I checked in at the replacement facility at Oakland Army Base. Chas would be off to Monterey the next morning. We shared a cab to the hotel, went to the hotel bar, still in uniform, and had a couple of Johnny Walker Black scotches.

Interestingly enough, there is no way we would have been served a drink under normal circumstances. As I mentioned, I was only nineteen. I looked to be about sixteen. I guess the officers’ uniform did the trick. The other fortunate thing was that we didn’t have to pay for the drinks. An older gentleman sitting next to us at the bar picked up the tab after telling us his son was in the Navy and in Vietnam as a pilot. Unfortunately, he had just received word that his son had been recently shot down and was missing in action. A sobering way to have your first drinks in San Francisco. Of course, this made headlines in my brain, pilot shot down, not recovered, missing, or was he dead. New, up close, and personal thoughts about what was waiting for me. I didn’t know what to say to this man about his missing son and only hoped his son would be found and returned in good shape. What would be my fate?

By the time I left the bar and headed for my room it was sometime around ten o’clock; that would make it around one in the morning back in Baltimore. I was tired and maybe more than a little tipsy. It had been an interesting evening and as I was falling off to sleep, I could not shake the feelings of the man whose son was lost.

On to the San Francisco Army

My first full day on the West Coast began much the same as many days in San Francisco, with a little fog, only today that fog was in my brain. Fortunately, it lifted in time for me to say my goodbyes to Chas. He was off to Monterey and I to Oakland. The Army base was not at all what I expected. A taxi dropped me off at the entrance, and I checked in at the Bachelor Officer Quarters (BOQ).

Interestingly, they were not the 1940s World War II–style barracks we had lived in for the past year or so but a fairly new and modern style four-story building with an elevator. After checking into my assigned room, I made for the lobby to see if anything was happening. I ran into several guys from my flight school class as well as a great number of officers I had never laid eyes on before. Everyone was huddled around a bulletin board that had lists of names for assigned flights beginning the next day. As fate would have it, I saw my stick buddy from the last phase of flight school. This was the guy who had sworn, as had I, that we never wanted to see one another again. The last phase of training had been called, appropriately enough, Tactics. For me, that had all been new, but my “buddy” was an expert from his days as a Marine.

A little time-out here, to give a bit more information regarding my erstwhile friend. Ronan, Patrick J., was a former Marine Corps E-6 prior to his enlistment in the Army to be a helicopter pilot. He was, all considered, a bonified hero. Ronan had already done at least one tour in Vietnam and had been awarded the Silver Star for heroic actions on the ground. That was great, it was just that most people did not really want to hear about how great Ronan was. There wasn’t much he didn’t know, and he was not shy in letting others know it.

Probably because he was somewhat bold, and he had been a Marine, he could be a bit intimidating. I must admit, he was a good leader while we were in flight school. As the student battalion commander, he had no problem standing up to anyone, either officer or student. I also have to admit to having a slight problem with authority figures, perceived or real. Obviously, Ronan thought he was always in charge. I just didn’t agree, and it certainly showed when we were in the cockpit on solo flight assignments.

The bottom line was, when solo, I had the distinct proclivity to get us somewhat disoriented when navigating. The problem was, Ronan made those same mistakes in getting us disoriented when we were flying with the Instructor Pilot (IP). The IP made it very clear that there was no fine distinction between being disoriented and being absolutely lost. Ronan got the pink slip for doing the same as I had done when we were alone, and the IP was none the wiser.

That was the straw that broke the camel’s back for our relationship at that point in our flying careers. Hence, “I don’t ever want see you again after we finish with flight school.” A mutual expression had never been truer.

Back to the story and the bulletin board. Call it what you will, but Ronan and I were on the same flight in the morning to Vietnam. I am sure neither of us could believe our luck. Later that day, it was decided that we would head for San Francisco for our last night in “the World.” Of course, I had not yet learned the significance...

Produkt-Details

• Erscheint lt. Verlag: 25.2.2022
• Sprache: englisch
• Themenwelt: Literatur ► Biografien / Erfahrungsberichte
• ISBN-10: 1-6678-2719-7 / 1667827197
• ISBN-13: 978-1-6678-2719-3 / 9781667827193