#Vietnam pilot survival knife | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

casbooks · 2 years ago

Text

Books of 2023

Book 24 of 2023

Title: One Trip Too Many: A Pilot's Memoirs of 38 Months in Combat Over Laos and Vietnam Authors: Wayne A. Warner ISBN: 9781467931557 Tags: A-1 Skyraider, A-26 Invader, B-52 Stratofortress, B-57 Canberra, C-123 Provider, C-130 Hercules, C-133 Cargomaster, C-47 Skytrain, EB-66 Destroyer, EC-121 Warning Star, F-100 Super Sabre, F-105 Thunderchief, F-111 Aardvark, F-4 Phantom II, FAC, Fast-FAC, GBR United Kingdom, JPN Itazuke, JPN Japan, JPN Okinawa, JPN Okinawa - Naha, JPN Tachikawa, JPN USA 106th General Hospital - Yokohama (Far East Burn Center) (Kishine Barracks), KC-135 Stratotanker, KOR Korea, KOR Kunsan, LAO Laos, LAO Laotian Civil War (1959-1975), LAO Lima Site 85 - Phu Pha Thi (Laotian Civil War), LAO Operation Barrel Roll (1964-1973) (Laotian Civil War) (Vietnam War), LAO Operation Blind Bat (1964-1970) (Laotian Civil War), LAO Operation Steel Tiger (1965-1968) (Laotian Civil War) (Vietnam War), LAO Pathet Lao, LAO Tchepone, MiG-17 Fresco, MiG-21 Fishbed, MYS Malaysia, O-2 Skymaster, OV-1 Mohawk, ParaRescuemen, PHL US USAF Clark Air Force Base, POW, PRK North Korea, SA-2 Guideline SAM, SEAD, SGP Raffles Hotel, SGP Singapore, SGP UK RAF Far East Survival School - Changi, T-33 Shooting Star, T-37 Tweet, THA Bangkok, THA Bangkok - Federal hotel, THA Nakhon Sawan, THA RTAF Royal Thai Air Force, THA RTAFB Don Muang Royal Thai Airbase, THA RTAFB Korat Royal Thai Air Base, THA RTAFB Nakhon Phanom Royal Thai Air Base, THA RTAFB Takhli Royal Thai Air Base, THA RTAFB Ubon Royal Thai Air Base, THA RTAFB Udorn Royal Thai Air Base, THA RTNAF U-Tapao Air Field, THA Thailand, THA USAF C-130 Klong (Vietnam War), Tibet, TWN ROCAF Ching Chuan Kang Air Base, TWN ROCAF Republic of China Air Force, TWN Tainan, TWN Taipei, TWN Taiwan, UK RAF Royal Air Force, US AL Alabama, US CA California, US CA San Francisco, US CIA Central Intelligence Agency, US CRM Civil Rights Movement, US CRM Selma to Montgomery Marches (1965), US Lee Harvey Oswald, US MATS Military Air Transport Service, US President Dwight D. Eisenhower, US President John F. Kennedy, US USA 101st Airborne Division - 1st Brigade, US USA 101st Airborne Division - Screaming Eagles, US USA 173rd Airborne Brigade - Sky Soldiers, US USA 1st Cavalry Division, US USA 1st ID - Big Red One, US USA 23rd ID - Americal, US USA 46th Infantry Regiment, US USA 7th Cavalry Regiment, US USA Fort Benning GA, US USA Fort Rucker AL, US USA Fort Rucker AL - Cairns Army Airfield, US USA Fort Sam Houston TX, US USA Fort Sam Houston TX - Brooke General Hospital, US USA United States Army, US USAF 1st Special Operations Sqd - Hobo, US USAF 21st Special Operations Sqd - Dusty, US USAF 21st Special Operations Sqd - Knife, US USAF 21st Troop Carrier Sqd, US USAF 22nd Special Operations Sqd - Zorro, US USAF 313th Air Division, US USAF 315th Air Division, US USAF 354th TFS - Bison, US USAF 355th TFW, US USAF 357th TFS - Dragons, US USAF 357th TFS - Wildcat, US USAF 3615th Pilot Training Wing, US USAF 3617th Pilot Training Sqd, US USAF 3635th Flying Training Wing, US USAF 388th TFW, US USAF 39th Aerospace Rescue and Recovery Sqd - Crown/King, US USAF 40th Aerospace Rescue and Recovery Sqd - Jolly Green Giant, US USAF 416th TFS - Det 1 - Misty FAC, US USAF 41st Tactical Airlift Sqd, US USAF 428th TFS, US USAF 428th TFS - Det 1, US USAF 433rd TFS, US USAF 4410th Combat Crew Training Wing, US USAF 4442nd Combat Crew Training Wing, US USAF 4520th Training Wing, US USAF 4524th Training Sqd, US USAF 4526th Combat Crew Training Sqd - Cobras, US USAF 552nd AEWCW - Ethan, US USAF 56th Air Commando Wing, US USAF 56th Special Operations Wing, US USAF 602nd Special Operations Sqd - Firefly, US USAF 606th Special Operations Sqd - Candlestick, US USAF 609th Air Commando Sqd - Nimrod, US USAF 609th Special Operations Sqd - Nimrod, US USAF 620th Tactical Control Sqd - Waterboy, US USAF 6315th Operations Group, US USAF 6th Special Operations Sqd, US USAF 7th ABCCC Airborne Command and Control Sqd - Hillsboro, US USAF 7th Air Force, US USAF 8th TFW, US USAF Air Force Academy, US USAF Captain Gene Basel, US USAF Colonel Jerry Driscoll (POW), US USAF Colonel William "Bill" Ivey, US USAF Columbus Air Force Base MS, US USAF Craig Air Force Base AL, US USAF Edwards Air Force Base - Air Force Flight Test Center, US USAF Edwards Air Force Base CA, US USAF General Curtis LeMay, US USAF General John Charles Giraudo, US USAF General Robin Olds, US USAF General William Momyer, US USAF Homestead Air Force Base FL, US USAF Hurlburt Field FL, US USAF JEST Jungle Environment Survival Training, US USAF Kadena Air Base JPN, US USAF LCol John Robert "Bob" Pardo, US USAF March Air Force Base CA, US USAF Naha Air Base JPN, US USAF Nellis Air Force Base NV, US USAF Selma Field AL, US USAF Sewart Air Force Base TN, US USAF Stead Air Force Base NV, US USAF Tinker Air Force Base OK, US USAF United States Air Force, US USAF Wright-Patterson Air Force Base OH, US USCG United States Coast Guard, US USCGC Point Welcome (WPB-82329), US USMC 3rd MarDiv, US USMC 9th MEB, US USMC United States Marine Corps, US USN NAS Memphis TN, US USN NAS Naval Air Station, US USN United States Navy, US USN USS Mauna Kea (AE-22), US USN USS Pueblo (AGER 2), US USN USS Twining (DD-540), VNM 1968 Tet Offensive (1968) (Vietnam War), VNM Bac Mai, VNM Battle of Khe Sanh (1968) (Tet Offensive) (Vietnam War), VNM Bien Hoa Air Base (Vietnam War), VNM Cam Ranh Bay, VNM Canal Des Rapides Bridge, VNM Catecka Tea Plantation, VNM Chao Hao, VNM Cheo Reo, VNM Chu Lai, VNM Da Nang, VNM Dak To, VNM Dong Ha, VNM Dong Hoi, VNM DRV NVA North Vietnamese Army, VNM DRV NVAF North Vietnamese Air Force, VNM DRV Route Pack I, VNM DRV VC Viet Cong, VNM Gia Thuong Storage Facility (Vietnam War), VNM Ham Rong (Dragons Jaw) Bridge, VNM Hanoi, VNM Hill 621 (Son Tra Mountain) (Monkey Mountain), VNM Ho Chi Minh Trail (Vietnam War), VNM Huong Hoa District, VNM I Corps (Vietnam War), VNM Ia Drang Valley, VNM Kep Airfield, VNM Kham Duc, VNM Lang Gia Rail Yard, VNM Little Thud Ridge, VNM Long Bien Bridge - Paul Doumer Bridge, VNM Mu Gia Pass, VNM National Highway 14, VNM Nhon Ko, VNM Operation Arc Light (1965-1973) (Vietnam War), VNM Operation Barrel Roll (1964-1973) (Vietnam War), VNM Operation Birmingham (1966) (Vietnam War), VNM Operation Bolo (1967) (Vietnam War), VNM Operation Carolina Moon (1966) (Vietnam War), VNM Operation Combat Lancer (1968) (Vietnam War), VNM Operation Combat Skyspot (1965-1973) (Vietnam War), VNM Operation King Cobra (Vietnam War), VNM Operation Linebacker I (1972) (Vietnam War), VNM Operation Linebacker II (1972) (Vietnam War), VNM Operation Niagra (1968) (Vietnam War), VNM Operation Ranch Hand (1962-1971) (Vietnam War), VNM Operation Rolling Thunder (1965-1968) (Vietnam War), VNM Operation Steel Tiger (1965-1968) (Vietnam War), VNM Operation Tally Ho (1966-1973) (Vietnam War), VNM Phan Thiet, VNM Phuc Yen Airfield, VNM Pleiku, VNM Quang Tin Province, VNM Qui Nhon, VNM Red River, VNM Red River Valley, VNM Route 9, VNM Route Pack V (Vietnam War), VNM Route Pack VI (Vietnam War), VNM Route Pack VIA (Vietnam War), VNM RVN ARVN Army of the Republic of Vietnam, VNM RVN ARVN CIDG Civilian Irregular Defense Group, VNM Saigon, VNM Saigon - Mai Loan Hotel (Vietnam War), VNM Song Ma, VNM Tan Son Nhut Air Base, VNM Tay Ninh, VNM Than Hoa Bridge, VNM Thud Ridge, VNM Tonkin Gulf, VNM US Agent Orange (Vietnam War), VNM US USN NAF Naval Air Facility Cam Ranh (Vietnam War), VNM Vietnam, VNM Vietnam War (1955-1975), VNM Vinh Airfield, VNM Yen Bai Airfield, Wild Weasels Rating: ★★★★★ (5 Stars) Subject: Books.Military.20th-21st Century.Asia.Vietnam War.Aviation.USAF.Fighters, Books.Military.20th-21st Century.Asia.Vietnam War.Aviation.USAF.Transports, Books.Military.20th-21st Century.Asia.Vietnam War.Laotian Civil War.Aviation.USAF.Fighters

Description: One Trip Too Many, A Pilot’s Memoirs of 38 Months in Combat over Laos and Vietnam, is an autobiography about my life as a pilot in Southeast Asia during the conflict in Vietnam. It is primarily a story to share with family and friends about my personal involvement in the conflict and the turbulent decade of the 60s and does not attempt to question the politics of the era. It begins with a brief description of my quest to gain admittance to the United States Air Force Academy, my four years at the Academy, and the subsequent year of pilot training. I flew three different types of aircraft in combat and the book provides insight into the training that took place for the C-130 Hercules, the F-105 Thunderchief, and the A-1 Skyraider. Each of the three tours in combat over Laos and Vietnam is described with emphasis on the more memorable flights including a bailout in the A-1 and the final crash on takeoff that ended my active duty Air Force career. My time in various hospitals is described at the end of the book and the epilogue tells briefly of my life after retirement from the United States Air Force. The book has been described as a combination of Band of Brothers, Top Gun, and Forrest Gump. ** ### About the Author Wayne A. Warner graduated in 1963 from the United States Air Force Academy. After receiving his wings at Craig AFB, Alabama in 1964 he flew combat missions over Southeast Asia in the C-130 Hercules, the F-105 Thunderchief, and the A-1 Skyraider. In March 1969 he crashed on takeoff in an A-1H and was critically burned. Following medical retirement from the United States Air Force in September 1969, he graduated from the Brandeis School of Law at the University of Louisville in 1974. He then worked as a weapon systems acquisition attorney in the Federal Civil Service for the United States Air Force at Eglin AFB, Florida until his retirement in 2004.

#Books #Ebooks #Booklr #Bookblr #nonfiction #history #vietnam war #laotian civil war #military #usaf #air force #f-105 thunderchiefs #c-130 hercules #a-1 skyraider

1 note · View note

perfectirishgifts · 4 years ago

Text

Chuck Yeager Remembered: Crazy Stories From A Supersonic Life

New Post has been published on https://perfectirishgifts.com/chuck-yeager-remembered-crazy-stories-from-a-supersonic-life/

Chuck Yeager Remembered: Crazy Stories From A Supersonic Life

(Original Caption) 1949-Captain Charles Yaeger besides Bell X-1 after first powered take off of … [] supersonic plane.

Aviation legend Charles “Chuck” Yeager passed away Monday evening in a hospital in Los Angeles.

The retired U.S. Air Force brigadier general is perhaps best remembered as the first man to have broken the sound barrier, a feat that he accomplished piloting a bright orange Bell X-1 rocket plane on October 14, 1947.

His portrayal by actor Sam Shepard in the 1983 film The Right Stuff, based on the novel by the same name by Tom Wolfe, cemented his status as a pop culture legend. (Yeager himself had a cameo as a bartender in the film—appropriate as he was by his own account a hard partier.)

However, Yeager’s adventures—and misadventures—went far beyond those deservedly famous episodes.

Yeager could have starred in his own “Behind Enemy Lines” film

Born in 1923, Yeager grew up in rural West Virginia. Enlisting in the U.S. Army Air Force two months prior to the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor, he moved up from mechanic to flight training partially on account of his unusually good 20/10 eyesight.

Overcoming an initial bout of air sickness, Yeager soon demonstrated natural aptitude for flying. He started his fighter pilot career in the sleek P-39 Airacobra, one of which tried to kill him in November 1943 when its rear-mounted engine combusted. Yeager bailed out, but injured his back.

He finally saw combat early in 1944 flying a P-51 Mustang with the 363rd Fighter Squadron based in Leiston, England. The Mustang was exceptionally fast and maneuverable, and, when equipped with extra fuel tanks, it had the range to accompany strategic bombers all the way to Germany.

North American P-51B Mustang (Photo by © CORBIS/Corbis via Getty Images)

Yeager named his P-51B “Glamourous Glen” after fiancée Glennis Faye Dickhouse, a California girl. But on his seventh combat mission, and a day after Yeager shot down his first enemy fighter over Berlin, cannon fire from a German Fw-190 fighter severed Glen’s elevator cables over Bordeaux, France.

Yeager parachuted into a pine forest to evade capture, managed to contact French Resistance fighters, and basically joined their ranks in a support role for several weeks, helping them make bombs to blow up bridges. Once the weather had improved, he finally embarked with a bailed-out bomber navigator on a lengthy trek across the Pyrenees mountains towards neutral Spain.

At one point he escaped a German patrol by sliding down a mountain on an improvised log slide. Then he carried the injured navigator up a mountain and performed field-surgery with a pen-knife, amputating a leg. Though Yeager later had to leave his comrade near a road, he was rescued and survived the war.

Meanwhile, Yeager surrendered to Spanish authorities. After a stint “imprisoned” in a luxurious hotel, was repatriated back to England. You can see Yeager’s official reports on his escape here.

Yeager actually named at least four different airplanes after his wartime sweetheart

Normally escaped pilots weren’t allowed to return to combat duty. Undeterred, Yeager successfully petitioned General Eisenhower in person to return to combat duty—dodging a Nazi V-1 cruise missile strike just before the meeting—and promptly named his new P-51C fighter Glamorous Glen II.

Yeager with his second Mustang, the P-51C Glamorous Glen II.

But Glen II was soon replaced by an improved P-51D named Glamorous Glen III. This featured a bubble canopy for better visibility, and beefed up armament from four to six .50 caliber machineguns. We’ll return to Glen III in a moment.

Chuck Yeager’s third Mustang fighter, the P-51D Glamorous Glen III. Note the underwing extra fuel … [] tanks and the 12 kill markings under the canopy.

After flying his last combat mission in January 1945, Yeager married Glennis in February. Then he went on to name the supersonic X-1 rocket plane after her as well, this time using her full name (“Glamorous Glennis”). The couple had four children and remained together until her death from cancer in 1990.

Captain Charles E Yeager standing next to the Air Force’s Bell X-1 supersonic research aircraft, … [] Muroc Army Air Force Base, California, October 1947. Yeager named it the Glamorous Glennis after his wife. He became the first man to fly faster than the speed of sound on October 14, 1947. (Photo by Underwood Archives/Getty Images)

In 1997 and 2002, Yeager also flew at supersonic speeds in F-15 Eagles named Glamorous Glennis in tribute to his X-1, although whether those count as his airplanes is debatable.

10/14/97.Edwards Airforce base, California, 50 years ago on 14th October 1947 Chuck Yeager broke the … [] sound barrier, now 50 years later to the minute Brig.Gen Chuck Yeager breaks it again an F 15

He became an ace in a day—and downed two German fighters without even shooting

Technically, a fighter “ace” refers to a pilot who has shot down at least five enemy aircraft in aerial combat. Only a minority of wartime pilots shoot down even one enemy airplane, let alone become an ace. But Yeager belonged to an even more exclusive club—he’s one of a few combat pilots to have become an ace in a single combat mission.

On October 12, 1944, he was flying Glen III as a free-ranging escort for a bomber squadron attacking Bremen when he spotted 22 German Me-109 fighters at a distance. Obscured by the glare of the sun, Yeager maneuvered his squadron into a chase position behind the unsuspecting German fighters.

(GERMANY OUT) World War II A Me 109 fighter plane of the German air force in flight – without … [] further details – around 1941 – Photographer: ullstein – Sobotta – (Photo by Sobotta/ullstein bild via Getty Images)

Yeager’s squadron had closed within 1,000 yards when the German pilots realized their predicament—and freaked out. One of the startled German rolled over and collided with his wingman, forcing both pilots to parachute out before anyone had even opened fire!

The West Virginian then continued his tear as described in his combat report:

I dropped my tanks and then closed up to the last Jerry and opened fire from 600 yards, using the K-14 sight. I observed strikes all over the ship, particularly heavy in the cockpit. He skidded off to the left. I was closing up on another Me. 109 so I did not follow him down. Lt. STERN, flying in Blue Flight reports this E/A on fire as it passed him and went into a spin.

I closed up on the next Me. 109 to 100 yards, skidded to the right and took a deflection shot of about 10°. I gave about a 2 second burst and the whole fuselage split open and blew up after we passed.

Another Me. 109 to the right had cut his throttle and was trying to get behind. I broke to the right and quickly rolled to the left on his tail…I got a lead from around 300 yards and gave him a short burst. There were hits on wings and tail section He snapped to the right 3 times and bailed out at around 18,000 feet…

Yeager attributed his success to a newly installed K-14 gyro-computing gunsight, which adjusted for the lead on a target based on an estimated range dialed in by the pilot. He concluded:

I claim Five Me. 109s destroyed. Ammunition Expended: 587 rounds .50 cal MG.

That was less than third of the typical ammunition loadout on a P-51D.

Yeager nearly repeated his ace-in-a-day feat in a November air battle in which he downed four more formidable Fw-190 fighters.

His final kill was scored against a superior Me-262 jet fighter. After narrowly dodging its powerful cannons, he swooped down on the much faster jet as it was attempting to land.

He had complicated feelings about his World War II service.

Over the course of 61 combat missions Yeager was credited with 12.5 air-to-air kills. But Yeager later wrote that he wasn’t proud of all aspects of his combat career, citing how his squadron was assigned to strafe “anything that moved” over a 50×50 mile sector in Germany to “demoralize the population.” He wrote in his autobiography:

“In war, the military will seldom hesitate to hit civilians if they are in the way, or to target them purposely for various strategic reasons… I’m certainly not proud of that particular strafing mission against civilians. But it is there, on the record and in my memory.”

Yeager broke the sound barrier with broken ribs

Two days before his scheduled supersonic flight in 1947, Yeager was riding a horse with his wife at night when he was tossed off and broke two ribs. Fearing his record-breaking flight would be canceled, he had a civilian doctor tape the ribs and did not inform his superiors. Still in pain on the day of his flight, his injury forced him to rely on a jury-rigged broom handle to seal the cockpit canopy.

Yeager wasn’t just a fighter pilot—he flew jet bombers over Vietnam

Between 1966 and 1968, Yeager commanded the 405th Fighter Wing, composed of five squadrons based in Taiwan, Thailand, The Philippines and Vietnam. These flew a diverse mix of aircraft. During that period, he went out of his way to log additional hours of combat flying time by joining the crews of B-57 Canberra jet bombers based in Phan Rang, Vietnam. The B-57s flew light attack missions targeting Viet Cong forces in South Vietnam.

A twin-jet B-57B light bomber.

Yeager later commanded the 4th Tactical Fighter Wing—an F-4 Phantom jet fighter unit—that was deployed to South Korea during the USS Pueblo crisis. He frequently flew down to Vietnam in his Phantom to visit his son, then serving in the U.S. Army.

He claimed a head-of-state ordered a hit on his personal airplane

Yeager could be a difficult personality at times—unsparing in his criticism and litigious later in life. And then there was the time he was convinced Indira Gandhi personally had it in for his personal light plane.

In the early 1970s President Nixon sought to deepen U.S. assistance to Pakistan as part of his secret campaign to create a diplomatic connection with China. At the request of the U.S. ambassador, Yeager was dispatched to Pakistan to advise its Air Force between 1971 and 1973—and promptly found himself in yet another shooting war.

On December 3, 1971, Pakistani jets launched a preemptive strike on Indian airbases due to an escalating conflict over the status of then-East Pakistan (modern Bangladesh). The Indian Air Force launched counter-strikes, including one targeting an airport near Islamabad on December 5.

A Hawker Hunter jet from IAF No. 20 squadron blew up Yeager’s Beech Queen Air twin-engine light plane on the tarmac. In a fiery meeting with his colleagues at the embassy, Yeager blamed Gandhi for the attack. He later wrote in his autobiography the attack was “…the Indian way of giving Uncle Sam the finger.”

Indian Prime Minister Indira Gandhi confers with President Nixon at the White House.

In fact, the Pakistani Air Force had evacuated its fighters from Islamabad airport prior to launching its attack—meaning that Yeager’s Beech Queen and a U.N. transport plane were likely the only targets the IAF pilot could find to attack.

He was a technical consultant on an acclaimed air combat video game.

In the 1980s most air combat videogames (*ahem* air combat simulators), like the excellent Their Finest Hour by Lucas Arts, used two-dimensional images for graphics.

Yeager, however, served as a technical consultant with future videogame behemoth Electronic Arts EA to produce Chuck Yeager’s Air Combat covering air battles in World War II, Korea and Vietnam.

And the action all played out in chunky, un-textured but oh-so-three-dimensional polygons.

View from cockpit of an Fw-190 fighter striking a B-17 bomber in Chuck Yeager’s Air Combat.

What really made Air Combat so great was its emphasis on leveraging the characteristics of the various planes. A digitized Yeager would explain the historical context of various battles, which tactics to use against various aircraft matchups, and even shout advice mid-mission and chew you out if you failed. This was a dream come true for the 9-year-old author.

Comparison of the capabilities of the P-51D and Fw-190A fighter.

You can actually play the game for free in your browser to appreciate the state-of-the-art graphics, circa 1991.

He kept on flying supersonic aircraft at an age most people are comfortably installed in a retirement home.

On October 14, 2012, the 65th anniversary of his famous supersonic flight, Yeager flew to supersonic speeds a final time in the backseat of an F-15D fighter over the Mojave Desert. He was 89 years old at the time.

From Aerospace & Defense in Perfectirishgifts

0 notes

gunzlotzofgunz · 5 years ago

Photo

C-1 Emergency Survival Sustenance Vest

14 pockets (empty). One size fits all with fastening ties on the back. Made by AIRCRAFT APPLIANCE CORPORATION. Each pocket's flap is stamped with the contents (compass, rations, knife, etc...). These vests have been issued from WWII to Vietnam, including Korear where some Navy and USMC pilots used tem.

0 notes

aceb133 · 8 years ago

Text

Wholesome Week 2, Day 6: The Battle for Firebase Mewni

...This is what you guys had in mind for this prompt, right? Right???

July 15th, 1968 Kon Tum Province, South Vietnam 1143 Local

Just five more minutes, Captain Steve “Pony Head” Slate thought. Five more minutes until he gave up waiting and flew off without her.

He checked his fuel gauge, his heart sinking into his stomach. He’d been circling this god-forsaken patch of jungle in his Air America Huey for nearly fifteen minutes now, and he was giving up hope his pickup would ever arrive. He grimaced as he scanned the treetops, knowing he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he left her behind-but if he didn’t act soon, he wouldn’t have a choice.

Beside him, his co-pilot, Lt. Tad Kelly, tapped the controls and hummed nervously. “You sure these are the right coordinates, Pony Head?”

“Well, they came straight from Ruberiot at the Castle, and he’s usually pretty accurate.” Slate said. “But then again, it’s the Agency, so I figure we’ve got about a 50/50 chance.”

He sighed. “I’ll give her a couple more minutes, then-“

“Hold on, I’ve got a visual on smoke!” Kelly shouted. Turning, Slate saw a thin column of red smoke rising from the jungle, and he felt an immense wave of relief. Tipping the helicopter forward, he dropped down into the clearing that had been designated by the LZ, and hovered over the grass.

A second later, a figure darted out from behind the trees and climbed on board, banging the roof. “Let’s go!”

Slate didn’t need the invitation, dipping the controls forward and leaning on the throttle. The Huey quickly leapt into the air in response, rising above the treetops and leaving the jungle behind.

Slate smiled as he turned and stole a glance at his passenger. Everything about her-from her heart-shaped tattoos on her cheeks, to her long blond hair tucked under her helmet, to the decorated purple and star-emblazoned CAR-15 she held, screamed the opposite of CIA operative. But if there was one thing Slate knew about Captain Star Butterfly, codenamed PRINCESS, it was never to underestimate her.

“Good to see you again, Princess!” Slate shouted over the roar of the rotors. “Mind telling us what’s going on?”

“Call me Princess again and I’ll toss you from this ‘chopper,” Star said, smirking. “But… ah, the hell with it, I’m gonna get right down to it: we’re going to Firebase Mewni.”

“Firebase Mewni?” Kelly asked. “Why the hell are we heading out there?”

“Ask Colonel Moon, they’re the one that recalled me.” Star replied. “The only information I have is that they expect an imminent attack by VC forces. Turns out Kẹo Bơ Cứng might be back.”

“Bơ Cứng?” Slate said incredulously, turning back to Star. “I thought you took him out back in Operation CASTLE. Isn’t Ludo the one in command of forces in that area now?”

Star shook her head. “Whatever we did, it wasn’t enough. Reports are scattered, but we received word from local agent BUFF FROG that Bơ Cứng’s subsumed Ludo’s leadership. At this point, all we can do is hope to get there first.”

Slate nodded. “Well don’t worry, we’re bookin’ it as fast as we can manage. Should we expect any friendly assets?”

“Major Johansen’s in command there, he should be shoring up their defenses as we speak.” Star said. “I’ve also got word from General Quỷ Sa Tăng that he’s personally driving in an entire mechanized battalion of ARVN, though lord knows if they’ll get there in time to help.”

Slate nodded. “What about that army captain you were working with, that Diaz guy? You think he might be able to provide any support?”

Star was silent for a moment in the back of the helicopter. “…I don’t think so,” she finally said.

Slate shook his head angrily for a moment, but decided to let the matter drop. He’d seen how Butterfly had looked at Diaz, in a way that she didn’t look at anybody else-and he’d seen how her heart had been broken when it turned out the good Captain already had a girl back home. But he knew Butterfly wasn’t the kind of woman who would put any man ahead of the mission. If she said Diaz and his company were in no position to assist, he believed her.

For the next twenty minutes, the trio sat in silence as the Huey raced over the green jungles and rolling hills of the Vietmanese highlands. It was at times like these, Slate thought, that you could almost trick yourself into thinking the nation wasn’t at war-and that if he’d wished, he could simply land the helicopter and lose himself in the tremendous natural beauty that surrounded them.

But, as he spied the contrails of a flight of B-52 bombers high above, he shook his head sadly. Though fantasy was one of the only escapes men like him had from the war, even daydreams had their limits.

“We’ve got about five minutes before we reach the base.” Kelly reported. Slate nodded, and, squinting, spied the firebase approaching over the horizon. Situated on one of the highest hills in the area, Firebase Mewni had been built above an old Vietmanese hamlet from which it had gotten its bastardized name. Under the dual command of Major River Johansen of the US Army’s 4th Infantry Division and Colonel Moon of the CIA, the base served as an Agency stronghold in the area for incursions into Cambodian and Laotian territory to disrupt Viet Cong operations. One of the most important outposts in the region, it had been attacked by both the NVA and the Viet Cong repeatedly before-but it had held each time, if only barely.

“Looks like the fighting’s already begun.” Kelly said, raising a hand to his helmet. In the distance, Slate was able to spy the distant flashes of artillery, and the occasional string of tracers.

“I think you’re right.” Slate said. “Okay, Star, this looks like it’s going to be a hot drop. I’m gonna need you to-“

Without warning, the jungle below them exploded with fire. The helicopter shuddered as a string of tracers chewed through the thin armor plating, and a series of warning lights immediately began to glow on the dashboard.

Gripping the controls, Slate watched helplessly as the oil pressure in his engine began to drop. “Come on, baby,” he whispered, “Just a little bit more. We just gotta go a bit farther.”

It was no use. The helicopter shuddered as the engine began to die, and the treetops of the jungle began to edge closer and closer.

“Hold on!” Slate shouted. “Brace for im-“

----------

Star groaned as she slowly drifted back into consciousness. For a moment, she thought she was back at Camp Echo, back with Marco, about to go on patrol…

Then, she remembered where she was, and her mind jolted back to the realm of the living.

Scrambling to stand up, she evaluated the situation as quickly as she could. She was on the edge of a wide jungle clearing, only a dozen yards away from the smoking hulk that had once been an Air America liveried Bell Model 204B. Miraculously, not only had Star survived the crash, but though her entire body hurt like hell, and her head felt as though someone had smacked her in the head with a frying pan, she hadn’t been seriously injured. Her ‘wand’, however, a specially modified CAR-15 that had been given to her personally by Colonel Moon, was nowhere to be found.

Unholstering and drawing her pistol, Star crept forward to the wreckage of the helicopter. The cartoon horse head painted on the door grinned at her as she approached, stained with dripping fuel, and Star held her breath as she got a closer look at the man in the pilot’s seat. That’s a lot of blood…

Miraculously, however, he, too, was still breathing-though as Star got closer, Star could tell that unlike her, he hadn’t managed to entirely avoid the hand of fate. Part of the helicopter’s control panel had been crushed inwards by the impact, and Slate’s left leg had been almost entirely severed above the knee.

“Princess?” Slate said groggily. “Is that you?”

“Quiet, Pony Head.” Star hissed. “You’ve lost a lot of blood. Now come on, let’s get you out of there.”

Using her knife, Star slashed Slate’s restraints, and pulled him from the cockpit, trying not to look at where the wreckage had shorn through his leg. Laying him down against a nearby tree, she tore a strip of cloth from his shredded pants and used it to tie a tourniquet around his leg, praying he hadn’t lost as much blood as she believed he had.

“I should’ve stayed in the *cough* First Cav.” Slate said wearily. “Say, where’d Kelly? He make it out?”

Star ran back over to the helicopter and tried to see if she could spot Slate’s co-pilot. But, aside from the helmet he’d been wearing, a foliage-patterned infantry helmet with a pair of large googly eyes pasted to it, she could see no sign of him.

Suddenly, she heard a branch break.

Whipping around, she leveled her pistol at the jungle, her eyes darting all around as she tried to determine the source of the noise. It had been close-too close, and she didn’t believe in coincidences. Someone was here, and the only question was who would find the other first.

Biting her lip, Star looked back at the wounded Slate. Had she been by herself, the obvious solution would have been to run. As tough a fighter as she was, she knew the key to staying alive was fighting battles only on the ground she chose-and against an unknown number of enemies, in an area she knew nothing about, she wouldn’t have given herself good odds.

But, looking back at Slate, she knew she couldn’t leave a man behind.

Creeping backwards, she slowly disappeared into the foliage and dropped down to the ground. Cradling her pistol, she wondered if the helicopter’s radio still worked, and if it would be possible to call for help-but then, as a pair of Vietnamese guerillas appeared out of the jungle in front of her, she knew it was too late.

Breathing as softly as she could, Star watched the two approach the smoking wreck of the helicopter slowly, keeping their rifles raised. By the way they moved, Star could tell they were no peasant conscripts. These were veteran fighters, men who had undoubtedly spent years-possibly even decades-fighting to free their country. If she didn’t play this just right, Star knew, she and Slate were as good as dead.

As they approached the helicopter, one of them suddenly swung around and pointed his rifle in Slate’s direction. Tapping his comrade, he slowly moved forward, keeping his rifle trained on Slate’s body. The other kept his rifle up and slowly scanned the jungle around them, looking for any more survivors of the crash.

Star stayed as still as she possibly could, watching the Vietnamese soldier scan the underbrush. It was only a matter of time before he spotted her, she knew. What she needed was a distraction…

As carefully as she could, she reached into her pocket and pulled out her lighter. It was a classic Zippo, emblazoned with a little cartoon of a spider in a top hat. She smiled briefly as she held it, remembering how it had been a gift from Marco from shortly after she’d arrived at Camp Echo.

Then, lighting it, she lofted it as hard as she could at the helicopter, praying desperately that neither VC would see or hear the motion before the lighter could reach its target.

With a loud CLANG, the lighter knocked against the battered frame of the Huey. A second later, there was a bloom of fire as the lighter ignited the leaking avgas. Startled, both guerillas shouted in Vietnamese as the helicopter burst into flame, and that was all the opening Star needed. Leaping up out of the foliage, she fired her pistol at the first Guerilla, placing two shots directly into his back and sending him crashing to the ground. Shifting targets, she pulled the trigger again-only to be rewarded with a light click. Desperately, she tossed the weapon directly at the turning guerilla, distracting him momentarily as he leaned to dodge the improvised weapon. For Star, it was just enough-closing the distance, she grabbed the VC and tackled him to the ground, trying to wrestle his rifle from his grip. He had the strength, but she had the leverage-and, pushing her weight into the rifle, she was able to twist it away from the man. Before he could react, she flipped it around, found the trigger, and shot him twice.

Breathing heavily, she stood up, scanning the jungle once more. Then, to her horror, she saw a dozen figures emerging from the jungle on the opposite end of the clearing, their weapons raised. As soon as they saw her, they began firing, and Star had to scramble to run back to the treeline without getting hit. Falling to the ground, Star aimed the rifle and fired a trio of shots back at the approaching enemy squad. She knew, however, it was no use-there wasn’t enough ammo to take them all out, and even if there had been, there were a dozen of them, and only one of her.

Then, she heard the sound of rotors above the gunfire.

Out of nowhere, a Cobra attack helicopter flew out over the clearing, its chin-mounted gun blazing. Spinning around, the helicopter began to hover only a few dozen feet from Star, close enough for her to read the pilot’s names emblazoned on the cockpit-Dolittle and O’Durguson.

Across the clearing, the VC infantry rapidly began to retreat, firing sporadically at the attacking gunship. Then, a trio of Huey helicopters flew over the clearing, and one-proudly emblazoned with the screaming eagle of the 101st Airborne-dropped down, landing just a few yards away from the burning crash site.

Star stood up slowly, not believing her eyes as Captain Marco Diaz leapt out of the helicopter, his own rifle in hand. “Star? Is that you?”

“Marco!” Star shouted. “What the hell are you doing here? I thought your unit was rotating home!”

“After you left, we got word Firebase Mewni was under attack.” Marco replied. “We were about ten minutes from getting our flight home, but… I knew you’d be here, and I knew you’d need the help. I talked to everyone, and to a man, everyone volunteered to come back and help you fight.”

Star breathed in deeply, not believing what she was hearing. “Well, you sure came at a good time, Captain. I don’t know what the situation is at the base, but we would’ve been done for if you hadn’t shown up.” She turned to Slate, who groggily gave both of them a thumbs-up. “Can you get a Medevac up here?”

“It’s already on its way.” Marco replied. “Now climb aboard, we need to get back to the firebase before Bơ Cứng hits it again. Whatever he’s planning, we have to stop it.”

Nodding, Star marched up to the helicopter. Just as she stepped aboard, Marco spotted something against the ground, and picked it up. “Say, I believe this is yours.”

“I think you’re right.” Star said, gladly accepting her rifle from Marco. The purple bandanna wrapped around the stock had ripped, and the broken star was covered in dirt, but it looked to still be in working order.

“Alright,” she said, strapping herself in and banging her hand against the roof. “Let’s fly.”

#wholesomeweek2 #star vs the forces of evil #svtfoe #incredibly dumb #I wasn't even going to write anything for today and then 'Gimmie Shelter' popped up when I was listening to my phone and welp #fanfic #Marco Diaz

17 notes · View notes

knives-deal · 6 years ago

Photo

The Essential Features of the Rambo Survival Knife

The design of the Rambo knife is based on the survival knives that were used in the era of the Vietnam War. The idea behind designing knives similar to the Rambo survival knife was that it could be carried by the pilots; in case, their planes crashed or went down due to some failure, the pilots could use the survival knife for cutting off the seatbelts and getting out of their planes.

Read: http://bit.ly/2B87H0F

#Rambo Survival Knife #Survival Knife

0 notes

livingwellworld · 5 years ago

Text

Vintage Vietnam War Era USAF Pilot's Survival Knife Marked Ontario 1-1973 Check it out $25.00 https://ebay.to/2MrnI6w

0 notes

a-writer-and-musician-words · 5 years ago

Text

11/30/18, 2:41 PM

THE HEAVY-HANDED CLINICIAN BY TIMOTHY JOSEPH GEISINGER

In a place far beyond the outer reaches of my memories, I grasped no uncertain realities: the thin-bearded, heavy-handed clinician, over the innumerable years, had done his best to kill me. In the year 1968 when the Vietnam conflict as it was dubbed burned grooves of pain and loss into my synapses. The synapses fired less often during that tragic year. Many young, heroic men sacrificed their lives for a cause that the common army soldier failed to comprehend. The D.C. Hawks composed top secret documents and used a variety of colored chalk lines on forest green chalkboards one after the other to strategize, to deploy troops and to hopefully win an unbeatable guerilla warfare far from the states, far from home. Young wives expected their newlywed husband and often newly minted father to return soon enough, after having given everything for the US patriotic cause; to rush laughingly with a great sense of relief into their waiting arms and to scoop up off the stony earth their never forgotten son, or daughter, their young family practically swooning over their homemade hero back from the overseas war. It didn’t work that way though, not exactly. The twenty somethings who were often the grunts, the privates, the guys who were assigned KP, peeling bag after bag of Idaho russet potatoes while cursing the upper echelon that brought him to a degraded part of a foreign land muttering that “This damn place is the worst, so f-In unfair.

Unjust.” Maybe the young husband and dad to Hillary and Frank, maybe he wasn’t far off. It was an unjust war, wasn’t it? The D.C. Hawks, they held all the cards and close to their vest at that! They were the old, entrenched men who sacrificed little, standing pointing and drawing on blackboards, deploying troops here and there, to take a bloody hill, or else maybe to charge a hidden enemy encampment, or else to retreat, hopefully to safety. Not always.

What was safe about being shot at by sniper fire from Chinese exported AK47s with seemingly endless ammunition control and a little boy or girl who sobbing walks easily into the midst of the longing men, who are safely behind their own lines; yet the little foreign kid has a live grenade tucked neatly in the elastic band of their cotton underwear? Seemed like an innocent kid, just needed some help. Maybe I should have been more loving. Maybe we shouldn’t trust any of the Viet Cong people. After all, we’re the invaders. This is their homeland. What right do we have to be here? Miranda, my wife, older by five years, and a baby on the way, me longing for hearth and home, barely out of Basic. I need her. And I love her. The really important thing, though, is that I know she loves me and we love baby on the way. I wanted to name her Zoe; that is if she’s a girl and Zak if he’s a boy. She wants to name her Molly, kind of because her name also begins with the letter M. But also because of our shared child’s song, a made famous Irish melody: “Cockles and Mussels” (Molly Malone). Both of us, though we didn’t meet until being in the same English essays class at the local community college, loved that song. Yet, we loved the song in a unique way; almost as unique as if we are snowflakes, not accumulated snowfalls. Miranda told me, actually, she sung Molly Malone to me, sonorous alto vocal but upbeat, in my elder parents’ living room in Kent, Washington; though we had moved there only for a short while when I was two because my dad was offered a position as an apprentice mechanical drafter for a start-up called THE LAY-OUT. Miranda has the kind of singing voice that even thousands of miles of separation I can hear as if we again are in my parents’ living room on that fated afternoon.

“Miranda, play the song again. I want to sing it with you,” I said. “You knew the song?” She looked wistfully at my clear blue eyes.

“Yeah. I’m surprised you never knew that. I can’t play guitar like you, but I can keep a melody.” I almost nudged her free shoulder in ply.

“I don’t doubt that. Okay.” Then she strummed the first guitar chord and we sang. Miranda and I and now the baby inside her womb. We are singing a song, a duet. We are singing of our shared love, about being newlyweds, about being the lovebirds others have rightfully called us, of our future together, of the eventual birth of Zoe, Zak or Molly or Mark John, or whomever he would be. We were hopefully going to know…together, hand clasped in hand, lips locked mouth to mouth. Resuscitated. Life gifted to dry dead bones. But, now. Damn.

Miranda I cried. I miss you. I am kissing your waiting mouth, pouty pink, swollen lips. I am tightly holding onto your hand because…I think I may never get back, back to you, back to our unborn child, back to the United States of America, back to the life we are destined to share together. As it is written in the legal marriage decree: “Till death do we part. Never leave nor forsake you. I promise Miranda to love and to hold you…” Oh God, why? I know it was me, maybe it was all me. I was the one who wanted to fight for the safety of the Chinese threat upon These Our United States of America. What if, just as in December 1941, the Japanese kamikaze pilots bombed the unsuspecting aircraft carriers and the defenseless Honolulu medical facilities because they could – sent by the Japanese Emperor Hiro, himself, as a formidable military invasion the likes that no one has experience so horrifically since? That was my overwhelming concern; for the lives of my wife and our unborn child, but also for the security of our vulnerable nation. Really, I don’t like that I am an idealist. I want to be practically minded like a business executive bent on amassing wealth and securities for the company he works for yet secretly desires to one day overtake the whole operation, become the new CEO, own more than fifty percent of the company’s shareholdings and expand, expand far into his stocks-controlled company, newly renamed to fit his agenda, and to make room for his ascendancy. Just like a monarch ruling in the 13th century, replete with a court jester (who could have been me) and nobles, feudal lords, thin, beautiful maidens, plenty of cows, several Bantam roosters, and more animals than even he wanted to number. Horses to ride as freely as he saw fit across the wide expanse which was from the royal stables to the outer lands, all under his watchful eye; the nearby smaller, conquered kingdoms making tribute. I digress.

I am an idealist, but I’m not hopeful. My nearest and dearest friend, the one who helped me through the obstacles course, I couldn’t have even graduated without his constant help and his care toward what then was only another soldier in Basic training, at dusk last night was shot clean through his Adam’s apple. Ironic. I don’t say curse words, not usually, but Shit! Alvin Yeltser is worm food. I know I’m being a bit graphic, but so is war. All wars are graphic in nature, not for little eyes and ears...that is, unless the little eyes and ears are attached to the kids who uncontrollably sob, finding an easy way into the base camp, where we all are relaxed, some of us smoking a Marlboro straight, some of us shooting the shit. And then, before anyone is able to prevent the tragic thing you can hear in the silent overly humidity in view of a green grove of bushes and trees overgrown and waiting like an African tiger to pounce on an unsuspecting weary, old, gray elephant getting a drink of water at the local watering hole. You can hear a pin drop! BAM.

The surviving company, a hodge-podge of army green canvas shirts and pants, that’s all any of us are over here, a bunch of selected numbers – by the D.C. Hawks, we, me included are on pickup duty. It was worse, way worse than scrubbing dirty potatoes and slicing them by hand using our army knife. Way more disgusting! Who in their right mind would volunteer for this kind of essential duty? I have never fully been in my right mind. I used to see a thin- bearded male, the one who I call the heavy-handed clinician. It was he who suggested I complete the many self-assessments, various personality and IQ tests, a whole battery of them. Yet it was also he that strongly suggested I am slightly off my rocker. He threw the clinical psychiatric diagnosis straight in my face. The three connecting words which would define most of the following years to today felt like shell shock. “I believe you have what we in the field call Schizo-affective disorder.” I wondered, what the hell is that? Dr. Cavanaugh went on to explain as if he heard my thoughts. “You have some separation from reality, perhaps because of the effects of trauma or perhaps from your parents’ genes, perhaps a combination of both.” I interrupted his next words. “If that’s the schizo- part, than what does ‘affective’ mean?” He smiled weak and wan and said, “I was getting to that. Affective for you means that you have Bipolar I as opposed-” I was growing uneasy. “As opposed to what, Dr. Cavanaugh?”

“As opposed to Bipolar II,” he finished the sentence. Then he stared at my face searching for a connection with my downcast eyes. The tan rug seemed to swallow me up in my fear.

“Reggie. I will help you overcome this illness if I am able. I will at the very least help you to manage its symptoms.”

“So what are the symptoms?”

“Like I began to say, the schizoid tendencies you seem to have lead you to believe what is false is real and perhaps what is real is false. Your grip on reality is not tight and mostly unshakeable like most people. This may have been caused by the extensive physical, sexual, verbal and other emotional abuse you received as a young child, you told me about, that originated with your family, mostly at the hand of your parents. The Bipolar I also known as manic-depressive illness “mixed states” is a tough one. Sometimes your illness will appear very much like Attention Deficit Disorder or ADHD and sometimes you feel as though you are on the Top of The World – you’ll start many exciting, evocative creative projects but you will get distracted and hardly ever be able to finish anything you have begun; whether a short poem, a story or the lyrics of a love song that Miranda would desperately like to hear, the Siren Song will almost always capture you and unfortunately, destroy the very essence of you; that is, unless you take the prescription for medicine I am writing down for you. Here. Any comments, questions or concerns, Reggie?”

“I don’t know anything about Lithium, or this other one, Navane – what are they exactly?”

“The Lithium is meant to be taken to control your rollercoaster-like mood swings. The Navane will help you to focus on the important things in life; not to be distracted by every enticing offer; to help you have a symptom management tool. Really, that’s all Lithium and Navane the neuroleptic are.”

That was the first time I had heard the word ‘neuroleptic.’ Instead of asking Dr. Cavanaugh its meaning I engendered an educated guess. I thought the “neuro” is defined as the brain like in neurology, the study of the brain. I guessed that –leptic like the word epileptic meant seizure, but I was puzzled as to how a “brain seizure” was going to help me manage or overcome my schizo-affective disorder symptoms.

I was to hear the fateful word Schizoaffective; not only that poisoned idolatrous, highly misunderstood and over used word, but Paranoid Schizophrenic, Narcissicism, BiPolar Classic 1 with psychotic features? Really, what? How can a mental illness, disorder, malady, dysfunction, set of character defects, have to do anything with a good thing like “features?” Who is the crazy one then. Maybe the psychiatric-medicine-prescribing CNP or psychiatrist? Maybe they are the ones who’s has a head that needs to be examined.

No doctor even seemed to pick up on the obvious: I am a survivor of guerilla warfare! I am one paranoid son of a “B”. I crouch at the sudden noises all around me. I hit the spring grown grass lawn or the stony ground so D’m’ed easily I am used to lying down on the job; so used to seeing life from a lower point of view as if I might be a dog. Oh, I am. A war dog, hence the dog tags hanging around my neck. The last ID in the theater, to be picked off so easily just like my war buddy recently killed, stricken to death by a clean shot driven through his young man’s Adam’s apple. !968. A sucky year. The year of my eventual demise. the lost year as I would come to know it as.

1968. The Lost Year in a Lifetime of Years.

My wife thinks I may be crazy, more crazy than the effects of PTSD from motherly neglect and fatherly hitting and punching. Why do you think I went into the army in the first place; it wasn't for my better health. I joined the army to get away from my parents. The only thing is I went deep into a worser situation. I can barely make sense of the war. Why am I here fighting a people I don't understand, who peek in and out of the bushes with a sniper rifle butt. And continually use little girls and boys to blow my buddies to kingdom come. I'm having a hard time acclimating to civililian life. I can't understand beyond the war. So many good guys have died. The whole thing troubles me.The Congs some not so nice guys call em gooks - they're not to blame. We were the invaders, attempting to overtake them in their home territory. They weren't kind. But war is hell: flame throwers, sniper shots to the head, grenade pins dropped unaware. There weren't jet strafing except by the US; but their was warfare on the ground that was nearly matchless. The pain inflicted on the US ground forces was not to be overestimated. The misery of head wounds and exploded limbs unparalleled.

I want Miranda but she is slipping from my grasp. She told me she doesn’t want to deal with my head wounds anymore. I tell her I was never shot in the head. She says, “That’s not what I mean. You are so broken. You can’t even forgive your Mom and Dad. Reggie, they did the best they could. I know you’ve heard that so many times but it’s true. I never meant to cause you harm. They didn’t either. You need to forgive them their inadequacies, for every mistake they ever made raising you, or, I won’t be with you. Your unforgiving attitude of them is a poison I won’t put up with.” I cried, “Miranda, hon’ I will get over the pain. Some day. The war killed me. It killed us.” Miranda faced me then as fully as she could, with enough tears in her eyes, to start a small river. “The war killed us.” The recognition of the fact made my head swim. Tears flowed and I looked over at Zoe who was shaking a plastic rattle while she stood braced up against the side of the foldable crib. “Zoe,” I murmured. I knew Miranda was going to leave me and that she would gain full custody of Zoe was likely too. After all I was a mess. Miranda was the sane one. She had the full time job. She owned the condominium. She paid for our only vehicle, a Ford Aerostar. That she worked as an elementary education instructor meant a lot to me. I earned government disability. It’s true I should be working and taking care of Miranda and Zoe. It is no excuse, well it probably isn’t an excuse, that the Viet Nam War inflicted more than just physical wounds and there were some of those. The psychological wounds were like deafening sounds of machine gun fire.

You aren’t telling me what to think. I have to break out of the bonds I was put in. Maybe I put myself in some of my bonds too. I do feel. Like I blame myself for some of who I am today. I want to lay down and curl myself into a tight ball. I want to sleep throughout the night and into the next day and throughout the night again. I could make a sport of it.

Laughter follows the pain which melts the brain.

Inconsequential doings

Closeted fears as bullets whirr

Don’t touch me there,

It’s my private parts -

Mommy said never let a stranger near.

I don’t know why I am writing this book. I have not published anything of significance yet. This book is mostly nonfiction - memories get garbled, facts get skewed. I cannot start with the beginning though I am tempted to do so. The beginning, my beginning, was so depressing, so oppressive. How can that be? Are not the moments in the womb warm and fuzzy, loving and relaxing? Well, no, not really. My mom and dad were at odds with one another. My mom’s ‘happily ever after’ dream had been smashed by her supposed white knight in shining armor. But that’s the beginning. I want to begin the story somewhere in the middle. The days of personal anguish when a biochemical brain disease was issued forth from the cosmos or God, pulsating throughout an unsuspecting body, with a name, schizoaffective disorder. Ugh.

Climbing stealthily into the gnarled oak tree, branches splayed in several directions I felt like kid superman. My Lois Lane at my side. I may have been six but I knew then that I would love her, the girl next door, for the rest of my life. I wasn’t crazy like Anthony Padua the boy who must have thought he could fly like Superman and jumped from his Dad’s third floor tenement house, a rental he had in South Chicago.

There was almost always something nuts going on in Chicago, even then. The Valentine’s Day Massacre occurred in Chicago. Gangsters littered the streets. A big fire practically burned the whole town down. But Chicago only got worse. The big town became a place I wanted to visit but never live there. Now Shy Town is a place I wouldn’t even want to visit: gunshot soaring through the air, night and day. Kids getting knifed. Bomb threats made good in elementary schools. Just like Gotham City, The Windy City needed a superhero. I am glad that I never moved to Chicago. My parents were as afraid of the big town on the Michigan River just as much as me. Maybe they were afraid for me.

Who will be Chicago’s savior? I decided to start a superhero gym of sorts. I live in Minneapolis, a Minnesotan mid sized town hundreds of miles north of Chicago. I knew Chicago needed superheroes to save its neck or Chicago would be underwater; not only would the city get a bad reputation that it couldn’t live down, no one would want to visit it, its tall skyscrapers, its stock and exchange building, its cool Lake Michigan waters.

“Lois?”

“Clark.”

I reached across a thick branch and touched her arm. “Its about time time to come down, don’t you think?”

“Yeah I suppose.” She smiled toward me and carefully embraced the trunk, sliding part ways down.

The years have gone strongly by. The autumnal leaves dropped from upward tree branches. Icy winters after their own fashion. Springy springs with the first Robin and its delicate light blue eggshell. Summer with the whirring of gluey green grasshoppers and garden toads, green frogs and painted turtles by the reeds and the slimy rocks.

There was the usual. Barbells. Chest strengthener. Chin up stations., even a swimming pool, albeit 10 by 20.

“Miranda, where are you, my love?” “Have I been bad because I lost my temper with you and Zak.”

“Reggie, I don’t know if I can ever forgive you. I love you but from very far away. Don’t follow me. You wouldn’t know where to look anyway. Give up on an Idyllic married life. I can’t let you see the kids. You scare them. You may not mean to but all the same. We’ll love you from a distance. Again don’t chase us down. You won’t easily find us. Good-bye.”

Those are the last words I heard in Miranda’s voice coming from somewhere inside of me; yet, I know those words to be true. I need to get to the gym and workout. I think I hate myself - for what I did to the two kids more than anything else, but also for destroying my already fragile marriage. Vietnam did me no favors.

Even so, Miranda was never to be blamed, not for separating from me after I returned from Vietnam, nor feeling burned out. Mental illness will do that to you.

The devil is Faust’s unwanted friend, drilling holes into his weakening soul.

And Faust lately has been ironically on Miranda’s mind, caught up in the grey edges of her ever titular mind. Maybe because her soon to be ex-husband was lost in the etchings of the Vietnam conflict, that which almost singlehandedly destroyed him. She didn’t know that he is a super hero. He barely knew it himself.

Chicago is not easy for him or for Miranda. His psychiatrist was not easy with Zak either, but that was okay. It had to be okay. Memories of Miranda and more importantly his faith in Christ had to sustain him, empower him to save others. He couldn’t be a super hero not without his faith.

Yet thank God that Miranda left him when she did and left him - left me, where she did. Saint Paul, Minneapolis. The frigid air surrounding me in the late Fall early winter. Before the wintry bitterness sets in for those creatures who desire a longer Fall, less ice and even, less snowfall. To some Minnesota Winters could be equated with the process of dying. I am not extraordinary or am I; yet I long to help, to guide, perhaps even to push people - God’s creatures - into safety, into health.

Miranda left me! Not for another man, but for what she deemed was her sanity. The divorce was messy like a typical divorce, but only because she wanted everything, including sole possession of our kids. I won visitation rights primarily because I had a long history of PTSD coupled with schizoaffective disorder. She plain just did not trust me with our kids, to have close, unsupervised visits. What made me mad was although I wanted to be involved with Daddy daughter events and father son events the court’s decisions fell in her favour.

I wish I could be a great thinker but my brain is mush. Thank God that He still accepts me the way I am, otherwise I don’t know what I would do.

1 note · View note

silkfood8-blog · 6 years ago

Text

Pandorum: The Abridged Script

FADE IN:

INT. DARK SPACESHIP, THE FUTURE

BEN FOSTER wakes up SCREAMING HIS FUCKING BRAINS OUT BECAUSE HE ALWAYS DOES THAT YOU KNEW WHAT YOU WERE GETTING INTO. He falls out of a HIBERNATION POD, covered in SCROTUM SKIN.

BEN FOSTER

WHERE THE FUCK AM I WHO THE FUCK AM I WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON?!

He grabs a ROD and frantically BEATS the EXTERIOR DOOR but it WON’T OPEN.

BEN FOSTER

(breathes)

I’m not playing a speed-freak for once so I should calm down...

He finds a NOTICE in his LOCKER.

BEN FOSTER

“You may experience memory loss due to prolonged hypersleep and the scrotification process.”

A POWER SURGE causes DENNIS QUAID to fall out of a POD.

DENNIS QUAID

... Dafuq?

BEN FOSTER

My forearm tattoo says we’re Flight Team 5 on the spaceship Elysium. Our pods say I’m Corporal Foster and you’re my lieutenant.

DENNIS QUAID

I can’t remember where we’re going or why the word “Elysium” makes me want to punch Matt Damon...

BEN FOSTER

I only remember my comprehensive nuclear engineer training. The power surges mean the reactor’s busted.

DENNIS QUAID

We must have “Memento” amnesia so we can remember things that make no sense.

BEN FOSTER

Right? How did he even know he HAD a memory condition?

(beat)

I’m having flashbacks about my wife.

(flashes back)

I think she was a mute albino...?

DENNIS QUAID

Go reset the reactor so we can take control of the ship. I’ll stay here and do nothing; I’m surprisingly fragile.

(nose bleeds)

See?

INT. DARK AIR VENT

BEN FALLS out of the CEILING into a BOOT LOCKER.

BEN FOSTER

(over radio)

Ugh... I’m fine.

(opens door)

My neck broke my fa- AAH!

BEN steps out and FALLS another TEN FEET.

BEN FOSTER

Off to a bad start...

He opens a SECURITY LOCKER by scanning his TATTOO.

BEN FOSTER

“Non-Lethal Anti-Riot Gun.” It slips over my forearm so I can’t drop it!

(drops it)

Whoops!

DENNIS QUAID

(on radio)

Make sure you get size small. You’ve got those dainty wrists-

BEN FOSTER

(makes static sounds)

Kssh... You’re breaking up... Kssh...

(grabs medium)

BEN spots ANTJE TRAUE.

ANTJE TRAUE

(runs)

BEN FOSTER

She was probably frightened by my manliness-

ANTJE SWINGS DOWN from the CEILING and lays a SMACKDOWN on BEN.

ANTJE TRAUE

(brandishes knife)

Gimme your boots, fish!

BEN FOSTER

I just came from a boot lock- AAH!

(elbowed in face)

ANTJE hears a NOISE and DISAPPEARS BATMAN STYLE. BEN sees PEOPLE APPROACHING.

BEN FOSTER

Maybe it’s a rescue team!

(hears blood-curdling scream)

Uh... Looks like they brought torches... and spears... and avocado-shaped heads... and mouths full of... blood-

(runs)

INT. DARK CORRIDOR

BEN radios DENNIS while the VIEWERS adjusts their TV’s BRIGHTNESS SETTING.

BEN FOSTER

(whispering)

We’re fucked. This ship is crawling with crazy German chicks and aliens!

DENNIS QUAID

(normal voice)

Ridiculous! I can accept that our spaceship has perfect artificial gravity and we shave with lasers, but I draw the line at aliens!

BEN FOSTER

(whispering)

Be quiet! I’m trying to avoid detection, not show you my Matthew McConaughey impression!

DENNIS QUAID

(just as loudly)

Maybe you have Pandorum. Are your hands shaking? Palms sweaty? Knees weak? Arms spaghetti?

BEN FOSTER

(hands shake)

Pandorum? The CGI planet from that 2009 movie that drove nerds crazy or the paranoid delusion disorder from that other 2009 movie that drives space pilots crazy?

DENNIS QUAID

The second one. Several years ago, a pilot caught Pandorum so he killed his crewmates and evacuated the ship. He just pushed a button and sent thousands to die in space.

BEN FOSTER

Naturally, our ship has the same feature.

DENNIS QUAID

(shouts)

I remember our mission! We’re going to settle an Earth-like planet called Tanis!

DENNIS' STUPID VOICE attracts more AVOCADO-HEADS. BEN RUNS and loses RADIO CONTACT.

BEN FOSTER

And now to jump across this gap-

(falls through)

I’m ok! And now to run through this door-

BEN runs off a CLIFF but his FOOT catches a WIRE and he swings through ANOTHER DOOR.

BEN FOSTER

(drops gun)

Did Buster Keaton design this place?!

The A-HEADS grab the WIRE and PULL. CUNG LE swings down and CUTS it with a SPEAR.

CUNG LE

(speaking Vietnamese)

You have what my people call “ladyboy wrists.”

(hands gun back)

BEN FOSTER

(whispers)

I don’t understand.

CUNG LE

(in Vietnamese)

I don’t either, dummy.

BEN attempts to bridge the LANGUAGE BARRIER by MUMBLING and using ZERO BODY LANGUAGE.

BEN FOSTER

I'm going to fix the reactor. You stay here; I can’t imagine how a jacked martial artist could possibly help me...

(walks away)

ANTJE SWINGS DOWN and ATTACKS BEN again.

BEN FOSTER

(fights back)

Where do you fuckers keep swinging from?! I feel like a Spiderman villain!

BEN gets KICKED through a DOOR and FALLS 20 FEET.

BEN FOSTER

This is getting old...

CUNG SWINGS in and starts FIGHTING ANTJE.

CUNG LE

(in Vietnamese)

Just your friendly neighborhood Asian man!

BEN fires his GUN at the CEILING.

BEN FOSTER

(delivers speech that inspires them to work together)

CUNG LE

(momentarily understands English, apparently)

ANTJE TRAU

I’ve been awake for months and know how to find the reactor. I’m a zoologist who’s skilled in combat, gymnastics, survival, and having a hot bod because I attended the NCIS School for Female Protagonists.

BEN FOSTER

Lead the way, Ant- ... Antjuh- ... However-the-fuck-you-say-your-name!

INT. FLIGHT TEAM ROOM

DENNIS is SLEEPING. A NOISE wakes him up.

DENNIS QUAID

Who’s there, you nap-ruining fuck?!

(nose drips blood)

CAM GIGANDET reaches out through TUBES in the WALL. He is NAKED and covered in BLOOD.

CAM GIGANDET

(sobbing hysterically)

Help! I’m covered in oily tentacles!

DENNIS QUAID

(grabs hand)

What happened to you?!

CAM GIGANDET

I’m not a Japanese school girl!

(passes out)

INT. DARK CORRIDOR THAT’S VISUALLY SIMILAR TO THE PREVIOUS ONE

BEN, ANTJE, and CUNG encounter an A-HEAD CHILD.

ANTJE TRAU

They’re breeding! The A-Heads must be mutated humans that have adapted to the ship! There’s stuff in our blood that’s designed to help us adapt to Tanis.

BEN FOSTER

Do you know what this means?! That anyone who says we ripped off “Alien” has their head planted firmly up their ass!

CUNG LE

(in Vietnamese)

Suck it, critics! If anything, we ripped off “The Descent”...

(runs after CHILD)

It SHRIEKS and alerts ADULT A-HEADS. They RUN AWAY through a door and BARRICADE it. EDDIE ROUSE appears on a walkway above them.

EDDIE ROUSE

I’ve been awake for years and I’m even crazier than Antj- Auntj- you know who I mean!

BEN FOSTER

What happened here? And what’s with your gross sausage fingers?

EDDIE ROUSE

I’ll tell you in the form of a poem!

(clears throat)

Three little monkeys jumpin’ on the bed,

Found out that the Earth was dead,

One little monkey got Pandorum and killed the other monkeys and declared himself king and woke up more monkeys and forced them to cannibalize each other,

Then the little monkey went back to bed!

CUNG LE

(in Vietnamish)

That stunk so hard I can smell it. Smells like gas...

BEN, ANTJE, and CUNG pass out.

INT. FLIGHT TEAM ROOM

CAM calms down and gets dressed.

CAM GIGANDET

I‘m from Flight Team 4. My crewmates caught Pandorum and I had to defend myself!

(nose bleeds)

DENNIS QUAID

They both got it? Impossible!

CAM GIGANDET

Don't look at me like I'm crazy- I'LL FUCKIN' CARVE YOU UP- IT PUTS THE LOTION ON THE SKIN- STUTTERING STANLEY, STUTTERING STANLEY!!!

(covered in nose blood)

You believe me, right?

DENNIS QUAID

Of course! On an unrelated note, how about a sedative?

(grabs syringe)

CAM GIGANDET

I said I'm not crazy!

(slaps own face)

(whoops like a stooge)

Rotten Tomatoes has a perfect rating system! Nyuk-nyuk-nyuk!

(attacks)

DENNIS QUAID

(fights back)

I’LL FUCKIN' CARVE YOU UP!!!

(nose bleeds)

They MELT into the SAME PERSON.

DENNIS QUAID

(ears bleed)

Cam is the young me, in case that wasn’t obvious!

INT. SOME OTHER DARK CORRIDOR I DUNNO IT ALL LOOKS THE SAME

BEN, ANTJE, CUNG, and EDDIE sneak toward the REACTOR.

EDDIE ROUSE

Can you believe I almost ate you guys?

(chuckles)

I’m terrible with first impressions!

ANTJE TRAU

Hurry up! We’ve only got-

(checks script)

Five minutes until the reactor shuts down!

BEN FOSTER

What’s the point? I just remembered that my wife left me and then died when the Earth disappeared.

(flashes back)

She hated that my apartment looked like an Apple Store...

ANTJE TRAU

We have to continue! We’re obviously setting up a sequel and we can’t take that away from the fans!

CUNG LE

(in Vietnam-speak)

Wouldn’t that be a shame.

(glares at camera)

ANTJE TRAU

And your lieutenant needs us! That little bitch bleeds if you look at him funny.

BEN FOSTER

(flashes back)

... He’s not my lieutenant.

(beat)

MAN, my flashbacks are bright! That must be jarring as hell!

They RUN to the REACTOR and find HUNDREDS of A-HEADS sleeping around it.

BEN FOSTER

To reach the reactor, I just have to walk over this narrow, rickety walkway that has no railings.

(exasperated sigh)

Seriously?!

ANTJE TRAU

Try not to fall, for once.

BEN FOSTER

(falls)

ANTJE TRAU

Damn it, Ben!

(runs across)

NONE of the A-HEADS wake up, so BEN crawls over them to the LADDER.

EDDIE ROUSE

(leans over railing)

We make a great team!

(drops flashlight)

The A-HEADS wake up and RAMPAGE. EDDIE RUNS.

CUNG LE

(in the language they speak in Vietnam)

Do I have to do everything myself?!

(throws spear)

They CHASE CUNG and BEN resets the REACTOR.

INT. ORNATE, ORIGINAL, WELL-LIT SET- JUST KIDDING, IT’S ANOTHER DARK CORRIDOR

CUNG escapes by HIDING IN THE CEILING.

CUNG LE

(not in English)

Glad I remembered that scene from “Matilda”!

The A-HEAD LEADER appears and ATTACKS but CUNG BEATS HIM TO DEATH LIKE A FUCKIN’ BOSS.

CUNG LE

(in foreign language, probably Vietnamese)

I’m unstoppable! Even though I’m a minority in a horror film-

(drops dead)

INT. FLIGHT TEAM ROOM

The POWER comes on and the BRIDGE DOOR opens. EDDIE arrives to find DENNIS leaning against a wall with the SYRINGE in his ARM.

EDDIE ROUSE

You’re sedated? I guess you’re not dangerous-

DENNIS STABS him in the EYE with the SYRINGE.

EDDIE ROUSE

Ow! Luckily, this injury isn’t fatal...

(remembers he’s black)

(dies)

INT. BRIDGE

BEN and ANTJE run in and SHUT THE DOOR.

ANTJE TRAU

One of them is getting through!

BEN grabs his NON-LETHAL GUN and NON-LETHALLY BLOWS ITS HEAD OFF.

BEN FOSTER

(horrified)

I gave one of these to my nephew!

(beat)

Computer, how long have we been on this ship?

COMPUTER

923 Years.

They look out the WINDOW and see ALIEN FISH, which look like REGULAR FISH with MINOR ADJUSTMENTS.

BEN FOSTER

(hands shake)

This ship is sophisticated enough to land itself and it chose to set down on the bottom of the ocean?

(nose bleeds)

What is it with this death trap?!

They find DENNIS.

BEN FOSTER

(aims gun)

You’re not my lieutenant so you must be the guy that freaked out and killed everyone!

DENNIS QUAID

How the hell did you know that?

BEN FOSTER

Good question... Eddie couldn’t have known about that unless he’s 900 years old...

(starts hallucinating)

DENNIS QUAID

Don’t you see? These questions could have been answered in the sequel but now that’s never gonna happen! They fucked us! But there’s no law anymore! We’re free to shoot our own sequel right now!

(grabs ANTJE)

Let’s start by killing the female protagonist!

ANTJE TRAU

(choking)

Real... original... Hitchcock...

(still choking)

What... was in... that syringe?!

BEN IMAGINES that an A-HEAD is in the VENT and SHOOTS. This CRACKS the WINDOW and WATER pours in.

DENNIS QUAID

(dies)

(...or does he?)

(who cares, there’s no sequel)