SANDMAN
By Rick Foster
Smashwords Edition
Copyright © 2012 by Rick Foster
Smashwords Edition License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Synopsis
After surviving the Viet Nam War, Joe Bryan, a young Marine, just wants to get home. He boards a freighter headed back to America, but the plane is caught in a massive storm and crashes into a remote area of the South China Sea and Joe, the only survivor winds up on an uninhabited island.
Eighteen years later a billionaire oilman Frank Simmons and his young assistant Sarah Reagan sail to the same island on a mega-yacht, where they are savagely attacked by ruthless modern day pirates. Sarah is rescued by the young marine that has been on the island for eighteen years. She is suspicious of her rescuer but as months pass they fall in love. Together they have to face the pirates and the probability that they will have to spend their lives on the island. Tommy Lee, a young Asian Interpol policeman is convinced that there is a conspiracy as the tries to figure out what has happened to the oilman and his assistant.
Sandman is an adventure filled with adventure, romance, humor, intrigue and danger.
This is my first novel.
Chapter One
Out of country.
Not just hot, but damn hot. April tenth, 1972 was an extremely hot day. Nothing new about that he thought, as the young soldier stepped off the blue Air Force bus, nodded a thank you to the driver as the bus pulled away, then turned and walked across the airfield tarmac toward the c-130. That’s pretty much the way you would describe every day in Southeast Asia. Someone that had never been to this part of the world, just wouldn’t understand just how frigging hot it is here. He remembered days in the jungle when the temperature almost reached one hundred and twenty degrees. The weather never changed much, except during the rains. The rains gave some relief from the heat, but then the rain never stopped for weeks. Then everything you owned stayed damp. I’ll be glad when I don’t have to keep my clothes in plastic bags to keep them from mildewing.
Aromas from the jungle greenery and flowers that surrounded the airfield and the strong smell of jet fuel made a strange combination he thought. The ramp was alive with activity with crewmen driving small wheeled tractors with multiple caterpillar like flat trailers loaded with freight and munitions strapped down with cargo webbing.
He held his cover tight to his head as a Huey helicopter took off nearby. Two enlisted men and an officer passed in front of him as he walked toward the plane that would take him home. All were dressed in their usual green utilities. The enlisted men each carrying an AR15 on their shoulder stepped around Joe without acknowledging him. Although the young officer showed no visible signs of his rank, Joe was sure he was an officer because of the .45 holstered on his hip. Officers with insignias made good targets for snipers and therefore most of the time their bars and such were only used for official functions. The officer stopped, seeing that Joe had a cumbersome load and motioned with his head for the young soldier to pass. Joe smiled a thank you back at him as he passed.
Joe could hear the radio in the cockpit blaring, “I gotta get out of this place…if it’s the last thing I’ll ever do,” as he stepped on to the metal boarding stairs toward the back of the plane. How appropriate he thought. Halfway up the steps he paused and turned partially, as if to take one last look, but then changed his mind, looked briefly up at the blazing afternoon sun, and continued up the steps to the large aircraft.
The aircraft was painted in traditional olive green camouflage, with a black tipped nose, and sat by itself next to one of several steel Quonset freight buildings at the south end of the tarmac. Next to the plane was a large green tanker truck with a five inch black hose, like an umbilical cord, stretching thirty feet from the tanker truck and attaching to the underside of the wing. Several F-4 Phantom Jets also painted with camouflage, with their cigar like fuselage, three more Hueys precisely parked in a row with their blades only a few feet apart, two ominous looking Cobra gun ships with their hundred rounds per second mini guns and one big Chinook helicopter were staged at the other end of the ramp. Camouflage nets were stretched over the top of a few of the F-4s. He grabbed the side of the doorway but immediately pulled his hand back.
“Shit! That’s hot,” he said as he quickly pulled his hand back and shook it. He put his free hand in his pocket to avoid touching the hot metal again. His other arm held a large cardboard box, cradled against his hip, and his standard issue Marine duffel bag was slung across his back. April tenth is a good day though, he thought. It’s a good day because I’m alive, I’ve still got all of my arms and legs, and I’m leaving Vietnam.
The pilot turned in his seat and looked down the narrow steps, back into the cabin as Joe ducked his head and stepped through the aft doorway of the plane. Cigarette smoke billowed from the cockpit and hung by the ceiling. This looks like some of the old honky tonks back home that I used to sneak into, the young Marine thought. Between the glare of the sun shining through the window and the thick smoke, he could barely see the two crewmen. Chuckling to himself, he looked up at the worn American flag hung over the cockpit doorway. It was pulled aside and fastened against the bulkhead with a very large white bra strap.
“Hello” he called as he walked toward the front of the aircraft. Wow he thought, looking up at the large hydraulic lines that ran the length of the ceiling.
“Uh, uh,” the pilot cleared his throat as he turned down the volume on the small black transistor radio sitting on top of the aircraft control panel.
“Is this flight 329?”
“Yep, sure is.”
“Yes sir, I’m supposed to catch a ride back to the states with you,” he said as he smiled thinly.
“I don’t think so,” the captain said sarcastically. “You must be on the wrong plane.”
He bent over and looked out one of the small windows to see if there was another plane he might have missed. Not seeing any other cargo planes, somewhat confused, he fumbled around in his pants pocket looking for a piece of paper and had to set his box and his duffel on the floor to be able to search both pockets.
“Well I’ve got this voucher somewhere that says flight three two nine…Here it is,” he said as he held the paper up toward the captain.
“I don’t care what kind of voucher you have,” the captain said without any expression.
Joe just stood there, not knowing how to answer. He looked down at the crumpled voucher and back at the captain, then at the young co-pilot and again at the captain.
“This is a cargo plane son. Does this look like TWA to you?”
“No sir, but…”
“Do I look like an airline stewardess?”
“No sir, it’s just that I have this voucher…”
Sternly the captain said “This is my plane and no one…”
“Oh come on captain,” the other crewman interrupted. “Give the guy a break.”
The captain looked at the young co-pilot, and then back at Joe. “Ha, ha, ha,” the captain snorted. “Yeah this is the right plane. I was just funnin’ with you Marine. ”
Joe took a deep breath. “You had me going there for a minute.”
“You gotta have a little fun now and then.”
“Yes sir. You got me. I didn’t know whether to get off or what.”
“He does that to everybody,” the young lieutenant said, raising his eyebrows and shaking his head.
“Come aboard. Stash your gear under one of the seats in the back” the pilot directed as he pointed toward the rear.
“I’ve got some fragile items in this box. Is there a good safe place to store them?” he asked as he picked the box back up and placed it back against his hip.
“Souvenirs?”
“Yeah, sort of,” he said as he bent down and grabbed the strap of his duffel bag.
“Let me guess. China for your wife… no wait… your mother, right?” he smirked.
“How did you know?” he asked as he adjusted the box against his hip while he sat his olive green duffel bag down on one of the seats.
“Ha ha. Every soldier, that’s come to Nam has bought a set of china for his wife or his mother, or his sister.” the captain laughed, never losing control of the filter less Camel cigarette hanging from his mouth. His pale blue Air Force uniform shirt was partially unbuttoned, to give him some relief from the heat.
Joe grinned. I never knew Nam had two syllables he thought. And everyone tells me I have a southern accent. “You too sir?”
“Hell yes, I’ve bought three sets,” the captain replied, holding up three fingers.
“Here let me stow that for you,” the other crewman, also in his Air Force blues, said as he got up from the co-pilots seat and walked from the flight deck down the two steps, into the main cabin. He took the box from Joe and strapped it securely against the bulkhead with a bungee cord.
“What’s your name soldier?” the captain asked.
“It’s Joe Bryan sir,” he replied.
“Where you been?”
“The last couple of months we were up around Hue, sir.”
“I hear it was pretty bad up there.”
“Yes sir. Pretty bad,” he nodded. “If it wasn’t for some of your boys in some B-52s pounding the hell out of the NVA, well I’m not sure if we would have been able to hold them.”
“I hear we might be carrying pretty much all of the ground troops home soon.”
“Yes sir, we heard a rumor that our whole division would be leaving in two months.”
“But you finished your term so you get to leave a little sooner, right?” the captain grinned.
“You got it, sir” he nodded.
“You’re not glad are you?”
“Damn glad sir,” he said.
“I don’t blame you. One day in this place is too long.”
“We even heard that some might have to take a ship back.”
“And you didn’t want to take a boat ride?”
“I’ve got nothing against the Navy, but I was not looking forward to spending probably three weeks at sea.”
“Well we’re glad you chose the US Air Force son, and you’ll be home before you know it.”
The young Marine walked back in to the main cabin and looked right and left at the red nylon seats that obviously were designed for durability instead of comfort. Red cargo webbing ran down both sides of the plane just above the seats. Eight parachutes packed in green bags hung from the top of the webbing right behind the cockpit. Well one looks about the same as another, he thought. He chose a seat, put his duffel down, took his beret off and laid it on top of the bag. He ran his hand over his traditional Marine “high and tight” dark hair. Maybe I will let my hair grow out when I get home, he thought as he sighed.
“Well Corporal Joe Bryan, it is Corporal isn’t it?”
“Yes sir. Lance Corporal.”
“Have a seat Lance Corporal and make yourself comfortable. We’ll be ready to go in about thirty minutes. We’re waitin’ for some fuel. Matter of fact it’s ok if you want to get back off the plane for a while. Walk around, go to the can or whatever. It’s going to be a long flight.”
“No, I’m fine. I’d just as soon stay right here sir.”
“We won’t leave you son. I promise,” the captain grinned. He slapped a mosquito on his neck, then wiped the dead insect off of his hand, on the edge of his seat.
“That’s all right, I have no desire to ever set foot back in this country ever again.”
“I know what you mean. Suit yourself. Oh by the way, you can relax son.”
“Sir?”
“That’s what I’m talking about. You don’t have to keep saying sir to me.”
“It’s kind of a habit that’s hard to break.”
“I understand. I’m just saying I won’t be offended if you forget.”
“Ok, I’ll try and relax.”
“My name’s Mike, but most just call me captain.”
“I’ve got it captain…So am I your only passenger?” he asked as he walked partway back toward the cockpit.
“Yep,” the pilot replied. “You’ve got the whole cabin to yourself. Well almost all to yourself,” he said as he pointed toward two stacks of gray metal coffins in the back. Joe looked briefly toward the coffins and then turned away. “A few of your compadres are going home too. Take off your shoes or whatever, and make yourself at home. Looks like it’s going to be a hot one,” he said as he turned his attention back to the control panel to finish his preflight checklist.
So whats new? He said to himself again. Hell, it’s always a hot one around here. He felt the sweat roll down the middle of his back, and the pressed khaki uniform he had chosen to wear home now stuck to him. Though he never particularly cared for cold weather, he was looking forward to going home and putting on a coat and building a fire. Well let’s see, it will be about seventy degrees when I get home, he thought. I guess that might be a little warm for a fire. He remembered how cold his fingers had been unloading frozen food at his part time job at Buchanan’s grocery store. And he remembered complaining to his mother about having to cut and stack firewood for their home. Right now that seemed like an eternity ago. If I can just get home, I’ll never complain about being cold again.
As he sat in the back of the c-130, Joe thought about the day he decided to join the Marines. It was the day after he graduated from high school. Graduation meant freedom to Joe. But it also meant the start of a much-anticipated journey. He had enjoyed growing up in a small town, but he didn’t want to spend the rest of his life there. He wanted to go somewhere. He wanted to do something important. “I must have been out of my mind. I could have been playing baseball at UT on a full scholarship. Chasing girls, and drinking beer instead of spending almost a year and a half in this shit hole,” he said quietly to himself. You’ve had some pretty bad ideas sometimes, Joe Bryan, but this one nearly got you killed, he thought.
Everyone always expected Joe to go to college. The all state catcher from New Braunfels, Texas had been heavily recruited by all the big schools. But he had never given any serious consideration about any place but the University of Texas. He dreamed of playing ball at UT ever since he was a small boy. His Marine buddies even asked him once, if it was true, that anyone that grew up in the hill country of central Texas, had burnt orange blood. He even wondered if he had what it takes to make it as a pro. Though rather tall and lanky, he had chosen to be a catcher. Coach Peters, who was not only the high school baseball coach, but also the golf coach and the principal, had encouraged him to play a different position. He said catchers needed to be short and stocky, like Yogi Berra or Johnny Bench, because most of the time tall catchers usually developed knee problems, if they played for a long time. The coach wanted him to play right field. But Joe would have none of that. The outfield was boring, not enough action. And school was even more boring. The thought of being a big time ball player was exciting, but all he could think about was four more years of school.
Everyone said that Joe was just different. Not weird or odd, just different. He wished sometimes that he had his brother’s witty personality, and his ambition. His older brother David was always the life of the party. He remembered every joke he ever heard. He was in the choir, the debate club, and was the president of the student council. David was now a junior at UT and was studying engineering. But Joe was the quiet one. He wasn’t shy, he was just somewhat of a loner. Except when he was playing baseball, you would usually find him in the woods with his dog, hunting or fishing. It wasn’t that he didn’t like people, he just never liked following along with the crowds just because everyone else did.
His mother Ruth was a strong woman. But raising two boys alone had been a challenge. She worked as a receptionist at the insurance office in town during the day and waited tables at the VFW hall four nights a week. Being gone so much meant she quite often had to rely on Joe’s grandparents to watch her boys. She was a pretty woman, tall and slender, with long auburn hair, but too many long workdays and not enough sleep, showed in the dark circles under her eyes and the lines in her face. Still, there was never a shortage of men asking her out. Joe asked his mother why she never remarried after his father died. Over the years she had been asked, but she never seriously considered any of the offers. She explained that his father had been the love of her life, and that she didn’t feel like she could ever love someone the way she loved him.
Joe didn’t remember his father. He knew he had been a carpenter. His mother told him that he had also been a Marine, and had been severely wounded in the Korean War. He recovered from his wounds, but could never quite leave the war behind and had tried to wash away the blood and the memories with Jack Daniels. Joe knew his father had been killed in a car wreck, but only recently learned that he had been drunk and had driven into a tree the night he died.
Joe wasn’t a bad kid, it just seemed like people were always telling him what he couldn’t do, which usually made him try just to prove he could. His mom and brother were used to him doing the unexpected. So when Joe announced that he thought he should stand up for his country, and join the Marines, they were not too surprised. Trying to discourage Joe to do anything was usually a waste. They knew he had made up his mind. And after all, he would only have to spend two years in the Marines. He could still go to college after that.
He was now twenty and had just finished a sixteen-month tour in Vietnam. Sixteen months of never really knowing who was your friend, and who was the enemy. Even the barber that cut his hair and shaved him had been caught trying to place explosives under the wing of an F4 Phantom Jet. And it seemed like the Vietnamese people they were fighting for didn’t really care who won or who lost the war. They just wanted it to end. You never knew who to trust, even within the American military. The enlisted men didn’t trust the officers, and the officers didn’t trust the enlisted men. Plus the proliferation of drugs made everything crazy. Some of the other soldiers were so messed up, sometimes Joe was afraid some of his own guys might shoot him by mistake. He had tried some marijuana a couple of times. One night he shared a pipe with a Vietnamese Colonel and remembered later imagining that he had to hang on to the sides of his foxhole to keep from flying away. It was just too dangerous of a place not to have a clear head, so other than a few beers now and then, he decided he should stay straight. It was a confusing time for Joe. Sometimes finding the corpses of enemy soldiers that some of the South Vietnamese regulars had beheaded and castrated, and watching his friend lose both of his legs from a land mine had changed how he felt about the war. And the kids were the toughest part. He had seen so many children die. Plus reading newspaper articles from home, referring to American soldiers as baby killers made it worse. He had heard some stories, but all of the children he had personally seen slain were from bombings, and most were purposely placed in areas suspected as bombing target areas by the enemy as a form of propaganda. And apparently the propaganda worked. But it still hurt, knowing that some Americans felt that way about the American soldier. The war was not what he had expected. Joining the Marines, being patriotic and fighting for one’s country had seemed like the right thing to do. Now however he was hearing stories and reading in the paper how soldiers were being spit on when they arrived back in the US.
Although the thirteen weeks of boot camp at the Marine Recruit Training Depot was physically hard, with PT (physical training) almost every day, it reminded Joe somewhat of baseball training camp. And after all, if you have to go to boot camp, San Diego California wasn’t too bad a place to be. Though sometimes the days were long and grueling, he enjoyed learning to use the different weapons and he looked forward to the competition. He had finished tops in his platoon at the range, with a rifle and a pistol.
The last couple of weeks at the MRTD he got to know a blond headed guy named Matt, from Sacramento. He and Matt both qualified to go on to Pendleton for twenty- two more days of training.
The additional five weeks was called Marine Combat Training Command where they were given extensive training in close combat and bayonet fighting and specifically how to survive in a jungle environment. Joe would also qualify with a light machine gun, which would become his main weapon for his time in Viet Nam.
Though a little anxious, he and his new friend had been excited and eager to get into the war. But not being allowed to win, not being allowed to finish it, had changed all the soldier’s attitudes. They felt as if they were expected to win a fight with both hands tied behind them. Even though most of their battles had been victories and seldom did they hear anything other than the US military dominating the enemy, there was still a feeling that America was losing the war. Joe still thought that America was doing the right thing, but it didn’t make it any easier. Now he just wanted it to all be over. The last few weeks had been the hardest, knowing he was a short timer, always wondering if he would make it out alive. He wondered how people would treat him when he got back. Would people in his own home town spit on him? Would they look at him different? I am different he had thought, I’ve killed someone, matter of fact, several someones. Things will never be quite the same.
Now with the war going bad, Joe was glad he was going home. The first plane out of Saigon was a big slow Air Force cargo plane, a C130 Hercules, the most versatile transport ever produced, with high wings, a low fuselage, and a high upturned tail. The high upturned tail made the plane ideal for loading large loads, including jeeps and even tanks. The C130, referred to as Herk, was 95 feet long with a wingspan of 131 feet with four enormous Allison engines with big square bladed propellers, capable of cruising speeds of 345 mph and capable of carrying over forty thousand pounds with a range of 1300 nautical miles.
This particular C130 was part of the 374th Tactical Airlift Wing, which would make its mark on history in the latter days of the Viet Nam war by transporting the majority of the US troops rapidly out of the country as it became obvious that the end was near.
It would take forever to get home he thought. Or he could wait for a regular troop transport plane that would be leaving five days later. The troop transports were usually converted airliners, and would be much more comfortable. But he was anxious to get “out of country”.
The captain had said they would be making a fuel stop in Manila, then on to the Hawaii where they would stop overnight and then home. Joe was considering spending a few days in Hawaii before going home.
He was considering whether or not to reenlist for another two-year term, but either way, he would have a thirty-day furlough, so he could take his time if he wanted to. If he hadn’t been so anxious to see his family, then lying on a beach for a few days, with nothing to do except checking out the bikinis, would seem like a good idea.
His mother had written that his Grandfather had lung cancer and the doctors had said that he might not recover. His Grandfather had been the most important person in his life while he was growing up.
The pilot, a lifer from Griffin, Georgia, had flown cargo back and forth from Vietnam to the states for two years. He said they might run into a little weather. Nothing to worry about he said, just your basic thunderstorm.
Josh, the co-pilot, however seemed concerned. He was twenty-four, but his red flat top hair cut and his chubby red cheeks made him seem younger. Although he dreamed about flying jets his whole life, his broad shoulders made him too big for the cockpit of a fighter. So if he wanted to fly he would have to settle for flying cargo in a much bigger plane.
“Where you from, Joe?” The young officer leaned against the bulkhead as he spoke.
“Texas,” he said proudly. “I guess it will be alright if I just wear a T-shirt,” Joe said as he took off his uniform shirt, folded it carefully with his marksmanship medal winding up face up, and packed it neatly in his duffel as they talked.
“Yeah. There won’t be any inspections on this trip.” His voice was rather high pitched for such a big man, Joe thought. “Want a smoke?” he asked as he offered his pack of cigarettes to Joe.
“No thanks, got my own. How ‘bout you? Where you from?” Joe said as he sat down next to his gear.
“Cheyenne.”
“Wyoming?” he asked as he leaned over and zipped the duffel bag closed.
“Is there any other?”
“Ha ha…That’s where they have that big rodeo, isn’t it?”
Out of habit, Josh tapped a cigarette three times on his Zippo lighter before lighting it. “Uh, huh,” he answered as he inhaled the smoke.
“I’d like to see that sometime. I hear it’s quite a party.”
“You wouldn’t believe it. Parties everywhere for a week.”
“Pretty wild huh?”
“We do have a large time… you should come up next summer. If I’m home, I’ll show you around.”
“Maybe I will.”
“What are you going to do, when you get home?”
“I thought about re-enlisting for another two years, as long as they’ll promise not to send me back here… or I may go to school, if they will still have me…maybe play a little baseball. Haven’t made up my mind yet.”
“So you’re a pretty good ball player?”
“Used to be,” he shrugged.
“What position you play?”
“Catcher.”
“You’re kind of tall for a catcher.”
“Yeah I heard that a lot. You play any ball?”
“A little football. Wasn’t that good though.”
“You anxious to get home too?”
“Man I can’t wait to get back home…I know everyone says the same thing, but I really am married to the prettiest woman in Wyoming,” he grinned. “I’ve got a boy almost a year old. I’ve only seen him once.”
“Yeah? What’s his name?”
“Hey, when you two get through stuffin each other’s turkey, you think I might be able to get some help?” Mike yelled at Josh.
Josh raised two fingers to his forehead, like a half hearted salute, then turned back toward Joe briefly. “My boy’s name is Aaron. I’ll show you a picture in a little while. But I better get busy and help get us ready to go, right now.”
“Yeah, I’d like to see it.”
“Ok.”
Josh put a blue and white Los Angeles Dodger’s baseball cap on and pulled it firmly down on his forehead, and then leaned out the open cabin door to check on the crew fueling the plane.
“It looks like they are about through fueling. I guess we better get ready to go.”
A slender young black soldier dressed in a white t-shirt, green shorts and cap bounded up the stairs and handed Josh a fuel slip to confirm how many pounds of fuel had been loaded. “Have a safe trip,” he said and then walked quickly back down the stairs.
Josh pulled the forward door closed, turned and locked the latch as the young black crewman rolled up the fuel hose, wrapped it around the back of the tanker and then drove it away from the plane.
“Are we clear?” Mike asked.
Josh looked out the starboard window to make sure all of the ground crewmen were clear of the engines. A young crewman on the ground dressed the same as the other crewman, looked all around the plane also, then twirled his finger around in the air to signal Josh that it was ok to start the engines. “We’re clear, Captain,” he responded. He put his headset on and adjusted the earmuffs so they were comfortable.
At the same time Mike leaned out his port window to make sure the left side was also clear. He checked his gauges once more, opened the throttles slightly and then flipped the ignition switches on.
The big plane shook and rumbled as he started each engine.
“Saigon tower, this is Air Force three, two, nine,” the captain spoke into the microphone.
“This is Saigon tower. Go ahead, three, two, nine,” the voice from the tower said through the aircraft’s speakers.
“Saigon tower, we are ready to taxi.”
“Air Force three, two, nine, you are clear to taxi for runway one eight right.”
“Roger, Saigon tower, Air Force three, two, nine,” Mike responded, and then hung the microphone back on the control panel. He wrote their departure time in a black logbook and stuck it down into his flight bag below his seat. A wisp of blue smoke came from each engine momentarily as Mike revved the engines, and slowly turned the C-130 toward the runway. He pulled a white handkerchief from his pants’ pocket and wiped the sweat from his forehead and then across the top of his head, then stuffed the handkerchief back into his pocket.
Like a traffic cop, the ground crewman pointed with his left arm and motioned with his right for the aircraft to turn.
Mike saluted toward the crewman, who promptly returned the salute then closed his side window and turned on to the taxiway. Once more he checked his fuel, oil, and pressure gauges, then carefully looking back and forth out both windows, making sure that the way was clear, slowly they taxied toward the north end of runway one eight right.
Pushing his right rudder pedal, Mike turned the plane sharply to the right and stopped at the end of the runway.
Josh could see the ominous dark clouds beginning to build on the horizon. As they sat on the run-up area waiting for takeoff clearance from the tower, hesitantly he asked “Think we should wait this weather out Captain?”
“Buffalo shorts…we aren’t waitin’ nothing out. There’s a desperate red head in Atlanta waitin’ for some of my affection. You wouldn’t want to deny her of that would you?”
The captain cut his gray hair as short as possible so people might not notice that he was balding. He had a square jaw with an inch and a half long jagged scar across his chin that gave him a somewhat hardened look, Joe thought. Mike was a big man also. He and Josh were almost shoulder to shoulder in the confines of the flight deck. His twenty-year habit of filterless cigarettes and cheap scotch had given him a raspy voice. He had huge forearms, with a tattoo of an eagle grasping an American flag in it’s talons, on his upper right arm. Kind of reminds me of Popeye, Joe thought, as he grinned and imagined him with a sailor cap and a corncob pipe. Mike liked being a hard case and wanted everyone to know he was.
He looked out the portside window and back at Josh with a grin. “If you can’t handle a little weather, maybe you should have joined the Army instead. They would have taught you how to drive a bus instead of flying. Then when you got out you could get a job driving a city bus in Cheyenne,” he snorted.
“Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. And you could get a job as a comedian.” Josh shook his head back and forth as he buckled his shoulder harness.
“No on second thought, a bus driver has to know how to make change, and I’m not sure you could handle that.” Mike laughed so hard his face turned red as he looked back in to the cabin at Joe.
Joe grinned back, shaking his head from side to side.
“What do you think corporal, you think Josh would make a good bus driver?” Hoo, hoo, hoo.” He slapped Josh on the shoulder as he laughed.
“Alright, alright.”
“Air Force three two nine, you are clear for takeoff,” came from the speakers.
“Roger, Air Force three two nine,” Mike replied back into his headset.
“After takeoff, climb and level off at three thousand feet, air force three two nine.”
“Roger, three thousand feet.”
Joe lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply then he pulled his right knee up to his chest and leaned forward and pulled the red cargo webbing aside to look out the window at the flight crews loading and fueling other planes. Waves of heat rose up from the asphalt tarmac.
“You poor bastards… Damn I’m glad I’m leaving.” The same young crewman that had delivered the fuel slip, driving the big tanker truck on the access road looked out his window with a smile, and waved at Joe. Joe smiled and waved back.
Freshly mowed grass stretched from the runway about a half mile to the edge of the jungle, where the perimeter was protected by rolls of razor sharp wire. There were elevated guard towers manned with 50 caliber machine guns every hundred yards. Sitting on top of the turret of a tank with his legs hanging inside, a helmeted soldier sat below one of the towers and laughed and talked with the guard in a olive t-shirt and cap above him.
Without looking back, Mike yelled back at Joe to buckle up for take off.
“Yes sir.” Joe responded and did as he was instructed.
“Saigon tower, this is Airforce three, two, nine,” Mike called as he cleaned his sunglasses with his handkerchief, before putting them on.
“Go ahead, three, two, nine.”
“Thanks a lot guys for getting us out so quickly. We’ll see you again in a couple of weeks,” he said, then he released the microphone button on the yoke.
“You sure you know how to fly that thing?”
“Hey Zeb, is that you?” Mike grinned, recognizing his old friend’s voice. He and Zeb had flown together many times. Zeb had developed a lower back problem and couldn’t handle the long flights anymore, and therefore had transferred to an air traffic controller position until he could retire.
“Yeah, it’s me. We just had shift change up here and they told me there was some old fart in a C-130 that I probably needed to tell him how to get off the ground.”
“Well you’re a fine one to talk about someone’s flying skills. Ha, ha, ha.”
“Uh-huh. If I hadn’t been around to carry you, they would have retired you.”
“Oh? And who was it that fell asleep that time when we were in Germany”
“Hey, don’t be saying that over the air, someone might be listening. And besides, we were both asleep as I recall.”
“So should I also not tell anybody about that time when you set that trainer down in a field behind the 7-11 just cause you wanted some M&Ms?”
“Alright, alright, that’s enough buddy. Say lets get together for a cold one on your next trip.”
“That’s a deal, as long as you’re buying.”
“It seems like I always buy.”
“That’s a roger.”
“See you soon three two, nine. Have a safe trip. ”
Josh put his apparently very common, aviator sunglasses on also as Mike lined the plane up on the runway and gradually pushed the throttles forward to full power as he pushed firmly on the brake pedals.
“Anybody ready to go home?” he yelled over the roar of the engines.
“Yes!” Both Josh and Joe yelled back, almost in unison.
“Lets go big girl,” Mike talked to the plane as if it was alive and could respond back to him. He released the brakes and the plane headed down the runway.
Joe was surprised at how quickly the big plane gained speed.
He took a deep breath and sighed as they lifted off and again looked out the small window and watched the ground fall away.
The landing gear made a loud grinding noise as it folded up into the belly of the plane.
“Air force three two nine, turn right on to heading two seven zero degrees.”
“Roger two seven zero degrees.”
Every flight was sent in a different direction for a few minutes so the enemy would not be able to pre-determine any routes and therefore make it more difficult for anyone trying to fire a ground to air missile at departing or arriving aircraft.
As the c-130 banked hard to the right, he could see the buildings in the downtown area of Saigon in the distance. Looking at the green hills and jungle he thought about how beautiful the countryside was from up here, but the barren hillsides to the north with only ragged stumps remaining, the results of an assortment of bombs being dropped by the United States Air Force, reminded him how horrific it could be below. The mountains to the south were shrouded with rain showers. I guess I really am going home he thought, looking at the setting sun behind the darkening storm clouds. I was beginning to wonder if I would ever get home again. “Thank you God for getting me out of this place alive,” he said quietly.
Chapter Two
Pray to God, but row for the shore
The first two hours of the trip had been pretty smooth and Joe was looking forward to sleeping most of the way back. It would be so good to sleep without worrying about rocket attacks, he thought. He really hadn’t slept well since he’d left boot camp. Whether there were rocket attacks or not, he didn’t know anyone that slept very well when they were in a leaky thatched roof hut or sometimes a damp foxhole, wondering each night when he closed his eyes, would he wake up the next morning. And even when he’d had liberty and had spent three days in a Saigon hotel he still woke up with every sound. When I get back home in my own bed, I think I’ll probably sleep for a week.
Joe always liked flying. His grandfather had taught him to fly in an old yellow 1948 J3 Piper Cub when he was fourteen. It was a great old plane with a stick control. Frequently they would take off very early on summer mornings and fly low over the Texas hill country, looking for big deer just for the fun of it. His grandfather explained to him how planes worked and let Joe fly the plane most of the time. They even had an engine failure one morning and had to sit the Piper Cub down on a country road. A Texas state trooper had seen the incident and gave them a ride to the nearest town. His grandfather just laughed and told him, that without some adventures or without taking some risks, that life was kind of boring. So when Mike told him they might run into some rough air, he wasn’t too concerned.
He had even considered going to flight school when he was in boot camp. But math and science had never been one of his strengths, and he knew he would have to pass some pretty tough exams to get into the Marine flight school, and that meant more studying. And studying was the last thing he wanted to do when he left school. So he decided on Special Ops and special weapons training instead.
“Want a sandwich?” Captain Mike asked as he looked back into the cabin.
“What kind do you have?”
“You choosey?”
“No, not really.”
“I think they’re ham or roast beef.”
“Ham and roast beef just happen to be my favorites. Either one is fine. Whichever y’all don’t want will be fine.”
“Here, help yourself before Josh gets a hold of them. He’ll eat everything that won’t eat him.”
Mike handed the brown paper bag to Joe, then turned back and unwrapped the wax paper on his own sandwich.
Joe took one of the sandwiches and handed the bag back to Josh who was shaking his head again at Mike’s comments.
“Aren’t you going to say anything?”
“Would it do any good?”
“No, but you usually don’t give up that easy.”
“Well, I’m trying to watch my weight.” Josh took two sandwiches from the bag, rolled the top closed and placed the bag behind Mikes seat. ”Are there any potato chips?”
Mike looked at the two sandwiches that Josh had taken, Looked at Joe and then back at Josh and grinned. “Son, if you keep watching your weight like you have been, me and you aren’t going to fit in this plane much longer.”
“Does he do you this way all the time?” Joe asked and then took a bite of the ham and cheese sandwich.
“He never lets up.”
“If I did, you would think I was sick or something.”
“Yeah, probably.”
Joe shared the sandwiches and sodas with the crew and then settled back into his seat and lit the remaining half of a cigarette that he had put out earlier. The ocean of puffy white clouds below them looked like a field of new snow he saw once in a Colorado snow skiing magazine, he thought as he looked out of the small window next to him. After he smoked the cigarette down almost to the filter, he yawned, dropped the butt on to the floor and mashed it out with the heel of his boot. He thought he should pick his cigarette butt up later as he bent down and loosened the laces of his black combat boots, then closed his eyes, put his feet up and leaned back against his duffel bag. In two minutes he was asleep, dreaming of a crystal clear river with large cypress trees and white tail deer feeding along the bank. He could see the white framed house he grew up in, with his old red ’58 Chevy pick-up in the drive, and his mother, wearing a blue dress and the big gold loop earrings he had sent her, smiling and waving from the back porch.
Josh stared at the black wall cloud in the distance, out his starboard window, just before dark.
“I sure wouldn’t want to get mixed up with that. That’s a big son of a bitch.” He motioned with his head toward the black clouds.
“Yeah, it’s pretty nasty lookin,” Mike answered. He leaned over and looked briefly out the starboard window to Josh’s right, one of seven total windows that make up the windshield on the c-130. He was careful not to appear too concerned.
“I’m sure am looking forward to our two weeks off.”
“Yeah, I bet you’re anxious to see that boy of yours.”
“Gosh captain, I’m so excited about having a son.”
“I bet you are.”
“I know you said you have daughter, but you don’t talk much about her.”
“She’s a good girl. She’s a nurse…at a hospital there in Atlanta. Me and her mom are divorced, and I don’t see her much.”
Josh leaned over and stared back out the window at the storm clouds. “The reports said the tops are at sixty thousand,” Josh said anxiously.
“I don’t think it will be a problem. The reports also said it’s going to stay well to the south,” Mike replied.
“You want me to check with Singapore and see what they know about this storm?”
“No. We’re already way too far out. You’ll never get Singapore from here.”
“Yeah, you’re probably right.”
“Why don’t you get a little sleep? I’ll handle it for a while.”
“I appreciate it captain. I could use some sleep… You sure you’re ok?”
Mike smirked. “Hell boy, I was flying when you were still in diapers… Go ahead and get some rest before you wet your pants worrying about the weather.”
“Ok captain,” Josh said, then pulled his flight jacket off the back of his seat, folded it over twice and put it up against the window. He loosened his seat belt, hung his headset on his yoke and leaned his head against his makeshift pillow and closed his eyes. He had been with Mike for several months now since he graduated from flight school, and felt very confidant flying with him.
Mike looked at the storm again and then at Josh. “You’re damn right boy. I wouldn’t want to get mixed up with that sucker either,” he said quietly to himself. He checked the movement of the storm on the radar screen. The screen was almost all red, showing the severity of the storm. He jotted some notes of the storms movement down on a notepad and then placed it back by the side of his seat. Confidant that they were out of the storm’s reach, he turned and looked back at the horizon and the seemingly endless miles of ocean before them. He had made this trip many times before. It was a long and monotonous trip. The hardest part usually was just staying awake.
Joe awoke to a sudden jolt. He could hear Mike cursing, though for a moment he thought he might be dreaming, until he had to grab the sides of the seat to keep from falling in to the floor as the plane dropped suddenly. After dark, the monstrous thunderstorm had switched directions and completely encircled their aircraft before Mike could react. The air had become turbulent as Joe wiped the sleep from his eyes, got up and walked toward the cockpit and climbed the steps to watch. The control panel fascinated him, with all the gadgets, and all the green, blue and red lights. How can someone remember what all of these switches and gauges are for, he thought. Mike’s pair of aviator sunglasses and a small wooden cross on a string, dangled from the overhead magnetic compass.
The crew paid no attention as the cross swung back and forth across the panel.
“Everything ok Captain?” Joe asked as he hung onto a grab handle mounted on the bulkhead. There was a small emergency axe mounted on the wall next to the grab handle.
“What?” Mike asked as he pulled one side of his headset off his ear so he could hear Joe.
“Is everything ok?” Joe asked again.
“Everything is fine son, but you should probably buckle up. We’re going to be busy for a while. I think we’re going to have to fly through this mother, and it may get a little rough.” Mike responded without looking back. He replaced the headset and turned his attention back to his aircraft.
Josh glanced back at Joe with a phony smile, trying to be brave.
A C-130, Hercules, is an enormous plane with plenty of room to walk around in. Even with the load of empty food and medical supply containers, empty fuel cans, wooden crates full of spent artillery shell casings, and the caskets of the six fallen American soldiers that were on the way back to the states. The containers were restrained with webbing and fastened to the walls and to rings in the floor with cargo straps and come-alongs.
As the plane bounced up and down, Joe staggered and had to bend his knees and spread his legs for stability as he walked back and sat about half way back in the cabin. Their journey had become a bone jarring ride, like driving a car with no shocks on a terribly rough road full of potholes. He pulled the straps over his shoulder and buckled the harness.
As the wind and rain hit, Joe could hear the big engines roar and strain as the captain increased the power and tried to take his plane above the worst of the storm. Joe braced himself against the seats on either side of him as the crew and the plane continued their battle with the raging storm. He could now barely hear the crew above the roar of the wind.
Captain, we’re being blown way off course,” Josh said frantically as he pointed to the magnetic compass.
“Hell I don’t care what our course is. Right now I’m just trying to keep us in the sky… Come on baby, fly,” Mike begged. He looked at the storm on the radar screen and could see there was no way to get around it. The screen was now totally red. Mike pushed a button on the bottom of the screen to expand the screen out to one hundred miles. The screen was still all red.
Josh looked at the screen as Mike changed it back to the immediate thirty two mile area around them. When you fly an average of over twenty thousand miles per month, flying through some violent weather is just part of the job. But this storm was bigger and nastier than any Josh had ever seen. He was beginning to get scared but he knew if anybody could get them through this storm, Mike could.
The noise from the rain and thunder was deafening and echoed through the inside of the cavernous plane. Military planes don’t have much insulation and therefore sound like a tin can sometimes.
In the space of ten minutes, what Joe had thought was going to be a long, boring flight home was becoming a violent struggle to keep the giant freighter flying. He could hear the captain cursing and yelling instructions at Josh. His duffel fell in the floor as he thought briefly about the box of china below the opposite seat.
“Can you raise Manila?”
“Nothing yet. You think we’re still too far out to reach them?”
“No? We should’ve been within range for twenty minutes now.”
The radio static cracked and popped as Josh repeatedly tried to contact the air base at Manila.
“What’s wrong with that damn radio?” Mike demanded.
“I don’t know Captain. It seams like that last lightning strike messed everything up. All I’m getting is static. I’m not getting any response,” Josh replied as he adjusted the controls. The two men looked at each other momentarily. Josh had never known Mike to be afraid of anything, but he could see the concern in his eyes.
“Keep trying son. If we have to ditch, I want somebody to be able to find us.”
Josh swallowed hard. If Mike was scared he knew they were in trouble. He was more scared now than any time in his life, but he took a deep breath and tried to control it. His voice cracked as he continued to call. “Manila control. Manila control… Any aircraft receiving this message pleases respond. Any aircraft receiving this transmission, this is United States Air force flight three two nine. Can anyone hear this transmission?”
Josh shrugged. “I can’t raise anyone captain. I don’t know what’s wrong…I think the radio may be fried.”
Sweat dripped from his brow as Mike pounded the instrument panel with his fist. “Keep trying. Try Singapore. Try a different frequency.”
The lightning flashes were so close, the thunder sounded almost simultaneously. The inside of the plane lit up like an old camera flashbulb with each lightning flash. The plane was now being bounced around as if it was a toy.
“All the roller coasters I rode when I was a kid, I never got sick one time, but I’m afraid I’m going to lose my lunch if this keeps up much longer,” Joe yelled. The crew didn’t respond to his comment. He could hear Josh trying to call the air base at Manila over and over. He couldn’t hear exactly what he was saying, but he could tell from his voice that Josh was scared. He could see the look of despair in his eyes as he turned briefly and looked back at Joe.
“Damn this wind. We’re losing too much airspeed, Mike yelled angrily.”
Just as Joe thought the big c-130 was about to gain some altitude, a microburst, a powerful downdraft hit the aircraft.
“Son of a bitch!” The plane was being forced straight down. They were literally falling out of the sky.
“Shit, we’re in a stall,” Mike yelled.
Josh was pulling back on the yoke instinctively.
“No! Don’t pull back yet. We’ve got to put the nose down.”
“But captain.”
”Put the nose down now!” Mike ordered. He knew the only chance was to point the nose down to gain airspeed. That was their only way to regain control. With his teeth clenched he pushed the yoke forward, putting the plane into a steep dive.
The color was gone from Josh’s cheeks.“ Oh God,” he cried. “We’re going down.”
“Come on you big son of a bitch. Fly damn you,” Mike pleaded.
In the next few brief moments, as the plane fell thousands of feet, the steep angle of the plane caused the coffins to shift and strain at the straps that held them. I hope those don’t break loose, Joe thought. He grabbed the seat next to him and held on as he looked at the coffins in the back and wondered if he was about to join them. He had thought about death many times in the jungles of Vietnam and had learned to control his fear. He felt more helpless now than afraid.
The plane continued to dive as Mike struggled to gain control. He looked at the wheels of the altimeter as they spun while the plane plummeted. They were all the way down to two thousand feet when finally Mike yelled,” Hard right rudder and pull! Come on Josh, pull! ”
Josh and Mike both leaned back and pulled hard against the yoke. They could see the huge ocean waves through the windshield. Mike took a deep breath as he looked at the wheels of the altimeter, which were finally beginning to turn slower, fifteen hundred feet, then fourteen hundred feet. Gradually the nose began to come up.
“That’s it baby. That’s it, back to twenty eight hundred feet.”
“Come on,” Josh begged as he thought about his wife and the son he had only seen one time. I wonder if I’ll ever see them again? He was pulling on the yoke as hard as he could as the plane climbed slowly.
But then the downdraft hit them again. Mike and Josh looked at each other briefly.
“We have to try it again Josh,” Mike said. He knew they were probably too low, but there was no other way.
So once again they pointed the plane down to try and gain control, but by the time Mike was able to pull the big plane out of the nosedive they had lost too much altitude. Through the windshield he could see the enormous waves just below them.
“Mayday, mayday,” Joshed yelled frantically into the radio microphone as the tail of the plane slammed into the sea.
As they hit the water the plane hit the top of the wave and skipped like a rock on a lake. The whole plane seemed to shudder. An overhead control panel broke loose and fell, cutting Mike’s forehead.
“Aagh!” he yelled.
He was still trying to pull the nose up, but then they hit the next forty-foot wave head on. It felt like they had run into a brick wall. The windshield shattered and the cockpit collapsed like an accordion on the two crewmen. The nose of the plane dipped under the wave for a moment causing the tail to point straight toward the sky. Then it slowly settled back and lay flat on the sea. All the engines quickly flooded with seawater and died.
For a few seconds Joe had blacked out from the concussion of the plane hitting the water. His seat and harness had broken loose and when he regained consciousness he found himself lying on his back in the aisle with his left arm hung in the seat harness. Seawater was running back and forth down the aisle as the plane pitched up and down as he wondered how long he had been out. He pulled his arm from the harness and tried to get to his feet, but something was very wrong. “Son of a bitch,” he screamed with pain and fell back to the floor. A pallet of empty shell casings had broken loose, and had slid down the center aisle and pinned his foot against the bulkhead. The container had mashed and mangled his foot. His foot was throbbing and he could see his boot filling with blood. To further complicate things, his foot was tangled in the cargo webbing. He could see the waves crashing against the windows.