CHPA • The Swash PlateA • The Swash Plate

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March 2010 CHPA President Lori Gaff 

 

Hello Friends! Welcome to the March edition of The Swash Plate!

Lots of great stuff going on at CHPA right now! HAI in Houston was a resounding success! Not only did we meet scores of potential members, we also were able to welcome a dozen new members to the fold. We also met several businesses and groups that we look forward to networking with! Next up is Quad-A, April 14-17, 2010 in Fort Worth, TX. Hope to see you there! Check our website for details as they become available.

More exciting news! We have another trip planned for a deserving service member, thanks to the generosity of a private citizen, who is donating his bonus points. We have been working on setting up accounts so that anyone who would like to donate points may do so through CHPA to benefit service members. Thanks to board member, Mike Clarke for heading this up! Do you have airline or hotel points that you would like to donate to a good cause? Give us a shout.

We have also been working hard on setting up the annual meeting, and we’re very excited to announce New Orleans as the 2010 location! Save the date: September 24-26. We have selected an outstanding and extremely affordable venue this year with the historic St. Christopher Hotel, which is situated in the heart of the city only steps away from Canal Street and the French Quarter. Not only is the price incredible, but the location is unbeatable! We plan to continue the “after hours” hospitality suite tradition, so if you haven’t attended an annual meeting yet, be sure to not miss this one!

Stay tuned for more details on the schedule, and we’ll be sure to let you know when it is time to register online. We very much hope to see you all in New Orleans!

We hope you enjoy this new and improved version of the Swash! Many thanks to Jay Brown, who has been working tirelessly to bring this to you and we hope you like it as much as we do!

We are listening to your suggestions and comments, and continuously working to make CHPA the organization you want it to be. Please feel free to drop me a line at lgaff@chpa-us.org anytime you have something to add! Duty • Honor • Courage

Do YOU Have Any unit pictures or patches, old or current, laying around that you’d like to put to good use?

Send them to us at:

CHPA

PO Box 15852

Washington, DC 20003

We’ll put them on

display at such

venues as Quad-A, HeliExpo and

the VHPA reunion!

! “$a&k()* +o-) .e0o12 La)e”      "# $%&ha)* +%lle)  ! “5ha)k 7ou 9&&”      "# $./ 0%1%/2st./  ! “.eet ;&au<e =ou>he2”     5.6/*e* 5a))%.) P).8e&t  ! “$he) ? @aAe 7ou1 $ou)<e<”     "# +9 Pat :)a*#  ! “9(10a) Ba1)> Cu1D&e @ea1t”    a/* ;6&h< ;6&h ;.)e! 

Presenting!

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Volume 5, Issue 3 CHPA • The Swash Plate

Continued on Page 3

There I was, flying upside down below tree­top level, hanging in my harness, zero visibility with incoming tracer rounds whizzing by my chin strap. Mission accomplished. I got a DFC, Air Medal with V, and a three­day pass to Saigon; all expenses paid …

No, this is not one of those kinds of barroom war stories. There are two obvious reasons why it isn’t. One is that there weren’t any tracers and secondly I have CRS disease. For the current young aviator studs, and to be politically correct stud­esses, who haven’t heard of that acronym the first two words are Can’t Remember and the third is rather obvious. More than a third of a century has passed since I first set foot on Vietnam soil. Since the gray drive in the old noggin has never been changed or defragged I suspect some of its partitions have been corrupted. It’s likely due to normal age related loss of brain cells, or perhaps it’s brain cells that were lost early on from a bit too much of the suds. This is about only those few events that are stone­etched in my mind and are as clear as if it were happening right now. But first let me explain why I am putting these stories to paper.

I suspect that every self-respecting, type A personality pilot has an I-Love-Me-wall. A small

portion of a wall and a single shelf of a bookcase hold all that I decided to keep from my career in the military and as an aviator. I was never one to keep a lot of mementos knowing that they would just end up in a box in a dusty attic perhaps alongside that 20 year old bowling ball that my Chief of Staff said that I should have gotten rid of long ago. My grandkids were recently looking at some of the stuff on my I Love Me wall and also through a photo album of my Vietnam tour. After they quickly got over what I considered to be a minimalist awe of the awards and decorations, they wanted to look through the album. I haven’t opened it in years and had forgotten what photos I had placed there. Many of the photos are of me in my younger flight school and combat days. At some point their viewing of the photos turned into comparing my present place in bodily evolution to what then was, at least in my own mind, a young Tom Cruise with Ray Bans and on steroids. I defended myself by explaining that back then I was a huge babe magnet and I had references to prove it. Perhaps it is best that I did not have to produce names and numbers because I suspect that anyone that they might call would now answer the telephone with, “Hello, this is Grandma so and so.” After a few moments, I realized that it was a futile attempt to defend the photo representations between yesteryear’s stud and present day senior.

After the non-aviator, no I-Love-Me-Wall, loveable yet irreverent grandkids had departed the AO, I sat awhile in my man-cave revisiting the pictures in the album. It was somewhat peculiar that I recalled the camera with which I had taken some of the tour pictures. It was a very expensive 35 mm Nikon with a bunch of attachment lens; one of which was a telephoto that rivaled the length of the tail boom on a Kiowa Warrior. Today’s helicopter crews should be thankful for that ninety-nine dollar digital if for no other reason than it fits easily in a flight suit pocket.

Exactly the same as another half dozen arrivals in a foreign country have since been, my first step into Vietnam at Bien Hoa airbase wasn’t all that memorable. I suspect that I was milling around with a hundred other FNGs just like every other military sponsored goat rope that happens; then, now, and in the future. What I absolutely do remember is going to the O’ Club, getting really plastered, and passing out in a tent on a military issue cot without lowering the requisite mosquito net. The next morning I awoke wearing

Walking Down Memory Lane Richard Miller 

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Volume 5, Issue 3 CHPA • The Swash Plate

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only my shorts. I had what astonishingly appeared to be several million mosquito bites on my body. The amazing part is so much more vivid and valid when I say that there were even bites in the

lower region between my legs. That would be what male aviators cherish dearly and brag about more than occasionally. Having been briefed about malaria during the arrival goat rope, I was understandably distressed. So I found my way to the flight doc’s office to see if I could get some kind of inoculation or pill for the prevention of what might be an impending disease. He didn’t give me any meds, but rather he made one memorable comment which was, “Son, if you don’t get malaria in a couple weeks, you never will.” I did not and to this day I have no fear of mosquitoes. If several million of their ancestors couldn’t do the job then, I doubt one or two kamikaze mosquitoes would succeed now.

From Bien Hoa I was flown to Da Nang where I was to be picked up by someone from my unit in Chu Lai. The helicopter ride from Da Nang to Chu Lai is one of my memories. We flew low-level with doors open in semi-monsoon weather. Now when I use the term low-level I do not mean stateside low-level, but rather I mean combat zone low-level. The impression that is forever etched in my mind is that if I had accidentally dangled a foot out the door then the rapidly passing ground would have ripped it off. I also remember thinking, from my first class scenic seat in the hellhole, why no one had bothered to tell me to put on rain gear. My TWs (Tropical Worsted uniform) were soaked upon arrival at Chu Lai. Door gunners, you have my deepest admiration.

I also remember my first flight with the check pilot. That flight was pretty bland until it came time for an approach to a sand bar. In my mind, all was going swimmingly, no pun intended. I was applying the finest airmanship ever taught at Mother Rucker to the task at hand. The rude awaking was when the check pilot grabbed the controls, did an abrupt up and out of there, and uttered an obscenity that is prohibited by the Ten Commandants. He told me in no uncertain terms that if I ever again made an approach at that dead turtle speed then the entire crew would be fighting over who would be first to rip the controls from me; along with certain of my cherished body parts.

After more than a third of a century, trying to remember details of actual missions is akin to an over-forty pilot trying to read mice type at night without goggles or glasses. However, there is a couple that I will never forget.

One of my first missions was absolutely memorable. We went out to pick up some wounded on a moonless night that was so dark that the term black does it an injustice. As we started the approach, the AC told me that my job was to turn on the landing light when he said, in no uncertain terms … “NOW.” OK, I can do that I thought. But when that one word wasn’t forthcoming after a few minutes of descent, I asked him if he wanted the light. No was the only reply. A few moments later I asked the same question. Again, no was the answer. Somewhere in this scenario after a couple of no answers my pucker factor is pegged. Finally, I hear the thrilling word, “NOW.” As I flipped on the light, we are about ten feet off the ground in a turn and going way faster than I considered absolutely necessary. As a newbie there was possibly an opportunity to learn some valuable flight technique that night, but it was lost on me. The only thing that stuck with me that dark night was that my AC was one lucky Son of a B**** and I was still alive.

Another incident that I absolutely do recall did not happen in the air. It also was early in my tour. I was part of a single-ship standby crew in Pleiku. I was in a hooch lying on my bunk while watching an AFN TV program. A side note here is that Pleiku had an Air Force presence that provided normal creature comforts like air conditioning and TV. The moral of that side note is don’t GO ARMY if you prefer to have a coffee pot and TV in your hooch. Suddenly, we started taking

As I flipped on the light, we are

about ten feet off the ground in

a turn and going way faster

than I considered absolutely

necessary. As a newbie there

was possibly an opportunity to

learn some valuable flight

technique that night, but it was

lost on me.

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Volume 5, Issue 3 CHPA • The Swash Plate

Concluded on Page 5

incoming mortar rounds. My AC jumped off of his rack and yelled at me to help get our bird in the air. We ran a short distance to the pad, cranked up, and got airborne despite one or two rounds impacting not more than a few hundred feet from us. Exciting at the time, but if I would have had the wisdom gained by age and experience in my later years as an aviator, I probably would have said “F*** you, let them have it.”

I would respectfully suggest that sometimes the rectum is a more powerful tool for recognizing danger than is the brain. One such mission validated that. I was called out on a mission that was in mountainous terrain with low-lying fog. An Air Force OV1 met us on scene. We could not see the pick up zone due to the dense fog. The OV jockey said he would pinpoint it with rocket smoke. He pulled up and dove into the fog. After coming out the top, he radioed his color. I started down expecting to break out underneath the fog. Back in those days the Army only issued a TAC instrument ticket that was suppose to be used only for inadvertent entry into clouds. I, on the other hand, had an instrument rating from civilian life so I was quite comfortable flying instruments in all situations. “Comfortable” is not the same as smart. After what seemed like an eternity, I pulled up to get back on top. I tried a second time without seeing the ground so we aborted the mission. I flew back over that area a few days later and observed just how close we came to buying the farm. Screw you Air Force pilot, thank you pucker factor.

I don’t know how one gets bored in a combat zone, but at one point in my tour I did. I wasn’t on the schedule for almost a week so I decided to fly with a buddy from flight school that was assigned to another unit. He was a Loach pilot. Being a Loach pilot was not so much a matter of volunteering for that insane job, but rather a result of how far down one finished in their flight school ranking.

Nonetheless, to an FNG, a spin around the block in an OH- 6 seemed like a hoot. In those combat days one could usually just take the keys and go flying. There weren’t any PPCs, fuel identiplate, a real flight plan, and certainly no mission paperwork that requires a half dozen risk assessment signatures. Sometimes it was sort of like a teenager taking the family car. As long as you told Dad where you were going, and didn’t put any dents in it, everything was good to go. We were flying about a foot off the beach at 100 knots with me firing a 45 out the door in the best tradition of John Wayne on horseback. Another side note here is that I had the choice of what caliber side arm I wanted to be issued. For the aviator with the big

watch and sunglasses, a big gun was an obvious selection. Anyway, in the middle of this great joy ride, my buddy got a call from Dad to assist some red legs in spotting targets for down range arty. The mission was interesting and I was soaking up some valuable techniques for working with cannon cockers. It was a talent that I never once used again.

We finished the calls and proceeded by doing a 180 back to base. From out of the turn, I immediately noticed that the sky was no longer clear of clouds. To this day, I could still paint a picture of those vivid little white puffy things that were not as far up, nor as big, in the sky as normal clouds are supposed to be. It didn’t take long for me to realize that my “buddy” was flying through the same arty that we had just called. Regardless, he was demoted to my B list of buddies for the rest of the tour. Either St. Michael was looking over us that day or the old adage was true that it is sometimes better to be lucky than good.

The dust on my memory surpasses that which lays on the aforementioned bowling ball, so I have no real recollection of the brothers who supported me as a combat helicopter pilot. There were cooks, crew chiefs, door gunners, mechanics, medics, the POL people, laundry handlers, and so many, many more. I’m sure I didn’t do it then, but now I thank them all. It has been written that participating in a war and surviving is a million dollar experience that one wouldn’t give a nickel to do again. It is damn well true.

Either St. Michael was looking

over us that day or the old

adage was true that it is

sometimes better to be lucky

than good.

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Volume 5, Issue 3 CHPA • The Swash Plate

The 6th Aviation Platoon Is Invited

It is appropriate that all of the previous generations of aviators in

America’s history, regardless of the branch of service or war, pass the torch to the next generation. I am sure that no generation has ever dropped it. I suspect and hope that the barroom stories starting with, “There I was” will live on forever, dust and all.

The 134th AHC is hosting their 2010 Star-Spangled Red, White and Blue Reunion. The reunion will be in Washington, DC from June 29 – July 5. All 6th Aviation Platoon personnel are invited to attend this reunion.

Double Tree Hotel/Crystal City 300 Army Navy Drive Arlington, VA 22202 1-800-222-TREE Reservation Code: AHC

CHPA’s Generous Corporate Sponsors

• Marpat Aviation 

• Robertson Aviation 

• Greater Las Vegas Property   Management 

• M1 Support Services 

• AM Air Services 

• DS2 Defense Support Services 

The author, Richard Miller, as a more mature, wiser man.

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Volume 5, Issue 3 CHPA • The Swash Plate

Ron Livingston-Apache 29

Jay,

Please tell everyone in CHPA thanks for everything.

Ron

Concluded on Page 7

Hello Everyone, I must first of all apologize for typing a

form letter instead of handwriting a personal letter to everyone, but the list of supporters and well wishers is so large it would take me too long, so here you go.

When I first received the plea for help from Lou back at the end of October, I knew that if I could, I would help Lou by giving him a kidney. I never gave it a second thought! I didn’t do a risk assessment or form a committee to study the situation; I just made the decision to donate the kidney if we were compatible. I found out from Lou that his blood is type A and when I learned

this, I felt the chance of the transplant taking place was good. I had Lou send me the contact information for the transplant organization that he was consulting. Lou informed me it was ChristUS Transplant Institute (CTI) so I contacted them to see what the next step would be.

Initially, they sent me a questionnaire to complete which I did, then they sent me a kit to have my blood drawn and returned to them overnight to see if Lou and I were a match. I went to a local lab per the instructions from CTI and gave them six tubes of blood. The blood was returned to them overnight and in a few days I was informed that we were a match. CTI told Lou they had found a match but would not tell him who the match was. Of course Lou knew it was me because we were communicating regularly at this point. CTI has a policy to limit the age of their living donors to 60 years of age however I turned 62 on Thanksgiving Day. Since they were not having any luck locating another donor, they decided to make an exception to their policy, but they would still require more extensive testing. CTI sent me to the lab here in Albuquerque to have nine more tubes of blood drawn for more tests.

Then, during the first week of December, Bequi and I went to San Antonio for three days of additional tests which included a regular EKG, a stress EKG, an ultrasound of my heart and, of course, a CAT Scan to insure I did indeed have two kidneys. As strange as it may seem, some people only have one kidney and CTI had one donor that had four kidneys. As it turned out, I had two. I excelled on the stress EKG, staying on the treadmill twice as long as other people in my age group. Everything was good and due to my good health and physical condition, they could not find any reason to not use me as a donor for Lou. Of course, they took several more tubes of blood.

We returned home to await a decision on the date for the surgery. The date was set for January 13 and CTI was supposed to have sent me another blood test kit so the final testing could be completed prior to the surgery. But someone failed to send the kit so we had to get to San Antonio a day before we planned so the blood testing could be completed prior to the surgery (another nine tubes of blood). I was about two quarts low at this point, but since blood was still showing on the dipstick, I didn’t need a transfusion. Concluded on Page 5

Thank You All Ron Livingston 

Lou Rochat-Apache 16

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Volume 5, Issue 3 CHPA • The Swash Plate

Pre­Op

From this point on, everyone was kept informed thanks

to Bequi through “As The Kidney Pumps” updates so I won’t bore you with all of those details. There were so many “funny” things that happened that went unmentioned, like the day I was rolled out of recovery as I lay on the gurney, half dazed, with my family waiting for me I said to the nurses, “I sure hope that someone got the license plate of that truck that just ran over me!”

It was also a wonderful gesture by Lad Vaughan and Bert Chole to be present for the transplant. I’m sure all of you have seen the Cav hats and Cav patches in the pre-surgery pictures Bequi and Bert sent out. But in

addition to these two great men, the outpouring of support from the 1st Cavalry community, as well as others, has been in one word, humbling. I had no idea that what started out as a simple gesture on my part to help a friend and fellow Cav Trooper would turn out to be a life-changing event for me, my family and friends.

And now, as we just passed the one month anniversary of the kidney transplant, I continue to get stronger every day. I am walking three to four miles, six days per week and taking one day to do nothing. I am good at doing nothing, and I do nothing best with my eyes closed, stretched out flat on my Lazy Boy recliner. But when I walk now, I am striving to get back to my old pace of 4.5 mph and I am at 4 mph currently. I have numerous aches and pains that are annoying but not unbearable and I know in time they will go away.

The real reason for this letter is to tell each and every one of the people that supported me, Bequi and our kids during this wonderful, yet trying time, thank you from the bottom of my heart. Your support, thoughts, prayers and donations have been overwhelming and inspiring. I have plans to go fishing in Montana in May with Lou, Jon Bartlett and John Jason. I also plan on attending the Bullwhip Reunion in October and the Alpha Troop reunion in Orlando in November. I plan on attending all of these events with Lou so our kidneys can have a visit.

Take care and God bless all of you wonderful people. Ron Livingston Apache 29

Post-Op

Post-Op

Discharge

Post-Op

Discharge Day

CHPA • The Swash PlateA • The Swash Plate

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Volume 5, Issue 3 CHPA • The Swash Plate

Meet Claude Boushey Wounded Warriors Project 

“I remember the ground coming really quick, and there was nothing I

could do,” Claude Boushey said, reflecting on the helicopter crash in Iraq that broke his leg, shattered and compressed his vertebrae, and compromised 80 percent of his spinal canal.

It was June 13, 2004. The mission started as support reconnaissance, but he was soon called to assist troops in contact with insurgents. Claude was in the left seat operating the systems when the pilot warned him something was wrong. The fuel control had failed, and the entire rotor [RPM] dropped off, and [the pilot] was unable to sustain flight. Claude was quick to send a mayday call out before crashing.

They hit hard and landed in a swamp, rolling, fuel spilling all over them. Upon impact, Claude felt a jolt of pain up his spine. The helicopter ended on its side, the cyclic pinned against Claude’s leg. “I was in water up to my neck. I actually tasted the fuel in my mouth. I saw the engine smoking. I tried to get out, and I couldn’t. I was pinned.” It’s a person's worst nightmare and greatest fear combined–drowning or being burned alive. But thanks to Claude’s mayday call, help arrived quickly. The area was secured, and shortly after, the medevac landed.

Initially, Claude was taken to Baghdad Combat Surgical Hospital and later medevaced to Landstuhl Regional Medical Center in Germany. After four surgeries, one lasting 14 hours, doctors didn’t think he would make it, and if he did, would probably never walk again. Determined to beat the odds, Claude was eventually sent back to his native Hawaii to recover at home on convalescent leave. “It took me eight months to start walking straight again, so that was challenging, but I appreciate things now,” says Claude, “I can walk.”

Walking wasn’t enough for Claude. Fifteen months after the crash and several Army medical waivers, he was approved to fly again, and accepted a deployment back to Iraq. “I needed to go back, because I felt I didn’t finish the job the first time. It was important for me to deploy again both mentally and emotionally.”

Claude’s second tour of duty lasted from July 2006 to October 2007. “It fulfilled me as a soldier, a pilot, and a person. I’m fortunate I made it back, because a lot of my friends didn’t. I think about them every day.”

Claude retired in December 2008. Today, he serves as a civilian pilot assigned to medevac missions for the Maryland State Police. He also works part time as a peer specialist with Virginia’s Wounded Warrior Program.

“My first priority is my family, but I make time to volunteer as a DAV driver for the DC VA Medical Center. It’s really fulfilling. I’m a fish back in the water and helping fellow veterans.”

Claude became involved with the Wounded Warrior Project as a peer mentor because he wanted to do something for injured veterans. “A combat veteran understands another combat veteran’s emotional and mental state. I had a lot of close calls. I appreciate what a soldier goes through.”

Want to know more about the Wounded Warrior Project? Visit their website at https://www.woundedwarriorproject.org/

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When I Have Your Wounded MG Pat Brady 

Kelly spent little time in the officer’s club, or town, and never missed church on Sunday. He was a deeply spiritual man having become a Christian in WW II; but he was not flamboyant about his faith or anything else. Ernie once wrote an inspirational quote on the bulletin board. Kelly liked it and asked Ernie to do it every day. Kelly, for all his rough demeanor, was a romantic. He spent much of his time writing, lovingly to Jessie certainly, but also just writing, some of it actually poetry. For these letters, indeed all his writings, he insisted on paper water marked with an eagle. What he wrote no one knew. He kept a can nearby and burned most of it. Maybe it was his way of getting things off his chest. He was in the battle of his life and no one in the Medical Department seemed willing or able to help.

He worked at a small desk dominated by a picture of an angel. He wanted to replace our unit patch, a rather drab thing, with something more exciting, something that of course included an angel. His request started the creative juices flowing in some of us. There were some beautiful unit patches being created at the time and I knew one of the artists, a gunship pilot. Ignoring the angel bit, I asked the artist to design a patch that included a Kangaroo in flight regalia with a wounded baby in its pouch. I got the idea from the Aussies who worked with us on occasion. The result was a 3x4 foot painting, truly a thing of beauty. I liked it so much I copied it on my flight helmet. I could not wait for Kelly to come to Saigon so I could show it to him. But he seldom came to Saigon. That would mean meetings at HQ with the brass, which he hated.

His legend continued to grow. On one mission Kelly responded to a call for help from Song Trau a small compound under attack. He was told that there had been no shooting for quite awhile. Despite coming under heavy fire on his approach, Kelly landed just outside the compound. The fire was so intense no one on the ground would move to help load the patients. Kelly and Ernie got out and put down suppressive fire while the medic and crew chief crawled under the barbed wire to pull the wounded through and load them on the DUSTOFF. During the loading they discovered that an enemy round had severed a fuel line causing a severe fuel leak. Another round had jammed the main fuel drain valve in the open position. They could not stop the leak. A simple spark from any of the multiple electrical wires and systems on the ship would have destroyed it and all aboard. The patients needed care and Kelly decided to risk the flight. Once airborne he called Soc Trang and alerted them of his situation and patients. The commander scrambled every available ship in case Kelly went down in enemy territory. The commander asked if there was anything else he could do. Kelly thought a minute and replied: “How about some ice cream?” The engine quit as Kelly hovered down the runway and there to meet him was the commander with a fire truck, an ambulance and a quart of ice cream.

In June the commanders were called to Saigon to say farewell to GEN Stilwell. Kelly could not miss that. Before he got in I placed the Kangaroo painting on his chair as a surprise and hung around for what I was sure would be a moment of great praise when he saw it. He came in, slipped between the chair and the desk, never sat down, gave some orders and on the way out asked: “Brady are you still working on my patch? I think it should include an angel, don’t you?”

That evening he and I, and a recently arrived chaplain, were sitting together listening to the Stilwell farewells. I had never seen Kelly so animated. He was by nature a quiet, private man, but this night he was cheerful.

MG Pat Brady

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Continued on Page 11

He read between the lines of the speeches, and

his remarks were colorful and his language rather earthy. The chaplain winced on more than one occasion. At an earlier meeting Kelly presented Stilwell with a plaque decorated with five red crosses and the tail numbers of our aircraft. He told Stilwell, "General, you wanted my aircraft so bad, here they are." I have a picture of that encounter, and Stilwell is smiling. I don't think the DUSTOFF issue was completely settled by then, but Kelly had his antagonist at bay. For all their differences, I always felt there was something rather special between Kelly and Stilwell. After Stilwell's farewell I bugged Kelly on his promise to let me have Detachment A. I was

shocked when he said I could take over on 1 July. I think he was concerned about the fight for DUSTOFF and decided he should be in Saigon to battle Stilwell’s replacement.

Kelly came to Saigon one more time, on the last day of June. He brought bad news. I would not replace him the next day as he promised. He still had things to finish in the Delta. I was deeply disappointed and feared I would never get to command Detachment A. At lunch that day we got word that a ship had gone down up north. A 2LT pilot was killed. Kelly had more access to operational information and I asked him if he knew the pilot’s name. Kelly wondered why I wanted to know that. I told him I had some flight school friends up there, including a close friend, a 2LT, who was my stick buddy in flight school. He remarked that no, he didn’t know, and no he didn’t want to know. He said it is better not to ask for names in this business. I worried about the coldness of his remark but figured two wars might do that to you. I flew him back to Soc Trang that night. It was the only time I ever flew with him and the last time I would see him.

I still remember the cold chill in my belly when we got word that Kelly was down. We all raced for our birds and headed for the Delta. I never waited for a co pilot and was the first to launch. On the way down I monitored the operation. A slick picked up the Kelly crew and we heard they were safe at Vinh Long. We all breathed a sigh of relief, and I remember smiling to myself as I thought about Kelly's reaction to being picked up by a slick. I saw a lone DUSTOFF on the ramp at Vinh Long and parked behind it. Ernie was sitting in the cargo door. I was in a cheerful mood until I noticed he was crying. Then I saw the body bag behind him. Before I could say anything, he nodded at the bag and said it was Kelly. All the air went out of my body and I sank down beside him. He had escaped so many tight spots, so close so many times, that it never occurred to me that they could kill him. The reality just shook me.

Kelly and Dick Anderson, with PFC Earl Pickstone as crew chief and Doctor (CPT) Henry W. Giles as medic, (in the early days we carried a physician as medic if the wounded was US. We abandoned this practice later when we found our enlisted were better in the field) had gone into a supposedly secure area 10 miles southwest of Vinh Long for some allegedly urgent wounded; one of them a US soldier. While landing they noticed the “urgent” US advisor standing in the LZ guiding them in. Andy quietly cursed him, “urgent my eye!”

While on the ground, they began drawing fire, once again coming out of friendly lines. The ground forces call sign, Dragonfly Bravo, screamed at Kelly to get out. He replied stubbornly: "When I have your wounded." His next words were, "my God," and he curled up from a single bullet shot right through his heart. The ship curled with him, and the rotors beat it to pieces. He would not let anyone on the controls with him or Andy might have saved the bird. Andy cut off the fuel for fear of a fire and noticed blood on his visor. It was from Kelly who was on top of him. They were still under fire but Andy got the crew out safely and dragged Kelly behind a berm. Doctor Giles, who broke his leg in the crash, tried to

MAJ Charles Kelly

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Volume 5, Issue 3 CHPA • The Swash Plate

Concluded on Page 12

administer an IV but it was too late. He declared Kelly dead on the spot. Then they were rescued by a slick.

Kelly’s crew had only been at Long Binh a few minutes before I got there and the same people were yelling for a DUSTOFF to come back for the urgent patients Kelly was killed trying to rescue. I recall my atheist friend, now our new commander, rushing over to us as we sat there in silent numbness. He began to shout and wave and give orders and question why we sat while there were patients in the field. I can remember rousing from my stupor and becoming outraged at his insensitivity to what had happened to Kelly. They had been friends for years. He saw my anger and said simply and quietly, "It's over; it's done; and we've got work to do." He was right. Kelly was probably smiling in the body bag behind us.

Ernie and I cranked up and went back for Kelly's patients. As we came over the area I spotted Kelly's ship in a mangled heap. The area was still called secure and the patients still classified urgent. I was not thinking clearly after Kelly’s death and made the mistake of taking them at their word. I did not come in tactically; I came straight in beside Kelly’s ship. I noticed the tail number, 63-8591, one of the ships Brian and I flew the day he was shot. Just as I was sitting down all hell broke loose. Bullets blasted through our ship, probably from the same folks who shot Kelly. They were in the same tree line with the friendlies. We jumped over some foliage into an adjacent rice paddy and checked to see if our bird was flyable. It was. Amazingly, they were calling us back to the same area! “We are now secure DUSTOFF.” Right! I went back to altitude and took a closer look at the area.

Since Vietnam I have been able to visualize most of the hot areas I landed in. For many years they were burned into my being. Some are getting dim but that area will forever be clear. There was a heavily vegetated river west of Kelly’s ship with canals running off on the north and south to form a U. I noticed a perfect square of banana trees east of Kelly’s ship. They were a bit thin but I could find no other place to hide. We then asked that they get the patients in the banana square and hold the smoke. I was sure there were enemy mixed in with the friendlies and did not want smoke to give them any notice of our arrival. Since it is easy to get lost low-level without a signal, I memorized the terrain as I flew east. I got as low as possible snaked up to the banana trees, jumped over, slid into a 180 and sat down. We didn’t get out before the shooting started but we did get out with the patients. The “urgent” US patient walked to the aircraft carrying a bag. I was told later that he was coming out of the field to go on R&R. All the patients were ambulatory. None was urgent. Kelly had died for a routine patient. That bothered many but it would not have bothered Kelly.

We finished our missions well after dark and I stayed in Kelly's room that night and slept in the bed he had slept in his last night on earth. As I sat at his desk and wrote up the missions of that day I noticed it was the first of July and I was finally the commander of Detachment A, just as Kelly had promised. He couldn’t break a promise even though he tried. His room was now my room. I cried myself to sleep that night.

He was the 149th hostile American death in Vietnam, and the outcry was overwhelming. I think it was then that we all truly realized how beloved he was in the Delta. I was told that Stilwell broke down when told of Kelly's death. He was given the highest awards of the Vietnamese government, and all their brass were there. It was the biggest funeral service I had ever seen. General Westmoreland would later write a eulogy for Kelly in which he called him a living legend, and described him as an example of the ideal GI, men who have given America more than they have taken from her. For Westmoreland, Kelly epitomized the greatness of the human spirit. I was a pallbearer along with Andy, Jeff Grider, Charles Allen and Billy Mitchell. Ernie flew Detachment A up from Soc Trang in weather that would have grounded most other aircraft. Nothing would keep him from Kelly’s memorial.

There were two coffins in the chapel that day. One was my stick buddy and dear friend, Bill Cawthorne, the one Kelly told me not to inquire about. Bill had died heroically. He was shot and crashed near a remote village called Hiep Duc, an area that would become familiar to me later. Although fatally wounded,

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Volume 5, Issue 3 CHPA • The Swash Plate

he managed to get his crew out of the burning bird. He then sat down and died. They were now side by side.

The chaplain was the same one who had winced at Kelly's war stories earlier. He never mentioned the names of the dead on his altar that day and I have often wondered if he knew who it was he was praying over. It was an emotionally tough time for all of us as we grieved for our commander and especially for me as I also grieved for my stick buddy. I never really had a father and often thought of Kelly in those terms. His death hurt me deeply. I looked on him as an advocate in all my troubles; he wished me well and had prolonged my career. Grief is a part of death but with Kelly I also felt a loneliness I could not describe or even explain. I wondered who would protect DUSTOFF now that he was gone. He was such a force.

Shortly after I took over Detachment A, the local commander called me in. I listened while he said that he was not at all surprised that someone had been killed. He didn't think it would be Kelly. He thought it would be one of the young pilots. He expected Kelly's death would teach us a lesson, and we would modify our ways. As I listened it was clear that some really did think Kelly was crazy and that much of the flying we did routinely was believed by others to demonstrate poor judgment. To this day there are those who call Kelly a fool who is a hero only because he was killed. We can talk forever about the difference between a brave man and a fool. Death is often the decider and a dead fool, or a genuine jerk, becomes a hero. I think caring is the answer; it is founded in goodness, will overcome fear and with courage define a hero. Kelly was a good man with courage and therefore a hero.

When he had finished, I told him nothing would change. We would continue to fly as MAJ Kelly had taught us and try to learn as much as possible from the only battlefield we had for use on the battlefields of the future. We would be wasting our time to do otherwise. Besides, we were in a battle to win the hearts and minds of the people, and there was no one doing it better than DUSTOFF. To his credit, he never tried to change or restrict us despite his personal convictions.

As I was leaving, perhaps as a warning, he gave me the bullet that killed Kelly. It had entered the open rear door, passed through Kelly's heart and lodged in the door to his right. No other round had hit the aircraft. I have often wondered if Kelly could have been deliberately targeted by a VC sniper. He was doing good representing the Saigon Government and the people loved him; all of which the communists hated much like Doc Smith’s hospital. Kelly would not wear a flak vest and he had been criticized for that. It was uncomfortable and really didn't stop much. But some said that if Kelly had had one on, he might have lived. I guess his mortician is the only one who knows.

Ed note: Grateful appreciation to MG Brady for sharing this chapter from his book, “Dead Men Flying,” the story of MAJ Charles

Kelly, the Father of DUSTOFF, and the medevac units that came into being and made history in Vietnam. The book may be purchased at merriam­press.com.

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Volume 5, Issue 3 CHPA • The Swash Plate

CHPA News!

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Reminder!

Special Thanks …

Many thanks to our friends at I Corps (formerly MNC-I) for generously allowing CHPA to reprint their great photos taken in the combat zone! We hope you enjoy these awesome photos!!

While adjusting the mouthpiece, LTC Charles Dalcourt (right) of Baton Rouge, LA, commander, 1st Battalion, 227th Aviation Regiment, 1st Air Cavalry Brigade, 1st Cavalry Division, U.S. Division–Center, shows CPL Charles Dominguez from Ontario, CA, how to operate a headset February 4. Dominguez, who was visiting 1st ACB as part of Operation Proper Exit, suffered serious burns in 2006 when he was attacked by a suicide bomber while supporting the ongoing War on Terror in Iraq. Photo by Sgt. Alun Thomas

Amjad Njaah Mjeed, an Iraqi air force aerial gunner, poses in front of a Mi­17 helicopter at Camp Taji, Iraq, January 29, in which the Iraqis use to train, conduct and perform missions. The overall objective of U.S. Air Force aerial gunners in the 721st Air Expeditionary Advisory Squadron is to train Iraqi aerial gunners on techniques, procedures and aircrew discipline so that Iraq can develop a self sustaining air force capable of protecting its people. Photo by Senior Airman Jarrod Chavana

Please feel free to forward this issue of “The Swash Plate” to your colleagues, potential members and other interested parties!

Please consider sponsoring CHPA’s programs. You may make tax deductible donations to support the Blaise ‘N’ a Trail for Education Scholarship program, the Holiday Boxes for the Troops or the Association. For further information please look at Sponsorship at the website, www.chpa-us.org.

Share the “Swash” …

Sponsorship

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Volume 5, Issue 3 CHPA • The Swash Plate

CPT Mary O. Jennings, 129th Rescue Wing HH­60G Pave Hawk co­pilot, receives the Purple Heart from California Air National Guard Commander, MG Dennis G. Lucas, during an awards ceremony December 6, 2009. CPT Jennings was the recipient of the Purple Heart due to injuries sustained in a July 29, 2009 Afghanistan rescue mission. Air National Guard photo by SSG Kim Ramirez)

Concluded on Page 15

12/10/2009 - MOFFETT FEDERAL AIRFIELD, CA

An Air Guardsman from the 129th Rescue Squadron was awarded a Purple Heart at the Santa Clara Convention Center, December 6.

CPT Mary Jennings, HH-60G Pave Hawk co-pilot, received the Badge of Military Merit, also known as the Purple Heart, by MG Dennis Lucas, commander of the California Air National Guard, in a ceremony attended by her family, friends and fellow Airmen from the 129th Rescue Wing.

She recently returned home from her deployment to Afghanistan after being wounded by enemy forces during the rescue of three injured American soldiers. Air Force rescue helicopter, Pedro 15 launched July 29 from Kandahar Airfield in route to the convoy that had fallen under attack once striking an improvised explosive device.

"We couldn't see any enemy fire as we arrived on scene," said MAJ George Dona, Pedro 15 pilot, also from 129th RQS. "We were in voice contact with the soldiers on the ground and we could hear over their radios that they were under distress."

The soldiers were taking cover from hidden enemy positions on the western side of the convoy. Pedro 15 took immediate fire upon the first landing, taking off right away, in enough time to drop off two pararescuemen, or PJs, in the zone, MAJ Dona said.

"One shot actually came directly into the cockpit and pretty much destroyed the entire co-pilot windshield," said MAJ Dona. "CPT Jennings took shrapnel and there was blood instantly all over her side."

Pararescue team lead, TSGT Aaron Butler, from the 38th RQS assigned to the 23rd Wing at Moody Air Force Base, GA, stayed on the aircraft after the first landing to ensure CPT Jennings was alright, while the rest of his pararescue team deplaned to collect the patients. Pedro 15 flew about a mile south to escape enemy fire and guarantee that both the helicopter and crew were in good enough condition to continue the save, CPT Jennings said.

"The helicopter was determined fully functional," she said. "We couldn't bring ourselves to return home without the patients."

Despite the danger Pedro 15 faced, the crew, including 129th RQS flight engineer SMSGT Steven Burt and 129th RQS aerial gunner TSGT Tiejie Jones, returned to the scene after getting a call from the PJs saying they were ready to haul out the three patients, MAJ Dona said.

"Then again, as soon as we landed we took immediate fire. We landed next to the patients and the PJs were already moving them in," he said. "We took constant fire, and after about 20 rounds to the backside of the helicopter the systems started to deteriorate slowly.

CPT Jennings told MAJ Dona, who was on controls, to hold the helicopter on the ground through the fire as she watched the PJs load the patients on the helicopter.

"There were people yelling, lights flashing, and people screaming through the radios, all while dodging bullets," said CPT Jennings. "MAJ Dona had a lot of patience and confidence in his team to stay on the ground through all the chaos. His amazing piloting skills saved all our lives."

About 30 seconds after takeoff the back cabin was full of fuel, hydraulics was leaking, and systems were not working correctly. CPT Jennings flipped the fuel selector to cross feed between the two fuel

A/229 AHB 1 CAV UH-1D 63-08808

CW2 Jesse Donald Phelps (P)

CW2 Kenneth Leon Stancil (P)

SP5 Donald Carroll Grella (CE)

SP4 Thomas Rice, Jr. (G)

In Memorium …

Airman Returns Home with a Purple Heart 

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Volume 5, Issue 3 CHPA • The Swash Plate

tanks to keep the engine from flaming out. This was a huge factor in keeping the helicopter airborne, MAJ Dona said.

"As I enabled the second tank I saw it was ticking down to zero as well," said CPT Jennings. "We needed to land. It was a decision to either crash three miles away or land two miles away."

The crew of Pedro 15 made the right decision. After landing the helicopter about two miles south of the convoy attack the crew shut down and quickly secured a perimeter to protect the patients. Nearby flight Pedro 16 landed next to their crippled wingmen and loaded all patients and as many crew members as possible before departing, MAJ Dona said.

"Army OH-58D Kiowa Warrior helicopters came to retrieve the rest of the crew," said CPT Jennings. "Being small, single-engine, single-rotor, two-seater helicopters, there was no room for us inside. We had to stand on the skids and hold onto rocket pods."

As if the heroic pilotage of CPT Jennings and MAJ Dona weren't enough, SMSGT Burt also showed extreme valor. While PJs were loading patients onto Pedro 16 and the crew was being exfiltrated on to the skids of their cover ships, one of the pararescuemen called for help. SMSGT Burt ran through the rain of fire to help, CPT Jennings said.

"He totally put his life on the line," she said. "I'm extremely proud of my crew's heroism." Looking back at the incident, CPT Jennings is thankful for her crew and their bravery.

"In a country where rocket propelled grenades are used everywhere, it was amazing that no one had an RPG. Everything was covered in fuel, including ourselves" she said. "It was nothing short of a miracle that we survived."

CHPA News

CHPA will be in attendance at the Quad A National Convention at the Fort Worth, TX Convention

Center, April 14–17. If you will be attending the convention, or just in the neighborhood, stop by booth 2513 for a visit. We’d love to have you drop by to shake hands and meet our founder, Steve Reilly; Chairman of the Board and Executive Director, Jay Brown; President Lori Gaff and Director Rusty Bourgoyne and his lovely wife, Lynn.

Come by and let us know if there’s anything we can do to make your organization better. We love to hear from our members and potential members at these functions so join us in Fort Worth.

Come Join Us At Quad A in Fort Worth

From left: CPT Anthony Fuscellaro, CWO Toby Familo, LTC David Jernigan, CWO Adam Fletcher, LTC Wade Blackwell, CWO Cody Pearson, LTC Mike Morgan, CWO Seth Schubert, CWO Michael Leoni and CWO Samuel Ratterree received Distinguished Flying Crosses Friday for heroic actions while serving in Afghanistan.. Photo by Sgt. 1st Class Shannon Wright/Paraglide.