Blowin' In The Wind.....
You might recognize the name - at that time, Lieutenant Colonel Colin Powell.
It was basically my job to keep his engagement book, drive him around and eventually help pour him into his UH-1 to fly back to Pusan korea. A fun time was had by all. Except me. I was a lowly enlisted man, relegated to standing in a corner and continuously watching General Emerson should he summon me to pour him another scotch whiskey. I poured him a lot of scotch whiskey that night,And helped myself to some when no one was paying me any particular attention. Easy enough. An enlisted staff aide to a general officer was pretty much invisible.
But yeah, Korea...
Healing from a torn peroneal tendon, I was removed from my Combat Engineer unit and assigned light duty for six to nine months, Normally, an E4 in the army wouldn't get within 100 yards of a division commanding general, but he seemed to tolerate me well enough for me to accompany him to Japan. Chosen from a field of 22 soldiers. Go figure.
It was in Japan that I met Mike Stanfield. Our Huey pilot.
Mike was a Chief Warrant Officer, personally piloting The Gunfighter to wherever his whim carried them. I got to know Mike pretty well while in Fukuoka. Warrant Officers are a funny breed. While they are a commissioned officer, their roles are fairly specialized. They rank higher than enlisted or non commissioned officers but are ranked by regular commissioned officers, from 2nd Lieutenant on up. Can you imagine that?....being a CW4 or CW5 with 18 years of service, having to salute some kid fresh out of Officer Candidate School? Sheesh...
Mike was a rotary wing pilot, while his brother, a CW2 (warrant officer) was a combat supply and logistics officer. Warrant Officers fly various aircraft, are put in charge of motor pools, logistical roles, weapons and ammunition technicians, computer and technology centers and a whole lot of other stuff that would shroud this entire page should I list all their specialties.
They are also, in most cases, much more relaxed militarily speaking. While they are held to military standards in courtesy, dress and demeanor of an officer, the loudest bunch in any given officer's club is more than likely a party of WOs. It was within this quiet informality that I got to know Mike as a friend.
Mike earned respect as a medevac pilot in Vietnam. He earned a bucket of medals for being one of the only pilots who would land in a "hot LZ" (a landing zone under fire) to extract wounded soldiers. This decision was left to the discretion of each pilot. Medevac aircraft are not armed, and it has nothing to do with the Geneva Convention. It's a matter of weight reduction for the craft. Even the sandbags most soldiers placed on the floor and under the seats of the pilots to stop bullets were omitted for the sake of weight. Removing 4 sandbags enabled one additional wounded soldier aboard.
He jokes that his two purple hearts should have been placed on each ass cheek, because that was where he was hit on two different occasions. While his golly shucks southern charm disarms many, Mike Stanfield is a born leader and was awarded the Bronze Star with Valor device.
You don't get those out of cereal boxes.
The Command Sergeant Major that worked in the G2 intelligence office I worked in just flat out hated me. Longfellow was an ass-kissing career politician married to a Korean local and had not left korea in the past five years; which in itself was a minor miracle. It took an act of Heaven to get more than one tour extension in Korea since it was considered a hardship tour. The way Longfellow lived bespoke of anything than hardship. There's little doubt that a top ranked enlisted man, married to a Korean national had ample opportunities on the commissary black market. It was rampant, if you know which palms to grease.
Why he disliked me I never knew, but he put me on every crap detail that came along. The one he took most pleasure in was setting me outside the quonset hut office, raking a perpetual rain of autumn leaves. There were dozens of oak trees that surrounded our building and in the autumn, they would drop unbelievable amounts of dead foliage. Sergeant Major Longfellow decided it was my singular role in life to collect and burn every single leaf.
Every day for two months.
Ev
Ree
Day.
It was during my kvetching to Mike that he told me not to give it another thought. He knew a guy who would fix all that for me. I raised an eyebrow and he just shrugged and twisted the cap off another beer. he assured me I would know it when it happened.
The three day event Gunfighter and LTC Powell attended came to a close and we boarded the Huey and headed for home. It was a night flight over open ocean and as much as I've flown in rotary wing aircraft, night flights over large bodies of water always nagged at me. Hitting the ground in any aircraft is usually a chapter closer most times, but I've seen helicopters go down in the water and it's extremely messy. I simply closed my eyes and let the thrum of the blades lull me to sleep.
Summer passed and as the leaves began to turn, I dreaded what was to come. I wasn't disappointed. Leaning against my desk was a brand new rake and a box of plastic lawn bags. Longfellow smirked in my direction and adjusted his stupid hair piece. It looked more like the ass of an otter.
I raked all morning, filling bags and taking them to the burn area. I decided to go over to 2nd Aviation and see if I could grab chow at Mike's mess hall. He was already seated when I spotted him and slide into the chair across from him.
"Project Rake start yet?" he asked. I nodded and stuffed half a ham sandwich into my mouth. He looked at me for a long moment and then said he'd get on the solution for me that afternoon. I started to ask him what that was but he held up his hand...."loose lips sink ships buddy".
With that we changed subjects and finished lunch. He winked at me as we parted ways.It was just a bit after 2PM when I heard it. Aircraft pass over our location all the time, but not like
this. This was close...and low. It took me a minute to realize what was going on. I dropped my rake and jogged over to the side of the street so I could see. Two helicopters eased down to about ten feet above the tree clump and within three minutes, the propeller wash had blown every brown leaf from every tree in the square. My LTC in charge of G2 and Sergeant Major Longfellow came bolting out the door, shielding their eyes as they squinted upward toward the now clearly defined helicopter skids. With that, they gained altitude and banked back toward 2nd Aviation. It was pure whirling poetry.
Longfellow exploded. "What the hell was that Starks, you think you're a smart guy? Your ass is mine. Report to the colonel's office now".
I knocked on LTC Griffin's office door after I got cleaned up and he called me in. I saluted and reported as ordered. He returned my salute and told me to close the door.
He was smiling.
"I won't ask you if you had anything to do with that fiasco or who your flyboy buddies are." It'll be easy enough to track down the pilots. Turn in your gate pass to Sergeant Major Longfellow and get that mess cleaned up. You are restricted to base for a week. Dismissed".
I saluted him and did an about face and Longfellow was right there, nose to nose with me. "Give me that (&*)(_) pass and get out of my sight. I was more than happy to do so.
I went back outside and picked up my rake and started the huge job of gathering all those leaves up. There was barely a leaf over my head and I smiled as I looked upward to the blue autumn sky. It would have taken months for all of those leaves to eventually fall. Mike explained to his commanding officer that he and another squadron member were practicing a maneuver called "nap of the earth flying" which had been a directive given recently to all rotary wing pilots and he apologized if it had caused any problems. He was dismissed without incident.
So yeah, no running around at the bars at night for a week. Mike came to see me that evening with a 12 pack and a few pizza slices from the officer's mess.
Sometimes you just gotta work together to get stuff done. It's the Army way. Just sayin.....
Yours wryly...
Ken
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