Scars & Stripes
Description
Vocal Characteristics
Language
EnglishVoice Age
Middle Aged (35-54)Accents
North American (General) North American (US Western) VietnameseTranscript
Note: Transcripts are generated using speech recognition software and may contain errors.
Then we were moving up to the deck and the A six intruder. And as I went out to the plane, Commander Michaels, who was the chaplain, lifted his thumb to me. We had talked a lot together in the months passed because he was from North Carolina, my home territory, and because he had the faith, as I did now, he was trying to tell me it was going to be OK. It was good to have that gesture because Michael's new. We ran an Alfa Strike two as I pre flight of the aircraft, along with Kelly Paterson. Captain J. L. Holloway, the third skipper of this ship, tapped me on the leg and said, A good day, Rid No sweat. You'll be going in but on the Air Force and there will be two big raids before you get there. By the time you get over the target, there will be no flag to worry about. You'll have a good mission. Two good omens I didn't know. I climbed up the boarding ladder and slipped into the cockpit. Kelly Paterson strapped in next to me. We were side by side in this ungainly twin jet bomber that looks like a clumsy beetle at best, separated by a line of switches and knobs on a floor console. Between our seats, the A six have been the workhorse for the Navy since 1962 and, despite her awkward looks, could strike targets regardless of weather or the time of day. She was a flying computer, using what is called the Diane Kelly's job was to program the course to the target and all the information related to the mission on a typewriter keyboard in front of him. The computer took us the rest of the way. The only thing Kelly could not do was program in our life chances. In that mission that was still in the hands of God, I ran up the two J 52 jet engines, taxi down to the catapult and locked into it. As we sat there, we ran down the familiar cockpit check wings. Kelly snapped it off at me. Wings spreading locked. Handle stowed flags flush flaps, flaps in, take off slats down. Stabilizer shifted. Speed breaks in zero Roeder zero aileron. Six units, nose up. Fuel fuel checked. Five switches up. Pressurization switches. Normal wing pressure lights out. If you already Switch off your gate. Shows £15,000. Controls controls free seats. See, It's armed top and bottom harness locked. Check yours Set. Ready to go. Roger. The sound of Kelly's voice was pleasant and reassuring to me. We had flown together for 18 months, almost 700 flight hours together. I knew his every move. He knew mine. He was 26 years old, round faced, pleasant and sensitive. Kelly would never let his bombs go if the target was at all in question due to a weak radar signal for him, life was too precious just to let fly with destruction that anything in North Vietnam. I admired him for that virtue among many others. And this made our comradeship something deep and vital. Kelly had a brother in Vietnam fighting with the infantry in the South. Whenever Kelly got leave, he would find his brother and go on patrol with him just so he could be with him. To me, that was the kind of love that didn't come down the street every day. Now I ran over the rows of gauges in front of me knowing what to look for after so many flights waiting for the catapult shot that would put us a flying speed off the carrier in two seconds as I glanced out to focus on the catapult officer below, waving his hand over his head to build us up for the final go, I thought of the £13,000 of bombs under my wings again, the £15,000 of fuel and the £28,000 that went with the aircraft proper. Something like £58,000 had to get airborne off that catapult. And as many times as I went through this final second before the shot, I never got totally comfortable about the thought of landing in the drink with all that weight. Then the catapult officers hand was at the peak of his wind up. I gave him the salute, and I felt the shock of the catapult against the back of my head, where it rested firmly up against the head rest. I had control of the aircraft into those two seconds and began to climb out to rendezvous with a squadron. I didn't look back or down. I kept my eyes out for my grouping flight. I knew, though the friendly deck of the enterprise was getting smaller all the time as we climbed. I was glad I didn't look back. Somehow today I wanted to get the mission over with as fast as I could. I wanted to look at enterprise on the return approach, not Outward Bound, and maybe that, too, was a kind of omen.