The folks in New York City were almost friendly to each other as they enjoyed the cool respite of the fall weather after a hot and arduous summer. They even failed to complain about the lateness of their particular mode of public transportation, which was reacting with predictable mechanical reluctance to the first chilled whispers of a coming winter .
    At the same time, those of us a half a world away suffered no transportation delays although we readily wished we could. Our mission for the day, which had looked to be boring, tedious and extremely safe, was cancelled in exchange for an immediate divert to the southern most part of the country, the U-Minh Forest. Flying around that area in daylight was almost as much fun as jogging in Central Park at night. We followed the compass south but it was done with no joy.
    We landed at Ca Mau, refuled, rearmed and in general, tried to act cool. The boss called all the pilots together and tried to explained what was happening. The Navy had sent in some Huey gunships (UH-1B) to find the "bad guys" in an area we called 'VC Lake". They did their job well and found a whole bunch of them which resulted in the shoot down of a gunship and a missing crew. The downed crew had to be located before we could let loose with all our firepower into the area. All eyes turned towards the Scouts. As one of the senior scout pilots, I knew this one was ours. I pulled out my revolver, spun the cylinder and in my best John Wayne voice said "Let's mount up". The Cav was on its way! As I headed towards my aircraft., I wanted to light a cigarette but my hands were shaking too much.
    We got to our aircraft and had a meeting of the scout crews to discuss options and strategies. Just about midpoint in our conversation, a lone Navy gunship approached our gathering. At first I was annoyed by his noisy interruption, but as I looked up I realized his problem. Hung over the right skid, secured by a strap held by the gunner, was one of the missing crewmembers. He was young, he was American and he was dead! As the ship hovered a few feet above us, I could see the anguish in the gunners eyes.
This had been his buddy. The ship couldn't land due to the position of the body yet no one moved to receive its ravaged cargo. The gunners eyes were too plaintive to ignore, so I stepped into position, opened my arms and accepted his sorrowful burden.
    As he released the strap, I realized for the first time what "deadweight" really
meant. Despite his youth and slight frame, his body filled my arms and bowed my legs.
    I cradled his head and looked at his face, a face that would never grow older. It was slightly whiskered and his pale blue eyes were opened and fixed in an eternal stare. His lips were poised with final words the world would never hear. The others came up to take him from me. They had spread a poncho on the ground to receive him. Even as I staggered under his weight, I was reluctant to let him go. I knew that after I released him, the warrior boy would cease to exist. He would be bundled and bagged and become just another dead statistic; never to be held in anyones arms again.
    The flight back to base that night was unusually quiet. A large pumpkin colored moon rose as we watched the night claim the land below us. On the other side of this world the sun was just rising, bringing a new day. And to the young sailor's home; visitors. A Navy Chaplain, a personnel officer and a telegram that reads in part, "we regret to inform you...".
    That night we spent drinking but didn't party, we talked but in muted tones and the conversations were of home and loved ones, not of daily heroics. Tomorrow we would do the hardest of tasks after being closely touched by death, we would continue living.

Ed Gallagher

(The author is a former US Army helicopter pilot with over 200 combat mission in Viet Nam and Cambodia)