It had been a bad crash and the pilot, WO-1 James Miller, was lucky to be alive not justinjured.
    Jim was a flight school buddy and good friend of mine, so I decided to round up some of his other "stick" buddies and pay him a visit at the hospital. We flew up to the Evac and solemnly entered the ward. Expecting the worst, we were pleasantly surprised to find Jim propped up in bed and chatting with the "Dust-Off' pilot who had flown him in from the field. WO-1 Stan Shaffer was another flight school alumnus so this was shaping up into a real reunion.
Jim was extremely happy to see us as he had just been notified that he was being shipped back to the states that evening. After the initial shock wore off, we decided that a proper send off was the only noble course of action. Before Jim could protest, we were all out the door!
    We asked Stan ifhe knew where any "0" clubs were. Stanley P. Shaffer, former marine, second tour Viet N am vet, pilot extraordinarie knew where ALL the clubs were! Our plan was to buy a steak dinner with all the trimmings and present it to Jim as a fitting farewell tribute. We had our mission.
    We saw a jeep with US Army painted on it and agreed since we were all Army also, it must be ours. We drove to the nearest club and ordered the biggest steak they had. While waiting for the meal, it was suggested we all join together and toast to Jim's continued good health. A hearty libation was concocted and eagerly consumed. The dinner's preparation lagged so one more toast was performed. Upon the steaks arrival, it was met with a lusty cheer and another hearty toast. We "carefuly" wrapped all the contents of the meal in a series of paper plates and I stuffed it in the lower leg pocket of my flight suit. Properly fortified and of good cheer, we started the drive back to the hospital. Along the route someone commented that a good steak deserves a good wine. The jeep was stopped and we all spread out in search of "the" appropriate wine. Within 30 minutes I had returned to the jeep flushed with success.I had found "the" fitting wine. We all had found "the" fitting wine. AIl 23 bottles of it! The remaining trip to the Evac was made amidst a wine tasting contest.
    Entering the ward with great fanfare, we presented Jim with his sumptuous repast which by now greatly resembled fresh "road kill". As he ate, the bottles were past around the assembled warrior clan and the ward echoed with stories of the brave deeds and valorous acts of our departing brother .
    "Enters the Head Nurse!!!" The small, thin lady froze in her steps. She paled visibly, her mouth moving but only uttering small barking sounds. She staggered towards an oxygen tank and breathed deeply from the mask. As the color returned to her face, it was intensified by the fire in her eyes! With no regard for our regal status as warrior gods, she reviled us with terms and expressions not normally associated within the field of medicine. Our explanations fell on deaf ears as this "Healer from Hell" castigated us with a litany of violated regulations and health codes as well as aspersions towards our parentage. We fell back but regrouped smartly. We prepared to stand and defend our sacred and long honored right of debauchery. She advanced on us with glowering eyes. Those of us who could still open our eyes stared intently back. Even though we recognized the odds were stacked possibly against us, the five of us would valiantly stand our ground despite our impending doom.
    The crackling silence only broke when Jim's sleepy voice informed us that all the wine was gone.
A proper, albeit hasty, goodbye was made as we all wished Jim "Godspeed" and a quick trip home. With that we warriors departed, our honor intact and mission
accomplished, to find a kindly refuge with a cold bottle so as to strenthen ourselves for the rigors of tomorrows battle and the performance of brave deeds.

Ed Gallagher

(The author is a former Army helicopter pilot with
over 200 missions in Viet N am and Cambodia)