Red Snow. Sean Ryan Stuart
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welcome aboard, you are a lucky man, we were looking for someone else and just stumbled into you.” SGT De Grazia clipped his microphone and informed CPT Brown of his rescue. SGT De Grazia secured Jeremy to the metal penetrator and yelled in the mike, “Get us out of here, pronto.”
“CPT Brown get, us up, and the hell away from here.”
Just as the aircraft began its slow upward flight, the surrounding jungle erupted in a staccato of small arms and machine-gun fire. Clearly visible green tracers curved slowly upward towards the slow-moving aircraft. The speed of the bullets seemed to increase as they got closer to the aircraft. Hidden Vietcong positions opened up with everything they had. Jeremy had somehow managed to walk into a Vietcong battalion headquarters and not be observed until the helicopter circled the area. The VC commander decided to spring the trap at the moment of the rescue. However, he did not count on the four Phantoms.
CPT Brown pushed his stick to starboard, and raced for Da Nang. It seemed that his helicopter was being pelted by a huge storm of marbles and angry giant wasps. Round after round hit the sturdy Jolly Green Giant, but CPT Brown managed to keep her flying toward Da Nang. Just as it seemed they were going to get away without even a single casualty, several 12.3 mm heavy machine-gun rounds hit the aircraft. The aircraft seem to shudder in mid-air and a small fire started in one of the auxiliary generators. Tony was able to put out the fire and CPT Brown was able to keep the aircraft flying. However, the first round struck the crew chief, Tsgt James O. Byron, in the chest.
The round made a gaping four-inch exit hole in his back, and Tsgt Byron dropped to the floor without even uttering a single groan or word. Jeremy and SGT De Grazia stared in horror as the rounds continued hitting the aircraft. How ironic Jeremy thought, I am going to die in this copter after being saved by them. Just then, the aircraft began stuttering again and blowing dark and oily smoke all over the sky. It seemed that they were going to crash. Jeremy hung on to the nearest hand hold and began saying a “Hail Mary” to himself.
CPT Brown struggled and somehow managed to regain control of the aircraft and slowly nursed it back to Da Nang, his aircraft trailing and belching smoke the whole way. The numerous large holes in the fuselage made such a racket that both Jeremy and the rest of the remaining crew had to hold their hands over their ears. Jeremy was amazed that any aircraft could still fly after such a beating. Some of the holes in the fuselage were as large as a dinner plate, but somehow the amazing flying skills of CPT Brown kept them flying. Jeremy made a mental note to himself to buy the whole crew several drinks at the club, if they ever got back.
As a parting gesture to the still hidden Vietcong positions, CPT Brown did manage to vector the F-4’s into the area and they smothered the entire jungle canopy with napalm, Willie Petes (white phosphorous) and cannon fire. As the helicopter slowly pulled away from the area, a fiery greasy hell was observed by all who had participated in the rescue. As quickly as it had started, an eerie silence covered the battlefield. Where once an entire battalion of the enemy had lived, now there was nothing but charred remains and stench.
CPT Brown had sent a message asking that a second-53B be sent to the general area to search for the original pilot they had been looking for. CPT Brown was now convinced that no living thing could have survived that inferno, and he called to thank Major Dennis.
“Bird Dog Leader, this is Spooky 7, thanks for the assist, it was hot and heavy down there, old buddy.”
“Hey, Spooky 7, anytime. If you want me and my boys to barbecue anymore chili for you, just give me the word, hombre,” Major Dennis answered with his now recognizable twang. Just to make sure that you get home all right, me and my puppies will escort you, amigo!
“Hey Bird Dog Leader, this is Spooky 7, thanks a lot and muchas gracias to “you all.” We sure can use an escort home,” replied CPT Brown, his voice breaking with emotion.
Upon landing at Da Nang, the crew examined the aircraft and counted over seventy-eight holes in the HH-53B. SGT De Grazia was so impressed with the sturdiness of this helicopter that he decided right then and there to write a testimonial to the manufacturer and thank them for their quality construction.
Grant was gingerly carried from the aircraft by a team of caring nurses. He was transported to the base hospital at Da Nang for treatment, prior to stateside evacuation. The corpse of Tsgt Byron was also removed from the helicopter and transported to the morgue, where it would remain until transportation could be arranged for the remains to be shipped back to the U.S.A. The grisly reality of war hit Jeremy right between his eyes. How unfair, he thought, this poor man died trying to save my life. Grant decided to write a thank-you letter to the family of Tsgt Byron.
The physical carnage had been too much for Jeremy’s system. He was examined, probed and prodded for seven days prior to being returned to California. It would take nearly four months to recover from his wounds and tropical parasites he had picked up in the jungles of Vietnam. His entire body had a strange green tinge to it. He had quarter size, puss-infected sores throughout most of his body. His right shoulder had been partially dislocated by Major Dong and Jeremy suffered from malaria, amebic dysentery and a number of other jungle diseases. Jeremy was amazed that his body could even function after such punishment.
All of these dreams about Vietnam, and San Francisco reinforced his longing for a quieter life. He could not get his mind off San Francisco and Loretta, his one true love. Just when Jeremy began to doze off again, Khalil came to his tent and woke him up.
“Hey Jeremy! What is wrong with you? Are you okay?” asked Khalil, the leader of all mujahidin forces in this neighborhood.
“My men tell me that you have been screaming and talking all night.” Are you having flashbacks?” asked a concerned Khalil.
“Yes, you might say that. I am having a dream within a dream, and I am having a difficult time focusing on reality. Thank you for your concern, Khalil,” replied a now awake Jeremy Grant.
“Well, maybe you should tell me what happened from the point I awakened you. It might relieve the pressure on your brain,” smiled a gracious Khalil.
“Okay, why don’t you come in and share some coffee with me, and I’ll try to explain what was causing all those dreams.”
Both men sat down, and Jeremy began recounting his San Francisco experience.
Jeremy crossed his legs, and began telling Khalil that his return to San Francisco had not been a pleasant one and it held many strong memories. With a little prodding from Khalil, Jeremy began to recount his tale. Jeremy started his story from the day he found himself sitting in his hospital room.
Jeremy still had strong feelings about this city and wondered whether or not he could endure many months of solitude at the Presidio. Jeremy’s arrival this time around was less confrontational than his first stay, but somehow he missed the excitement. He pensively recalled the last four months since his capture and escape. His mind wandered between the horror of confinement and the thrill of escape and freedom. The whole thing had a surrealistic feeling to it. His body told him, you are sitting in a nice comfortable chair; gazing out at San Francisco Bay. His mind however, said, you are still sitting in that rotten little cell, watching the green millipede slowly crawling across the dirt floor.
Grant was suddenly awakened by his doctor, CPT Loretta Q. DeFaut, USA MC. Loretta DeFaut, a stunning brunette from Baton Rouge, Louisiana, was concerned about this rather quiet and withdrawn soldier. She went out of her way to spend time visiting him every day.
“Good morning, CPT Grant, “How are you this fine morning?”
Loretta asked with concern in her voice.
Jeremy slowly turned his head toward the sound of the voice and said, “Uh, uh, good morning, doctor. I guess, okay, thanks.”
“How is that shoulder? Feeling better?” CPT De Faut asked, as she walked