I’ve been experiencing a number of dreams with lots of fear, frustration, loss and anger most of which has been triggered by current political insanities. These dreams are forcing me out of my comfort zone.

But other material is surfacing as well. This posting reflects upon an earlier time when my life was full of triggers that forced me out of my safety shell and into the world around me where I felt compelled to answer another call to arms . . .

During my tour in Vietnam as an Avionics tech for helicopters, I played it safe, as safe as could be in an unsafe environment, kept my head down and did the job I was tasked to do. After a day’s work I would hide in my bunk with one of J.R.R. Tolkien’s books to distract from what was going on around me. Many a reading was interrupted by incoming rocket fire where’d we make a beeline for water filled bunkers in the black of night.

After a number of near misses and the death of a few good friends from both these attacks and aircraft that had gone down during missions something clicked in me, something that sat somewhat hidden for my two decades of life. I was always hiding, never really engaging with the life I was given. But something had awakened in me much as it had in one of Tolkien’s characters i.e., the Hobbit, Bilbo Baggins, “Then something Tookish woke up inside him, and he wished to go and see the great mountains, and hear the pine-trees and the waterfalls, and explore the caves, and wear a sword instead of a walking-stick.”

Something became more and more insistent within me, and I found myself signing up to become a helicopter door gunner. Within the week I found myself in another world where I was being trained on new weaponry and defense techniques. A month later I suited up, checked out my 50 Cal machinegun, an M79 grenade launcher, a holstered 38 revolver and trudged out at an ungodly 03:30 toward an aircraft that had become more than just a vehicle that needed repair but was now a machine that would carry me into battle. What the hell was I doing? Fear sat like a rock in my gut and heavy on my shoulders. But for the first time since boot camp, I felt like a real Marine.

The night was alive with the sound of aircraft jet engines whining in the dark. A hundred rotating red beacons of light cut through the dark as aircraft up and down the many squadrons gave evidence that something big was brewing. This was a “super gaggle” combined to insert thousands of troops into a combat zone to meet a large advancing enemy that had been spotted to the north of us. For eleven hours we flew inserting platoon after platoon into narrow valleys with updrafts and down drafts tossing our descent and lift off as though we were no more than paper planes in a windstorm. My brass catcher was filled not only with spent cartridges but also with my breakfast. 

By the end of the day, we were spent and virtually crawled off the chopper. Stripping off my flight suit and bullet bouncer I staggered into a cold shower to wash off the effects of the day and reflected a little as to what I’d been through. It was the last time that I took to reflect on a mission. For the rest of my tour as a gunner, I put everything out of mind, kept my head down and did my job. It wasn’t until years later that I brought up the feelings I had buried. For us hiders somethings take a long time before we feel them again.