The Bean Dip Incident: by Lance Pinamonte

This is not your typical war story, as it starts on a bright sunny morning in a land far, far away, where the wind was blowing the billowing smoke from the burning shit cans into the clapboard hooch's, causing many a night flight crew to awaken earlier than planned.

The smell of JP-4 and feces would somehow penetrate all of your senses and leave one with a positive outlook for the daily events planned by much better men than yourself. This was just one of those days, where you knew your day would be special ...

At least we got to sleep a couple of hours and the chow line was short, the pickings slim. A glass of OJ and a couple of slices of stale toast, it did not matter, it all tasted like those burning shit cans.  I made my way out to the flight line and decided to do my intermediate inspection, since it was only an hour away from being due.

So, stealing a maintenance stand from a PE crew, I slowly pushed the awkward stand down the pot-marked flightline only to lose control of it at the drainage ditch. Trying my best to keep it upright, I decided to hold on for dear life to the side of it, which caused me, and the stand, to end up in the mud at the bottom of the ditch.

Now, understand, this mud was special.  It had hydraulic fluid, JP-4, urine, and engine oil, along with the run off from the wash rack close by, all mixed together in it.  I was lucky. I landed on my head, so I would not break anything... it was at this point that the PE crew noticed I had stolen their stand, so out they came, all four of them, to retrieve it.

After they thanked me for finding their stolen stand, they pulled it from the ditch, had a good laugh at my demise, and wheeled it back to the PE hanger.  I decided I had better clean up, so I went over to the wash rack, grabbed the hose from the overhead water tank, and turned it on over my head... the previous operator of the wash rack had filled the tank with detergent, instead of spraying it on with a pressure can.  So, off I went to the hooches to shower and change clothes.

At this point, I thought things had to get better as I walked towards my hooch. But, no, it was about to get so much worse ... my pilots and gunner met me halfway back and informed me we had a mission -- no time to change, or shower -- so changing course, we all headed to my ship.

The first mission was a simple taxi job.  Pick up passengers in Saigon and take them to Lai Khe. As we took off, I noticed I was itching a little. The detergent was working at removing my first layer of skin.

By the time we got to Saigon, I was a bright shade of red and even my gunner was feeling sorry for me.  The pilots told me there was a garden hose to the side of a building near the landing pad, so while we were waiting for our passengers. I ran over to the hose and undressed to rinse off the detergent.

As I was standing there in my birthday suit, our passengers arrived.  As if I wasn't already red enough, I was even a darker red when I saw our passengers were Donut Dollies.

An old saying from one of my high school friends came to mind, "If they haven't seen it already, they will never see it again."  Now, I knew it wasn't the best saying in the world, but as I finished putting on my wet fatigues, I knew it couldn't get much worse, right?

I dropped my head and headed for the ship like a scolded dog, bright red, and still itching. I just couldn't make eye contact with these ladies.  The ONLY round eyes within 100 miles and I had to make a fool of myself in front of them ...

I just about got to the ship and was headed for the main rotor tie down, and "WHAM", I ran into
the stinger of the aircraft with my forehead -- sometimes, its best to look up when walking around large objects. Luckily, it didn't knock me out, but I knew it was going to leave a mark -- it turned into a nice goose egg, right in the middle of my forehead.. So much for any vanity around the ladies ...

The Donut Dollies had already sat down and the pilot started the ship.  My gunner had helped them with their seat belts, I donned my helmet, and dropped the face shield in shame. Of course, the helmet didn't feel real good on my goose egg, so I sat dejected in my gunwell, trying to sit still with my lower half itching like hell, and my head starting to throb.

We landed in Lai Khe shortly after and our pretty cargo departed, with a giggle and a wave. We had some time to wait for our next mission, so the pilots left for the local mess hall and I again tried to start my intermediate inspection. My Gunner was helping, which usually made it a little faster, although he had a strange sense of humor, being a grunt for six years.

Of course there was no maintenance stand, so I had to crawl up on the stinger and balance there to take my tail rotor oil sample.  So, I was standing on a 1-inch rod, balancing a wrench in one hand,
and a oil sample bottle in the other -- what could go wrong?

Well the sample draw plug was stuck, so I pulled a little harder on the wrench, and "POW" it came loose all at once, with oil hitting the top of my head.  As I panicked and tried to pull the wrench to shut it, I lost my balance and fell off the skid, landing on my butt.  Hey, the good thing was, I filled the sample bottle! The bad thing was, I now had oil dripping off my nose... We finally finished the inspection and the pilots showed up to take off for our next mission... We got a can of C's for lunch...

Our next mission was unplanned, as we left for a simple resupply we got a call for a medivac, we flew to an area near Quan Loi and contacted the ground troops, we headed into popped smoke, then realized it was not the right popped smoke.. The enemy opened up, and our ship shuttered, we could not return fire because of close proximity of our troops, so I made myself a small itchy crotched, oily, bumpy headed person, so they couldn't see me... 

The pilots were screaming as they pulled hard on the old bird to clear the trees, we gained altitude and it got real silent, then we all realized we were still alive.. The ship was doing well and another ship had arrived on scene to do the medivac, we were making a beeline to Quan Loi with my bird making a whistling noise, losing power, and the pilots calling altitude and RPM's.. They got the bird down safely, although it wouldn't fly again for many months.. It had thirty four counted holes in it, including a few in the main rotor blade, but none of us had a scratch........

We were emptying the ship of our gear, waiting for one of our ships to take us back home when a bunch of bad humored NVA decided to fire a few rockets at the flightline of Quan Loi.. Now some people run
for the nearest cover, but being veterans of many rocket attacks we knew the best action was to hit the deck in place, and become flat as hell... The odds of them hitting us was very slim, the odds of us having to lay down in leaking JP-4 from our ship was high... 

So after the all clear was sounded my crotch had another reason to itch and now a steady burn was over coming the itch.. The good thing was that now I had company, my Gunner... One of our ships landed shortly after, and my Gunner and I were forced to sit on the floor of the ship, the CE of that bird did not want JP-4 on his seats...

Now I bet you are wondering where the Bean Dip is going to come in? Well, my day had to have a bright spot right? By the time we got back to base it was dark, all I wanted was a shower and a cot to sleep away this bad dream of a day.. I got back to my hooch and found a care package from home sitting on my bunk.. My parents would send me KIT wax, chips and,,,, you guessed it, BEAN DIP... so I decided instead of going to the Mess hall for something to eat I would have a feast on bean dip and chips, the shower could wait a little longer.. 

I opened the package and there it was four cans of bean dip, ripping open the chips, and grabbing a Pepsi from the mini-fridge, I started to open the bean dip can by pulling the tab and promptly slicing my thumb wide open.... It started to bleed and I grabbed my clean towel I was going to use for a shower, wrapping my thumb up, then peeking at the wound I decided I had better head for the medic's, as I had very little holding my thumb on... 

The medic started on it as soon as I arrived, no one else was there at that hour, and as he stitched he asked if I wanted a Purple Heart.. I said "For what, a Bean Dip Mortar?" .. He looked at me strange and said "I thought you got this outside of Quan Loi?" , I simply replied "Its a long story and a bad day."..

Just think, I could be telling my Grandkids about my Purple Heart right now, instead I tell them about a Bean Dip can...

Lance Pinamonte

“I am only one, but I am one. I can't do everything, but I can do something. The something I ought to do, I can do, and by the grace of God, I will.” ~Everett Hale


Feel free to comment on this post. You are also invited to write about anything you feel comfortable sharing. Memoirs From Nam is YOUR blog. You are writing America's history, sharing the truth about the Vietnam veteran, and what it was like in Our War.

The Round Trip: by Lance Pinamonte

Some things stick with you longer than needed...

Recently, I found myself wondering why I am filled with a deep dread whenever I think of a "Round trip Ticket".

The reason finally dawned on me the other day when I was discussing prices for round trip packages with a friend.

In other posts, I have told the world what a normal day was for a flight crew in the RVN.  We started our days before daylight with pre-flight, our mission, or missions, fairly set before takeoff. On many days, our mission would change as the day went on, by changing courses, or schedules, as needed to support, or lift, troops and supplies.

This is an example of one of those days ...

It was a simple day. We were taking off from our revetment with a "Clear Left, Clear Right" from the Gunner, and Crew Chief, hovering to the main strip, calling for clearance, and quickly going into transitional lift, then climbing to 1500'. 

Our day was set:  lift an LLRP team into an area near Nui Ba Ra, then fly some resupply to various units in the field. So we flew into Lai Khe to pickup the LRRP's and dropped them without problems. We then went back to Lai Khe, and loaded C's and water for the first resupply run.

After a couple of sorties, we got a call for an emergency Medivac.  We were in the area, so we turned around, turned on the speed, contacted the unit, and realized it was the LRRP's we had dropped earlier. 

We came in high and they popped smoke, then dropped down to the tree tops and came in hot to the small clearing.  We picked up a few tracers as we cleared the trees, but nothing heavy.

Carrying an Injured LRRP

The LRRP's had two wounded.  One was serious, with a sucking chest wound.  Another had schrapnel in his leg.

I helped load them up and gave the pilots a green light to DiDiMoa!  

We cleared the LZ and climbed quickly to 1500', heading at top speed to the Lai Khe Medivac pad.

My gunner and I swung around and checked our passengers. Both were fairly stable and it looked like they would make it home.

We landed shortly, and the medics came out to the pad to help evac our passengers. I was most worried about the guy with the chest wound as his pulse was not very stable.

I then told the pilots I wanted to check the ship out, before we started back to the resupply pad, so they hovered off the pad and set down on the ready pad nearby.

After going over the ship, I found no holes, and we took off to finish our missions for the day. 

The rest of the day went smooth, except for a short message from our headquarters, saying we had night On Call, so we came in.  I finished my daily inspection, and we settled into a night in our hammocks on the ship. 

It was about midnight when the pilots woke us up. We had a Black Cross mission, Black Cross from Lai Khe to Bein Hoa.  Black Cross meant transporting our dead, and it was done at night.

We landed on the Black Cross pad in Lai Khe and helped the guys load up the body bags. I could see the tags under the marker lights of the ship. One of them was the LRRP we had Medivac'd earlier that day...

As I sat down in the gun well, my Gunner said, "He has gotten a round trip ticket today, God Damn It!"  It is the simple statements that stick with people sometimes ... 

We can watch a politician spout paragraphs of hyperbole, and maybe one sentence will hit us as meaningful. Or as my old gunner would say, "They don't pay us enough to give a shit, but many a shit has been given!"

"Cool Kid"

Lance L. Pinamonte

U.S. Army - 1967 to 1970
67N30
Crew Chief/Door Gunner
Helicopter Mech.
Champagne Flight

Other Articles by Lance:

The CircleWhat's Wrong with Being Wrong?
Crew Chief's Memory of Thanksgiving '68
Enough
A Fearful America

A Nation Unwilling to Change

“I am only one, but I am one. I can't do everything, but I can do something. The something I ought to do, I can do, and by the grace of God, I will.” ~Everett Hale


Feel free to comment on this post. You are also invited to write about anything you feel comfortable sharing. Memoirs From Nam is YOUR blog. You are writing America's history, sharing the truth about the Vietnam veteran, and what it was like in Our War.

The Circle: by Lance Pinamonte

Lance Pinamonte

It was the fall of 1968 when I arrived in country.  I was a kid of barely eighteen.

My new unit was a small slick group of three flight platoons with seven aircraft each. I was assigned a ship within three days of my arrival.

The first thing I noticed was, we were flying a lot more hours than most of the other units around us, over a hundred hours a week on a steady basis. This gave the aircrews very little time off.  We pretty much lived in our aircraft.

I also noticed a group of aircrews that were ... different  They were cooler, kept their aircraft cleaner, took better care of their guns, equipment, and they always volunteered for the dangerous missions. In the early mornings, they would always be on time to the flight line, too.

These guys always wore sunglasses, always spoke with authority, and when everyone did find time off in the evening, they would form their old lawn chairs into a circle in the middle of the field behind the hooches.

I guess the first time I actually met someone from this group, was when he was refusing to fly with a pilot that was clearly still drunk. He did it with all the respect due this pilot's rank. The pilot finally backed down, staggered back to his hooch, and another pilot replaced him.

There was a lot of drinking in off-duty times, and a few of our pilots were flat out drunks. But you didn't see the guys in the circle  staggering back from the EM/NCO club late at night in a drunken state.  It didn't mean that they didn't drink at all, they just didn't care for being out of control.

I had been on my own aircraft for only a week, and the action taken by my door gunner (part of the circle) impressed me. He was full-blooded Indian and he had been in country four tours, three of them as 11B, a grunt.

He outranked me as an E-6, been wounded three times, refused to go back stateside, and he had volunteered to be a Door Gunner. He also called me "Kid".  It wasn't the best of nicknames, but it stuck -- I had been called worse.

Smoking Pot

My curious nature finally peaked.  One night on my way to the EM club, I stopped by the circle and I saw smoke rising from the group.

(Now, I was not ignorant of what was going on -- I knew they were smoking pot).

Everybody in the circle was a little paranoid of my joining this tight-knit group, so the pipes were put out, while they felt me out as either friend, or foe...

Finally, my gunner said, "He's cool guys.  Light up a bowl."

I decided to partake and, as I did, I heard my gunner say, "Now your cool, Kid." and it stuck. From then on, I was known as "Cool Kid" ... and I bought a cheap set of shades the day after.

Fast forward two years ...

I had gotten myself into some pretty big trouble, (another story, for another day), and I was on my way to another unit, up for a undesirable discharge.

So, I was walking through an administration building in DaNang, looking to report to a Captain there. As I walked into his office, I found said Captain wearing ... shades.  Well, he found me a safe haven for my last 90 days, and an honorable discharge ...

Over the years after that, I abused almost every drug their is, I over-drank, over-smoked, and finally, after sixteen years of abuse, I straightened my act out. But many times I think of those days, all the hard work, the danger ... and the guys in The Circle.

"Cool Kid"

Lance L. Pinamonte

U.S. Army - 1967 to 1970
67N30
Crew Chief/Door Gunner
Helicopter Mech.
Champagne Flight

Other Articles by Lance:

What's Wrong with Being Wrong?
Crew Chief's Memory of Thanksgiving '68
Enough
A Fearful America

A Nation Unwilling to Change

“I am only one, but I am one. I can't do everything, but I can do something. The something I ought to do, I can do, and by the grace of God, I will.” ~Everett Hale


Feel free to comment on this post. You are also invited to write about anything you feel comfortable sharing. Memoirs From Nam is YOUR blog. Only you can write the truth about the Vietnam veteran and Our War -- for America, and for history.

Send it to me in an e-mail and I will be proud to post it for you.

What's Wrong with Being Wrong?

Lance Pinamonte

by Lance Pinamonte

I left the USA in 1968, full of pride and looking forward (although scared) to serving my country..

My mind was full of flag waving, red, white, and blue, apple pie, and patriotic fever. Little did I know about the emotions and reality I was to face in the next twenty months: everything from birth to death, love, hate, fear, and so many other truths of life.

After landing in Vietnam, I was waiting for transportation, along with about a hundred other guys. I had to go to the bathroom, so I left my duffle on the tarmac and headed for what looked like an outhouse.

As I stepped into what smelled like a combination of diesel and a dead animal, my father's words hit me, "You didn't eat that. It crawled up inside you and died!"

It was very dark as I went inside. I could make out holes, so I moved to one end, where I could see light coming through the slats. I had just started to empty my full bladder, when I noticed something, or somebody, over on the far end of the outhouse.

As my eyes adjusted to the dark, I saw a mama san squatting above a hole, pants around her ankles, and she was smiling at me.  I was quickly zipping up when she started calling me "Dinky Dau, Number Ten GI!".

Then, as I left the outhouse, I heard a chorus of laughter from over a hundred men. So I took a bow, and laughed at myself with them. I was wrong ...

Shortly afterwards, I developed a mistrust of the Vietnamese people, when one of our hooch maids was fired for stealing. These were big time jobs for them, so I was suspicious about why she would want these small items she had stolen.

Hootch Maid

 I found out from talking to the other hooch maids that she didn't steal them, She had only moved them, so she could clean the First Sargent's room. He had caught her putting stuff in the hallway of his hooch and went off the deep end.

So this little girl of 16, who was supporting her whole family with this job, was back to begging in the streets.  I was wrong ...

As things heated up, we started to lose men.  Many of us wanted revenge, and nothing less than a hatred for our enemy emerged.

There was a POW camp near one of our VIP landing pads. The guards routinely prodded the prisoners across and around the pad to pick up trash, cigarette butts, and garbage.  One of the young prisoners smiled at me and gave me a peace sign, only to get the butt of a guard's weapon across his back for the action. I didn't respond to his smile, or his peace sign.

A week later, we were sitting on that same pad, when the guards led three POW's to the edge of the pad and sat them down. The young man who had smiled at me was in that group. He didn't holler, but I heard him say, "Hey, could you spare a cigarette?" in perfect English.

At first, I didn't know how to respond. Finally, I reached under the gun seat and retrieved one of my sample packs of Parliments from the C-rat box and carried it over to him.

The guard started to raise hell, but he quickly stopped, when the young man said something to him in Vietnamese. He then said, "Thank you."

I replied "You're welcome."

I saw him one more time standing near the fence around the compound and I went over. We talked for a few minutes and I found out he had gone to school in the states.  His father came back to North Vietnam when he was fourteen and he enlisted. He was eighteen, the same age as I was, and I was wrong again ...

I had thought we were there to protect the people of South Vietnam. Once, we landed near a small village that was slated to be relocated. The people had a few rice paddies, a few goats, and a couple of water buffaloes.

Vietnamese Village

They were living in grass shacks, but the children were happy.  The old people were not. You see, that's all that were in this village, old people and children.  Anyone old enough to pick up a gun had been either drafted (by gunpoint) by the ARVN's, or by the VC. This left very few who were able to farm.

We gave out C-rations and candy bars, loaded them onto trucks, and left the village on fire.  I was wrong ...

I also thought we were helping the people of Vietnam.  Then I saw the beggars in the streets, little girls of twelve, or thirteen, selling themselves.  The old people were shoved off to the side in a country that, in good times, revered their aged. I was wrong ...

I soon found that there was more wrong with this war than was right.

Nowadays, nobody wants to admit being wrong.  They all have fancy excuses for their mistakes. They hold to methods, politics, financial fallacies, and ideologies that are known to be wrong. They cling to ignorance and refuse to open their minds to better ideals and methods. They refuse to be wrong, even when proven wrong.

So, what is so wrong with being wrong, when admitting you are wrong is the first step to being right?

Lance L. Pinamonte

U.S. Army - 1967 to 1970
67N30 Crewchief/Doorgunner Helicopter Mech.
Champagne Flight

Other Articles by Lance:

Crew Chief's Memory of Thanksgiving '68
Enough
A Fearful America

A Nation Unwilling to Change

“I am only one, but I am one. I can't do everything, but I can do something. The something I ought to do, I can do, and by the grace of God, I will.” ~Everett Hale


Feel free to comment on this post. You are also invited to write about anything you want to share. Memoirs From Nam is YOUR blog. You are writing America's history.

Send it to me in an e-mail and I will be proud to post it for you.

Crew Chief's Memory of Thanksgiving '68

Thanksgiving - Vietnam War-Style

by Lance Pinamonte

Sometimes one person’s story inspires another, only from a different angle, but still from the same day.

Like most days, a helicopter crew's day begins the day before. 

After landing from a 12-hour day, we went to work on the aircraft, most of the time in the dark.

The Pilots had already gone in to be debriefed and get their assignments for the next day. The Gunners took their guns to the cleaning station and began their tear downs for cleaning.  The Crew Chiefs were pulling intake barrier filters, wiping, lubing rotor heads, and inspecting every inch of the ship. 

When the Gunners were done with the cleaning, they returned to the ship to help the Crew Chief with maintenance. So around 2300, most of the crews were done, and many finished their aircraft and were helping those who had more to do, like intermediate inspections.

Maybe by 0100, all the crews were done and they had a chance to go in and check the mission board for the next day, grab a bite to eat at the mess hall, take a shower, and change clothes..

This was Thanksgiving and the mess hall smelled great, as they prepared for the next day. Nothing was ready, of course, but it smelled great.

After my shower and a change of clothes, I checked the mission board and saw "Resupply, 0600 report" and knew it would be an early wake up. If I could get to sleep, I could maybe get a solid four hours of shut eye. So I went out to my ship, strung my hammock, dug my poncho liner out and hit the sack.

The pilots and Gunner woke me up at 0500 by opening the doors.  I wiped the sleep from my eyes, put up my hammock and liner, helped the gunner haul his guns/ammo, and went over the pre-flight with the AC and Pilot. 

Once all was in place, we fired up the bird, and with a quick "Clear Left/Clear Right", we were on our way to the resupply pads of Lai Khe.

Contact with the resupply crews and landing in between their rows of supply's, we would usually load up the ship with C rations and ammo, but today was different.  Today they had deuce and a halfs just off the pads and were hauling insulated containers for hot meals to the pads. 

We loaded our ship with everything and took off, all of this while the ship was running. Then we flew towards the boonies.

Smoke popped in a small clearing in the middle of nowhere as we swooped down to deliver chow to a worn out looking group of grunts, 11B. They would be waking up in a bug infested jungle, tired, eaten, wet, and smiling at our arrival.

Sometimes the temps would be in the high 90's, humidity at 98%, and they had been walking for days. "Looking for trouble", is what my ex-grunt Gunner would say. 

These guys were our reason to be thankful. They were the ones who were sleeping in the mud, while we slept, showered and were clean. 

We would sometimes steal ice cream from the VIP supply pads for them -- it was always good to see them smile -- they were our brothers. When they said "Thank You", we knew it was felt and it made our day...  on this day, the smiles were contagious.  

We helped them unload the containers, then took off for another sortie to another group. This went on all day and then we returned to the outfits later to pick up the empty containers.

The funny part is the fact that we only got to eat some beanie weenies from our C's, and had very little time to think about what we were missing meal-wise.

So another day ended and once again we went to work on our evening inspections, cleaning, then finally going to the mess hall for our turkey sandwich, a cold shower -- and if we were lucky, the "Thank you’s" would be our reason for a good night’s sleep ...

Happy Thanksgiving to all the 11Bravos out there.

God bless America.

Lance

Lance L. Pinamonte

U.S. Army - 1967 to 1970
67N30 Crewchief/Doorgunner Helicopter Mech.
Champagne Flight

Other Articles by Lance:

Enough
A Fearful America

A Nation Unwilling to Change

“I am only one, but I am one. I can't do everything, but I can do something. The something I ought to do, I can do, and by the grace of God, I will.” ~Everett Hale


Feel free to comment on this post. You are also invited to write about anything you want to share. Memoirs From Nam is YOUR blog. You are writing America's history.

Send it to me in an e-mail and I will be proud to post it for you.

Enough: by Lance Pinamonte

Reverence ... or Shame?

Hope you like, CJ...

Enough ...

For the people who give their lives to this nation,
then watch the same war in different name take more
For it's not enough ...

To those who die from the chemicals we lay down,
then we ignore the death for the profit
For it's not enough ...

When the waters rise above our heads, lands lost,
we shun those with the reason
For it's not enough ...

The wealthy grow to hate the poor, grow richer,
to where they hold the future of all
For it's not enough ...

A place where lies and hate take the place
all for the promotion of fear
For it is not enough ...

So we ask the question that lies in wait,
"When will we be free of these things?
When will it be ... enough?"

God bless America.

Lance

Lance L. Pinamonte

U.S. Army - 1967 to 1970
67N30 Crewchief/Doorgunner Helicopter Mech.
Champagne Flight

Other Articles by Lance:

A Fearful America

A Nation Unwilling to Change

“I am only one, but I am one. I can't do everything, but I can do something. The something I ought to do, I can do, and by the grace of God, I will.” ~Everett Hale


Feel free to comment on this post. You are also invited to write about anything you want to share. Memoirs From Nam is YOUR blog. You are writing America's history.

Send it to me in an e-mail and I will be proud to post it for you.

A Fearful America: by Lance Pinamonte

Lance Pinamonte

I have been scared many times in my life and, in most cases, I have faced my fears.  There is a time to run, and a time to stand. 

Lately, I have noticed a very distinct pattern of fear in this nation.  Our media has spurred much of it and the politics of fear are raging like a fire..

Once after looking at my pictures of the Vietnam war, my grandson asked me if I was ever scared. I answered him, " Yes.  Only a fool was not."

I remember my father's words, when I asked him about his service in WW-2. "I crawled into my helmet and made myself as small as I could during the bombing raids in China."  

Let me tell you a good old war story.  Maybe that will get us back on track ...

I had very little time left in Vietnam (SHORT!), when I was sent to the 101st AB.  My flying days were over and I was to be stationed in a base camp called Camp Eagle and put onto a PE crew for a Cobra outfit. 

It was to be an easy assignment, at least compared to what I had already been through.  It would consist mostly of night PE's, and most of the time there were none. I really didn't care anymore.  Oh I did my job, and I did it well, but I was tired of the Army. I had seen too much. 

One night I reported to the hanger where I had to finish up a PE inspection.  Then I headed back to my hooch, crawled into my cot, pulled up my poncho liner, and went to sleep. 

I was sleeping pretty good when the rockets hit.  I was used to it, as I had been in so many attacks that it was normal to roll off my cot onto the floor and continue sleeping.  (Running to the bunkers usually got you killed). 

It was only few seconds later when suddenly a loud "WHOOMPH" hit the hooch.  There was dust everywhere and present was a sound I had not heard before. Opening my eyes and trying to make out what had happened brought me the horrific sight of a 2.75 rocket warhead only inches from my head!  It had penetrated the sandbags around the hooch.

In Country

When things wound down outside, I did a high-speed duck crawl to the nearest bunker. Later, I found out that a NVA rocket had hit the ammo dump for our outfit, sending our own rockets all over the camp. We lost the hanger as well as several aircraft..

Fear set in from then on.  I went into a mode I had seen before in many guys who had a short time left in country. Thing is, I had always laughed at them. 

I moved my cot to the local bunker, kept my weapon closer, and I was always looking over my shoulder. I continued this way until I thought I was going to go mad. 

Then I came to the realization, that anything I did had very little to do with the outcome, with fate.

Yeah, I would do my best to stay safe, but the rest would have to take care of itself.  I figured once I was back in the world, I would never be afraid again. That was some real bull also.  But that's a different story, for a different time.

So that brings me to today, with the media shouting Ebola, terrorists, healthcare, climate change, and political turmoil. It is the survivalist mentality taking a front seat to common sense. 

Everywhere, I see people willing to sacrifice personal freedom to be safe, willing to sacrifice our youth to wars that can last forever, willing to spend our tax dollars on a military machine that is 48 times that of the rest of the world. 

People are reacting, without educating themselves on the dangers, blindly following others who have no knowledge of the situation -- and the media and politicians are feeding on their reactions... 

So ask yourself, "What does fear do to common sense?" My answer to this type of fear is the fact that we have already lost, if we bend to every terrorist, disease, and tactic in this world. 

Real fear is looking at a un-exploded ordinance just inches from your face.  Real fear is standing in the freeway watching a semi trailer truck bearing down on you.  Real fear is NOT some talking head looking for reactions and ratings and talking trash ... 

I no longer fear for myself.  My fears include watching my wife fail, and the world I am leaving for my children's children. 

God bless America.

Lance

Lance L. Pinamonte

U.S. Army - 1967 to 1970
67N30 Crewchief/Doorgunner Helicopter Mech.
Champagne Flight

Also by Lance:

A Nation Unwilling to Change

“I am only one, but I am one. I can't do everything, but I can do something. The something I ought to do, I can do, and by the grace of God, I will.” ~Everett Hale


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