Hamfist Down!: Evasion, Survival and Combat in the Jungle by G. E. Nolly

Author:G. E. Nolly
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Military, Vietnam War, History, Aviation
ISBN: 0975436228
Published: 2012-09-16T06:00:00+00:00

19

August 15, 1969

I was really ready to get back flying. The whole time at Cam Ranh, I had been concerned that I might be medically grounded, and the doctors at the Cam Ranh hospital couldn't shed any light on my flight status.

When it was time to leave the hospital, the orderly handed me a pristine set of camouflagede fatigues and a new pair of jungle boots. I put on the fatigues and laced up the boots. It was a shame my old boots had gotten lost somewhere along the way. They were broken in and comfortable. The new boots seemed stiff, and would require a long break-in period to make them feel right. As I glanced into the mirror in the latrine, it hit me. I looked like an FNG!

The C-9 flight from Cam Ranh to DaNang was markedly different from the one from NKP. The first flight, going to Cam Ranh, had been full of wounded and injured on their way to the hospital. This flight had fewer passengers, and all of us were ambulatory, in relatively good condition. We were on our way back to our operational units. No one was on a stretcher. We were all in airline-type seats.

When I arrived at DaNang, there was an ambulance waiting planeside to take me to the DaNang hospital. When I got to the hospital, I was escorted to the Flight Surgeon's office.

The Flight Surgeon was a young Captain, probably not much older than me. The name plate on his desk read, “Captain Richard Ross, M.D.”

“Hi, Hamilton, I'm Doctor Ross. I understand you're anxious to get back on flying status.”

“I sure am.”

“How are you feeling?”

“I feel great.” I really wanted to tell him that I'd been healthy enough to have sex less than a week ago, but I thought better of it.

“Let me take a look at your wound.”

I lowered my pants and showed the scar to the doctor.

“Have you tried sitting for any length of time?”

“Yes. No problems.”

“What is the duration of your typical sortie?”

“Sometimes they can last five hours, usually four.”

“Okay, if you tell me you can sit for five hours, and if you're no longer taking pain meds, you're cleared to fly again.”

“That's affirmative. No pain meds, no problem sitting.

“Okay,” he said, as he signed my flight clearance, “you're good to go.”

“Thank you, doc.”

As I was leaving the Flight Surgeon's office, I passed an open doorway to one of the wards in the hospital, and heard someone call out.

“Hey, Hamfist!”

It was Balls Balser, lying in one of the beds near the door. He looked terrible.

“What happened to you?” I asked.

“I got impaled on a piece of rebar during a rocket attack.”

“A piece of what?”

“A piece of rebar, you know, the one-inch thick rods they use for forming concrete. Well, I was driving the Covey jeep to the hooch with an FNG when a rocket attack occurred. We could see the rockets hit. The first one landed in a field about 300 meters from us. The next one landed about 150 meters from us.

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