Warriors Once: Warriors Once A long time ago a group of young men (including myself) were sent to a land far away in service of their country to help fight a foreign war they knew...

Huey Driver Loc: Texas

Warriors Once

A long time ago a group of young men (including myself) were sent to a land far away in service of their country to help fight a foreign war they knew little about and probably cared about even less. I vividly remember the moment we stepped off the plane of our incoming flight into Saigon and as soon as my feet touch the tarmac we were told one of our classmates who arrived a couple days before us was killed in action the day before.

After about a year of intense and grueling stateside military training, young men, many whom were not much older than teenagers, were assigned tasks which would require extremely disciplined men which these young and inexperienced men would become very soon.

To perform the tasks that would be required of us we were assigned a bucket of bolts, some formed sheet metal pieces and a conglomeration of other things and whirling parts all stuck together. Once assembled it was called an Iroquois and later nicknamed “Huey”.

Although our stateside training was superb it did little to prepare us for what we were about to experience. Nothing but the reality of war could even bring to our imagination some of the horrors we were about to see, discover and encounter firsthand.

Almost instantly we learned and understood that these thin-skinned bucket of bolts and whirling things to which we were assigned plus our recently acquired unique skills, often meant the difference between life and death itself to the men on the ground. We performed missions from transporting VIP’s from one location to another, inserting and extracting troops, delivering equipment and supplies, giving close air support to those pinned down by the enemy, picking up wounded while under intense enemy fire at times then delivering them rapidly to emergency care facilities and from the jungles and rice paddies carrying fallen brothers who had fought their last battle, back to base to be returned home.

Sometimes flying ten to twelve hours a day and at times 7 days a week, we seldom complained as we realized without our continuing support and dedication to those on the ground, many more could possibly die.

We honed our skills with each and every mission we flew while at the same time learning how to best control our own fears while under enemy fire at times or flying in adverse weather conditions and still being able to complete the task at hand. We had to find ways to cope with those nauseating feelings deep down in our gut caused from the sight and stench of dead bodies and mutilated medevacs.

At the end of the day, totally exhausted, we stretch out on a normally not so comfortable bed. But a bed that at this moment felt wonderful even though it had to be shrouded with mosquito netting to keep out rats during the night. Finally, when our mind cleared of thoughts, we would drift off to sleep and dream of home and better times to come while knowing that tomorrow we will be asked to do everything all over again.

When our yearlong stay in combat ended most of us who survived this ordeal both mentally and physically returned to the states. There we begin to share with others who will follow in our footsteps, the knowledge and skills we learned.

Now we are in the Autumn of our lives some 50 plus years after Vietnam and we remember the many brothers and comrades who are no longer with us. We come to the realization that we are the last few living members of a dying breed. We still have memories, both good and bad, because we are and always will be “The helicopter pilots and air crews of Vietnam”.

Even though we are not strong young men anymore, “WE WERE TRUELY WARRIORS ONCE: IN A LAND CALLED VIETNAM”!

Blaster34 Loc: Florida Treasure Coast

Huey Driver wrote:

Warriors Once

A long time ago a group of young men (including myself) were sent to a land far away in service of their country to help fight a foreign war they knew little about and probably cared about even less. I vividly remember the moment we stepped off the plane of our incoming flight into Saigon and as soon as my feet touch the tarmac we were told one of our classmates who arrived a couple days before us was killed in action the day before.

After about a year of intense and grueling stateside military training, young men, many whom were not much older than teenagers, were assigned tasks which would require extremely disciplined men which these young and inexperienced men would become very soon.

To perform the tasks that would be required of us we were assigned a bucket of bolts, some formed sheet metal pieces and a conglomeration of other things and whirling parts all stuck together. Once assembled it was called an Iroquois and later nicknamed “Huey”.

Although our stateside training was superb it did little to prepare us for what we were about to experience. Nothing but the reality of war could even bring to our imagination some of the horrors we were about to see, discover and encounter firsthand.

Almost instantly we learned and understood that these thin-skinned bucket of bolts and whirling things to which we were assigned plus our recently acquired unique skills, often meant the difference between life and death itself to the men on the ground. We performed missions from transporting VIP’s from one location to another, inserting and extracting troops, delivering equipment and supplies, giving close air support to those pinned down by the enemy, picking up wounded while under intense enemy fire at times then delivering them rapidly to emergency care facilities and from the jungles and rice paddies carrying fallen brothers who had fought their last battle, back to base to be returned home.

Sometimes flying ten to twelve hours a day and at times 7 days a week, we seldom complained as we realized without our continuing support and dedication to those on the ground, many more could possibly die.

We honed our skills with each and every mission we flew while at the same time learning how to best control our own fears while under enemy fire at times or flying in adverse weather conditions and still being able to complete the task at hand. We had to find ways to cope with those nauseating feelings deep down in our gut caused from the sight and stench of dead bodies and mutilated medevacs.

At the end of the day, totally exhausted, we stretch out on a normally not so comfortable bed. But a bed that at this moment felt wonderful even though it had to be shrouded with mosquito netting to keep out rats during the night. Finally, when our mind cleared of thoughts, we would drift off to sleep and dream of home and better times to come while knowing that tomorrow we will be asked to do everything all over again.

When our yearlong stay in combat ended most of us who survived this ordeal both mentally and physically returned to the states. There we begin to share with others who will follow in our footsteps, the knowledge and skills we learned.

Now we are in the Autumn of our lives some 50 plus years after Vietnam and we remember the many brothers and comrades who are no longer with us. We come to the realization that we are the last few living members of a dying breed. We still have memories, both good and bad, because we are and always will be “The helicopter pilots and air crews of Vietnam”.

Even though we are not strong young men anymore, “WE WERE TRUELY WARRIORS ONCE: IN A LAND CALLED VIETNAM”!

Warriors Once br br A long time ago a group of yo... (show quote)

I was a gunship platoon leader in the highlands and my youngest WO pilot was 19....yes they were young

Wingpilot Loc: Wasilla. Ak

Huey Driver wrote:

Warriors Once

A long time ago a group of young men (including myself) were sent to a land far away in service of their country to help fight a foreign war they knew little about and probably cared about even less. I vividly remember the moment we stepped off the plane of our incoming flight into Saigon and as soon as my feet touch the tarmac we were told one of our classmates who arrived a couple days before us was killed in action the day before.

After about a year of intense and grueling stateside military training, young men, many whom were not much older than teenagers, were assigned tasks which would require extremely disciplined men which these young and inexperienced men would become very soon.

To perform the tasks that would be required of us we were assigned a bucket of bolts, some formed sheet metal pieces and a conglomeration of other things and whirling parts all stuck together. Once assembled it was called an Iroquois and later nicknamed “Huey”.

Although our stateside training was superb it did little to prepare us for what we were about to experience. Nothing but the reality of war could even bring to our imagination some of the horrors we were about to see, discover and encounter firsthand.

Almost instantly we learned and understood that these thin-skinned bucket of bolts and whirling things to which we were assigned plus our recently acquired unique skills, often meant the difference between life and death itself to the men on the ground. We performed missions from transporting VIP’s from one location to another, inserting and extracting troops, delivering equipment and supplies, giving close air support to those pinned down by the enemy, picking up wounded while under intense enemy fire at times then delivering them rapidly to emergency care facilities and from the jungles and rice paddies carrying fallen brothers who had fought their last battle, back to base to be returned home.

Sometimes flying ten to twelve hours a day and at times 7 days a week, we seldom complained as we realized without our continuing support and dedication to those on the ground, many more could possibly die.

We honed our skills with each and every mission we flew while at the same time learning how to best control our own fears while under enemy fire at times or flying in adverse weather conditions and still being able to complete the task at hand. We had to find ways to cope with those nauseating feelings deep down in our gut caused from the sight and stench of dead bodies and mutilated medevacs.

At the end of the day, totally exhausted, we stretch out on a normally not so comfortable bed. But a bed that at this moment felt wonderful even though it had to be shrouded with mosquito netting to keep out rats during the night. Finally, when our mind cleared of thoughts, we would drift off to sleep and dream of home and better times to come while knowing that tomorrow we will be asked to do everything all over again.

When our yearlong stay in combat ended most of us who survived this ordeal both mentally and physically returned to the states. There we begin to share with others who will follow in our footsteps, the knowledge and skills we learned.

Now we are in the Autumn of our lives some 50 plus years after Vietnam and we remember the many brothers and comrades who are no longer with us. We come to the realization that we are the last few living members of a dying breed. We still have memories, both good and bad, because we are and always will be “The helicopter pilots and air crews of Vietnam”.

Even though we are not strong young men anymore, “WE WERE TRUELY WARRIORS ONCE: IN A LAND CALLED VIETNAM”!

Warriors Once br br A long time ago a group of yo... (show quote)

Very eloquently stated. Thank you for sharing the image and your thoughts. I’m right there with you, brother.

anotherview Loc: California

A heartfelt tribute to the men and women who served in the U.S. military in the Vietnam War.

This military veteran suggests to all who may, to visit The Wall in Washington, D.C. It forever memorializes the sacrifice of these men and women.

bgate Loc: Texas

HML-367 "Scarface" 1967-68
Uhrah!

mwoods222 Loc: Newburg N.Y,

Moving

dennis2146 Loc: Eastern Idaho

Huey Driver wrote:

Warriors Once

A long time ago a group of young men (including myself) were sent to a land far away in service of their country to help fight a foreign war they knew little about and probably cared about even less. I vividly remember the moment we stepped off the plane of our incoming flight into Saigon and as soon as my feet touch the tarmac we were told one of our classmates who arrived a couple days before us was killed in action the day before.

After about a year of intense and grueling stateside military training, young men, many whom were not much older than teenagers, were assigned tasks which would require extremely disciplined men which these young and inexperienced men would become very soon.

To perform the tasks that would be required of us we were assigned a bucket of bolts, some formed sheet metal pieces and a conglomeration of other things and whirling parts all stuck together. Once assembled it was called an Iroquois and later nicknamed “Huey”.

Although our stateside training was superb it did little to prepare us for what we were about to experience. Nothing but the reality of war could even bring to our imagination some of the horrors we were about to see, discover and encounter firsthand.

Almost instantly we learned and understood that these thin-skinned bucket of bolts and whirling things to which we were assigned plus our recently acquired unique skills, often meant the difference between life and death itself to the men on the ground. We performed missions from transporting VIP’s from one location to another, inserting and extracting troops, delivering equipment and supplies, giving close air support to those pinned down by the enemy, picking up wounded while under intense enemy fire at times then delivering them rapidly to emergency care facilities and from the jungles and rice paddies carrying fallen brothers who had fought their last battle, back to base to be returned home.

Sometimes flying ten to twelve hours a day and at times 7 days a week, we seldom complained as we realized without our continuing support and dedication to those on the ground, many more could possibly die.

We honed our skills with each and every mission we flew while at the same time learning how to best control our own fears while under enemy fire at times or flying in adverse weather conditions and still being able to complete the task at hand. We had to find ways to cope with those nauseating feelings deep down in our gut caused from the sight and stench of dead bodies and mutilated medevacs.

At the end of the day, totally exhausted, we stretch out on a normally not so comfortable bed. But a bed that at this moment felt wonderful even though it had to be shrouded with mosquito netting to keep out rats during the night. Finally, when our mind cleared of thoughts, we would drift off to sleep and dream of home and better times to come while knowing that tomorrow we will be asked to do everything all over again.

When our yearlong stay in combat ended most of us who survived this ordeal both mentally and physically returned to the states. There we begin to share with others who will follow in our footsteps, the knowledge and skills we learned.

Now we are in the Autumn of our lives some 50 plus years after Vietnam and we remember the many brothers and comrades who are no longer with us. We come to the realization that we are the last few living members of a dying breed. We still have memories, both good and bad, because we are and always will be “The helicopter pilots and air crews of Vietnam”.

Even though we are not strong young men anymore, “WE WERE TRUELY WARRIORS ONCE: IN A LAND CALLED VIETNAM”!

Warriors Once br br A long time ago a group of yo... (show quote)

A great photograph of the Huey and well written piece. Though not a pilot I was a door gunner on Boeing's CH-46 Marine helicopter with HMM-265. My twin brother did the same with HMM-262. I did two tours and he did one tour in Vietnam. Truthfully we were still teenagers who could not wait to get to Vietnam. That is why we joined the Marine Corps. To this day I still am proud that we both went to war, still believe we had a purpose there and still consider ourselves warriors. My ONLY minor critique of your piece is you saying, WE WERE TRULY WARRIORS ONCE. Every one of us who fought in Vietnam is STILL a warrior. That is not something that is turned off once the fighting stopped. A warrior is a warrior, PERIOD.

Welcome home to you and to everyone who served,

Dennis

Wingpilot Loc: Wasilla. Ak

I think, for many of us who flew the helicopters over there, that the “war” quickly morphed from fighting an enemy to full on support for our grunts on the ground. Get them in, get them out, resupply them, and medivac them. The important thing was making sure that the guys on the grounds, the “Legs” as we called them, had everything they needed, and in time. It was an honor to serve those guys who were doing all the hard work.

I remember one time we brought in a valuable load to a company of grunts on the ground, that had just finished a mission and were tired and worn out. I was flying a CH-47 Chinook, and we sling loaded a huge pallet of various brands of beer out to these guys. They were about out of water and were hungry, and this was a real treat. Their big grins really made my day and made for a great memory. That’s what we did. And other stuff.

ELNikkor

Just saluted you; thanks for your service, and brief testimony. Good timing, I just saw the Netflix series on Vietnam, and your post gives even more context. My draft number was 331, so I wasn't called up, but many of my friends were. Always admired the Huey and their pilots. One friend was a door gunner, somehow survived being shot down several times. Great photo of the Huey and rocket, by the way...

Longshadow Loc: Audubon, PA, United States

Yes.
I have a good friend that, for years, refused to talk about it.
I think he still doesn't.

Wingpilot Loc: Wasilla. Ak

I mentioned being tired, yet willing to go out and fly. This is me, second tour, Chinook pilot. Copied from the original B&W print, 48 years old.

(Download)

Wingpilot Loc: Wasilla. Ak

Longshadow wrote:

Yes.
I have a good friend that, for years, refused to talk about it.
I think he still doesn't.

For some, the events they experienced were just too traumatic. My dad didn’t talk about his time in Italy during WWII, except for a couple humorous stories. Can’t say as I blame them for keeping that to themselves.

Longshadow Loc: Audubon, PA, United States

Wingpilot wrote:

For some, the events they experienced were just too traumatic. My dad didn’t talk about his time in Italy during WWII, except for a couple humorous stories. Can’t say as I blame them for keeping that to themselves.

kpmac Loc: Ragley, La

A truly moving post. Thanks for your service. US Army 1971-1973.

Huey Driver Loc: Texas

ELNikkor wrote:

Just saluted you; thanks for your service, and brief testimony. Good timing, I just saw the Netflix series on Vietnam, and your post gives even more context. My draft number was 331, so I wasn't called up, but many of my friends were. Always admired the Huey and their pilots. One friend was a door gunner, somehow survived being shot down several times. Great photo of the Huey and rocket, by the way...

Just saw that series myself. Was surprised they started in 1964 or 65. That is when my tour started and ended. Some good memories and some bad. I try to concentrate on the good ones and don't mind talking about them. Bad ones well, that's a different story at times.