EIGHT SECONDS Rick volunteered for a second tour with the 101 St. Airborne. He had survived numerous fire fights as an infantry soldier the previous year. Now he was back as a door gunner. "It was a night operation; my gun ship was providing illumination for ground troops engaged in the jungle below. It was 1968 in the I Corps area. What happened next took place in about 8 seconds. Pre-detonation of one of the flares shattered the knee cap of my crew chief, filled the chopper with smoke, and sent me off balance. I threw my arms out in desperation, hoping to grab anything as I fell out of the chopper. I caught hold of a post next to my gunner's seat. The back of my arm impacted violently; it felt broken. I hung out of the gyrating craft at 1500 feet. Instantly I thought of the short fuse time and the disaster that was certain. If my crew chief was unable to eject the flare before it detonated, the chopper would turn into a fireball. I had two options. I could hang onto the aircraft and be burned to death in mid-air, or I could work my arm loose and drop 1500 feet to my death. I looked down into the night battle on the jungle floor, watching tracers leave their trails in the darkness. I decided to drop rather than burn to death. As quickly as I had made the decision to drop to certain death, a confidence came over me. I had always given God credit for bringing me through my first year of combat. I glanced Heavenward. My mind was not accepting that I was going to die. I trusted Him to save me. The next thing I was aware of was being back in the chopper pushing the flare out of the door. My crew chief had been struggling to save his own life. He looked up in shock: only seconds before he had written me off as dead. We looked at each other, aware we were alive and that GOD STEPPED IN AND PROVIDED A MIRACLE WHICH SAVED US." |
Battlefield Stories |
