Monsoon Season

When I was Fighting the Communist Insurgent Guerilla Forces in the

Viper Infested Jungles of South East Asia, the Monsoon Season lasted

from June through September. Everything was wet and stayed that way.

Our only dryer was a clothes line. Flight suit, uniform, bed linen all

damp, all the time. I contracted tinea versicolor, a fungus that eats your

skin pigment so you have splotches all over. It took me about ten years

to get rid of it. Fortunately, that was my only war injury. Unfortunately,

it’s not on the disability list.

I was stationed a Marine Corps Air Station Marble Mountain right on

the South China Sea, east of Da Nang and about three miles south of

China Beach. There was water standing everywhere so I had to wade to

the head to take a shower. I was about to turn the water on when I

looked around and espied a cobra coiled in the corner. No shower that

day. That’s the problem! All the snakes had to seek high ground. They

were everywhere.

The Delta area south of Da Nang was flooded, rice paddys under water,

etc. Folks were stranded on whatever little high ground they could find.

Our Squadron flew the Sikorsky CH-53 helicopter. A monster, it could

carry forty-eight fully armed Marines and no telling how many

Vietnamese. We were tasked to save as many souls as possible. The

weather was awful, the ceiling was about three hundred feet, maybe. The

only navigation was the ripple of the water bubbling over Highway One

running north to south. We evacuated anybody we could, I’m sure even

Vietcong and actually several water Buffalos. I rescued many folks from

LZ Baldy, Shaun Donahoe’s lovely home for a year.

There was a unit of Republic of Korea Marines nearby. We got them all

out. The president of South Korea, Park Chung Hee, awarded us a fancy

citation, threw a big banquet for us and sent a band down from Korea.

Guess what they played, “Seoul” music. (Sorry, I couldn’t resist that

one.)

Well, here in Apalach we had our own Mini Monsoon. Rained maybe a

foot or more in a few days. Our back yard, garage and screen porch

flooded. Lane always said she wanted a pool in the back yard. Did you

know box turtles like to swim? Ours do. Shaun put it this way, “Awoke

at 3AM to loud racket “quacking” sound (ducks, gulls, geese?) from the

flooded yard next door. A symphony of frogs chanting loudly in

harmony, celebrating Apalachicola’s version of SE Asia Monsoon!!!”

Then de ja vu, here comes Isaias “God is My Salvation.” A typhoon was

zeroing in on Okinawa when I was stationed there. We had no hangars

for our helicopters. The weather was awful. We flew in IFR formation to

Naval Air Facility Atsugi, Japan. A nine-hour flight carrying three

internal fuel tanks. No problem, that is, unless the fuel transfer pump

failed.

Naturally, the Marines are going to do training missions. I was a co-pilot

and they put me in the cockpit with C. C. Willis. C. C. was a big ole boy

with a thick Texan drawl. He played linebacker for Texas Tech. We

were trying to land at a Japanese air field so C. C. radioed the tower for

landing instructions. “Marline Helicopiter, say again”, came the reply.

C. C. tried a few more times and they still did understand him so he said

“Autrey, you try.” I did, southern accent and all, still no luck. Finally,

the control tower exasperatedly called, “Marline Helicopiter, you fry

anywhere you land anywhere.” I never got to fly with C. C. again.

Your friend,

Capt. Gill