I sculled the boat to a standstill a few yards away and considered my options. If I waited a little longer, maybe he would just drown. That would save me a whole lot of trouble.
Still ? there's a kinship among aviators that transcends a lot of things. One of those being floating in the sea face-down.
As much as I wanted to, I couldn't let him die like that. I took a last look around the ocean, still searching for Gator, and saw another splash of orange off in the distance. What now? Head for Gator immediately and come back later for the gook?
Still, I was right there. I hauled ass over to him, grabbed him by the neck, and yanked him into the boat. I pulled my.45 out. Maybe not the most logical thing to do, because if I shot him I'd undoubtedly put a hole in my raft as well. But maybe it would slow him down some.
He was unconscious, pale even under that golden skin, but breathing. Nothing stuck out at an odd angle, so I figured there was nothing broken. Not that it mattered ? as long as he was breathing, I'd about reached the limit of my first-aid abilities.
I kept him where I could see him, right in the front of the raft, and headed for Gator. It seemed to take hours, much longer than it had to reach the stranger. But finally I was there.
Gator was conscious, sculling the water and clearly looking around for his own life raft. Obviously it had blown out of reach. One of his arms hung at an awkward angle by his side. I was a good deal gentler with him as I hoisted him into the raft.
'Got your radio?' Gator gasped. 'I couldn't ? my arm wasn't working. I couldn't grab it and paddle at the same time.'
I felt in one long deep pocket and pulled out my emergency SAR radio. It was preset to the appropriate channel, and I keyed the flat switch on the side and spoke into it.
'This is Viper Leader, does anyone read?' I unkeyed the mike and waited for a response. Blessedly it came within seconds.
'Viper Leader, Angel 101 en route to your position. I have a visual on you.'
Never have words been so welcome in my ears. I let out a wild shout, which Gator echoed weakly. Our companion in the raft still appeared to be unconscious.
I slumped back down on my butt in the ass end of the life raft ? like you can tell one end from the other ? and gazed fondly at my RIO. His face was battered and bloody, white with pain, and his arm looked like shit. Still, those SAR guys knew how to get us back up in their bird without doing permanent damage ? I hoped. At least they claimed they did. 'First time for everything,' Gator said finally.
'Last time too,' I said. 'And last time I leave us in command-eject.' Gator managed a weak frown. 'Don't give me that bullshit,' he said, his voice faint. 'If I hadn't punched us out, we wouldn't be having this conversation.'
'Maybe you're right,' I said finally. The urge to argue the point with him was overwhelming, but there was one factor that stood in my way.
He was right.
'So what do we do with him?' I said, gesturing at the Vietnamese pilot. 'I vote we throw him overboard.'
Gator shook his head slowly. 'I know you're not serious.'
'And what if I am?' I said, trying to salvage some degree of ego out of this whole thing. 'So it's okay to shoot 'em down but not to drown 'em?'
Gator sighed and shifted slightly. He reached out with one hand and touched the Vietnamese pilot. A low moan issued from the still form, and the Vietnamese stirred slightly.
'We take him back with us. On the helo.'
'There it is.' I pointed off toward the west. The tiny, ugly insect ? Angel 101. 'Hurry up, you guys,' I said into the radio. 'And we've got an extra passenger for you here ? one of the bad guys we fished out of the water.'
'Roger, copy three souls,' the SAR crew chief answered. 'We've got room for you.'
Off to the east, I could see the air battle still raging. The fighters circled and danced in the sky, the Tomcats using their greater power against the MiGs' more maneuverable form. I saw another hit, but couldn't tell who it was. Please, God ? not one of ours. I offered up the silent prayer, as contrite at that moment as I ever had been in my life.
Somehow, I'd always envisioned the war stopping when I left it. I knew it wasn't true, at least on an intellectual level. The flights who replaced me while I went to plug and suck on the tanker or back to Jefferson to rearm still continued the battle. Although it seems like you're at the center of the universe when you're in the cockpit, it really isn't so, as the battle off to my east was now making patently clear to me.
I saw one of the small figures break off in hot pursuit and head our direction. Gator was watching too. I heard him say, 'Oh, no. No, not that.'
My only excuse for what I said next was that I'd just come out of air combat, been ejected from an aircraft, half drowned, and wasn't thinking straight. It didn't make sense, not even as I said it, but I said it anyway.
'They're not gonna strafe us.'
Gator shot me a look of sheer, hellish disgust. 'Maybe not at first.' He gestured with his good arm toward the helo. 'They're after the Angel first.'
It was simply no match-up. The MiG came no closer than two miles, circled for a moment, then fired two missiles at the CH-46. The helo dove for the water, trying desperately to shake the missiles among the clutter of waves, but the sea state was simply too light. I'd never seen a helo move that fast, or that nimbly. Their pilot did a helluva job.
It wasn't good enough. The first missile hit dead on, shattering the canopy, then plowing part of the way into the fuselage before exploding into a fireball. The second missile detonated upon hitting the suspended shrapnel in the air, creating a secondary explosion that was completely unnecessary. The crew had died in the first moments of impact.
'No!' I was trying to stand now, shaking on my feet in the fragile life boat and lifting one hand at the air and shaking it. 'No, you bastards.'
I felt a hand on my back, and something yanked me down hard. I lost my balance, fell half out of the raft. My head was submerged in the cold water, and it must have cleared my brain. I grabbed for the side of the raft to keep from falling out, and in the process lost my gun. Two hands hauled me back into the raft and tossed me across to the other side. I sputtered, choked, then puked over the edge.
The Vietnamese pilot was awake ? and clearly had been for some time. I clenched my right hand reflexively, felt the absence of the pistol as keenly as I'd ever noted a loss before.
Our eyes met ? his black, battered from his own ejection and colder than the water. No blinking, just staring. I broke the gaze first and looked down in his left hand. A pistol, not an American one.
'Oh, Bird Dog,' I heard Gator say softly. 'Jesus, Bird Dog.'
The Vietnamese whirled on him, pointing the gun in his direction. He made a motion, clearly indicated that Gator should move to my end of the raft. He did so, dragging himself and his crumpled arm painfully down the length. As soon as he was within arm's reach, I grabbed him and pulled him up toward me. 'Just hold still, buddy. They'll be back.'
Gator groaned, now past the point of having a coherent discussion.
In the far end of the raft, the Vietnamese settled down, seated, but with the gun pointed implacably in our direction.
We just sat like that for a long time, staring at each other. I checked Gator over, did what I could to make him more comfortable. There was nothing I could use on the boat to splint his arm except the oar, and the gook had gotten hold of that.
The other fellow pulled out his own version of a SAR radio and spoke briefly into it. My heart sank as someone answered. It took them about thirty minutes, but the patrol boat finally found us. We saw them well before they saw us, and our not-so-good friend guided them straight in on us.
They took him aboard first. Then two of them climbed down in the raft to hand Gator up. They went pretty easy with him once they saw he was injured. I saw Gator start to scream at one point when his arm joggled the wrong way, and the guy we fished out of the ocean said something in a nasty tone of voice to them. I don't speak Vietnamese, but I could guess what it was by the expression on their faces.
Something else struck me odd about the entire exchange. Our good old buddy in the water, the one I'd been so tempted to drown, looked like he might be something a little bit more than your average fighter pilot. There were
