68th Assault Helicopter  Stories



A Poem by  Dave Holloway - 68th Pilot



‘Twas the night before Tet

                And all around the compound

The “cong” was stirring

                And not making a sound.


The Mustangs were nestled

                All snug in their beds,

While visions of tracers

                Danced in their heads.


Their helmets were hung

                By the doorway with care,

In hopes that “Charlie”

                Wouldn’t be there.


And “Ski” in his Bermudas

                And I in my flight gear,

Had just settled down

                For one final beer.




When out on the road

                There arose such a clatter,

I sprang from my barstool

                To see what was the matter.


Across the floor

                I flew in a dash,

Tore open the door,

                And saw a big flash.


The rockets and mortars were

                Hitting all around,

And I knew it was time

                To the bunker abound.


When what to my wondering

                Eyes should appear,

Was everyone running,

                Hoping to save their rear.


Then a skinny little pilot

                So lively and quick,

Headed to the flight line,

                To fly anything but a “slick.”


More rapid than eagles

                His courses he came,

And he whistled and shouted

                And called them by name-


Now Huff! Now Rad!

                Now Bum! And Straz!

On Sandy! On Larry!

                On Gibbs and Naz!


From inside the bunker

                And down the barracks hall!

Now Dash Away! Dash Away!

                Dash Away All!


So out to the flight line

                The courses they flew,

With gunships full of rockets

                And ammo too;


And then in a twinkling

                I heard from the line

The sweet sound

                Of the Huey’s whine.


As I stuck out my head

                And was turning around,

Down the flight line came

                “Ski” with a bound.


He was dressed all in green

                From his head to his toes,

And he was quite ready

                To go hunting the foes.


A helmet in his hand, and

                A flack jacket on his arm,

He looked like a Mustang

                Ready to do harm.


His eyes how they twinkled,

                His swagger how clear,

He was out to find “Charlie”

                No one should fear.


A wink of his eye

                And a twist of his head,

Soon gave me to know

                I had nothing to dread.


He spoke not a word

                But went straight to his work,

Checked all the rockets,

                Then turned with a jerk.


He sprang to his ship,

                To his team gave a whistle,

And away they all flew

                Like the down of a thistle.


But I heard him explain

                As they flew out of sight,

Hey, Charlie! Are you up

                To the fight?     






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