Overview
In a satire that does for Vietnam what Catch-22 did for WWII, Gary Heller tells the fictionalized true story of what it was like to almost become a fighter pilot during the Vietnam War.
Gary O. Heller was a jet mechanic and helicopter pilot. He lives in Indiana.
Product Details
| BN ID: | 2940032991045 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Elderberry Press |
| Publication date: | 01/05/2012 |
| Sold by: | Smashwords |
| Format: | eBook |
| File size: | 108 KB |
About the Author
Read an Excerpt
At a small Midwestern church college, affectionately referred to as East Jesus State by the dissident students who had accumulated the most chapel cuts, Roy L. Hemorrhoid made up his mind that he would join the air force as soon as possible after graduation, as an officer and pilot, to serve in Vietnam. Although he had already completed his military obligation prior to the Vietnam War, as an enlisted man, he had had a bellyful of talk around campus about draft dodging by those wimps who were enrolling in seminary as well as pulling other cowardly tricks. He also was sick of all the longhaired creeps at college campuses across the country who were antiwar proponents. After all, any fight against communism seemed a worthy fight. He would take up the slack of the cowards and fight like a hundred men.
Roy realized that he could also fulfill a childhood dream of being an air force pilot at the same time he served in the Vietnam War. He immediately contacted a local air force recruiter to arrange for the testing necessary to enter flight training.
During the initial interview, the recruiter told Roy that he could have a bachelor's degree in any subject except Bible or religion to qualify for flight training. Roy thought this was somewhat unusual and queried the recruiter, out of curiosity, as to why a religious degree would not be allowed. The recruiter explained that "such a background would cause difficulties for someone assigned to drop bombs on an enemy village or other people-related targets. But much more important than being squeamish about dropping napalm bombs on the enemy would be the outside chance that someday you might be called before the Congress of the United States to testify about military affairs or defense spending and you might have a problem stretching the truth."
"For example," the recruiter went on, "one of the biggest expenses in the air force is toilet seats. That's because the famous expression 'cover your ass' has come to put high priority on that item. Right now we are $100 for a commode seat for a B-52 bomber, but we hope someday, with the defense budget increases, we will be able to pay $500 or even $1,000 for a similar one. This will provide a significant deterrent to the Russians, when they realize we spare no cost for our butts."
Roy exclaimed, "That's a bit much, isn't it, when you can buy a toilet seat at a civilian hardware store for five dollars?"
"Yes," the recruiter answered, "but the extra money goes to a slush fund, set up by the defense suppliers, so they can hire the top air force brass as they retire. Then they in turn can sell the toilet seats to their former subordinate officers who are still on active duty, at a handsome profit."
Roy quickly understood why the air force wouldn't want anyone who had a religious or ethical background.
After taking a lengthy battery of written tests, which he passed, Roy was scheduled for his first flight physical examination at a nearby air force base. Roy then realized that the last thing they ever wanted in the air force was the truth, after reviewing the medical history questionnaire. It seemed that only a perfect physical specimen could qualify, inasmuch as no one who was older than six months of age could truthfully answer that he had never been knocked unconscious or had other disturbances of consciousness by some injury caused by an accident or by playing contact sports.
The medical exam was passed and submitted, along with Roy's college transcripts, to a selection committee at air force headquarters at Randolph AFB in San Antonio, Texas.
Within a couple of months, the air force sent the news, by letter, that Roy had been selected for a three-month Officer Training School at Lackland AFB in San Antonio, Texas, to be followed by pilot training, which would last over one year.
Roy was elated with the opportunity to go to flight training. The only bad
thing was going through the twelve weeks of officer school to become a
"ninety-day wonder," as second lieutenants were disdainfully referred to when he
was an enlisted man. The worst part, he felt, was that he had had his fill of
military basic training, years before when he had undergone thirteen weeks of
basic training, also at this same Lackland AFB. Roy made up his mind that he
would endure more of the "bull sheet" in order to fly.