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“So, Dan, how was it back in the States?” Sinkey asked, sitting back and gazing out the window.
“It was good. Got to attend my dad’s change of command. Spent a few days with him and Mom. Spent some time with that girl who’s been writing to me for the past six months. It was good,” Cory replied.
“So why the hell did you come back here? You volunteered, didn’t you?”
“I came back because this is what I’ve trained to do. I thought I would be able to swing an infantry assignment, but that didn’t work out. It was back to flying or count bedsheets and CONEX containers being shipped back to the States. No, thanks. I thought if I was flying, I would be doing something for our guys on the ground. As they’re all leaving, I couldn’t have been more wrong on that note. So now, I just get to teach you guys how to fly,” Cory concluded with a smile on his face, looking at Sinkey.
“Really? Well, who’s in the right seat today?” Sinkey grinned. “I got it,” he said, asserting his dominance as aircraft commander. Cory sat back and just enjoyed the ride.
“When you going home?” Cory asked Sinkey.
“I DEROS in April, but I might extend to take the early out if I can.”
“What then?”
“I’ll probably go back to college in Oregon.”
“Whatcha gonna major in?”
“I’d like to major in architecture.”
“Really? I had been accepted to the University of Kansas School of Architecture back in sixty-five. My grandfather was a chief draftsman and I took two years of drafting in high school in one year. I really enjoyed doing that.”
“Why didn’t you do it, then?”
“Dirtbag high
school principal told my parents, after I left Japan to work in Oregon, that if I went to a big school I would probably flunk out. So, instead, I went to a small school in the mountains of eastern Oregon, majoring in a subject that really didn’t interest me that much, and flunked out. Two of the most worthless years of my life. If I ever saw that principal again I would tell him to go to hell.”
“What did you do in Oregon for work?”
“I was a chocker setter working out of Coos Bay for Sixes River Logging Company. Owner was a Mr. Smith, and I was one of the most worthless workers he had. Why he didn’t fire me is beyond me. I really was. I was immature and just plain depressed that I wasn’t going to Kansas. I guess he knew if he fired me, I would be in serious trouble as my folks still lived in Japan. He was good friends with them. Probably kept me on just because of that friendship.”
“Good man to do that for you,” Sinkey mumbled. “You want to bring us up on Quan Loi Arty and get a fire clearance?”
Changing FM frequency to Quan Loi Arty, Cory said, “Quan Loi Arty, Chicken-man One-Four is Chon Thanh to An Loc at twenty-five hundred. Over.”
“Chicken-man One-Four, you are clear all the way.”
“Roger, Quan Loi Arty.” Flipping to the intercom between the crew, he repeated, “We’re good all the way. What’s the frequency for our contact?”
Sinkey handed the mission sheet to Cory, who scanned it and found what he was looking for. Changing frequency to FM number 1, Cory made the call.
“Cobra Six, this is Chicken-man One-Four, over.”
With a strong Vietnamese accent, the response came. “Shick-man One-Four, tis Cobra Sex India, wait one.”
“They can never say our name right, can they? It’s just like the Japanese attempting to say Lilly Palloza. It always came out Rirry Parroza,” Cory said with a chuckle.
“Lieutenant Cory, are you bullshitting us?” O’Donnell asked.
“No, really. During World War Two, in the Pacific, Marines would call out and tell them to say the password. The Japanese soldiers couldn’t say the “L” sound. It always came out as an “R” sound.”
“Chicken-man One-Four, this is Cobra Six, over” crackled over the FM radio with a New York accent.
“Good morning, Cobra Six, Chicken-man One-Four is inbound. Where do you want us?” Cory asked.
“Chicken-man One-Four, are you familiar with the soccer field in An Loc?”
