Tuesday, October 22, 2019
Corpsman Chronicles XXVII: With eight lives left the Phrog looks good!
The new pilot was a real eager beaver. Ensign, just up from Pensacola. He seemed like a happy guy, curious and interested in everything.
But he was one of those cats who is just too eager. From across the flight line you could see him vibrating like banjo string.
He tried hard. He really did. But he tried too hard. Everything he touched turned instantly to shit. We said he had the feces touch.
Today he was having a bad day. Had to make a head call as we were manning up. He sprinted out to the aircraft after we'd fired up and engaged the rotors.
Wasn't wearing his LPA/SV2 (survival vest). Had his helmet on though. Good thinking. Had to go fetch his vest from the hangar. He disappeared from sight. Surely he hadn't...
WHACK! The aircraft jerked and shuddered and began shaking like a dog shittin' peach pits.
Directly behind the aircraft, laying face up in a pool of blood, you know who.
Shut it down. "Go check him Doc." Firetruck. Got a hangover, I'll puke for sure.
YGTBSM. Little fucker is still alive! Hell of a scalp gash though.
He went somewhere else after he recovered. CH-46's I think. No tail rotor.