Frank Watson: Happy Birthday

I had a birthday last week the same day as the eclipse. It was kind of neat that most of America celebrated and looked skyward with anticipation during my birthday. Most of my many birthdays aren’t any big deal. They just come and go without a lot of fanfare. We didn’t celebrate birthdays much when I was a kid. We acknowledged them, but there were so many seats around our dinner table that we would have been celebrating much of the time. There is one, however, that stands out. It was my 28th.

I was in Viet Nam flying Shadow Gunships.

We had four electric, high rate of fire guns sticking out the left side of the airplane, thus we flew in a circle in order to fire at a point on the ground.

The previous two nights, we had supported a special forces camp that was under attack by communist forces.

As I recall, the name of the camp was Dak Seang.

It was down in a deep valley, and our firing circle took us fairly close to the hills on either side of the valley.

We worked unscathed the first night, but the second night, the enemy had machine guns waiting for us on the hilltops.

It was not a fun night.

I’m not sure how we came through that without any of us being hit.

The airplane was full of holes, but the crew was unharmed.

Our after-mission routine was to shower, go to breakfast, sleep all day, go to supper, then go back to work.

When I returned to my room from the shower, one of my crew members was there.

His name was Weaver; I never knew his first name.

He was eighteen years old and had grown up in Idaho.

He opened a fifth of Old Granddad and said that no one should spend their birthday alone.

We spent the next couple hours finishing the bottle and enjoying each other’s company as only those who have shared combat can do.

After putting the empty bottle in the trash, we went to our respective beds and slept it off.

After supper the next evening, we received our orders and spent most of that night supporting the same special forces camp.

We provided cover for the medivac helicopters because they couldn’t get to the camp in the daylight.

I haven’t told many people about my 28th birthday, but when I do the subject of morale frequently comes up.

Our unit morale was actually pretty high.

Fear and morale are not incompatible.

Soldiers are aware of the risks.

When bullets punched big holes in our airplane we became well acquainted with fear, but morale stayed high.

When we lost comrades, we went through periods of quietness bordering depression, but our morale wasn’t affected.

Morale was hurt, however, when we weren’t allowed to do our job.

We had to get permission from headquarters in Saigon for every target.

Saigon was a few hundred miles from where we normally worked.

To be forbidden to fire when friendly forces was under attack was a morale killer.

The realization that our efforts were not appreciated at home also hurt. We were aware of the protest movement, Kent State and Jane Fonda.

Our military now puts battlefield decisions much closer to the battle and the appreciation of our troops is at an all-time high. We old guys thank you for that.

(Frank Watson is a retired Air Force Colonel and a long time resident of eastern Washington. He has been a freelance columnist for more than 18 years.)