Music to My Ears

Whenever I am in the back yard and hear the sound of rotor blades, I’m reminded of the times I served in helicopter squadrons. I’ve found it’s not easy to forget the sound of those blades as they part the waves of air around them. It seems, even when the years pass me by, I can still detect the type of helicopter before I can see it.

Although, I didn’t guess the Osprey when it slipped across the southern sky yesterday. Told myself there just might have been too many clouds in the way. Clouds will do that you see.

Grunts will tell you the sweetest sound they’ve ever heard are those blades as they WOP-WOP through the sky bringing relief faster than Speedy can bring you an Alka-Seltzer. Not that Speedy is slow mind you, as anyone with a hangover from a late night Happy Hour can attest. It’s just that,,,,,never mind. I think you get the point.

I’m told it didn’t really make much difference the size of the aircraft just as long as it could hover. I’m told someone once said size didn’t matter? May have been a grunt. Regardless, while fixed wing aircraft do have their place in a VFR society, they’ve never been able to compete well in an IFR world. The words “low ceiling” seems to bring out the desire to “Hanger All” until the all clear sound resonates across the flight line. Damn sure wouldn’t want all that ordnance to get wet before it was used would we?

Never seemed to make much difference if it was C’s being delivered or MRE’s, just as long as it wasn’t a case of SPAM, or powdered milk, or powdered eggs or powdered anything. Outside a few mental institutions I’ve frequented (as a visitor mind you), I’ve not been able to find anyone with a fondness for SPAM. Asking if an individual had a fondness for SPAM, was one of those questions that might qualify you for bed rest in a jacket with no sleeves.

I once asked, before my first flight on a routine resupply mission, “How can you tell where the bad guy is in the event one is shooting at you?” The X.O. replied, “you’ll know”. I found out rather quickly what he meant. I also found out there is no such thing as a “routine” mission. The words “routine my ass” became the words for the day. How-so-eva, we did deliver the supplies we had been fragged to deliver.

By the way, have you ever wondered how those good guys firing mortars kept from hitting inbound aircraft while they continued to fire. Never got an answer.

It didn’t make much difference if we were doing a resupply, insertion, extraction or medevac, the sound of those blades meant someone was getting something they had asked for.

Nowadays, even without my hearing aids, I can hear them and remember how they played music that meant so much to me in my past.