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RECOLLECTIONS: Off To War

By Matt Warthen

Everything had happened so quickly after I received orders as a "must pump" to replace a pilot injured during the fire on the USS Enterprise. I was rushed to complete my first live bombing hop, my first night air to air refueling, finally night carrier landings. My bombing was barely acceptable, the refueling took the maximum number of attempts allowed and my night arrestments were marginal at best. As I walked up the air stairs on the tarmac, it was all starting to sink in. I was on my way to join a squadron going to Vietnam and I was nowhere near ready.

I could still taste the cheap yellow champagne and burnt hotdogs as I boarded the DC-8 at Travis AFB. Jay and Kaye had sent me off with a little going away party just before we drove to my flight. My cousin Jay knew what it was like to go off to combat. He had been a Naval Aviator flying missions in Vietnam. Although we never talked much about the war, I followed him into the Navy and flying, thinking it would be exciting and challenging. The afternoon chartered flight from Travis was full of soldiers, marines and a few sailors; a motley mixture of navy blue, army green and marine olive drab. I wore my favorite uniform, the service dress khakis decorated with my lone "alive in '65" National Defense ribbon, my brand new Lieutenant jg silver bars and Navy wings. I carried only my sea bag which contained some toiletries, swim trunks (which I never used), a working khaki uniform, a couple of flight suits, my helmet, underwear and some jeans and t-shirts. I was one of the few officers on board this flight.

The flight to Hickam AFB in Hawaii was about five and a half hours on this April day in 1969. There were pretty stewardesses in short red and blue skirts to help all of us forget that we were only going to stopover at a beautiful vacation spot. Our real destination was war. We were treated like special passengers by the friendly crew, given more steak and chicken than we could eat and asked the usual questions about our hometowns, girl friends and schools we'd attended. I ended up talking to another Naval Officer who was reporting to a destroyer for duty. We planned on renting a car together and driving around the island, since neither of us had ever been to Hawaii.

On that long flight, I finally had time to ponder my situation. What would happen to me on this combat cruise? Well the answer to that seemed pretty simple: I was going to die over there. I had the absolute minimum of training, not like most Naval Aviators who would have about 6 months of training with their fleet squadrons before deployment. I was one of two in my A-7 class to be "must pumped"- both of us were bachelors and obviously more expendable than the married pilots. I was not in a panic about dying in combat, probably because it still seemed so far in the future. I was joining a ship that had sustained considerable damage in a fire. I would have some fun times in Hawaii, and maybe even get more training with my new squadron before deployment. When I think back, I was in a state of denial. Something bad would probably happen, but it was a long way off. As it turned out I was able to enjoy only one full day in beautiful Oahu, touring the island in a rental car before a drunken going away party of mai tais and martinis. The ship weighed anchor the next day as I slept off my hangover.

What did I think about fighting a war in Vietnam, dropping bombs and killing people? I didn't think about it at all. I was not politically interested in the war before training, thinking by the time I was awarded my wings it would either be a war fully supported by our country or it would be over. The increasing anti-war protests and the fact that many of my friends had found ways to avoid the war strangely didn't affect my decision to fly Navy. After flight training started, I was immersed in the day to day flying that was both challenging and demanding. I don't ever remember a conversation with other aviators about the morality of the war, the domino theory or the legitimacy of the Diem government. As it turns out, aviators are some of the least patriotic of all the military. We like the rush of flying, especially off carriers, and the war we fight is by far the most detached and impersonal of all the armed forces. I would learn, like most who experience combat, that war is about not letting your fellow aviators or soldiers down. It is having the courage to do what everyone else has to do, knowing you could lose your life doing it. But this insight would come long after my flight to Hawaii.

As we touched down at Hickam, the sun was low, the turquoise water shone bright against the glittering sand and Diamond Head stood like a sentinel guarding Honolulu. It did seem like paradise, especially compared to Kingsville, Texas, Meridian, Mississippi and Jacksonville, Florida. I breathed in the warm, moist air as we deplaned, thinking I would like to spend a few months here. It was not to be. I reported to my squadron duty officer aboard Enterprise, was assigned a space in the Junior Officers' bunk room and then informed that we would steam to the Philippines the morning after next. I could no longer dodge reality. I was going to be flying combat sorties in a few weeks, despite not being sufficiently trained. Dying now seemed closer. Denial was no longer an option, I was off to war.

Matt Warthen had a couple of writings published last year: The Enemy and Why Can't I Remember. He was a Naval Aviator flying A-7's in VA-215 in Westpac in 1969 and the Mediterranean in 1970. He was then a flight instructor in Beeville,Texas until release from active duty in 1972. He belongs to the Vietnam Veterans Writing Group which meets in Sebastapol, Ca and the Oakland Veterans Writing Group.