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Recollections of Vietnam: The Delta Fox Strikes Again

By VVAW

The yellow Ford tractor bounced on the pierced steel planking that made up the runway at Vung-Tau Army Airfield, Hundreds and hundreds of yards of this rusty, OD green shit, like some giant tinkertoy for planes to land on. Here and there it was pock-marked from rockets or mortar round that had landed on it. The brass would run out the Vietnamese laborers to fill in the holes, with marshmallow fluff I think, because every time it rained it washed out the holes. We would laugh and say the laborers didn't care—" What the hell, they're the ones firin' this place up at night anyway.

I was pissed. It had to be about 100 and out on the PSP it was hot, really hot. Yentas had sent me out to get a hydraulic unit and pull it into one of the hanger shops. Christ, all the birds were out flying and wouldn't be in til late afternoon or evening and the damn thing could wait. Hell no! Not Yentas, the scrawny S.O.B was the same rank as me—buck sergeant—but he had time in grade and would put on this show of authority for the other EM's in the shop. I could be sitting in the shade, shooting the shit with the other guys but he laid this on me, knowing I wouldn't push it on the other EM's. I guess I'm not the NCO caliber asshole type.

I hitched up the hydraulic mule to the tractor and pulled it towards the hanger. I saw the Army Otter land and bounce down the runway. The dude pulled the little green plane that looked like the Spirit of St Louis, into one of our (The Air Force—popularly known as the Blue Screw) slots. I gave a shit. What the hell—all our birds were out anyway.

As I pulled into the hanger this lifer E-8 sticks his head out of the air-conditioned office upstairs and says, "Come up here, airman."

"Sergeant," I yelled.

"Okay, Sergeant, Come ul here."

"Jesus Christ," I thought, " What now?" Shuffling up the stairs, I pushed open the control room door. "Goddam is it nice in here," I thought. "Air conditioned and all." I hoped these fat mf'ers would get pneumonia running in and out.

"Step over here, boy" (Screw you!); "How the hell am I supposed to know you're an NCO," the lifer said. "You ain't got no sleeves for you chevrons." (Maybe I could get 'em tattooed on my arm!) "You ain't got no name tag or Air Force tag either, Sergeant; are you in the Air Force?" ("Sometimes I wonder too, " I thought as a stared at an intensely interesting trash can in the corner.) "Where's your hat, Sergeant?" (If it was up your ass, you'd know)

"Ah, I think it's in the tractor, I said.

"You're supposed to be covered at all times, Sergeant."

"Yeah, Sarge, I groaned.

"Have you been drinking, Sergeant?" (does a bear shit in the wood?) I was pretty disgusted by this point, so, spitting into his garbage can, I leaned over his desk about three feet over the pudgy little asshole, " Well, Sarge, What did you want me for?"

He got the message.

Getting a little flushed, he stuttered, "Well, uh, well, uh (Get the shit out of your mouth), Sergeant, ah..." "Davis, " I added firmly.

"Well, ah, Sergeant Davis we're going to give you an important mission." (Oh shit, I thought) "You see, Sergeant, we have an Army plane taking up one of our parking spaces. And we want you to carry this written order out to him to move it, int the Army area."

Yentas, I'm going to kick your ass—you got me into this shit.

"And what if he won't go," I said, taking the note.

"Use your authority to order him to move."

"Yeah, right."

I took the note and climbed into the tractor, trying to make it do a "wheely" going out of the hanger. "Christ," I thought, "these Army warrant officers are crazy! What if he gets pissed and pulls a piece on me... Well, I got a .45 under the seat... 'Naw, I'd get into all kinds of shit, and maybe dead too... What bullshit!" I stomp the gas pedal and roared across the PSP.

It was the Otter I saw earlier. As I pulled up next to it, I saw the pilot was gone. On the nose, right behind the prop were the words, painted in big letters, "The Delta Fox." " Oh Christ," I thought, "I really got one now." My suspicions were confirmed when the dude strolled around one of the hangers, and across the runway, sucking on a can of beer, with a case of cold ones under his arm.

He had on the OD green Army flight suit and flight glasses, but all similarity to military reality broke down there. His boots were obviously custom-made, a brown Sam Browne belt with shoulder strap, and English Webley pistol, topped off with a leather flying cap, googles, a white silk scarf and a huge, black handle-bar mustache.

I was right! An Army warrant officer, a crazy Army warrant officer. What the hell war is he in" And what am I doing here? Oh, man. He's probably got a leather flying jacket in the cockpit too.

As he got closer, I could see he was about my age and obviously stoned out of his mind.

"Uhhhh, Hi there, " I said.

"Hey man, what's going on," he responded.

"Well, I was sorta told to come out here and, ah, tell you you gotta move your plane."

"I gotta what?" he said.

Oh shit, here we go, I thought, "Ah the NCOIC said you gotta move it."

"Yeah, well you know what I say about that, don't you?"

I said no, but I had a pretty good ides.

"Well, you tell 'em to go fuck himself," said the Delta Fox.

"Aw, man, I can't go in there and say that—I'm already in enough trouble with those lifers."

He popped open the door to the Otter and set the beer inside "Shit, observing the war's hot work; I just stopped by to pick up a cool one, you know?"

Judging from the number of patches on the plane, It was hot work, in more ways than one.

"Here you want a beer?"

"Yeah, thanks," I pulled the church key out of my pocket and opened the beer, a rusty Black Label. "Well, anyway here's the note they sent."

As I guzzled the beer, he read the note and smiled. "Here, take them this message from me." He wrote briefly on the side of the plane, using the same paper they'd sent.

He folded it once and handed it to me. "Ok GI, can do?"

"No sweat, GI."

I climbed into the tractor as he popped another can and leaned on the fuselage drinking it.

The note read: "Fuck You—The Delta Fox."

When I handed it to the lifer and he read it, I thought he was going to have a cardiac arrest—and I would have to watch. His eyes bulged, veins stood out, and he turned 5 shades of red. Gasping, he bolted into an adjoining office, yelling "Lieutenant, Lieutenant!" After a few seconds he puffed out with the scummy brown bar in tow, down the stairs, into a jeep, and roared out of the hanger.

Man, I had to see this. I ran and climbed in the tractor and fired out of the hanger myself. As the jeep got near the Otter, The Delta Fox fired it up and taxied onto the runway. As he passed the jeep, he opened the side door and flipped the bird.

Rolling past me he waved. I gave him the peace sign. Never saw him again.

I drove off and had a cold one to the Delta Fox.