Come Up Voice

By Ron Mencarelli

Come up Voice is a story about a helicopter pilot during the Vietnam War who after fifty years is still struggling with PTSD. It describes in vivid detail his journey from “new guy” innocence to a battle tested and hardened veteran. But his journey doesn’t end there.

He has always been afraid to tell this story, fearing the inability to separate his nightmares from reality. His biggest fear however was what others would think and the possibility that his family would view him as psychologically impaired. But after years of encouragement from his counselors, he decided to write it all down. Wanting so desperately to finally heal and not wake each morning weary over distinguishing between nightmares and reality. This book is an attempt to reveal what PTSD looks like. It discloses how the gruesomeness of war and fifty years of nightmares can affect a person for a lifetime.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Dec 29, 2021
• ISBN: 9781662456305

Book preview

Chapter 1

Wake up! Ron, wake up. Are you okay? Wake up.

It was my wife trying to bring me out of yet another nightmare. It was the third time this week, but this one was especially bad. She continued calling out my name and then attempted to shake me awake. I was someplace else and reacted violently. Actually kicking her in the leg while thrashing around before I awoke and realized where I was. She yelled out in pain, got out of bed, went into the bathroom, and turned on the light.

I am going to have a bruise, she said, as she examined her leg.

I was now awake but not completely. I am so sorry. I’m really sorry, now remembering what and who I thought I was trying to kick. I sat up on the side of the bed and placed my head in my hands, still apologizing, while trying to get those awful images out of my head.

Are you okay? my wife asked, as she shut out the light and got back into bed.

Yea, I guess so, but I am really sorry for what just happened.

You were fighting someone or something. I couldn’t wake you up, and when I touched you, that’s when you started kicking and…

Hey, she said. I’m not a Viet Cong. Then she tucked her head into the pillow and tried to get back to sleep. I grabbed my pillow and went out to the couch. Still feeling the effects of the nightmare but also horrible about kicking my wife. I sat in the dark, thinking how unacceptable this was. What if I would have really hurt her because of these damn nightmares? She had become accustomed to my nightmares over all these years and me thrashing about, until either she or my dream woke me up. But it was the first time I actually struck out and made contact. I am going to have to talk to my counselor about this. It just can’t continue. In fact, it seems like things are getting worse, instead of better. Not only was I sharing all of the gory details of my nightmares with my counselors but what I remembered, as I remembered it. It was supposed to cleanse me somehow. Help me get it all out of my system, once and for all. And then, maybe, I could be helped. Year after year, nightmare after nightmare, memory after memory, session after session, it went on. I talked and talked and talked.

It was a typical Southwestern Pennsylvania spring day, and I guess you could say I was your average guy. The weather was still a little cool, but the sky was blue with large puffy white clouds. The sun was peaking in and out from behind them. I was sitting on the front porch of my parents’ home with my wife, mother, father, and younger sister. In just a few hours, I would be going to the airport in Pittsburgh to begin my journey to Vietnam. There were not many happy faces as we forced smiles for the photos that were being taken that morning. I was just finishing up a thirty-day leave after completing the US army’s warrant officer flight training in Alabama. For the past nine months I was trained to fly helicopters and received my army aviator wings. I also obtained the rank of warrant officer (WO1). I was qualified to fly the Hugh’s UH 1 (Huey or Slick) utility aircraft, as well as being gunship (guns) qualified in the same aircraft. Although the Huey Cobra was the elite attack helicopter, you had to sign indefinite papers to fly one. This meant that there was no clear ending date to your military service. You stayed as long as they needed you. Not wanting this condition on my enlistment, I only accepted the four years. My gunship training was in the most common of guns currently being used in Vietnam, and that was the Huey slick mounted with attack weapons like mini guns and rockets. I got orders for Vietnam immediately upon graduation from flight school as did almost 100 percent of the others who graduated with me. It was spring of 1971, and although most people thought the war was winding down, I would find out differently in the not too distant future.

I grew up here in Speers Hill, Pennsylvania, went to school here, got married here; and now I was leaving for a place on the other side of the world, just like my father and other family did during WWII. But this time, it seemed different. There wasn’t a lot of go get ’em boys. As a matter of fact, there were protests everywhere against the war, especially on college campuses. Anyone who was around in those days knew exactly what it was like. But I grew up around veterans and hung around with veterans. My dad was an island-hopping marine serving on Guadalcanal, Iwo Jima, Guam, and Okinawa and was wounded on Iwo. My father-in-law was in the infantry in Europe and fought on both D-Day and during the Battle of the Bulge. He was also wounded. Many of my uncles and other relatives had similar backgrounds and stories. Most of my friends who graduated high school with me and didn’t go on to college were drafted and were currently serving in or were already back from Vietnam. Several didn’t make it home. I was two years late becoming eligible for military service because of an educational deferment I had while in tech school. But now it was my turn. Exactly how I got into the army and particularly helicopters is another story for another time. But suffice it to say, I was very patriotic and proud of my dad and the others who did their duty.

Let me also say for the record that I was full of pride for what I had accomplished thus far. Hell, I was a helicopter pilot, had silver wings on my chest, young and strong, a real fire pisser that didn’t know the first thing about war or being in one. Was I naive? That’s not the half of it. What you see in the movies about war, no matter how realistic they try and make it, doesn’t capture it at all. What I grew up imagining about war, the comradery, the heroics, the romanticism, the departure goodbyes, the welcoming home, and the veteran status afterward all came crashing down on me. The innocent warrior, full of what I thought I knew about war and what I thought I knew about myself, was about to embark on a journey that turned into a battle for survival. A struggle to survive while I was in combat, and then a lifelong struggle afterward. Unless you were there, it may be difficult to understand how just a few months could haunt a person for his entire lifetime. Even if you were there and not had my experience, it may be difficult. Even now, as I write this, I am doing so as part of an exercise to help me cope with post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD). I am currently being treated and counseled for PTSD by the Veterans Administration fifty years later and at seventy-two years old. I know I will never forget or completely heal; but if the nightmares, survivor’s guilt, and depression would subside, I would consider it a victory.

Well, the time had come, and we were off to the airport. We said our tearful goodbyes, and as we kissed and hugged, I couldn’t help thinking about my wife. We had just received news that we were expecting our first child. It would be born this coming winter, and I wouldn’t be here. As difficult as it was for me, I can’t imagine how impossible it was and would be for her. I am certain that I was not the only person who ever went off to fight a war, leaving behind his pregnant wife to fend for herself and child had they been killed. Some families actually had to live out that fate, but even though that had not happened to us, just the thought that it could have happened haunts us both to this day. I departed Pittsburgh on a commercial airline headed to the airport in Philadelphia. There I would go to a holding area where others going to Vietnam would report. We would be taking a military aircraft or one specifically contracted to the military for the flight over. We arrived in Philly without incident, and I made my way to the designated holding area to begin the journey that would change my life forever. Although I didn’t realize it at the time, I was leaving whatever innocence I possessed at that departure gate in Philadelphia. Documenting all of this has been difficult, especially having to relive some of the nightmarish events that I consciously closed off and revealing what goes on in my dreams. It is also not a forgone conclusion that anyone else will ever read this as I am not sure what I will do with it once I am finished. But I do want to make something very clear. I am no hero. I wasn’t the best pilot, the best soldier, the bravest individual, or even the luckiest. I think there was an old movie titled An Angel on My Shoulder. Well, I certainly had one on mine.

Chapter 2

We were all massed together at the holding area. The airline company who was to take us to Vietnam was World Airways. World Airways had a contract with the US government to transport troops into and out of Vietnam. I don’t recall what type of aircraft it actually was. It was large enough for the long trip but had to stop and refuel several times on the way over. It was going to take around twenty-two hours to get there. Man, I thought, that’s a lot of time sitting on an airplane stuffed with soldiers. There were stewardesses on board, but I was certain we were not going to get the usual attention received on a normal airline flight.

As we started lining up for boarding, I couldn’t help notice all the different ranks, age groups, and branches of service of those who were boarding. Most of the guys had on jungle fatigues and were privates with a few noncommissioned officers (NCOs) mixed in. Several officers and other NCOs were present and wore the lightweight cache-colored summer uniform. Then there were others, like me, that had on the heavy green uniforms, which were already proving to be too warm for the April Philadelphia weather. I had already stripped off my coat and was wondering now, looking at the cross section of dress, why I didn’t just wear my flight suit. Although it was long sleeved, it would have been much better than what I had chosen to wear. I would be wearing the flight suit full-time in Vietnam anyway, so I was kicking myself for making a bad choice. Also, my flight suits were already broken in from the months of use during flight school, and I wouldn’t have looked so much like a new guy. Oh well, it was just going to have to do.

I also noticed numerous guys wearing Vietnam campaign and combat ribbons, which indicated that they had already been there and must have been returning for another tour. Hell, I am just getting my feet wet; and some of these guys are going back for seconds, or maybe even more. I got lucky and got an aisle seat and was sitting next to an infantry private that was part of a larger group all going over together. We talked briefly. But he had more in common with the guy sitting on his right, so we didn’t talk much for the entire flight. After a couple of refueling stops in San Francisco and Japan, we were approaching the Vietnam coastline. The pilot came on the radio and told us that we had just entered Vietnam airspace and would start our decent in a few minutes. Wow, I couldn’t believe how fast that twenty-two hours went by. I guess it’s because I wasn’t looking forward to getting there, and that’s typically what happens. When you are looking forward to something, time drags, but in this instance, time flew by.

The stewardess made the typical landing instructions about seat belts and stuff, and then the pilot came back on. We will be making a normal approach until we get into the Bien Hoa traffic pattern, he said. Once we get onto our final approach, we will be going into more aggressive landing maneuvers that will include a fairly steep approach and rapid decent that will continue until we touch down. I just wanted to warn everyone as this is a normal procedure when landing in Vietnam.

A few minutes later, the plane turned over on its side, and he pointed the left wing toward the ground as he made a very sharp left turn while descending rapidly all the way around 180 degrees. The plane engines were roaring as they worked to keep the aircraft flying despite the pilots crazy maneuvering. Man, he wasn’t kidding, I thought. The aircraft straightened out but was still descending, but not for very long. Screech. The wheels had touched down, and then the thrust reversers on the engines kicked in. As he hit the brake, we slowed down pretty fast. Although I had several hundred helicopter flight hours by now, I hadn’t been on too many commercial flights, none of which were ever flown like that. The pilot just came out of his turn, leveled out, and then bam, he was on the ground. Great flying, I thought, this guy definitely had control of that aircraft.

As we taxied up to what looked like a hangar, everyone was straining to see out the windows. Being in the aisle, I didn’t have the greatest view, but what I could see was a typical army base but with a lot of Huey helicopters. Some were parked, some hovering, some landing, and some taking off. They were everywhere. Welcome to Vietnam, the pilot said over the intercom. Be safe and good luck. Hope to give you a ride home in a year, he said.

About that time, the front door opened, and a couple guys came on the airplane. As soon as that door opened, I could hear the helicopters. I don’t know what came next, the heat or the smell, but both hit me like a ton of bricks. The heat flowed down into the aisle of the plane and was nothing like I had ever felt before. It was mixed with a humidity that just started to suck the strength out of you. The smell was a mixture of anything and everything foul. It was a combination of jet fuel fumes and owl shit and feathers. That’s about the only way I could describe it. One of the guys that had gotten on the plane grabbed the microphone for the intercom. He was dressed in green jungle fatigues that were wet from sweat. They also had several white areas where the salt in his sweat had previously dried.

Welcome to the Nam, he said. Let’s get off this aircraft and move into the building in front of you. There will be lines with letters above them. Get in the line whose letter corresponds to your last name. Your gear will be laid out over on the side, and you will have to fetch it yourself after you check in.

I eventually made my way off the aircraft and into the building, which was just a hangar doubling as a receiving center. I made my way over to the M-line and, before long, was told I was being sent to the Bien Hoa reception center for indoctrination, and from there, I would be assigned to a unit. Now, Bien Hoa was down in the southern part of Vietnam. Man, I lucked out, I thought. I could have landed way up north in Da Nang, which was closer to North Vietnam and where I heard the fighting was still pretty intense for 1971. I was transported by military bus to the indoctrination area with several others. Most of the infantry guys went somewhere as a group. Others went off to other places. All in all, there were only about ten of us that went to the indoctrination center, and all but about four were separated off from us. The four of us that were left also were split up; and I ended up alone, being assigned to a hooch that would be my home until being assigned to a permanent unit. Now, this hooch was about twenty feet in length and eight feet wide, had a grass roof and wooden walls and floors. The windows had large drop-down panels that were lifted and secured by cables and hooks. No glass or screens. There were about eight metal cots with old army mattresses, no pillows.

Draw a poncho liner from supply for your cover, the guy taking me to the hooch said. The latrine and shower is down that path, he said, pointing to a small almost overgrown path leading back into the bush. Mess hall is that building, and he went through what time the meals were being served. And come over here, he said. He pointed to a small set of steps leading into what looked like a steel culvert pipe buried in sand and sandbags. That’s your bunker. If the sirens go off or if you hear artillery, rocket, or mortars impacting, get in there. Are we clear?

I was the only one he was talking to because I was the only one there, but he acted like he was speaking to a group of people. Clear, I said and shook my head. He told me someone would be by later to give me my daily assignments, which included in-country indoctrination of everything from disease to dysentery, VC Sapper tactics, etc., etc., etc. He told me that this indoctrination would continue until I was assigned to my unit, and then he left. I threw my duffle bag onto a cot; and all I wanted to do was get out of my dress greens, take a shower, and get into my flight suit. Then it would be about time to eat, so I would make my way down to the mess hall. I was alone in that hooch for the time being. I walked outside, and as my boots hit the deep hot sand, I could feel the heat penetrating the leather. I looked out into the mountains that were outside the perimeter, and the sky was full of helicopters flying into and out the mountains. The helicopter sounds never stopped. I could hear the sound of rotor blades near and far, and they never stopped. I would later find that what I was looking at were just hills and wasn’t anything close to the mountains that I would encounter later on. I stood there taking it all in and thinking to myself, I’m actually in Vietnam.

After changing into my flight suit, I walked down to the mess hall. It was typical of what I had become used to. Grab a tray. Get in line, and take what they give you. The meal was some kind of ground-meat dish, a cross between a meat loaf and country fried steak. It had mashed potatoes, gravy, and green beans. I grabbed a bread roll, and then moved toward the end of the line where the drinks were. The drink machines were big square stainless steel boxes that had a plastic tube coming out of the end. The liquid was gravity-fed through the tube and was turned on by lifting a heavy metal ball up. The weight of the ball mechanism pinched the tube closed and prevented the liquid from flowing out. When you had filled your plastic cup, you left the ball drop back down to seal the tube. If I remember, I think I saw them in the cafeterias when I was at school. The machines were mostly for milk because they had a chiller on them. There were some cans of Coca-Cola and some other beverages lying out in some melting ice that you needed an old triangle type opener (church key) to open. I grabbed a lukewarm Coke and found a seat. It was so friggin’ hot in this place I hurried to eat my meal. With sweat pouring off me, I made my way to the trash bins, scrapped off my tray, and threw it on a pile of others on the way out. I had no way of knowing then that in the future, I would look back on this indoctrination center mess hall experience and compare it to eating in a five-star restaurant.

Just as I was exiting the building, I heard someone calling my name.

I looked up, and it was Mark Sampson from flight school. Sam and I were in the same flight platoon.

Hey, Sam, I said, good to see you.’’ We shook hands and walked outside together. When did you get here?" I asked.

I’ve been here about a week. How about you?

I just arrived today and hate it already.

Ah, you will get to dislike it even more after a week.

You’re saying that it’s been a week, and you don’t have orders for a unit yet? That concerned me.

No, I got them, and I’m actually heading there tomorrow morning. I have an assignment somewhere south of Saigon with MACV [Military Assistance Command, Vietnam].

Wow, I said, it sounds like a cushy assignment.

Well, that’s the beauty of coming into country down here in the south. Most of the assignments are down here, not up north.

Vietnam was separated into four regions called Corps. IV (four) Corp was down south, and I (eye) Corp was way up north with corps II and III spread in between. Sam was assigned to IV Corp.

How long did it take to get your orders? I asked.

Got them this morning, he said. Ron, you’re going to be here for at least a week going through this indoctrination shit. Some of it is worthwhile, but the rest of it sucks. At least you’re not being shot at, right? Sam smiled.

Yeah, I guess so, but I would just as soon get to a unit and start my tour.

Where you headed now? Sam asked.

Shit, where is there to go? Just back to my hooch, I guess.

Walk with me, Sam said, and we took a little detour.

We walked up to a small building that he identified as a makeshift kind of PX. This is where you could buy stuff—everything from shaving cream to condoms. Snacks and drinks were also available on a first-come-first-serve basis—at least until they ran out.

How about a beer? Sam asked.

Are you kidding? I responded, somewhat surprised.

No, we can grab a six-pack then head back to your hooch and get out of the sun. Sam went in and came with a six-pack of Pabst Blue Ribbon beer.

We walked the short distance back to the hooch and opened our first beer, once again using the old type of beer opener that Sam just happens to have hanging around his neck with his dog tags. As I took a big gulp, I quickly realized that it wasn’t going to be a cold one. It was cooler than the air temperature, but it was anything but cold. We sat on the steps of my hooch and talked about our leave time home and what lay ahead while we drank our warm beer. I noticed three metal tubes about three feet tall that were sticking out the sand about twenty yards outside the doorway.

What are those? I asked.

Piss tubes, Sam answered.

Piss tubes? What the hell is a piss tube?

Well, those are old rocket or artillery shipping casings with one end buried in the sand. You piss into the top of the tube, and it dissipates down into the sand below.

Are you kidding? I couldn’t believe it. With all the open areas around, bushes, trees, and sand dune-like features, there were a million places to take a piss. But the military, in all its wisdom, felt it more sanitary to piss in the same spot and in an expended rocket tube to boot. We just laughed, and before we finished the six pack of beer, we both had visited those tubes multiple times.

Got to go, Sam said. I’ve got to put my gear together before it gets dark. Don’t want to be turning on any lights after dark to pack my shit. By the way, Ron, if you plan on taking a shower down that path over there, I suggest you also get there before dark. There are light switches in there that you can use to turn on some real dim lighting if need be. The lights are sort of recessed, and because it sits back in the trees and brush, you can’t really see them from outside. I still don’t like turning them on though, so I suggest you get there while you can still see. You don’t need them in the middle of the day, but hardly anyone showers then because you will need another shower before you get back to the hooch. It’s best to go just before dark, and it will cool you down a little and help you sleep.

Thanks, man, good advice. But I don’t know how much sleep I am going to be getting as it’s my first night in the Nam, and I am alone in that hooch. Sam told me that I would get used to all the background helicopter noise and distant gunfire that never seemed to cease.

Later, Sam, stay safe, I said as we hugged and parted ways. That was the last time I ever saw or even spoke to Mark Sampson. I made it to the shower before it was dark but had actually waited a little too long. I stepped into the stream of water and started washing my hair and face. When I rinsed and opened my eyes, it was pitch black. It was light one minute, then instantly dark. I stepped out of the shower grabbed my towel and was feeling around for the light switch I had noticed on the inside of the entry door. I turned on the light, and before I had my hand off the switch, I saw a giant lizard sitting on the wooden cross beam with his head over the light switch. It opened its mouth and hissed like it was going to bite my hand. I jerked my hand back, and the lizard jumped onto the floor and slithered out of the shower. I dried off but kept looking around for other creatures that may have been lurking about.

It was a challenge in the dark, but I eventually got back to my hooch. It was really dark, but there were helicopters flying around and dropping canister flares outside the perimeter. These were large flares on parachutes that lit up a large area beneath them. There were always a couple floating down, and just as the lower one burned out, another would ignite and start its decent. Although these flares were some distance away, they provided an eerie flickering-type glow on the ground and inside the hooch. Shadows would come and go, passing by like ghostlike figures on the walls and floor. There were also occasional bursts of automatic weapons fire in the distance, and every once in a while, you would see a stream of tracers going up toward the helicopters. I tried to sleep but was letting my mind get the best of me. I kept thinking how close the perimeter was to my hooch and how easy it would be for someone to sneak in. I didn’t have a weapon yet and felt totally helpless. I was working myself up big time and eventually started looking through my gear, trying to find something to defend myself with, if need be.