The humid Louisiana skies, home to many that fly,
Echoes the thrashing of popping blades through the sky.
The noisy crescendo reaching its now whining peak,
As the turbine powered helicopter passes with a streak.
The sounds so commonly heard from overhead,
Rarely causes anyone to turn their head.
Those that do, are somewhat mildly surprised,
To see the color of olive drab in the skies.
A closer look reveals its badges of mercy,
Suddenly giving reason to its flight of hurry.
Adorned with crosses of red in squares of white,
The mission of this chopper is a Medevac flight.
A far cry from the tracer filled skies of Southeast Asia,
And frantic calls of "Grunts" trying to raise you.
Veteran crewmen and machines perform small miracles at home,
Transporting sick and injured to hospitals with aplomb.
Born in combat and matured in peacetime.
Medevac helicopters race to save precious time.
Time for doctors and nurses, and paramedics too,
To save what is priceless to me and you.
From newborn infants in need of surgery,
To victims of heart attacks they carry with urgency.
They give us more than we can ever give back,
The men and women of the 872nd Cajun Medevac.
By: Mel Lutgring
Crewchief
174th Assault Helicopter Company
Chu Lai, Vietnam, 1971
|
Return to top of: Poems of a Crewchief
