“Follow me!” Sam instructed as he vaulted himself off the helo’s ramp and into the drink. Chill D leaned in from behind me and called out: “That fucking Sam is going to have his Goddamned waterborne training, even if it kills us!” I turned my head back just far enough so he could see my forced open-mouth smile, and watched as the Chinook sank low and broke the scenery from pine treetops to the brown water of Wyatt Lake. The alarm turned to a robotic crew drill that we all knew well and were ready to execute. They are pushing us out over Wyatt Lake!” Sam yelled in a matter-of-fact voice and exquisitely calm composure. “Bird’s broke got engine failure warning in the cockpit. Sam Foster beat me to it as he bounded from the front cockpit to the rear cargo hold where we all had taken to our feat and make reactionary checks of our personal equipment. I opened my mouth to shout my learning to my brothers next to me. Yikes, I hoped the pilot knew we had no parachutes. “Tell the customer to stand by we are bailing them out!” One final sentence from him unnerved me to the point that I no longer wanted to listen, and I returned the earphones to the webbing: Clasping them to my head, I could hear the urgent sound of the pilot’s voice as he spat instructions to his load crew. I picked up a set of earphone that was hooked into the webbed seat back. We transient baggage just looked at each other in wonder. The load crew was suddenly animated and dashed about here and there. The traditional whine of the pumps became rough and labored, all in a somewhat sputtering sort of way. We scrambled aboard lugging our Zodiac inflatable boat and other support corollaries along with us.ĭuring the many evolutions of casting and recovering swimmers and vessels, there came a noticeable change in the shriek of the hydraulic pump system. “Will everyone be having coffee? Well, I’ll tell you what I’ll just bring out a pitcher of coffee and leave it on the table so you gentlemen can help yourselves!”ĭid I mention Sam could never get dates, ever?īack on Hawker Landing Zone in our compound we lay low and pinned down our equipment as the mighty Chinook flared its rotors and settled down to our front. “What can I get everyone to drink - water?” and she eye-darted from one nodding head to the next but paused on the stationary Foster. I’m Penny, and I’ll be your server,” came the chipper chirp of our dilatory waitress. I feared for the mental well-being of the waitress. He had taken to his belligerent posture of folded arms, and his brow had lowered considerably in anticipation of controversy, but at a level that only Sam understood.
Sam had already since become soured by the degree of delay in service. We were waiting a good bit, I have to say, when our server finally made it to our table. Well, roun’ ‘bout 1985-1986 we all sat there at Denny’s waiting to be served. It was at Denny’s family restaurant in the year 19′ - Oh, I wanna say 1980 … ’85? No, 1986. Read Next: The Pic of the Day: SEALs perfecting their waterborne ops I am put squarely in mind of this instance, one that is not easily effectively rendered by words, but you either get it, or you do not get it:
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