There but for Fortune

Robert Allen

March 26, 2022

The problem was the boots, my brother says. As the class A

officer for the base at Phan Rang, he was one of six men

who had flown out to Cam Ranh in a UH1C so he could pick

up a satchel of scrip. On the way back, this high-hours

bucket of bolts, as Roger calls it, experienced hydraulic

failure and the pilot began an autorotation maneuver to try

to land the Huey safely in Cam Ranh Bay. Before the Slick

hit the water, Roger was pushed out and landed in water

over six feet deep. Fortunately, he managed to flip in the air

so he went in feet first and at an angle, avoiding injury by

skidding through the mud on the bottom until he slowed to

a stop. He found a floating cushion, and he was able to get

his boots off, tie them together, and throw them over his

shoulder. Thus free of their drag he could swim the weary

mile in to shore. Then he had to put his wet boots back on

so he could walk the rugged jungle terrain back to the base

to report the incident and get help. The satchel was never

found. Roger was almost court-martialed for losing Army

payroll, but ultimately it was written off as a combat loss.

You have no idea, Roger says, how much trouble it causes

when military scrip goes missing. The man who pushed

Roger out, a corporal with an easy smile, died in the crash.

ROBERT ALLEN is retired and lives in San Antonio with his wife, two children, five antique clocks, and four cats. He has poems in Voices de la Luna, the Texas Poetry Calendar, Writers Take a Walk, and Poetry on the Move. He co-facilitates Gemini Ink's Open Writer's Lab.