Well, Bigbird, who lives in a peaceful place, I think its my turn to wade in on this question.
I graduated from high school in 1965 without money enough for college, so immediately I was facing the draft. All through high school I had taken flying lessons, gotten my license and was totally addicted to flying. But I had a problem, my eyesight was not good enough for a commercial pilot's license so I knew I could never be a pilot in the military, so I looked at other options. All the services except the army required almost the same eyesight requirements for crewmembers as they did for pilots. All the Army required was that you were relatively warm, so I felt that I probably could qualify. You don't need much to be OJT (on the job target). The Army also had one important feature, if you volunteered you could pick the job you wanted, so I joined and chose Utility Helicopter Mechanic, the guys who maintained UH-1 Hueys.
After Basic I attended two successive aircraft maintenance courses, the last one being the UH-1 course. From my first ride in a helicopter I knew I was in the right place, but the Vietnam orientations were some what haunting. I graduated 2cnd in a class of 102 so they turned me around and made me an instructor in the course I had just graduated from. The program was expanding by leaps and bounds and instructors were badly needed, at least until enough Vietnam returnees were available. As more returnees arrived and I had the chance to learn from them, I began to feel that the war might not be so bad. In January, 1967 I got my orders and arrived in Vietnam by the end of the month.
I had the opportunity to work in maintenance, a nice safe job where you never got shot at and only occasionally got mortared, but I requested an aircraft and was assigned to one currently in maintenance. By the middle of February I was flying and felt pretty safe, none of our aircraft had ever been shot down. Mine was the first on February 22. We took a hit in the engine but were able to autorotate to a safe landing. The aircraft performed exactly as it was designed, my confidence inceased.
Things went well although we lost another aircraft in an accident with one fatality, but this came with the territory. Even civilian flying is a dangerous game. Then we moved to Duc Pho and entered another type of war entirely. My aircraft was the first from our battalion to operate in any capacity at Duc Pho and the very first day we got shot up pretty bad and a Cav gunship was shot down, the crew killed. Sometime I will write the story of that day.
During the next few months we were in combat daily, I lost friends, mostly wounded. We did have some fatalities but nothing that couldn't be accepted. Then I caught malaria and ended up spending ten weeks in the hospital. The guy that took my place got shot. The day before I returned our compound at Duc Pho got mortared, three died, twenty three were wounded. I found myself an old timer, one of the most experienced enlisted flyers in the company.
From that point on I changed. I became an adrenalin junky, flying for combat and wanting the thrill of it. Shortly after that I transferred to the gunships where we actually went looking for combat. Getting shot at was rarely a problem, it was supposed to happen, just part of what we did. Toward the end of my tour I changed again, this was the period where I took the most dangerous missions because I believed I had more experience and had a better chance of surviving then new guys. It was also the time when I took it upon myself to make sure the guys I cared about got out safely, but knowing there was a time when I would leave, I chose not to make friends with the new guys coming in, I isolated myself.
Once I had experienced war, it held no more terror for me. I was actually comfortable in most situations, I treasured and looked for the high that came from combat. Life on the ground was boring, the people on the ground couldn't relate to us, we, the four of us in the aircraft, needed the combat to make life worthwhile, to give us a reason for being and joined us in a comradeship that is difficult for those never having experienced it to understand.
After leaving Vietnam I was disallusioned with the stateside Army. Shoe polish had precedence over combat preparedness. Paper work was the reason to exist. When I had a chance to join Special Forces I jumped at it. Here were people that understood what I felt and experienced, here was a true brotherhood. I also knew I would be trained by the very best so my chances of surviving more combat were excellant.
The futility of trying to live a life simply to exist is absurd. To really live is to be on the edge and know you can handle what comes. Now that I am much older I can look back and know that I truly
lived and as I bounce my grandchildren on my knee I am at peace with myself.
Would I volunteer again? Absolutely. Bullets have no fear for me, I think in my best days I was very close to being master of anything I might face.
The question you asked was straight forward and honest, I don't think anyone would take offense at it.
Hope this helps.
Rotorwash