DUSTOFF Crews of Vietnam, through post 9/11 tunnel vision: an essay; plus, "Steady is the Salt of Dustoff" a poem, by: Riane Moser

I never realized quite how much of the world I view through a post 9/11 lens.? I was twelve years old when 9/11 happened.? I remember it vividly.? While getting ready for school in the morning, my dad was brushing his teeth when he started yelling at the TV “They’re killing us! We are under attack! It’s a terrorist attack!”? We were running late again.? We were always running late. “A terrorist attack..?”—I thought, “what is that?”? Foaming at the mouth with toothpaste and shock, he thought he was watching a trailer for a movie, until he realized he wasn’t. I ran in the room exasperated at his yelping, and saw the planes hit the Twin Towers with my own eyes.? The TV played the crashes over and over again.? I knew it was bad.? I had never seen anything like it.? Perhaps it was the first truly dreadful thing I had seen in my life.?

We got to school that morning, late, as usual.? A lot of other kids hadn’t shown up…? Throughout the day, kids abandoned the classroom one by one. Parents pulled them out of class not knowing if SONY Studios across the street, or Los Angeles International Airport a few short miles away would be yet another target.?

Eight years later I was in Afghanistan.? I turned twenty-one on arrival to Leatherneck, and celebrated with a gifted “near-beer” from my fire team leader hours before we helicoptered out to our area of operation (AO).? I felt a twinge of weariness at the certainty of imminent danger, but was generally ravenous to engage the mission.? My M4 rifle was an extension of my right arm, somehow intrinsic to my body.? It ushered some comfort.? My M9 Beretta was an equivalent companion, and cooly necessary.?

I was confident in my training, but, of course, unsure if I might be an unlucky one—might I be a casualty of an improvised explosive device (IED), or a rocket propelled grenade (RPG)?? Was my destiny pre-determined?? Perhaps I might suffer another fate dubiously associated with life outside the wire in war-torn Afghanistan.? By the time I got to Afghanistan in the latter end of 2010, the Global War on Terror had been waging for almost ten years.? The media machine, courtesy of my generation, informed me of the fate that awaited should I be an unlucky one.

The first week of June was my second round, this year, determinedly rucking the halls of House buildings at the Capitol with a few Salt Dogs from Vietnam.? (For the purpose of writing this essay: “Salt Dog” is generally a term affiliated with Marines and Sailors with a few deployments under their belt.? As a Marine, I acknowledge the broader spirit of this term and affectionately apply it to the spirit of warriors, regardless of branch.? It is a term of endearment rather than a technical term).

As a Firm, we had been working up to this event, voraciously sending emails in mass effort to jam our schedules with calendared opportunities to lobby for the passage of a bill that would award one, singular, Congressional Gold Medal to a crew I had not yet heard of—the Dustoff Crews of Vietnam.

Only vaguely in concept have I ever understood the reality of the Vietnam War, even as a GWOT Marine Corps Veteran and person genuinely interested in history.? The jungle-ous landscape and topography of Vietnam is inverse the desert, moon dust, reality of my personal experience.? When I envision war, I see wadis (Pashto for canals or streambeds).? I see an irregular patchwork of single blades of grass, peeping through the cracks and seams of the desert beneath my booted feet.? I see mud compounds; I see poppy, corn and cannabis fields.? I see true black.

The night sky was as severe as the sun is bright; both equally blinding.? There was no ambient light from the moon or stars.? Total darkness ferociously blanketed the land, turning day into night, casting a doom spell on all who were enveloped by it.? Fortunately for us, we had night vision goggles (NVGs) and other high speed gear that made us more apex than local combatants familiar with their own territory.

Though the landscape and topography of Vietnam and Afghanistan are inverse, perhaps the night at war is something we both understand.? The technology I had the luxury of benefitting from, did not exist for the Dustoff Crews of Vietnam, making their mission all the more dangerous.? I imagine their flights with the knowledge of true black—and so, I feel as though they had super human powers.

Somehow Dustoff swirlingly descended upon “hot” battled ground to rescue the wounded; in one case, with nothing but a zippo lighter held steady in the shelter of a Kevlar (helmet) to guide the pilot to the target from up above. (This is a pilot’s anecdote of a “talk-on” to location between him and a soldier on the ground, this necessary approach was utilized in effort to not alert the enemy nearby of their vulnerable position).

Efforts such as lobbying Congress to award a Congressional Gold Medal are administrative.? A lot of time goes into planning and scheduling, preparing literature packages, travel itineraries, and preparing voluminous semi-personalized emails for calendaring.? Preparing literature, nonetheless, for the youthful legislative aides and assistants in hopes they pass it on to their respective Representatives.?

I’m an administrator, professionally. I was trained by the United States government at nineteen years old.? I keep a fast operational tempo.? I know no other mode; and I’m swift on the keyboard.? Before the March Fly-In day this year, whereby, a handful of Dustoff Veterans from around the country flew in to assist with our Capitol walkabout, I thought I was prepared.? I was, indeed, administratively prepared.? It’s muscle memory, the keyboard is an extension of my arms as much as my guns.? With my administrative praxis honed after years professional experience, I was ready for action!?

My day spent escorting a twenty-two year old Dustoff pilot named Douglas Petersen at the Hill, however, was cause for pause.? I was reminded of the fog.? Hearing him recall various of his experiences of flight at night (mind you, no night vision) gave me chills up the spine and goosebumps visible to the eye.? The multitude of hoist missions he executed, the general expectation of danger looming—the hours spent conducting rescues were equivalent to there being twenty-five hours in a day—it all seemed impossible.

My administrative preparedness for this effort existing now only in the periphery, I recognized where I was, who I was with and what I was doing. I experienced a physical, guttural, reaction as he recounted from memory.?? I was moved by his tender nature, relentless bravery, and touch of cowboy flair.

It was with Douglas at the Capitol that day in March that I began to learn the reality of Dustoff.? Then our June Fly-In day, a few short months later, afforded me the opportunity to work with four more young men: Mike Logan, Medic, 19 years old; Jerry Lewis, Pilot, 19 years old; Chris Siedor, Pilot, 24 years old; and Gary Hagan, Crew Chief, 18 years old.? They had their own stories to share with the wistful cherubs taking our appointments in the House Offices.? I was enthralled, as were the aids.

Below is a recap of what I learned over the course of those few days that impacted me the most, with anecdotes from the men themselves:

The Dustoff crews were air ambulances comprised of four man crews of seventeen to twenty- four year old males; the latter ages on that spectrum being considered “old.” They included a pilot, co-pilot, medic and crew chief.? Per the Geneva Convention, these air ambulances and their occupants were unarmed.? Unlike my helicopters in Afghanistan fully equipped with machine guns, Dustoff crews forged their way whipping through the jungles of Vietnam, Laos, and Cambodia without big guns—stealth and speed their only weapons.

Furthermore, while I had the luxury of being afforded the security of my military issued firearms as extensions of my physical body, these guys only had red paint in the shape of a cross on their helicopters to “protect” them. “Protection” of course, is a dubious term.? While the red paint was meant to indicate “friendlies,” it in fact, also made them flagrantly easy targets.

Each Dustoff Crew member I spoke with whether, pilot, medic or crew chief, had been shot down or crashed at least once; and more generally speaking, crashed at least twice.?

There were approximately 3,400 Dustoff Crew members with about one-third of them killed in action.? This small number of young men saved over 900,000 lives.?

Dustoff tried to retrieve and deliver the casualty within the “Golden Hour.”? For casualties received, and then delivered for surgical care within an hour of wounding, 97% survived. Per our Dustoff Pilot Chris Siedor, “if you ain’t dyin’, we ain’t flyin,’” “if you ain’t bleedin’ we ain’t speedin,’” and that they did—relentlessly.

The lives saved were not designated to U.S. forces exclusively.? Dustoff Crews saved Aussies, New Zealanders, K9s (soldier dogs), and the enemy.? Gary Hagan, our 18 year old Dustoff Crew Chief told me that he personally delivered two babies on board, and is aware of a number of others who delivered babies as well.

You see, when it comes to medical assistance, “no rationalization, no hesitation, no compromise,” was one of a few defining mottos of the Dustoff Crews.? This motto was the genesis of our current mores, “no soldier left behind.”

Consider the Dustoff Crews a military experiment.? Nothing like this had ever been done before.? Major Charles Kelly was an early developer of tactics utilized throughout the duration of this program.? His personal ethos as it pertains to the mission of Dustoff is exemplified in his retort when he was commanded to withdraw from a hot landing zone. ?“When I have your wounded,” he said. Maj. Charles Kelly was subsequently killed by gunshot.?

Maj. Kelly succinctly captured the ethos of Dustoff in five words.? It is the ethos these young men lived, and died by.?

Out of Dustoff, civilian life flight helicoptering was born.? Militarily speaking, our current standard operating procedures for MEDEVACs (medical evacuations), CASEVACs (casualty evacuations) and combat life-saver training exponentially advanced as a result of the lessons learned from this program.

With over 900,000 lives saved, we are now three generations later.? The young men with super human powers are now grandfathers.? Less than 3,400 teenagers and early twenty-something year olds, are responsible for millions of lives being born into this world.? It is likely that someone you know was personally impacted by Dustoff.

I’m particularly moved by pondering the human condition in this capacity.? As a product of my generation and life experience, I had tunnel vision for my generation’s war on terror.? In the face of danger, what are we willing to give in order to save another? What will we endure? What are we willing to give, in order to protect the innocent?? Perhaps macabre, the choice to risk sacrificing one’s own final breath in exchange for your brother’s is the ultimate gift of life; it is the gift of love.? For those who have gone before us, there was no choice, there was only an offering for the love of thy brother.

The fact that not only were these air ambulances chauffeuring near death or death itself, it amazes me that babies were born in the midst of all the chaos. ?It's a cycle of recurrence that is hard to comprehend—that the miracle of life can be endowed to such a space given to near-death.? The human condition persists, and I believe it always will.

After finishing our final Fly-In day at the Capitol in early June, I spoke with my dad about the experience.? He shared with me that he remembered the plaster face-masks staged around his bedroom while he was a teenager in Reston, VA.? They were, essentially, death-masks—molds taken of the young warriors’ faces fallen apart.? My grandfather was a stateside Navy Dentist during Vietnam. ?His mission—to put their faces back together. My grandfather being a Navy Dentist is common knowledge to me, but I didn’t recall this particular duty he served.? It made me more proud of his military service, and it made me feel more connected to these young men with whom I already felt a familial bond.

As I prepare my essay for publication, the bill, H.R. 1015, seeking to award the Dustoff Crews of Vietnam one, singular, Congressional Gold Medal, passed a critical milestone.? More than the required 290 co-sponsors support this bill.? It will now go to Committee and the full House for a vote.? We are optimistic that it will be awarded.? If so, the Congressional Gold Medal will be housed at the American Medical Museum in Fort Sam, Houston, Texas.? Its home is to be the same place where all of our branches’ military specialists train for combat life-saving.? It could not be more fitting.

I’ll leave the reader with twenty-two year old, Warrant Officer Douglas Petersen’s, final statement in his gripping TEDx Talk describing a day in the life of a Dustoff pilot, “the words of John Fitzgerald Kennedy are so true today, ‘a nation reveals itself not only by the men it produces, but also by the men it honors.’”

I didn’t realize how little I knew about Vietnam, let alone the Dustoff Crews.? I want to honor them.? As we prepare to celebrate Independence Day, I keep steady pride at the Americans that we produce; and I’m optimistic that we will honor the Dustoff Crews of Vietnam in a special way that I believe is deserved—with the Congressional Gold Medal.?

WO Douglas Petersen’s TEDx Talk: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vqqLfIxx1F0

"Steady is the Salt of Dustoff" - By: Riane Moser

Sucking chest wound

Maimed muscles

Loss of limbs

Loss of life

?

Stop the bleeding

Start the breathing

Golden Hour strive

?

Mayday! Mayday!

Fly, fly, fly

?

Through the jungles

Through the night

?

We ride, we ride, we ride

?

Steady are the medics’ hands, that swiftly save their lives

Ready is the wrench

??????????? The crew chiefs’ tired plight

Steady is the pilots’ sight

??????????? His hands, his nerve, his right

?

Steady is the crew

??????????? Who goes twirling through the sky

?

Steady is the dust whipped up

It’s fine, it’s fine, it’s fine

?

No rationalization, no hesitation, no compromise

?

Steady is the salty sweat

??????????? Steady are the tears

??????????????????????? For those of us who have gone before

??????????????????????????????????? A wound that never heals

?

Steady is the fortitude,

??????????? Resilience

??????????? Grit

??????????? And strength

?

The boys of Dustoff come for you

??????????? When your need is great

?

They will not cower, will not quake

??????????? Until they have their wounded

?

Call for Me! when in need!

??????????? Our mission is to save you!

?

Sacrifice, in real life

??????????? Major Kelly’s night

?

The boys of Dustoff come for you

??????????? No matter the sacrifice

?

No guns, no ammo, hot pursuit

??????????? Stealth and speed only

?

The boys of Dustoff come for you

??????????? Their mission is to save you

???????????????????????

Steady is the heart of boys

??????????? From all around America

?

The Dustoff Crews of Vietnam

??????????? Will always come to save you

?

[Here is a poem just for you

??????????? From a Marine who wants to Thank You]