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David Mitchell
I wrote a post last night that I pulled in the wee hours of the morning. It was too long and a bit toto graphic.
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I had spent some time in earlier posts talking about the arrival of Major Smith, and how good things were with him in charge. He and I spent quite a few hours together in the cockpit. We and I were a perfect fit for one another. Things in those first few weeks of his arrival were really good for the whole Troop's morale.
Those same first weeks were during our initial incursion into Cambodia. But something tragic happened on May 10,1970.
His ship threw it's main rotor (Yes, it just snapped off) at about 1,000 feet as we were re-entering Cambodia after a uneventful morning and lunch break. They plunged to the earth and erupted into a large ball of fire. They had no chance of surviving that plunge. I watched them drop from the front seat of a Cobra about a quarter me behind them as the pilot of the other cobra (my last roomate, Dean Smith) yelled over the radio, "MY GOD! SIX IS DOWN!"
I was to have been his co-pilot as usual, but a last minute switch that morning put me in the front seat of one of our Cobra gunships. Major Smith's co-pilot was a new Captain - a native American from the Pauyute/Shoshone tribe just east of Reno. He had already done a year's tour in Viet Nam as a Green Beret. He was smart, funny, and eager to learn. Everybody liked him.
He was going to be a new AMC (Air Mission Commander) and had requested the switch so he could ride with Major Smith and "learned from the boss".
We were devastated !

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