INITIATION RIGHTS by Geoffrey R. "GR" Webster
	Getting hassled for being an FGN on this list by a bunch of out of control, Ballantine Ale guzlin, pussy chasin, peanut butter nab eatin, chuck yeager wanabee, dinky dau CWOs and crewmen who continue to show no respect for a former RLO, reminded me of what I had to put up with when I joined our gunship platoon, the 'Mustangs' {flying C models} part of the 68 AHC 'Top Tigers' out of Bien Hoa - June 68- 69. My initiation was more like an evaluation, and was similar to others at that time as I recall. Basically I was yanked out of bed for my first gunship ride under the guise of an emergency gun mission and they needed a copilot ASAP - no one else available etc.... It involved a hot single ship mission where a senior Mustang a/c flew, while briefing me over the intercom about a VC NVA tank attack on a fire base near the Saigon river south of Saigon. So as we got to the area we went hot with all the crew talking it up big time. We dropped down to reed height at max a/s- and bingo! right ahead of us was a fucking tank, everybody firing and screaming. The gunners screaming about receiving rounds etc.... I didn't know what the fuck was going, never heard so much noise before in my life as the ac fired his rockets, the M-60s blasting away, so I just hunkered down in my seat - fascinated and too new to be scared. Next thing I knew I was shot! Burning sensation in my back. Couldn't believe I was shot on my very first mission. Well, by now you have probably figured it out. It was that open free fire zone near that US Navy base [Na Bay?? CRS} on the Saigon river and that fucking tank had been there since the French left it there in 1944 or so. The crew chief was firing his M-60 so that the spent rounds would arc up over the seat, bounce off my helmet and fall into my shirt back. And boy it burned. I guess they figured if I could put up with all that without leaving nicotine satins in my underwear, screaming for mother and could laugh about, I could handle a gunship pilot's life. I got my Mustang scarf shortly thereafter {still have it} and that served to keep the shells from going down my back whenever the crew chief wanted to piss me off. I should have mentioned that I was one of the very few pilots not selected to join the Mustangs by the Mustangs by vote with black ball priviledges, but was assigned by the CO after only a few days in country and just flight school flying time. Perhaps the Mustangs wanted to scare the hell out of me so I would not want to take over as 6. Anyway it didn't work- I loved being in the Mustangs {should have refused being assigned/promoted?? as Ops Officer a few months later, but back then we did what we were told}. A few days later, when I was learning how to fly right seat and fire rockets - an old timer Mustang asked me if I wanted to shoot a M-79 grenade launcher out my side while he flew - guess by now you guys have also figured out what happened when I fired that sucker - bang! the recoil sent the stock into my nose. {Should pulled a Kerry and put myself in for a Purple Heart for my bloody nose, but got a 'real' one a few weeks later.} We flew our Charlie models with out the cockpit doors - thereby supposedly avoiding the aluminum shrapnel when rounds came in. So in those monsoon drenchings the old timer would park the ship when refueling and rearming so the FNG in the left seat would get the full blast of the wind driven rain - it took them a while to figure it out and wonder why the a/c would always take over for landings in the rain. Other things the old timers did to FNGs was to call to the two gunners on private intercom while he was looking out the window and day dreaming, fat, dumb and happy - tell them to buckle down then drop pitch abruptly sending the FNG into the greenhouse. Ah, yes, the old days....... of course I did the same shit to every new guy from then on.