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With teeth and fists clenched very tight,
We all know this may be our last flight.
We’ve lost an engine at 500 feet,
The pilots tell us, hold on to our seat.

We’re over the mountains in dark of night,
Everyone is calm on this dreadful flight.
The Huey is dropping like a heavy rock,
You can hear it’s large rotor doing whop, whop, whop.

The pilots are calling for May Day help,
Then old Huey’s still dropping even faster now,
I can’t see a thing, just the cards we’ve been dealt.
I try to remember what I’m supposed to do and how.

Mr. Pride says don’t worry, it’s routing trouble,
He says when we land get out on the double.
Get the guns and the gear and head for cover,
I’m still not sure if we can slow to a hover.

The Ground’s approaching fast although like slow motion,
I keep thinking I’m glad we’re not over the ocean.
Just before we hit he pulled full pitch,
We crash on the land and head for a ditch.

We lay there a while, watching and waiting,
To see if Mr. Charles is only hesitating.
The coast looks clear, nobody in site,
We set up our guns and prepare for the night.

The night is long as we sit and wait,
We don’t say it but we ponder our fate.
I’m on one of the ditch, the crew chief on the other,
We stand guard all night protecting each brother.

Dawn finally arrives and I begin to shudder,
As I see our Huey with it’s broken rudder.
The tail boom is missing from the other half,
The skids are bent double, it’s a pile of trash.

Mr. Pride calls another May Day to give our location,
We find we’re only a mile from our final destination.
Another two hours and here they come,
Four Hueys, a Chinook, and some infantryman.

The grunts spread out, protecting our flanks,
As we board another Huey, we give our thanks.
To the God up above and all those men,
Who knew exactly what to do and where and when.