The Universal “Salute”
submitted by: Alva Leon Matheson
As I “jinked” (weaving to and fro, climbing and diving, never straight and level) back toward the west, movement on a segment of the trail caught my eye. A soldier was pedaling a bike leisurely along, totally ignoring me. I picked up my binoculars for a closer view and was even more surprised. He wore a neat green uniform with red stars on his shoulders and a tan pith helmet, regular North Vietnamese Army. We seldom saw regular Army out alone in the daytime, especially pedaling a bike. Must be a messenger. Well, it’s just one guy. I’m not gonna go down into “the environment” (where they shoot at you!) for one guy. But I am gonna scare him! So I “jazzed” the engines.
He totally ignored me and just kept pedaling. How could he ignore such a fearful warrior in his war machine? So I rolled the aircraft over on its back and pulled it into a dive toward him. I thought I’d make a “dry pass” (non firing), scare the dickens out of him, he’d dive off the bike, dirty up his clean, pressed uniform and I’d giggle all the way back to the base and have a great story for the guys at the bar.
At the bottom of my pass I pulled the nose of the aircraft up and when I’d started climbing I rolled it over, almost upside down, as we usually did after shooting, for a quick, close look at how we’d done. The “Gomer” had stopped his bike, was standing straddle of it with his right arm held up and the middle finger of his hand extended toward me – the universal salute, the international sign of contempt. He “shot me the bird!” I couldn’t believe it!
I moved the throttles full up, climbing to an altitude where I could start another firing pass. Armed up rockets and guns.
I’ll show him! Give me the finger!
As I maneuvered I saw him begin to pedal. He knew what was coming now. His feet flew and dust kicked up from behind the bike. And before I could get in position he and the road disappeared into the jungle. While I discussed his family heritage I looked around. Maybe there’s a break in the jungle canopy. About a quarter of a mile from where he rode into the jungle was a small opening, maybe 30 feet across, but the road went right through the center of the clearing. I thought about him now leisurely pedaling again, giggling at me, and I started estimating his time to the clearing. I kept climbing; eased back on the power and when I thought the time was right I rolled in on the clearing, as slow as I could, to give myself more time.
I put the “pipper” (aiming sight) just below the target and let it “walk up” as my airspeed increased. Just as the “pipper” reached the bottom of the clearing he rode into it. The firing parameters (airspeed, altitude, sight, aircraft attitude (it’s tougher than it looks or sounds) were all just right on. I “pickled” off a rocket and watched it zip toward him. Those 2.75-inch rockets accelerated rapidly to supersonic speed. If they were coming at you, you didn’t hear them.
Great shot! Mr. “bike man”, he of the single digit salute, disappeared in a cloud of smoke. As I rolled inverted this time I saw pieces of the bike scattered on the road. I didn’t see him. I don’t know if he saw the rocket coming at the last minute and jumped or if the explosion blew him permanently off the road, probably a little of both. In either case I went away giggling like a schoolgirl and had a great bar story.
“Let me tell you what happened to the last guy who gave me the finger!”