Written by Bob Skiba Ret. CW5
4/16/02
COPYWRITED © 2002 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Refuelers are not the least of our lot.
When choppers approach, to their tankers they trot.
They fill our old birds with Uncle Sam"s gas,
While pilots and other just sit on their grass.
Their actions are worthy, their tribute is high,
For without their fine effort, we are not able to fly!

Crew chiefs are special, to us up in front
They climb up all over with nary a grunt.
They clean and they fix so we can go fly,
And answer dumb questions with slight raising of eye.
There work is superb, many things that they do,
For if THEIR butt gets there, so will mine too!

Skinned knuckles and curses mark the maintenance man,
Wipe rag, tool box and the slimy drip pan,
And sergeants all swearing, OR rate to compete,
Day and night working, repairs to complete.
They work without ceasing all pushing and strife,
But on their great skill, I depend for my life.

The medics are special because of their skill,
But in their strong minds, they refuse to kill.
"That's not what we do, in the heat of the war,
We bind up the wounds, not add to the score."
So I'll get your there through my skill in flying,
For only you can give comfort to the wounded and dying.

Our captains stand tall in the midst of the fight,
Fearing their failures as humans they might.
Obedience you get, because of your rank,
But respect must be earned, not guaranteed in the bank.
But we are right beside you, in all of the game,
Cause commissioned or warrant, in the air we are the same.

The commander stands alone, his shoulders must bear
All responsibility is his, he cannot share.
He takes and he gives each in its turn,
Especially when our actions cause his bosses to burn.
Let your mind be at ease, sir, erase your dark frown,
You are our leader, and we won't let you down.

Gunnies are a strange bunch, aggressive and rough,
There when you need them, don't shirk, they are tough.
Diving and firing, killing the foe,
Guns all a-blazing, rockets aglow.
For there's nothing a slick pilot does more desire,
Than the welcome sight of good suppressive fire.

Scouts are just crazy, in my estimation,
Weaving and ducking in the vegetation.
They are deliberately looking for the bad guy,
To draw his fire, they believe they can't die.
And when they get hit, the air is alive,
With their shouts for salvation, but why such surprise?

Hookers are something in my contemplation,
Flying two rotors in such close formation.
A BIG target there, lots of stuff hanging,
>From hooks and slings, twisting and banging.
But they're critical for success in any campaign,
They bring EVERYTHING in from TP to champagne.

And last but not least to my brothers in skill,
Indulge me once more a brief doggerel.
We have all seen the fear some time in our lives,
Of enemy bullets or some trial in the skies.
Our skills are well proven, we have been put to the test,
And we will fly good together till God gives us rest.

As we all approach the twilight of life,
We look back carefully at the years of our strife.
Guts churning, bowels yearning, we never did run,
Scared men, truly, but cowards, nay, none.
Our lives have been lived by a privileged few,
Brothers remember, we were brave and we FLEW!

CW5(R) Bob Skiba, Helicopter Pilot

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