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life. "At 26, you think you're immortal,"
he says. "Besides, you're so busy you don't
have time to think about it.
"But at night, when you couldn't sleep —
that's when you were scared."
Besides, he says, the danger he experienc-
ed was nothing comparable to the
helicopter pilots responsible for searching
for fallen American soldiers. With their
large, bulky helicopters the men were easy
targets for the enemy, Mr. Bennett says.
Before flying over the jungles of Vietnam,
the pilots sat down to a meal of steak
and eggs. Mr. Bennett ate that same meal
before flying out one day for what would be
his last mission.
He was in the fighter plane, a
typical day. All around him
were surface-to-air, SAM,
missiles. Pilots knew they were
of the vets at the
coming by their distinctive
sound. Then they could see
are in wheelchairs.
them: like big telephone poles
with a rocket at the end.
older men, some of
aboard the USS Constellation.
Mr. Bennett says the news that he would
fight in the war was no surprise. "As soon
as I entered officer candidate school I knew
I would go to Vietnam."
The first few days aboard the ship were
difficult, Mr. Bennett says. Some men were
seasick; many were homesick. But most
had little time to think of anything as they
were so busy.
At one point, the ship ran into a typhoon.
Though he had never been to sea until
assigned aboard the Constellation, Mr. Ben-
nett was "the only one not blue, green or
shades thereof" as the rough waters rock-
ed the ship.
Many
hospital
They're
whom bear the most terrible
reminders of the war:
stumps of legs blown off by
land mines, and wounds that
never heal. They smoke
incessantly, dropping soft
ashes into trays attached to
the side of their chairs.
Mr. Bennett shared a room with two
other officers. He had a desk, a bed and a
sink. He took the call sign, the name pilots
use to communicate with each other, of
"rabbi."
The Constellation settled off the coast of
North Vietnam. From there, Mr. Bennett
flew two or three missions a day. He logged
some 120 missions while stationed aboard
the ship.
Vietnam was a political, not a strategic,
war, Mr. Bennett says. He spent much of
his time bombing bridges that would be
rebuilt the next day. Military decisions
were made in Washington, D.C., not by
Army and Navy experts. Mr. Bennett is
still angry about it.
"But what upsets me most is wasting
people's lives," he says. He remembers
when his roommate was shot down, and
Mr. Bennett had to write his wife, who was
seven months pregnant, with the news.
Mr. Bennett rarely feared for his own
"Usually, you could out-
maneuver the SAMs," Mr. Ben-
nett says. Usually — but not
always.
Mr. Bennett heard an explo-
sion. Then he felt the plane rock.
His warning lights went on. He
began to lose pressure.
He had the option of bailing
out. "But I thought, with my
luck, I'd find the only shark that
had never tasted kosher meat."
So he drove the plane in, to the
amazement of his colleagues.
When the fighter finally
landed aboard the Constellation,
Mr. Bennett discovered half the
plane's right wing had been
blown off. His engine was gone.
Blood flowed like a river
down his leg, which to this day contains
bits of shrapnel.
After the war, Mr. Bennett taught at the
Naval Academy in Annapolis. He later
worked as a police officer and today, he sells
insurance.
Mr. Bennett says he never considered
leaving for Canada or burning his draft
card to avoid the war.
"I was always raised with the feeling that
you owe something to your country," he
says. "I'd read all about the pogroms and
I thought, if you're living in a
free country, you have obligations."
World War II vet Jack Schwartz
understands.
"Today, everybody worries about
himself;' he says. "But my generation —
and my father's and my grandfather's
worried about our children. That's why we
fought.
"Still, I hope we're the last veterans. I
hope there will never be another war."
❑