chopper pilot
I found myself talking to a gentleman named Ron tonight who had been a helicopter pilot in Vietnam. He and I were discussing our lives and states of relative hardship. He told me this story about the war.He was flying in and out of landing zones, dropping supplies and picking men up when his fuel light came on. This meant he had 20 minutes to land back at his base before the chopper chugged to a stop and crashed. He turned it around and headed in.
It was incredibly foggy that night. So foggy, he said, that at 30 feet in the air he lost all sight of the ground and any lights there. He was on his final approach toward the base when his radio crackled to life.
It was the pilot of a jet returning to the same base who was also low on fuel.
"My light is on!" the pilot's voice crackled, "I need to land right now!"
The tower communicated to both of them that the chopper was first in line to land because he had gotten there first. The jet pilot restated that he was into his fuel light and was short on time. He needed to land now.
"How far into your light are you?" Ron asked over the radio.
"Fifteen minutes!"
"Okay," Ron said, "You go ahead and land first, I'm only 8 minutes into my light. Set her down on the first try though, I don't have time to fuck around with you."
Everyone agreed. The jet landed and then the chopper, all safe and sound, if somewhat close to being out of fuel. The jet pilot came over and took Ron out for a beer for letting him land first.
"That was close, huh?" the jet pilot said after they got to the bar and sat down with some drinks.
"Yeah, no shit! Hey, how long is your light, anyway?" Ron asked.
"45 minutes, why, how long's yours?"
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