Chickenhawk: Back in the World - Life After Vietnam

PROLOGUE

There’s an ancient idea that when a man travels, he doesn’t go anywhere. Instead, he performs a series of actions that, if done in the proper sequence, will bring his destination to him.

I’m walking a path in the woods where I live. I concentrate on the act of walking while keeping in mind that I am stationary, that it is the world that is moving. After several tries, it works. I move my body in precise ways and watch the ground pass beneath me and trees and bushes move by me until the steps of my cabin come to me and touch my feet. Doing this can make you dizzy, but once this perspective is accepted, you are in the center of it, focused on what you are doing, now. Walking is no longer the same. Neither is life. You walk, wriggle, love, and cry, and the path moves by bringing your destination to you—if you make the right moves.

I must have made the right moves: I’m alive. I moved the controls of my helicopter in Vietnam in just the right ways. Missed thousands of bullets because I did something right, instinctively, at just the right moments. Made impossible unlighted landings into deep midnight jungles to rescue soldiers, succeeding, perhaps, because we—me, my crew, even my helicopter—were the results of another soldier’s right moves to make the jungle go away, to survive.

I have memories of others who made wrong moves, who were battered, burned, eviscerated in the war machine.

The war still rages on the far side of the planet.

I’m back in the world.

If I can just keep making the right moves—