The airedales in the chopper crew were an arrogant bunch (they joined the ship in Pearl Harbor on our way to WestPac). They wore immaculately pressed and tailored jump suits with pale blue ascots. Not just the aircrew, but their maintenance guys too. They kept to themselves and looked down on us swabbies with barely concealed contempt. They even slept and ate by themselves.

While on patrol on Yankee Station, near the DMZ, they went off to do some training, firing their machine guns into the water. The stops on their door guns must have been poorly adjusted because a round caught the tip of the rotor and knocked off a piece. Unbalanced, the blades shook themselves apart and the chopper went down. Fortunately, they were close to the water so they got out with no injuries except one broken arm. They were about 20 miles away, but they managed to get a signal off before they sank so we picked them up just a few minutes later. The whole crew got to watch them being unceremoniously winched aboard by Bosun's Mate Chief Douglas and his deck apes. It was wonderful.

Their helo was replaced in in the Philippines. And their attitude improved considerably after the incident.