Category: Manly Stuff
It is difficult to appreciate the scope of World War 2. We modern folk simply have no frame of reference. It was death, tragedy, and destruction on a scale beyond our imagining.
Sixteen million Americans served. More than 400,000 died. Roughly one in every forty American troops who answered the call never came home. One in forty. That’s what it cost to ensure that our world would be free from Nazi death camps, Japanese genocides, and Aryan supermen.
Table of contents
Hidden Treasures In Words
Thanks to Steven Spielberg, Tom Hanks, and Stephen Ambrose, we captured many of those priceless stories before it was too late. Their inspiration drove folks across the country to pin Grandpa down and insist that he tell his stories from the war while he still could. I chased those tales myself at every opportunity. What I discovered was poignant beyond my capacity adequately to describe.
So many of those great old guys were reluctant to revisit that world. However, whenever I saw an old WW2 vet in the clinic I would gently ask. What I got in return for those innocent queries was simply amazing.
One old gentleman ran a local hardware store before he retired. If you saw him in church or walking down the street you wouldn’t give him a passing thought. He looked like everybody’s grandfather—bald and slightly stooped with a shuffling gait. However, back in 1944 this guy was an absolute beast.
The Humanity of Total War
My buddy flew B-17 Flying Fortresses in Europe. He did his twenty-five missions and rotated home. He once mentioned that he had designs on an exceptionally attractive young lady in town before the war. He explained that another boy in his class fancied her, too. The girl chose the other suitor. My buddy then said matter-of-factly, “That other guy became a pilot as well. He flew P-38 Lightnings in the Pacific. He died fighting the Japanese.”
There was no emotion to the statement. It was simply a fact. This kid he went to high school with was blown to pieces in the skies over some forgotten South Pacific island, and he was just gone. That was the world in which he lived.
I once asked this man to tell me about his most memorable mission. He said he was in a low formation over Italy when somebody screwed up. The upper bomb group dropped their ordnance, and one errant five hundred pounder struck his Fort just ahead of the cockpit. The bomb did not explode, but it tore the nose off of his airplane, taking his bombardier and nose gunner with it. These were two of his closest friends in the world, and they died horribly five feet in front of his face. He wrestled with the mangled airplane for two interminable hours before landing it safely back at base. He told me this story as though he was describing the weather. There was no bravado or pride. He was simply relating facts.
Connections of Words
I sat mesmerized with him and a dozen or more others, all of whom came to see me for medical care. In my mind’s eye I tried to visualize the scene—the sounds, the smells, and the fear. In each case I’m sure my efforts were woefully inadequate. Some emotions are so intense they just don’t translate well into words.
World War 2 was the first of humanity’s countless scraps to be thoroughly documented. All involved knew what they were doing would be studied, dissected, and potentially venerated for generations to come. Cameras were bulky and awkward by modern standards, but they were still available.
Personal Connection
My wife’s grandfather fought in North Africa, Sicily, and Italy. He dropped out of school in ninth grade to feed his family during the Depression, but he was a mechanical savant. He took a nice German camera off of a captured Wehrmacht officer and found undeveloped film in his Battalion S2 Intelligence section. He improvised a darkroom using an Army raincoat and a red lens flashlight and carefully cut the film by hand to fit his liberated camera. He scored a few chemicals and processed his own negatives the same way. After he died we found a shoebox full of little pictures he had taken during the war. They were all intriguing, but he had never been willing to explain the details. Regardless, these images offer some fascinating insights into what his life was really like during those long years of combat in Europe.
There are literally countless images to have come from WW2. Some were arcane or tedious. Others, like the raising of the flag over Mount Suribachi on Iwo Jima, were quite literally iconic. Each one tells a story. This story that follows was particularly compelling.
The Plane
July 22, 1944, was a Friday. 1LT James Knarr and his gunner, SSG Charles Reichley, were up early to preflight their Douglas A-20G-25 Havoc medium bomber. Theirs was one of a dozen Havocs assigned to the 387th Bombardment Squadron of the 312th Bombardment Group. They were slated to attack a sprawling Japanese seaplane station and barge depot on the island of Kokas in the South Pacific. Their aircraft was loaded with 115 kg bombs optimized for attacking small ships in the harbor.
The Douglas A-20 Havoc was not as well-known as were the B-17 Flying Fortresses or B-24 Liberators. It even took a back seat to twin-engine medium bombers like the B-25 Mitchell and B-26 Marauder. However, the A-20 was a potent and effective ground attack platform.
First flown in January of 1939, the A-20 was designed from the outset as an attack plane. It was powered by a pair of 14-cylinder Pratt and Whitney R-2600-7 Twin Cyclone radial engines, each producing 1,700 horsepower. By war’s end some 7,478 airframes had rolled off the lines.
Technical Details
By 1944, the G-model A-20 was being used in the Pacific for low-level attacks against Japanese shipping. Under these conditions the bombardier and his vaunted Norden bomb sight were superfluous. As a result, these Havocs had their noses fared over and the bombardier position replaced with half a dozen Browning .50-caliber machineguns. The typical attack profile involved approaching a target at wavetop level and then skipping bombs into the sides of Japanese ships all the while sleeting the decks with massed machinegun fire. The Havoc was remarkably effective in this role.
Without the bombardier, the typical crew of the Havoc was just the single pilot and a top turret gunner. With the assistance of their crew chief, 1LT Knarr and SSG Reichley made their mount ready for the day’s mission. Everything about the plane was armed, fueled, and in order.
The Mission
The approach to the target was unremarkable. The weather was perfect, and visibility was unrestricted. The limitless blue of the South Seas skies formed a placid backdrop to the unfettered carnage that was soon to come.
CPT Jack Klein was flight lead. 2LT Melvin Kapson was piloting the second ship. 1LT Knarr’s Havoc, tail number 43-9432, was third. The Havocs delivered their bombs just as they had been trained to do, raining death and destruction down on the Japanese barges and crews held at anchor in the harbor. However, by the time the attack planes turned on their egress the Japanese defenders had found their wits. Before they had a chance to close their bomb bay doors, the Japanese antiaircraft guns were clawing up toward them.
The formation was tight by design. Flying close meant concentrating firepower and shock effect. This also got the attacking aircraft in and out quickly, minimizing their exposure to ground fire. However, it still wasn’t fast enough.
Tragedy
One burst of antiaircraft fire connected with 1LT Knarr’s starboard engine. Both big radials were firewalled during the attack. 1LT Knarr was coaxing every bit of power out of the plants and every scrap of speed out of the plane. Suddenly the number 2 engine sputtered and died streaming oil. The big 11-foot, 3-inch propeller briefly windmilled.
In such close quarters and at such low altitude, there was just no time. 1LT Knarr was unable to get the prop feathered before the big plane began to roll. The ten-ton medium bomber snapped to the right, its wingtip contacting the smooth azure waters of the bay. In a literal instant, what had previously been a state-of-the-art attack plane manned by a pair of American aircrewmen was transformed into 20,000 pounds of debris. And just like that, 1LT Knarr and SSG Reichley were dead, literally pulverized in the impact.
Pictures Are Worth A Thousand Words
CPT Klein had been taking photos of the mission. His camera was remarkably advanced for the time and was capable of sequential frames. As luck would have it, his images captured the final seconds of 1LT Knarr’s airplane. The sequence became one of the most compelling of the war.
52,173 Americans died in aerial combat in WW2. Many fighter pilots like my friend’s high school classmate perished alone in the rarefied upper atmosphere. Others died as part of a crew with their friends by their sides to the last. The vast majority perished in anonymity, their sacrifice memorialized by nothing more than a heartfelt letter to loved ones from heartbroken friends or overwrought commanders. However, 1LT Knarr and SSG Reichley had their final moments immortalized. Even some eight decades later, those haunting images move me to my core.
I’m Going to sleep tonight knowing that we can still breed men like this man !!!!!!!!!! Grumpy
Categories
A Victory! All About Guns COOL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Dear Grumpy Advice on Teaching in Today's Classroom Hard Nosed Folks Both Good & Bad I am so grateful!! Leadership of the highest kind Manly Stuff One Hell of a Good Fight Our Great Kids Real men Soldiering Stand & Deliver The Green Machine This great Nation & Its People War Well I thought it was neat!
The 26-Minute Dogfight of Chuck Yeager — How an American P-51 Mustang Survived Superior Numbers
SM Mike Vining, a serious Badass!
Mike Roger Vining[1] (born August 12, 1950) is a retired sergeant major in the United States Army, who was one of the first members of Delta Force. He joined the Army in 1968, and served until 1999.The man has been to the Vietnam War,
Operation Eagle Claw, Operation Urgent Fury
Operation Just Cause, Gulf War
Born into poverty in the woods of West Virginia, Charles E. “Chuck” Yeager was a World War II aircraft mechanic, fighter pilot, double ace, military commander, and a test pilot who broke the sound barrier. His journey from Army private to USAF Brigadier General is an inspiration to all.
Yeager began his Air Force career in September 1941 as a private in the U.S. Army Air Corps, serving as an aircraft mechanic. While he wanted to be a pilot, that career path was initially closed to him due to his age and lack of education, as the Air Corps required two years of college and a minimum age of 20.
After Pearl Harbor, however, the standards were revised due to the urgent need for pilots, and Yeager was accepted into the flight officer program. While Yeager had excellent eyesight and other attributes for flight training, his first few flights were memorable for another reason: Yeager vomiting in the cockpit.
With time, the queasiness went away, and Yeager excelled at flying. He graduated from pilot training at Luke A.F.B. in March 1943. He then transferred to the 363rd Fighter Squadron at Tonopah, NV, and was trained with the Bell P-39 Airacobra. Once while he was showboating, he clipped a farmer’s tree during a training mission and was grounded for a week.
In November 1943, the unit shipped out to RAF Leiston and began training with the P-51 Mustang.
Shot Down
On his eighth mission, Yeager, who had one aerial victory so far when he took out a Me-109 on the way to Berlin, was shot down over occupied France. He bailed out and hit the ground running for the tree line, evading the Nazis.
Initially, he trained the French Resistance (Maquis) in the use of explosives and timers, which he learned from his father, who worked in the gas fields. He escaped to Spain with the help of the resistance while helping another wounded aviator over the Pyrenees. He then spent time in Malta before returning to England.
A Talk With Eisenhower
After his downing, Yeager’s days of combat were over. Or were they? At that time, there was a regulation that prohibited downed pilots (evaders) from flying over enemy territory again. This was to prevent the resistance groups from being compromised if the pilot was captured and interrogated.
Yeager’s desire to fly again was so intense that he spoke with Supreme Allied Commander General Dwight D. Eisenhower to request a return to combat status. Actually, Yeager wrote in his memoir that “I raised so much hell that General Eisenhower finally let me go back to my squadron.”
When they met, “Eisenhower said, ‘I’ve got guys shooting themselves in the foot to go home. What is the matter with you?” Yeager replied, “General, I haven’t done my job. I don’t want to leave my buddies after only eight missions. It just isn’t right. I’ve got a lot of fightin’ left to do.”
Eisenhower told him that it was the War Department’s policy, but he would ask for permission to send Yeager back. While waiting, Yeager was limited to short-range missions, but managed to bag a Junkers Ju-88 bomber flying over the English Channel for his second kill.
In August 1944, Yeager returned to combat status and was issued a P-51C Mustang with a Malcom Hood canopy and, almost immediately, a P-51D, which he christened Glamorous Glen III, after his future wife, Glennis Dickhouse. On Oct 12, 1944, Yeager made squadron history when he became their first “Ace in a Day” with five kills of Luftwaffe Me-109’s.
On November 27, 1944, Yeager continued his hot streak, downing four Fw-190 fighters. He would also score one of the first victories of a Me 262 jet fighter and end the war with 13 kills. On January 15, 1945, he flew his last mission and returned to the U.S., having completed 61 missions in total.
Due to his status as an Evader, Yeager was given his choice of assignments and chose to be a functional test pilot of repaired aircraft at Wright Field.
Test Pilot
With the war now over, Yeager graduated from the Flight Performance School and landed a dream job as a test pilot at Muroc Army Airfield (Edwards A.F.B.)
After a Bell Aircraft Test pilot demanded $150,000 to break the sound barrier with their new rocket-powered X-1, Col. Albert Boyd, the chief of the Flight Test Division, successfully lobbied to get the X-1 project under his command. Boyd had already assembled a team of the best test pilots around. Now, Yeager was selected to be the first to break the sound barrier.
Two days before the record-breaking flight attempt of the X-1, Yeager was out horseback riding with Glennis and broke two ribs. Yeager, certain the injury would get him scrubbed from the mission, found a civilian doctor in nearby Rosamond to patch him up.
Now comes the hard part. In order to close the hatch on the X-1, Yeager had to hold it down and slam down a lever to seal it. This was not going to happen with two broken ribs. He asked his pilot/flight engineer friend, Jack Ridley, to help him come up with a solution.
Ridley chopped off a section of broom handle, and the pair tested it on the ground. The next day, the broomstick hatch tool worked perfectly, and Yeager was on his way to the history books. Yeager broke the sound barrier with a speed of Mach 1.05 at an altitude of 45,000 feet.
The 50’s
Yeager was the first American pilot to fly a MIG-15 due to the defection of a North Korean Pilot. In 1953, Yeager was a part of the X-1A team in search of breaking the Mach 2 barrier. Yeager set a new speed record in December 1953 when he flew the X-1A to Mach 2.44, breaking a recent Navy record and spoiling their planned celebration of the event.
The new flight record, however, almost killed Yeager. Just before reaching Mach 2.44, the X-1A became uncontrollable when it experienced “inertia coupling,” a condition that caused the aircraft to pitch, roll and yaw simultaneously. The X-1A dropped from 51,000 feet to 29,000 feet in less than a minute before Yeager regained control of the plane.
The 60’s
In 1962, Yeager, now a full colonel, became the first commandant of the USAF Aerospace Research Pilot School. The school was the first stop for pilots wishing to become astronauts. While Yeager was arguably the best pilot at the time, his lack of a college degree kept him from serving as an astronaut.
In December 1963, Yeager began test flights of the M2F1 “Lifting body, also known as the “Bathtub”. You may recognize this aircraft from the opening crash scene of the “Six Million Dollar Man” television series. It was here that Yeager suffered his most serious injury.
Another program in the works at the time was the NF-104, which was a rocket-assisted Lockheed F-104 Starfighter. It was one of the first programs created to train pilots for astronaut duties.
Yeager took off and reached nearly 100,000 feet when the aircraft became unresponsive and entered a flat spin. The Starfighter lost approximately 95,000 feet of altitude with Yeager attempting to gain control all the way down. At one point, Yeager deployed the Starfighter’s drag chute in hopes of straightening the aircraft and restarting the engine.
With only a few seconds left, Yeager ejected from the Starfighter. During the ejection sequence, the ejection seat base struck him in the head, and the hot rocket motor broke his faceplate, which caused the oxygen supply to catch fire and severely burn his face. Yeager suffered through numerous operations for his facial burns. This was the end of his test flight career.
Vietnam, Retirement and Beyond
In 1966, Yeager assumed command of the 405th Fighter Wing at Clark Air Base, Philippines, which rotated throughout Southeast Asia and South Vietnam, flying 127 missions.
In the early 1970’s, Yeager was assigned as the air attaché to the Pakistani Air Force, assisting them with integrating the AIM-9 Sidewinder missile onto their fighter aircraft.
In March 1975, Yeager finally retired with 34 years of service. Not one to sit around, Yeager kept busy with a variety of projects. He made a cameo appearance as Fred the bartender in the movie “The Right Stuff,” which, in part, told his story of breaking the sound barrier. He drove a Corvette pace car at the Indianapolis 500. He flew an F-15D Eagle in celebration of the 50th anniversary of his record-breaking flight. He was a spokesman for AC Delco auto parts and a consultant to Northrop Grumman for the F-20 Tigershark.
Yeager passed away on Pearl Harbor Day, 2020, at the age of 97.
Legacy
His military decorations and awards include the Distinguished Service Medal, Silver Star with oak leaf cluster, Legion of Merit with oak leaf cluster, Distinguished Flying Cross with two oak leaf clusters, Bronze Star Medal with “V” device, Air Medal with 10 oak leaf clusters, Air Force Commendation Medal, Purple Heart, Distinguished Unit Citation Emblem with oak leaf cluster, Air Force Outstanding Unit Award Ribbon, and the Congressional Medal of Freedom.
Yeager was a command pilot and had flown more than 12,000 hours in 361 different makes and models of military aircraft in service to his country.
Shot down in a hostile landing zone, blasted apart, and stabbed through the leg, Gary Wetzel still fought his way back to an M60 machine gun. What happened next earned him the Medal of Honor and made his Vietnam story almost impossible to believe.
Gary Wetzel’s Medal of Honor Fight Began in a Huey
Gary Wetzel was born in 1947 in South Milwaukee, Wisconsin. In 1965, he was an 18-year-old soldier working in ordnance. He enlisted for three more years to serve as a door gunner on UH1 Huey helicopters in Vietnam. Wetzel was assigned to the 173d Assault Helicopter Company near Ap Dong An.
A group of four Australian helos flew into Wetzel’s firebase and got badly shot up for their trouble. Most of the hostile ground fire they had taken originated a mere kilometer from the perimeter.
Realizing the imminent threat this represented, Wetzel’s commander put together a quick reaction mission to seek out the local VC force and eliminate it. On January 8, 1968, PFC Wetzel climbed aboard his Huey and charged his M60 machine gun. They took off as a flight of fourteen aircraft. Ten were American UH1s. The four Australian helicopters took part as well.
The Guns Gary Wetzel Carried Into a Vietnamese Killing Zone
By 1968, Vietnam was a mature war zone. That meant weapons were absolutely everywhere. The M16 was and is a solid combat rifle. However, at 39 inches overall, it is a bit bulky for the confines of a tactical helicopter.
The XM177E2 was the stubby carbine version of the M16 that was just seeing widespread issue to Special Forces troops. It would yet be a while before there were enough carbines to filter down to aviation units. In the meantime, Wetzel and his mates scrounged whatever they could find.
The US gifted untold tons of WW2-surplus ordnance to the South Vietnamese. Among these weapons were huge numbers of vintage M3 Grease Guns as well as M2 carbines and Thompson SMGs. Many of these weapons ended up available for barter among American troops.
Among aircrews, folding stock Kalashnikovs were prized but hen’s-teeth rare. I have heard of captured cut-down RPD belt-fed machine guns being used as well, but they were about as common as Bigfoot or fiscally responsible Congressmen.
Flight crews not infrequently tucked an M79 40mm grenade launcher into their birds for a little serious thump. However, WW2-vintage .45ACP submachine guns were not uncommon. Wetzel packed a Tommy Gun himself.
The Thompson really was a niche tool. Those big, fat .45ACP rounds lost energy quickly at long ranges, and the thing was heavier than Aunt Edna’s prize Christmas fruit cake.
Additionally, the ergonomics were all wrong, so it took some attention to technique to run the gun accurately and well. However, for a generation raised on Saturday afternoon gangster movies, the Thompson carried some undeniable sex appeal.
RPG Impact: Gary Wetzel’s Huey Falls Into a Kill Zone
Standard Operating Procedure had Huey gunships in the lead to sterilize the landing zone with machine gun fire and rockets.
However, in this case, the gunships inexplicably fell behind. Wetzel’s slick was one of the first aircraft into the LZ. As they were on final approach, VC streamed out of the jungle like ants and opened fire. Wetzel noticed the RPG-2 rocket just before it impacted his aircraft.
I used to fly Army helicopters myself. They are amazingly capable machines. However, they were never designed to withstand hits from anti-tank weapons. The RPG struck the Huey solidly in the left front. Wetzel’s pilots got the stricken bird to the ground more or less intact, but they were in a world of hurt.
One of the pilots had his legs shot to pieces. Wetzel and his crew chief wrestled the stricken officer out of the aircraft and took cover behind the disabled machine. At that moment, one of the VC threw a Combloc grenade that exploded among them.
The blast liberally peppered Wetzel with shrapnel and shattered his left arm, leaving it dangling uselessly at an unnatural angle.
One Arm Ruined, Thompson Roaring: Wetzel Fights Back
So, imagine the scene. One moment, you’re making a low-level approach into a hostile LZ. Next, your aircraft is shot to pieces, and your pilot is bleeding to death. Then the VC blows your arm off. Most normal guys would have just rolled over and quit. However, Gary Wetzel was no normal guy.
The VC soldier who threw the first grenade was now readying a second. Firing his Thompson one-handed, Wetzel stitched the man up, causing him to drop his primed grenade. The little sputtering bomb exploded among the attacking VC and caused a brief lull in the incoming fire.
Wetzel and his crew chief took advantage of the respite to get tourniquets on the legs of the grievously wounded pilot. Then Wetzel noticed half a dozen VC struggling to remove his M60 from its pedestal mount on the side of the crashed helicopter. Once again, taking his Tommy Gun in his one remaining good hand, the badly wounded gunner took out all six with a long full-auto burst.
Despite their best efforts, the young pilot bled out and died. This was more than Gary Wetzel had signed up for this day. Now simply angry, he stuffed his useless left hand into his pistol belt so it wouldn’t flop around while he ran, stood up, and charged back over to the smoldering aircraft.
Back to the M60: Gary Wetzel Charges Through Enemy Fire
The VC had not been idle throughout all of this. They marshalled in the treeline and prepared for a massed attack.
The enemy well appreciated that the greatest strength of the American military was its essentially unlimited close air support. If they had any hope of defeating the American assault, they had to get in close, too close for helicopter gunships and fast mover jets to lay down effective supporting fires. What happened next would determine whether Wetzel and his buddies lived or died.
Under suffocating enemy fire, Gary Wetzel charged across the open rice paddy toward his pedestal-mounted machine gun. Communist bullets sleeted across the space by the hundreds. Then one of the charging VC stabbed him through the leg with a bayonet, knocking him to the ground.
I saw an interview with Gary Wetzel where he related what happened next in his own words. His left arm was essentially shot off, and he had just taken a bayonet to his leg.
His chest was thoroughly ventilated with shrapnel, as was his remaining good arm. He claimed he had no idea how he cleared the distance to the downed helicopter. He just said that the bayonet wound knocked him to the ground and that the next conscious memory he had was behind his gun.
The aircraft was dead, but Wetzel’s pig was just fine. He also had access to plenty of ammunition and was savvy enough to run his gun one-handed. Despite multiple horrific wounds, PFC Wetzel poured fire into the enemy emplacements. He eventually suppressed and then destroyed the VC gunners that had taken them under fire.
Bleeding Out, Wetzel Still Dragged His Buddies to Cover
With the major threat eliminated, there was still plenty to do. The VC kept shooting into the LZ, and there were scads of American wounded. Despite having his arm blown to pieces and having taken a stab wound through the leg, PFC Wetzel dragged injured American troops across the slippery mud of the rice paddy so that the medic could work to stabilize them. He lost consciousness several times due to his own bleeding, but refused to stop until his fellow soldiers were behind cover.
PFC Wetzel was eventually medevac’d. He lost his left arm but saved an LZ full of GIs. Here is his Medal of Honor citation:
Gary Wetzel’s Official Medal of Honor Citation
“Sp4c. Wetzel, 173d Assault Helicopter Company, distinguished himself by conspicuous gallantry and intrepidity at the risk of his life above and beyond the call of duty. Sp4c. Wetzel was serving as door gunner aboard a helicopter which was part of an insertion force trapped in a landing zone by intense and deadly hostile fire. Sp4c. Wetzel was going to the aid of his aircraft commander when he was blown into a rice paddy and critically wounded by two enemy rockets that exploded just inches from his location. Although bleeding profusely due to the loss of his left arm and severe wounds in his right arm, chest, and left leg, Sp4c. Wetzel staggered back to his original position in his gun-well and took the enemy forces under fire. His machine gun was the only weapon placing effective fire on the enemy at that time. Through a resolve that overcame the shock and intolerable pain of his injuries, Sp4c. Wetzel remained at his position until he had eliminated the automatic-weapons emplacement that had been inflicting heavy casualties on the American troops and preventing them from moving against this strong enemy force. Refusing to attend his own extensive wounds, he attempted to return to the aid of his aircraft commander but passed out from loss of blood. Regaining consciousness, he persisted in his efforts to drag himself to the aid of his fellow crewman. After an agonizing effort, he came to the side of the crew chief who was attempting to drag the wounded aircraft commander to the safety of a nearby dike. Unswerving in his devotion to his fellow man, Sp4c. Wetzel assisted his crew chief even though he lost consciousness once again during this action. Sp4c. Wetzel displayed extraordinary heroism in his efforts to aid his fellow crewmen. His gallant actions were in keeping with the highest traditions of the U.S. Army and reflect great credit upon himself and the Armed Forces of his country.”
Source: Congressional Medal of Honor Society, Gary George Wetzel recipient record and official citation.
Gary Wetzel Comes Home: A Medal of Honor Legacy
Gary Wetzel returned home to Milwaukee after he recovered to take a job as a heavy equipment operator. This guy is a freaking animal, the kind of amazing American hero who made America what it is today. This one-armed military machine would not quit when quitting was the only reasonable thing to do. In so doing, he showed us all what it truly means to be a man.
Will is still trying to figure out what he really wants to be when he grows up. However, shooting guns and claiming it was work seemed like a pretty sweet hustle. As a result, Will serendipitously transformed an avocation into a vocation.
Raised in the Mississippi Delta, Will flew UH1H, OH58A/C, CH47D and AH1S helicopters operationally as an Army Aviator. He is SCUBA-qualified and has parachuted out of perfectly good airplanes at 3 o’clock in the morning. Will has summited Mount McKinley, Alaska, six times…always at the controls of an Army helicopter, which is the only way sensible folk climb mountains.
Will has delivered sixty babies and occasionally wrung human blood out of his socks. He is married to his high school sweetheart and has three awesome adult children. Turn-ons include vintage German machineguns, flying his sexy-cool RV6A airplane, Count Chocula cereal and the movie “Aliens.”
www.word-monkey.com
Experience:
-Professional Writer-thousands of publishing credits for dozens of titles
-Mechanical Engineer/Practicing Physician
-Instrument-rated Commercial Pilot
-Sunday School Teacher