| VetSpeak.org exists to publish and distribute the crucial voices and perspectives of America's military veterans in print, online and on disc. |
VETSPEAK.ORG
Speaking Truth to Power
| BIOGRAPHY |
| HERCULES & THE BERMUDA TRIANGLE by Uncle Russ Scheidler |
RUSS
SCHEIDLER
SCHEIDLER
 |  |  |  |  |
Russ Scheidler served in the U.S.
Marine Corps, 1969-1972, one of
four brothers serving
simultaneously in the Corps. His
older brother, Ed Worthley, died
as a result of two tours in
Vietnam, which prohibited Russ
from serving there. Instead, Russ
was ordered to Guantanamo Bay,
Cuba. After discharge from the
Marines, he was a member of
VVAW.
Russ.scheidler@vetspeak.org
Marine Corps, 1969-1972, one of
four brothers serving
simultaneously in the Corps. His
older brother, Ed Worthley, died
as a result of two tours in
Vietnam, which prohibited Russ
from serving there. Instead, Russ
was ordered to Guantanamo Bay,
Cuba. After discharge from the
Marines, he was a member of
VVAW.
Russ.scheidler@vetspeak.org
could sleep through the roar and vibrations as it flew through air
currents that would sometimes rock you gently and sometimes toss you
like a leaf in the wind.
The flight from North Carolina had been uneventful until my musician’
s ears detected a subtle clunk. Moments later, the steady roar of the
engines told me they were still turning at the same speed. Yet,
something had changed. A slight change in the nylon webbing I was
seated on told my inner being that our speed had changed. On we
flew. 170 United States Marines were on their way to Guantanamo
Bay, Cuba to be replacements for the naval base there.
Clunk! I heard it again. This time it came from the other side of the
airplane. I opened my eyes and looked around at the other marines.
All of them were blissfully unaware that something had changed. Most
were sleeping. A few were trying to scream a bit of conversation to the
marine next to them in a kind of brave defiance to their own inner fears
of being high in the sky with only a thin aluminum skin between their
fragile bodies and the heavens. A bit of pressure in my inner ear
brought me to greater awareness. I swallowed and POP went my
sinuses. We had definitely changed altitude.
Gradually, more marines began to stir. They looked around to check
their bearings. “What’s going on?” asked the marine on my right.
“I’m not sure.” I answered. We were near the back of the plane, by the
ramp that would drop to load and unload cargo and men.
The crew chief emerged from the cockpit up front with a bundle of
yellow things in his arms. He knelt down in front of the marines up front
and spoke to them, gesticulating with his free hand, pointing here and
there to points within the aircraft shell. He also began passing out the
yellow objects in his arms. The yellow objects were passed from man
to man and each pulled one over his head and began reaching around
behind them to strap on what became clear were life preservers. The
scuttlebutt reached us long before the crew chief did.
We were over the Bermuda Triangle and had lost two of the four
engines. The inside engine on one wing and the outer engine on the
other side. We were all about to go down in the Devil’s Triangle with all
hands aboard.
I had surmised that all the pointing the crew chief had been doing
was directing men to emergency exits and sequencing men to and
through those hatches.
When he finally reached me, he knelt, put his hand on my right knee
and said, “OK, WHEN we splash down….”. I really haven’t a clue what
he said after that, but he was pointing all over the place. Apparently
there are a lot of escape hatches in the rear of a C-130 Hercules.
My brain was reeling and demanding that he was supposed to say “IF
we splash down”. I just kept nodding my head as I had been from the
moment he knelt in front of me. He was soon beyond me to the last
group of marines, continuing the mad routine of yelling instructions and
pointing all over the place.
The marine beside me asked, “What did he say?”. I just pointed to
the places the crew chief had pointed to and told him to follow the next
guy. His eyes were pure terror and his head began nodding, just like
mine had been.
Several minutes later, the word came back from up front that we were
going to try to make it to Beaufort, South Carolina where there was a
marine air base. The sheer terror subsided to major fear and finally to
resignation to the fates and whatever they had in store for us. After a
significant amount of time, we began our descent into Beaufort. My
ears popped again and again as the air got thicker and thicker.
Our landing, when it finally happened, was like a ride in an elevator
that suddenly dropped five or six floors without a brake. The first
bounce shook me to my very soul. Up we went on a roller coaster ride
with three or four more bounces that gradually eased up until it was
obvious that we were actually on the ground and rolling. The whir and
hum of the reverse thrust of the propellers was as loud as anything I
can remember. The force of braking tossed all the marines around till
we all grabbed on to anything we could find. Doors popped open and
we all scrambled out as quickly as military decorum could muster.
We were directed to one side and assembled ranks as best we
could. Around us was the largest collection of fire trucks, ambulances
and other emergency vehicles I had ever seen. On shaking knees, we
saw the flight crew exit the plane one by one until the pilot was the last
one on the ground.
A thunderous applause erupted from the emergency crews for the
brave and able pilot who had brought us to safety from the clutches of
the Bermuda Triangle.
They put us up in some empty barracks at the air base. In the
morning, we were off in a different C-130 to Guantanamo Bay. On the
way to the plane that morning we were treated to an amazing roar and
sight. Between two buildings, we saw an airplane floating up vertically
and gently descending back down. Some MPs hurried us along
muttering something about top secret clearances. We had just seen
the first of the Harrier jump jets sold to the US Marines by the British.
The air was chilled and most of us shivered, as we had no field jackets
since we were going to Cuba where we would not need them.
Semper Fi,
Uncle Russ
July 2008
currents that would sometimes rock you gently and sometimes toss you
like a leaf in the wind.
The flight from North Carolina had been uneventful until my musician’
s ears detected a subtle clunk. Moments later, the steady roar of the
engines told me they were still turning at the same speed. Yet,
something had changed. A slight change in the nylon webbing I was
seated on told my inner being that our speed had changed. On we
flew. 170 United States Marines were on their way to Guantanamo
Bay, Cuba to be replacements for the naval base there.
Clunk! I heard it again. This time it came from the other side of the
airplane. I opened my eyes and looked around at the other marines.
All of them were blissfully unaware that something had changed. Most
were sleeping. A few were trying to scream a bit of conversation to the
marine next to them in a kind of brave defiance to their own inner fears
of being high in the sky with only a thin aluminum skin between their
fragile bodies and the heavens. A bit of pressure in my inner ear
brought me to greater awareness. I swallowed and POP went my
sinuses. We had definitely changed altitude.
Gradually, more marines began to stir. They looked around to check
their bearings. “What’s going on?” asked the marine on my right.
“I’m not sure.” I answered. We were near the back of the plane, by the
ramp that would drop to load and unload cargo and men.
The crew chief emerged from the cockpit up front with a bundle of
yellow things in his arms. He knelt down in front of the marines up front
and spoke to them, gesticulating with his free hand, pointing here and
there to points within the aircraft shell. He also began passing out the
yellow objects in his arms. The yellow objects were passed from man
to man and each pulled one over his head and began reaching around
behind them to strap on what became clear were life preservers. The
scuttlebutt reached us long before the crew chief did.
We were over the Bermuda Triangle and had lost two of the four
engines. The inside engine on one wing and the outer engine on the
other side. We were all about to go down in the Devil’s Triangle with all
hands aboard.
I had surmised that all the pointing the crew chief had been doing
was directing men to emergency exits and sequencing men to and
through those hatches.
When he finally reached me, he knelt, put his hand on my right knee
and said, “OK, WHEN we splash down….”. I really haven’t a clue what
he said after that, but he was pointing all over the place. Apparently
there are a lot of escape hatches in the rear of a C-130 Hercules.
My brain was reeling and demanding that he was supposed to say “IF
we splash down”. I just kept nodding my head as I had been from the
moment he knelt in front of me. He was soon beyond me to the last
group of marines, continuing the mad routine of yelling instructions and
pointing all over the place.
The marine beside me asked, “What did he say?”. I just pointed to
the places the crew chief had pointed to and told him to follow the next
guy. His eyes were pure terror and his head began nodding, just like
mine had been.
Several minutes later, the word came back from up front that we were
going to try to make it to Beaufort, South Carolina where there was a
marine air base. The sheer terror subsided to major fear and finally to
resignation to the fates and whatever they had in store for us. After a
significant amount of time, we began our descent into Beaufort. My
ears popped again and again as the air got thicker and thicker.
Our landing, when it finally happened, was like a ride in an elevator
that suddenly dropped five or six floors without a brake. The first
bounce shook me to my very soul. Up we went on a roller coaster ride
with three or four more bounces that gradually eased up until it was
obvious that we were actually on the ground and rolling. The whir and
hum of the reverse thrust of the propellers was as loud as anything I
can remember. The force of braking tossed all the marines around till
we all grabbed on to anything we could find. Doors popped open and
we all scrambled out as quickly as military decorum could muster.
We were directed to one side and assembled ranks as best we
could. Around us was the largest collection of fire trucks, ambulances
and other emergency vehicles I had ever seen. On shaking knees, we
saw the flight crew exit the plane one by one until the pilot was the last
one on the ground.
A thunderous applause erupted from the emergency crews for the
brave and able pilot who had brought us to safety from the clutches of
the Bermuda Triangle.
They put us up in some empty barracks at the air base. In the
morning, we were off in a different C-130 to Guantanamo Bay. On the
way to the plane that morning we were treated to an amazing roar and
sight. Between two buildings, we saw an airplane floating up vertically
and gently descending back down. Some MPs hurried us along
muttering something about top secret clearances. We had just seen
the first of the Harrier jump jets sold to the US Marines by the British.
The air was chilled and most of us shivered, as we had no field jackets
since we were going to Cuba where we would not need them.
Semper Fi,
Uncle Russ
July 2008