No grunt ever met a medic he didn't like.

The earth fell away below as the helicopter gained altitude, rotor blades churning and popping in the hot, humid air. Behind lay the lowlands, the savanna and the villages of the populated coastal plain. Ahead lay the mountains and triple canopy rain forest. The green below looked like some child's playground. Ahead lay Fire Base O'Reilly, and nine klicks south was Fire Base Ripcord.

It always thrilled him to be on a mission into the mountains. The deep green vastness was enchanting, drawing him in like a sorcerer's spell. He imagined what it must be like beneath the leafy treetops. "Pure hell," he thought to himself, "and beastly hot into the bargain." He had no illusions. He had been a medic in a line company for too long.

Then, for some inexplicable reason, he had extended his tour to serve with Charlie Medic out of Camp Evans. He told himself it was because he cared for his fellow soldiers and wanted to do good. Deep inside he worried that the real reason might be that he truly liked combat and the excitement that attended it.

This day they had been called on to pluck a severely wounded man out of the rugged jungle near Fire Base Ripcord, a 1,000 meter high peak that dominated the Coc Muen massif. Ripcord had been a hot spot for over a week now. This morning, just an hour or two ago, one of the rifle companies working around the base had run into heavy enemy contact. One man had been killed and three wounded, one badly enough to warrant evacuation.

"We'll get you out, pardner," he thought to himself, "that's what we do, get you out."

The medevac chopper pilot was in contact with the company commander on the ground. Slowly they orbited the jungle, looking for the telltale smoke that would mark the company's position. "I've got goofy grape," the pilot finally radioed. "That's affirm," the company RTO replied.

There was no landing zone, no place to set down to easily take the wounded man aboard. They would have to use a jungle penetrator—a metal cone with extending legs that served as seats to evacuate one or two GIs from the jungle.

The medevac chopper came to a hover 300 feet above the company location.

"That's pretty thick stuff down there," he thought, as he guided the penetrator and its tethering cable down into the jungle. But he knew what he was doing. He knew from experience what those on the other end had gone through. "Hang on," he whispered silently, "we'll get'cha out."

The penetrator lowered, it slid through the thick tree branches and foliage and came to rest on the ground below. He couldn't see clearly, but knew what was going on. The wounded man was placed on the seat of the penetrator, then strapped to it, then the company RTO radioed to haul the wounded soldier up.

The winch began to wine. Cable was taken up. The penetrator and its load of wounded human cargo left the jungle floor.

"We got'cha," he said to himself, "we're gonna get ya up here and back to the aid station."

The cable tightened, strained, wound upward toward the medevac. Time passed in great slow motion chunks.

Without warning, enemy fire erupted from the surrounding hilltops. Small arms fire peppered the hovering medevac, slicing through its thin metal skin. The penetrator cable kept winding upward. "C'mon baby, we got you now," his mind urged, "C'mon, c'mon, just a few more feet. Then we're outta here."

The pilot was talking on the intercom now, "Doc, you got him yet? We're going to have to get out of here ricky tic."

He was focused on the man in the penetrator below, willing the winch to wind faster. "He's almost here, captain," he said into the mike, "Just another 20 feet."

The enemy fire increased.

"I am going to pull up now!" the pilot hollered, "we can get him in on the fly."

The chopper surged upward. An enemy rocket propelled grenade flashed skyward, struck the helicopter's engine, burst with a thundering explosion. Doc was thrown to the floor of the chopper, losing sight of his wounded patient at the end of the steel tether. Instantly, the medevac began to sag toward the ground, and started to roll over. "We're going down," the pilot yelled.

In split seconds … Doc scrambled back to the winch and cable. The wounded soldier was just a few feet away … the man's eyes looked at him, pleading, "Don't let me die!"

"Not today, old son," Doc thought, "not today." And he punched the cable release and let the wounded man fall to the ground as the chopper keeled over in its death roll.

The wounded soldier fell to the ground. He was later medevaced and lived.

The medevac chopper and all its crew perished on impact.

This is what heroes are made of.