#ac-47

Douglas AC-47 Spooky. First in a series of fixed-wing gunships developed by the USAF during Vietnam War. Designed to provide more firepower than light and medium ground-attack aircraft in certain situations when ground forces called for close air support.

"Lewis? What are you doing holed up over here?" Her soft, warm but worried smile was a gentle ray of sun in the dark jungle. He stared at her in quiet reverence. Dark brown curls carefully tamed into a professional woman's bun, plain blue eyes fierce with intelligence. She was too good to be running around in the mud with the rest of them.

Stone faced as he swirled the beer around in the bottle like it would stir up an answer that wouldn't make him feel any crazier, he brings the bottle back and downs it. Clearly, this did not impress her. Nor did the clink of the bottle getting tossed off into the bushes, clinking and shattering in the remains of the five others that had fallen before it.

"Your boys were looking for you after you stormed out of the medical tent." She drawled, words hanging heavy. "Didn't know where you took off to, so they came running to me." She sits down beside him on the log. "Told 'em I wasn't some rat, but I'd come get you when it was time for chow."

He let out a bitter puff of a laugh. "Cabbie almost bought it today." The words came sharp, a quiet fury stirring in his voice.

"That why you got your wrist all wrapped up and Cabbie didn't have a scratch on him?" She asks with a little tilt of her head, gaze lingering on the bandage.

"Yeah." He puffed out a sigh. "He was supposed to run lead, I took his spot. Armor ain't as good on the AC-119's, a good shake for me would have knocked his ass out of the air."

"They fixed that, though. After..." She grimaced, changing tactics as she saw the pinched expression starting to bloom on him face. "The brass learned. And your boys did too. He's a lot safer in his ride than you are in yours."

"Right." He scrubs his face, trying to shed the numbness that those beers brought about. "Chow time?"

"Yeah, chow time. Got your wounds licked?" She asks, lightly bumping shoulders with him before she gets up. She offers him a hand up, which he takes with a little wry smirk. "Gang's gonna be all over you, Spooky."

He nods, a comfortable silence settling between them as they walked back towards the mess tent. He could hear the clatter of his boys inside, and his broad wolfish grin slides on like a mask.

Douglas FC-47D tail no. 0-48579—the original “Puff the Magic Dragon”—carried three 7.62mm GE miniguns in makeshift mounts. (U.S. Air Force)

An AC-47’s miniguns, each firing at a rate of 6,000 rounds per minute, unleash on Viet Cong positions. (U.S. Air Force)

With its armament of twin 40mm cannons and a pair of 20mm rotary guns, this Spectre awaits its next mission in a revetment at Thailand’s Ubon Royal Thai Air Force Base. (U.S. Air Force)

4th Special Operations Squadron crewmen operate an AC-130U’s 105mm gun. (U.S. Air Force)

To supplement the AC-130 in Vietnam, the Fairchild AC-119G and K were developed. (U.S. Air Force)

Spooky gunship at Wittman Regional Airport