Get Away From Da Chopper

“Sir, I really must protest.”

“No, Jenkins. You must maintain your balance.”

“That’s what I’m protesting, sir. I’m literally eight inches above twin helicopter rotors. There must be a better configuration.”

“Oh, there is. One where there’s not a wussy piloting the Whirleybird.”

“Ah. You’ve already named it.”

“First thing was the name, Jenkins. Took three years of R&D. Cost the Pentagon four billion.”

“And the actual craft?”

“Like, a week. Used the parts from an old crop duster.”

“Can’t tell, sir.”

“Fine machine, Jenkins. Heroic. You look like Krishna on his chariot. Would we know who Steve McQueen is?”

“I think it’s the mid-60’s, so we would.”

“Wonderful. You look like Steve McQueen.”

“Thank you, sir. May I ask you some questions about the monstrosity?”

“Whirleybird!”

“Whirleybird, sir.”

“Shoot. But don’t actually shoot. The recoil will send you tumbling into the blades.”

“Important note, sir. Thank you. First question.”

“Listening.”

“Why?”

“Oh, blast everyone’s eyes but mine! How dare you cower in the face of the future, Jenkins! This is the next step forward! But, you know, don’t actually step forward.”

“Yes, sir.”

“The Whirleybird is the logical evolution of warfare, Jenkins. First we had the horse, and then the tank, and now we have this. Logical.”

“Second question.”

“Yes, yes.”

“How do I steer it?”

“With vigor.”

“I meant practically.”

“Isn’t there a joystick?”

“There is not, sir.”

“Perhaps some form of telepathic linking device? Do you see something that looks like a colander with wires attached to it?”

“No, sir.”

“Did you look everywhere?”

“I did, sir. Not much room for a psychic helmet to hide up here.”

“Have you tried voice commands?”

“I have not, sir.”

“Well, then, why are you bothering me if you haven’t exhausted all your searching yet?”

…

“Well?”

“You’re serious.”

“I’m as serious as you are Jenkins, Jenkins.”

“Yes, sir. Ahem. Go right!”

…

“Right!”

“Try saying starboard. Maybe the Navy programmed it.”

“Yes, sir. Starboard!”

“I think I saw it move.”

“It didn’t, sir. The Whirleybird is not voice-activated.”

“Slight design flaw. Adapt and overcome, Jenkins.”

“I’d really like to, sir, but I’m just not sure how I’m going to make this one work. Assuming I do get it moving, then what comes next?”

“Winning the war.”

“By myself?”

“I’ll take the credit.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Can you imagine the look on Charlie’s face when he sees you in this?”

“Yes, sir. He’ll have one eye closed in concentration and the other pressed up against his rifle.”

“Poppycock. That cock is the poppiest.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Charlie will fear you. He may even worship you as a god. You know these people: show them something shiny, and they call it God.”

“I think they’re Buddhists, sir.”

“And you’ll send them to meet the fat bastard.”

“Yes, sir. Sir?”

“Damn your inquisitiveness and self-preservation! What is it?”

“You want me to kill the enemy with this thing, right?”

“I want you to kill the enemy with everything, Jenkins. It’s a war. Use your little hat for all I care.”

“Yes, sir. But with what? Where are the weapons?”

“The mind is the most lethal weapon, Jenkins.”

“Are you saying I should headbutt the Viet Cong, sir?”

“If you can. Or your incendiary bombs.”

“My incendiary bombs?”

“The four of them. Out on the stalk-y things.”

“Those are fuel tanks, sir.”

“Fuel tanks, incendiary bombs. Same thing. Only difference is whether it’s being thrown at you.”

“Sir, if I drop my fuel tanks on the enemy, then I won’t have any fuel.”

“Hmm. Excellent note. Ah!”

“Oh, no.”

“We’ll have the boys rig you up a backpack.”

“I’m going to wear the fuel? Standing out here in the open?”

“Jenkins, you go to war with the Whirleybird you have, not the Whirleybird you want.”

“Yes, you do, sir. It’s called a helicopter. Why don’t we just use a helicopter?”

“I’m not speaking to the Air Cavalry at the moment.”

“Why?”

“They know what they did.”

“Oh, sir.”