Depending entirely on your perspective, rules and regulations can be a curse or a blessing. Ask anyone who has served in the military what he or she thinks about rules and regulations and you will get responses that are as diversified as the people you question. Some find sanctity and security in them while others are foiled and frustrated. Some find refuge while others find opportunity for creativity and innovation. So, in late 1969, when the regulations of Marine Aircraft Group 16 required its helicopter pilots to be issued a sidearm in the form of a .38 cal. S&W Airweight revolver, it set the stage for some very creative innovation. Here's one story as I remember it...

     First of all, bear in mind that even though we young lieutenants were a long way from being wiley, crafty combat veterans, most of us were college graduates and were certainly smart enough to recognize the Airweight for what it really was, i.e., worthless. With a 1 inch barrel, a five shot cylinder, an aluminum frame, and 10 issued rounds, it inspired ZERO confidence. Scuttlebutt had it that the pistol had been produced to meet some long forgotten Air Force requirement. Eventually the Air Force realized what a loser they had acquired, declared the Airweight surplus, and scheduled them for destruction. Enter at this point, some enterprising Marine Corps supply type who essentially said, "Hey, don't melt those things down. We'll take them off your hands and issue them to our helicopter pilots!" After all, technically at least, they were weapons, they were lightweight, and they were free! Nonetheless, we all knew that the Airweight was quite useless. Even the sexy leather shoulder holster that came with it didn't change that.

     Of course, most of us also knew the grim reality that if we, as aviators, ever got ourselves into a position where we were pulling the triggers of sidearms instead of pulling collective pitch in our helicopters, we would be in some really deep doo-doo. Believe me, we realized we were much better off in a cockpit instead of a foxhole. That realization notwithstanding, most of us turned to our own devices and tried to buy, trade, or steal ourselves some sort of weapon we could be happier with. Essentially, we tried to circumvent the regulations, to "improvise, overcome, and adapt."

     M16s were easy to get. Whenever we medivaced a wounded Marine from the field, his gear, including his rifle, was loaded on board with him. The receiving aid stations were supposed to take custody of the gear, and through some arcane administrative process, see that it was processed back to the grunts for reissue. However, they never asked any questions if there was no rifle dropped off and sometimes they even refused to accept the gear. A corpsman once told me that the medical folks didn't want to hassle with that stuff in the first place. And, in the second place, they often didn't have the room for it. Accordingly, "Mouse Guns" were floating around everywhere.

     One of my hootchmates who flew CH-46s in a sister squadron told me his squadron armory had so many spare (read "unauthorized") M16s that they filled up 3 or 4 55gal oil drums with them and dropped them into the South China Sea. They weren't a total waste though. The oil drums were sealed so they would float and were used as targets to train new gunners for the side mounted .50 cals the CH-46 carried. (Those .50 cals will go down in history as one of the greatest guns of all times. God bless John Browning.)

     In addition to M16s, there were shotguns, cut down M2 carbines, and a few Thompsons of the M1A1 variety. Strangely enough, our squadron armory even had some M3 grease guns available for mission by mission check out. Apparently, they were authorized equipment, but I never saw anybody with one. Toward the end of my tour, some of those short, little XM177s began to appear and a few of the guys managed to get ahold of them. They were pretty impressive and very sinister looking. However, by far the most intriguing and exotic weapon to appear on the scene around the "Peach Orchard" (Our squadron call sign was "Peachbush") was something the owner told us was a "Swedish K". It really was a lovely piece of work. With a tubular receiver, a pistol grip, a barrel with a perforated jacket around it, and a straight 30 round magazine, it fired the 9mm Parabellum and was about 22 inches long with the wire stock folded up. When we first saw it and asked what it was, the owner smugly replied, "This is a Swedish K, perhaps one of the finest and most highly regarded submachine guns in the world." Almost to a man our replies were "No Sh*t". After that was said, the more we saw of it the more we lusted after it. It looked like something James Bond would use to dispatch a casino full of evil international criminals. None of us wanted to admit it but we were jealous.

     The owner, a senior co-pilot about to make HAC, (Helicopter Aircraft Commander) was a pompous sort and not very popular with the rest of the guys. He knew we were jealous and he enjoyed it immensely. He wouldn't answer any questions about where it came from, how he got it, or how any of us could get one. We suspected he had worked a deal with some of the Air America pilots we occasionally encountered in our AO. We had seen some of them walking around with Uzi’s and everybody knew they were connected with the CIA. However, the owner resolutely maintained his silence and took perverse pleasure in the admiring looks his "Swedish K" attracted from all who laid eyes on it.

     I don't recall ever hearing anything for certain about the source of the "Swedish K", but before too long word began to filter out about other aspects of the mystery. Secrets are notoriously hard to keep when you share a hooch with 3 or 4 other guys 24 hours a day, for a full year. Privacy is non-existent. No doubt the hootchmates were the sources of the information that began to work its way around the squadron.

     The word had it that the owner had paid $500 for the weapon plus $50 apiece for three extra magazines. Then, with $650 invested in the machinery, he was faced with the ammunition question. Apparently the sellers didn't include any ammunition as part of the sale, and there wasn't any 9mm in the supply system. Undaunted, he turned to the Special Forces who had a position just south of Marble Mountain. Seems that the boys in the Green Berets had some 9mm stuff for sale. It was late WWII vintage with lacquered steel cases, made by the Germans when brass got in short supply and they wanted one U.S. dollar per round. They got it. We heard that he bought 300 rounds.

     As I said, the so-called "Swedish K" was undeniably a lovely piece of work. But consider that the owner had almost $1,000 invested in the thing. And, $1,000 was no small sum in those days. Nonetheless, he apparently thought it was worth the price. Furthermore, there was no denying that it did indeed look studly hanging by its sling over the corner of his armored seat.

     There was one unfortunate fly in the ointment...he had never fired the thing. When you have a toy like the "Swedish K", you have to play with it, right? What's the use of having "one of the finest and most highly regarded submachine guns in the world" if you don't get to shoot it? So, to that end, he began to hatch a plan. Shortly after making HAC his plan began to materialize. Here's what reportedly happened...

     One day, while flying as wingman on a recon mission he went down into the pickup zone for the routine extraction of a team. As briefed, the extract was cold with no hostile fire encountered. After the crew chief told him the entire team was aboard, he turned to his copilot and told him to take the controls and fly them out. He had stood it as long as could stand it. He just had to shoot it. As the copilot flew them out, the owner took his prized possession, poked the muzzle out of his side window and sprayed the vegetation below with 9mm slugs. It was so much fun that he inserted another magazine and cut loose with it too. His plan had come together. Finally, he was getting to shoot his "Swedish K". However, the plan had one glaring flaw, he had not told anyone else what he was going to do. No doubt, in his arrogance, he didn't think he had to. He was, after all, the aircraft commander!!!

     The copilot was NIC (new in country), therefore very inexperienced and had already established something of a reputation as a nervous sort. Without a clue as to what was about to happen, he was concentrating very hard on flying the aircraft when the air was suddenly filled with the noises of automatic gunfire and the rattle of hot steel cases bouncing around the cockpit. It scared the blazes out of the poor guy. In a heartbeat, he screamed over the radio to the escorting gunbirds and told them they were taking fire. Simultaneously, he pulled the collective into his armpit and began to lose rotor RPMs (the only thing that keeps a helicopter in the sky).

     The poor crew chief was standing in the crew door looking down and back at the terrain they were leaving. His head was no more than three feet away from the muzzle of the submachine gun when it began to fire. He just about jumped out of his flight suit. Split seconds later he heard the copilot's shout about taking fire, and felt the aircraft begin to settle as a result of the decaying rotor RPMs. Thinking they had taken hits and were going down for sure, he pivoted and thrust himself into the cockpit to check out the pilots. Unfortunately, he slipped on some of the ejected 9mm cases, fell and cracked his knee quite painfully.

     Now, in addition to all that chaos in the cockpit, the recon team sitting in the back of the bird but not plugged in to the intercom, heard and saw the commotion and didn't know what to think. (What thoughts they had were no doubt somewhat uncomplimentary of the wing wipers.) The side gunners who had heard everything over their intercoms, were crouched over their .50s looking for muzzle flashes to shoot back at, and the escorting gunbirds were frantically searching for someone or something to shoot at in order to suppress the fire they believed was directed at the CH-46. It was one giant cluster....!

     Anyway, in short order, the shooter realized something had gone wrong with his plan. He put down his still smoking weapon, took control of the aircraft, and flew everybody safely back to DaNang. As an element of calm returned to the situation, he sheepishly reported to his section leader and to the gunbirds that there had been a mistake. There had been no groundfire, just a rookie copilot who got a little too excited. He made no attempt to apologize to those on his aircraft for the confusion and chaos he had created and, in fact, criticized them for overreacting to the situation. Not surprisingly, they began to do a slow burn...they were steamed!!!

     Back at Marble Mountain the copilot and the crew chief were still fuming. They began to talk it over and got even more agitated. They stormed into the maintenance officer, told him what had happened and expressed concerns about the safety of such irresponsible actions. They were especially concerned that some of the spent shell casings could have fallen down into the chin bubble area and jammed the rudder pedals. The maintenance officer agreed. Together, they all went to see the XO. After hearing the story, he agreed and they all went to see the CO. The CO, who was a man without much humor, listened and agreed completely. No way he was going to put up with such foolishness in his squadron!!! He called in the owner of the "Swedish K", stood him at attention and for half an hour, chewed him up one side and down the other. He was given 5 days to get rid of that blankety-blanked piece of unauthorized you know what or what was left of his butt as well as his questionable career would be dead meat.

     Of course, the word spread like wildfire throughout the squadrons. Within an amazingly short time, the entire Group had heard about it. The "Swedish K", "perhaps one of the finest and most highly regarded submachine guns in the world", immediately became a huge, career threatening liability. Only the day before, we had all coveted it, now it was cursed. We heard that the offending owner tried to sell it but of course, no one was interested. There were no buyers. Not only could he not find anyone to buy it, scuttlebutt said that he almost couldn't give it away. Eventually he found someone to take it off his hands. I never heard who the new owner was but we all heard on good authority (probably the hootchmates again) that he did in fact, have to GIVE it away. So, there went his thousand dollars...right down the tubes.

     You might think that the combination of losing the thousand dollars and being chewed out by the CO, would provide enough embarrassment to effect a change in that particular individual. After all, he had career aspirations. WRONG...he continued to maintain a well-deserved reputation as a pompous, stuffed shirt, full of self-importance and conceit, disliked by copilots and crew chiefs alike. He retired a lieutenant colonel.

      One thing about the "Swedish K" always puzzled me. If it was really one of the finest and was really so highly regarded, how come I had never of it before? As a student of military history and weaponry, I was fairly familiar with the world's submachine guns. But the Swedish K was a complete unknown. After my tour was over and I rotated back to "the world", I consulted my copy of "Small Arms of the World". I found it. However, it was identified as the Swedish M45 model made at the Carl Guvstafstad factory. There was nothing in the description even remotely similar to the term "Swedish K". It said that the weapon had also been produced in Egypt where it was known as the "Port Said" model. So, where did Swedish K come from? Who knows? And if it truly was one of the finest and so highly regarded, how come Sweden and Egypt were the only countries to use it? Again, who knows? Any suggestions???