It was 1977, my squadron and I were in Washington State for survival training.
It was wintertime with a foot-and-a-half of snow
Blanketing the dense forest, meant to resemble that of
Hostile enemy territory.
We parachuted
Down, down, down
Onto the dead, white wasteland and
Walked five miles until dusk
We strung our chutes up over the crackling fire
To distill the snow into drinking water,
But it tasted like smoke.
. . .
Days went by of the same routine:
Hunting, hiking, hibernating
But that cycle was soon broken once we were
Captured.
. . .
We were transported to the enemy base and thrown into
Cold, dark solitary cells
For what felt like an eternity.
Our captors allowed us no luxury of
Food, drink, or sleep
For one tortuous week.
. . .
Our stomachs growled and our mouths dried
Until our jailors shuttled us in shackles to a large room on the seventh day.
A man’s stern voice
Echoed off of the stone walls,
“Turn around and salute our flag.”
So we did.
. . .
No hammer and sickle greeted us
Instead, we saw Red, White, and Blue,
Thirteen stripes and
Fifty stars.
. . .
Tears pooled in our sleepless eyes,
And cheers erupted and echoed through the room.
I had never seen anything so beautiful.
I had never been more proud to be an American, and
I had never been more proud to be an American Airman.
