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.