Homeward bound

Last May, as I stood in the rear of the "Hanoi Taxi" [see "To Hanoi and Back," page 26] with two flag-draped coffins at my feet, I wondered if the two men we were taking home after nearly three decades knew the United States would never forget them. I wondered if, while they were fighting in Vietnam, they feared people back home had forgotten them. And then I thought about how Airmen at war today must feel.

When I've been far away for long periods, having faith that the people I left behind were still with me, no matter bow distant in time and place, helped me through some of the toughest times of my career.

My experiences have always been under the best of circumstances compared to those serving in hostile environments. When I was stationed in Greece, the island of Crete isolated me in some ways, but the faces that surrounded me were always friendly. I never considered my service there a sacrifice.

Today's Airmen live in a different world and serve in a different Air Force from that of the '80s and '90s. The days of not considering dangerous deployments as a likely part of our careers have come and gone. Today, it's just a matter of time before an Airman serves in lands more austere, foreign and hostile toward Americans than any they can imagine. It's these times when faith is the most important thing they carry with them.

Religious faith is every servicemember's choice. It's neither a requirement nor a qualification for going to war. But having faith in America, your comrades in arms and yourself is as essential in war as bullets and bravery.

When I received the call telling me I would document Maj. Gen. Ed Mechenbier's return to Vietnam--where he spent nearly six years as a prisoner of war--I was excited. I immediately started imagining the compelling photos I might take if everything fell together. Sure, I thought the story was great, and I was glad to see a hero was being recognized, but I immediately became focused on what I saw as a professional opportunity that might never come again. I was obsessed with making sure I got the shots.

Like most things that seem too good to be true, this dream assignment quickly fell apart. By day three of the trip, my photographic opportunities looked bleak. There would be no trip to the Hanoi Hilton, and we would be lucky to spend more than four hours "in country."

For the next four days, I bemoaned my bad luck and tried to think of how I could still come home with a decent picture-story of the mission and the general's experience. I'd read about the repatriation of Americans, but it was difficult to let go of my initial thoughts on how I would cover the story. Despite General Mechenbier's reminders to everyone that our most important reason for being there was for the men who made the ultimate sacrifice, I still privately lamented my misfortune. If there was ever an example of someone missing the point, it was me. Soon the perspective I lacked from day one came into focus.

When I witnessed the signing over of the remains from the Vietnamese to an American officer, I realized the magnitude and importance of what was happening. I understood. I knew I hadn't been given an opportunity; I'd been given the honor of being part of a team that would fly thousands of miles, wade through diplomatic bureaucracy, trudge through jungles in unimaginable heat, and most importantly, would never fail to remember what the two men who lie before me had given lot their country.

By the time I made my way to the back of the aircraft, I was overwhelmed with pride for being part of the mission.

As aircraft maintainers quickly prepared for the flight back to American soil, I took the day's final photos of the two flag-covered caskets and then paused for a moment before finding my seat. I reached down and touched the flags that cradled the two men like a country embracing long lost sons, and I said to them, "Welcome home. We never forgot you."

COPYRIGHT 2004 U.S. Air Force, Air Force News Agency
COPYRIGHT 2004 Gale Group