was good enough for me to see the blistering and burns on my cheeks. The cockpit fire had singed my eyebrows and eyelashes as well. At the time of the explosion I’d thought half my face had melted away. I had gotten off lucky.
As the sky slowly darkened, I was about to experience one of the greatest frustrations of my ordeal. I wanted to move as quickly as possible—hoof it all the way to the Adriatic Sea and find a boat back to Italy, if necessary. But because I was surrounded by hostile forces, I knew I had to move in slow motion. One jerky movement, one careless act of littering, one broken twig—any of those could give me away in an instant. I needed to be aware of my every movement, think several steps in advance, then check for errors once Fd made a move.
I knew from my survival training that night was the best time to travel. Even so, my safety wasn’t guaranteed. Maybe the Serbs were stationed around the woods or had night vision goggles. I was particularly nervous about making any unnecessary noise, which can be heard farther away at night than in daytime. If I had to redesign the air force’s survival vest, I would eliminate all Velcro.No matter how carefully I opened a pocket of my vest, you could hear the sound halfway to China.
The air was cooling rapidly now. With regret I remembered the flight jacket I’d left hanging in my locker. I was getting hungry, too, and wished that lunch had been more than a few bites of pizza. To lift my spirits, I touched the little silver cross around my neck. It was an unusual and beautiful piece of jewelry—a small dove perched in the middle of a cross. My sister, Stacy, had given it to me as a present when I finished pilot training. I considered the cross a symbol of my faith and never took it off my neck. Closing my eyes, I said another prayer, asking God to get me through these difficult times. Somehow, I knew He would. Nothing could have been worse than the last six hours. If He had spared me from harm so far, my faith told me He would continue to keep me safe.
I usually carried a medal of St. Christopher—the patron saint of travelers—in my flight suit pocket, but Fd left that in my locker, too, along with my wallet. I glanced down at the Rolex watch, the present from my father. I knew what would happen if I was captured. The Rolex would be gone in a wink … a nice little war souvenir for somebody. I was determined that would never happen. Nobody was going to capture me.
I began to think of my goals. The first was to survive.The second was to evade the enemy. The third was to make radio contact and get myself rescued. I knew that survival didn’t always mean evading the enemy. If you were seriously hurt and were going to die without prompt medical attention, it was your duty to turn yourself over to your enemy if that was the only person who could care for you. You owed it to yourself and your nation to survive. When you were healthy again, then you would try to escape.
But I
was
healthy, and I was determined to evade the enemy. I remembered the motto of our Thirty-first Fighter Wing at Aviano. The Thirty-first was a proud group, with a remarkable history of wars and battles to its credit, including many stories of prisoners of war. The motto of the Thirty-first was simple and, in my circumstances, straight to the point. They were the words written on our insignia shield, just under the winged dragon: “Return with Honor.” That was exactly what I intended to do.
Midnight passed before I finally made my move. There was no moon and only a handful of stars. A dark night.
Good for avoiding the enemy,
I thought.
Not so good for navigating.
Slowly and quietly, I slipped out of my harness, and along with the Ziploc bag that had held my radio, I left everything in a pile. The locals would easily find the gear, but by then I would be long gone. Thiswould be the only time I would leave anything behind, even the smallest piece of trash. I kept on my G suit for the
As the sky slowly darkened, I was about to experience one of the greatest frustrations of my ordeal. I wanted to move as quickly as possible—hoof it all the way to the Adriatic Sea and find a boat back to Italy, if necessary. But because I was surrounded by hostile forces, I knew I had to move in slow motion. One jerky movement, one careless act of littering, one broken twig—any of those could give me away in an instant. I needed to be aware of my every movement, think several steps in advance, then check for errors once Fd made a move.
I knew from my survival training that night was the best time to travel. Even so, my safety wasn’t guaranteed. Maybe the Serbs were stationed around the woods or had night vision goggles. I was particularly nervous about making any unnecessary noise, which can be heard farther away at night than in daytime. If I had to redesign the air force’s survival vest, I would eliminate all Velcro.No matter how carefully I opened a pocket of my vest, you could hear the sound halfway to China.
The air was cooling rapidly now. With regret I remembered the flight jacket I’d left hanging in my locker. I was getting hungry, too, and wished that lunch had been more than a few bites of pizza. To lift my spirits, I touched the little silver cross around my neck. It was an unusual and beautiful piece of jewelry—a small dove perched in the middle of a cross. My sister, Stacy, had given it to me as a present when I finished pilot training. I considered the cross a symbol of my faith and never took it off my neck. Closing my eyes, I said another prayer, asking God to get me through these difficult times. Somehow, I knew He would. Nothing could have been worse than the last six hours. If He had spared me from harm so far, my faith told me He would continue to keep me safe.
I usually carried a medal of St. Christopher—the patron saint of travelers—in my flight suit pocket, but Fd left that in my locker, too, along with my wallet. I glanced down at the Rolex watch, the present from my father. I knew what would happen if I was captured. The Rolex would be gone in a wink … a nice little war souvenir for somebody. I was determined that would never happen. Nobody was going to capture me.
I began to think of my goals. The first was to survive.The second was to evade the enemy. The third was to make radio contact and get myself rescued. I knew that survival didn’t always mean evading the enemy. If you were seriously hurt and were going to die without prompt medical attention, it was your duty to turn yourself over to your enemy if that was the only person who could care for you. You owed it to yourself and your nation to survive. When you were healthy again, then you would try to escape.
But I
was
healthy, and I was determined to evade the enemy. I remembered the motto of our Thirty-first Fighter Wing at Aviano. The Thirty-first was a proud group, with a remarkable history of wars and battles to its credit, including many stories of prisoners of war. The motto of the Thirty-first was simple and, in my circumstances, straight to the point. They were the words written on our insignia shield, just under the winged dragon: “Return with Honor.” That was exactly what I intended to do.
Midnight passed before I finally made my move. There was no moon and only a handful of stars. A dark night.
Good for avoiding the enemy,
I thought.
Not so good for navigating.
Slowly and quietly, I slipped out of my harness, and along with the Ziploc bag that had held my radio, I left everything in a pile. The locals would easily find the gear, but by then I would be long gone. Thiswould be the only time I would leave anything behind, even the smallest piece of trash. I kept on my G suit for the
Similar Books
