rumitoid wrote:
Thank you, but it does not help. I could have easily asked to be re-assigned: I was 11C. My expertise in mortars may have saved lives, our brothers. Yet I never said a word. How much blood is on my hands?
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Rumi,
Your feelings are not unusual. In fact, they're rather common. We often think back to the episode and conjure-up several different scenarios, wondering if any of them would've resulted in a different outcome. Unfortunately, my friend, none of the different scenarios could change the reality of the outcome. We can't return to those times and do things different. It's a physical impossibility to travel back in time. Besides, why relive the horror and sadness on those times, when our memories can take us back anytime we want to go?
I, too, have an episode in my Naval career, that I wish could've turned out different. I, too, have had "survivors remorse" over the event that ended my naval career.
As I don't have permission to name names, I'll just use their first names. Pete was my "stick," my "driver," my "front-seater," my pilot. He'd taken a very raw, yet eager young RIO, and agreed to let this youngster sit in his "backseat." We flew several missions before the one that ended our partnership and our friendship.
We were patrolling out from the USS Midway, searching for some bogies that had been spotted. Our radar had picked up a couple of blips close to the NV coast. Pete decided we'd take a loser look. So, we, along with our wingman, kicked-in the burners for a look-see. As soon as we got to the coast, we spotted 2 MiG-21's and gave chase. The MiGs were almost in the carpet and we were at 25,000 feet. The MiGs pulled up to meet us, or so we thought, then abruptly banked left, dived back down and took off like a bat outa hell.
It wasn't 2 seconds later, our "incoming" alarms went off. We'd been locked onto by a SAM battery. My scope showed the SAM headed our way. Both our planes headed back out to sea as fast as we could go., burners in overdrive.
Pete told me that he was going to slow a bit to allow our "Wingie" to take the lead. Doing this would put the SAM on us and not on our wingie. I "rogered that." Slowing down allowed the SAM to gain on us but gave our wingman time to separate from us.
As the SAM approached from below our 6:00, we knew that we didn't have much time for evasive maneuvers before it would overtake us. So, Pete tried some barrel-rolls, breaking left, then right. Nothing worked so we just tried to time our ejection so that the SAM would stay locked on us.
Just prior to impact, Pete told me to push the "DAE" (dual automatic ejection) button on my console. This button allows both, the pilot and the RIO, to eject together. "Together" in this case is a misnomer. The way the seats are configured to eject push the backseat out first. Then, about a second and a third later, the pilot's seat ejects. This way, the pilot's seat can't intefere with the backseat ejection.
This time difference is also what cost Pete his life and saved mine. With the SAM about 200 yards away, following orders, I pushed the DAE button. Instantly, my canopy flew away and I began my ejection. As I cleared the aircraft,I looked down to watch Pete's ejection. I saw him in his seat, ready to eject. I saw the SAM explode inside the nose of the aircraft just as Pete began his ejection. There was a straight line from me, outside the aircraft about 100+ feet or so, to Pete in his seat, to the explosion. I'd say that the explosion occurred as his butt was even with the edge of the cockpit. Because if the alignment of the SAM, Pete and me, his body and seat shielded me from most if the explosion.
The force of the blast tore-off the nose of the aircraft, all the away back to where my seat had been located. Nothing was left of the plane's nose, cockpit, or Pete, or his seat. It was like everything had been vaporized. What was left of the plane nosed over, began spinning, and was lost out of sight.
Bear in mind, all of this happened while still in sight on the NV coast. My back felt like it was on fire, I was bleeding from wounds received when the SAM hit the aircraft, I was in shock from watching my pilot and friend literally disappear in front if my eyes, I was mad, and I was scared.
As I drifted back toward land, the winds carried me toward the coast; the last place I wanted to go. I prayed to God and I cussed Him out, asking Him why He'd allow Pete to die and me to end up in an NVA POW camp.
I was concerned about being wounded worse that what I could see and feel and hoped that our ASR folks wouldn't be too late to save my butt. I landed just off shore and was out of my chute PDQ. I began to swim to shore and noticed several people running along the shore. They didn't look like they were friendlies, either.
About that time, I saw the people on shore shooting. I thought they were shooting at me and dived under the water. I might have been about 200-250 feet from shore by then. Then, I realized they weren't shooting at me, but at something behind me as there were no bullets landing around me. I surfaced, turned around, and saw a couple of Huey's; one an Army gunship and the other, a naval chopper, had a rope it was lowering to me. A sailor jumped into the water to assist me with the harness. Then, he and I were raised out of the water.
Unfortunately, 2 people, h*****g in a rope, make too tempting a target, to be
ignored. We started drawing fire. The navy man who'd helped me was hit in his leg. I lost my hold on the harness and fell back into the water. Somehow, I landed on a sandbar, about 4 feet beneath the surface. I stood up, yelled for a weapon, and was tossed an M-16. From my position, I was able to return fire and knocked out 3 of the enemy on shore.
By then, the gunship had pretty much suppressed the remaining fire. Another harness was lowered to me and I was taken aboard the Huey and returned to the Midway.
Rumi, I told you my story to let you know that I went for weeks mourning the loss of my friend and pilot, Pete. I went through scenario after scenario, wondering IF, I'd done this differently, or did that differently, could my friend still be alive. Finally, I came to realize that no matter how much I dwelled on it, nothing would or could bring my friend back. What's done is done. Sure, if I could've changed something, I'd done it, in a heartbeat. But, I can't.
It's not in God's plan for us to question what happens, especially if the series of events and their circumstances won't allow us to. Think about it. What can you do, today, that could "fix" the situation that now bothers you? There's nothing you can do, my friend; absolutely nothing. Except, you can honor those guys by living your life to its fullest. Would any of them tell you that their deaths were your fault and that you had to blame yourself for their dying for the rest of your lives? Somehow, I seriously doubt it. No US soldier, worth a tinkers damn, would ask that of his comrade-in-arms.
The military members I've been around, to a man/woman, would tell anyone that blamed themself for the death of their buddy to forget about it. It's not honoring their memories to put yourself to blame. You did the job you were assigned to do. It's not your fault that you weren't along side of them when their time came.
If you want to make yourself feel better about the deaths of your friends, then, use your writing sk**ls and write some stories about the exploites of your friends. Tell the world how brave and honorable your friends were and how blessed you were to have been allowed to have been a part of their lives, if even for a little while.
That's how I honor Pete. And, I know Pete's okay with that.