UNCOMMON COURAGE

A Tribute to American Servicemen in Harm's Way

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~u~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Be strong and of a good courage, fear not, nor be afraid of them: for the LORD thy God, he it is that doth go with thee; he will not fail thee, nor forsake thee --Deuteronomy 31:6

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~u~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Enemy Territory 

As they crawled silently on their bellies through the thick, unforgiving underbrush, the two men were well aware of the billowing smoke and fire from the downed aircraft. Their minds were oblivious to the searing, relentless heat; hungry insects, and their own hunger and thirst.

They had laid motionless for hours, blending perfectly into their environment, allowing the muddy jungle floor to seep-in around their bodies, until only their eyes, noses and ears were exposed to their surroundings.

Their eyes scanned the steamy, early morning jungle for the slightest movement. Their ears listened for abnormal noises. Their noses collected short, controlled breaths of humid air and decayed vegetation.

The men were there for one reason and one reason alone: rescue a downed pilot. Dead or alive, they would not leave him to be consumed by the jungle, or captured by the enemy.

There was no verbal communication between the men--who, by now, had not slept in two days--only slight touches or signals by hand, encouraging winks or grins. They were going through hell together, as they had many times before.

Their loyalty to each other was legendary. They cared for each other. They protected each other. They laughed and cried together. Although their skin color was as different as night is to day, their blood was the same. They would die for each other without hesitation.

They were more than fellow human beings; more than mere warriors; more than brothers. They were Friends.

Almost simultaneously, the men's eyes detected a slight movement one hundred yards away to their left. The movement ceased, then repeated. Noises, familiar noises of human movement raced deceptively through the jungle undergrowth to the men's ears. Instantly, the men were motivated and assured of another life in their midst; a life other than their own.

Excited, yet they dare not move.

Still dazed from the crash of his F4 Phantom jet, and fearing that any sound he made would alert the enemy, the fighter pilot cautiously inched his way in and through the jungle floor away from the burning heap.

I am alive. I am alive, he thought, as he blurringly gazed at the smoking remains of his twisted, mangled aircraft.

And there in the midst of the savagery of war, the pilot fell to his knees for the first time, and thanked God for preserving his life.

There was no movement from the two men. They dare not follow their emotions. They must rely on their training, their experiences. While their minds screamed to establish communication with the pilot, their gut feelings demanded patience and cunning.

Their war was a war within a war; a war between right and wrong, good and evil, compassion and cruelty. Yet, they waited for the right moment; listening, watching, anticipating the enemy.

Their pulse quickened. Their breathing intensified. Their bodies surged with pent-up adrenalin.

Charlie is coming, the men thought. Charlie is coming. 

As he knelt on the jungle floor, the pilot became absorbed inside a world within a world that blended gently, softly into a euphoric, heaven-like environment, filled with cooling breezes, the laughter of children, and the faces of those he loved. He wept between deep breaths of perfumed air, slowly moving his tears away from his eyes with muddy, blood-soaked hands.

In an instant, his life had been spared through an incredible but strange series of remarkable, miraculous events. Somehow, within his blurred mind and glazed vision, he realized he was free from the raging fireball that had engulfed his body only moments before.

I am alive and free, the pilot thought. I am alive and free.

The high-speed ejection from the cockpit of his plane; the open canopy of his parachute and time standing still, randomly wandered in and out of his mind. 

From that moment on, the pilot knew he would never be the same. He now realized what it means to love and to be loved, while kneeling on a jungle floor far from home, in the hellish of hells.

A peculiar sense of calm subtly moved over the two men, as they watched the pilot weep, mumble and smile. As strange as it was, they were relieved the pilot was alive and able to move.

The two men were more animal than human. Their extensive training and experiences in war dictated nothing less. They were skilled warriors, without conscience or emotion; savage killing machines with green faces, whose primary task was to infiltrate behind enemy lines and destroy the enemy at all cost.

No regret. No remorse.

Outnumbered ten-to-one. Improvise. Adapt to any situation. Overcome and survive overwhelming odds.

When pursued by the enemy, head for the water. The enemy will not follow you into the water. 

On the outside, the men harassed and hunted the enemy with deadly precision, disrupted enemy supply lines, leveled enemy villages, appeared and disappeared into the jungle at random, and struck fear into the hearts of anyone who encountered them face to face.

A terrifying nightmare clothed in camouflage, searching for a dream.  

But now, on the inside, the men battled the glimmer of compassion entering into their souls through the windows of their eyes. No longer could they restrain the emotion thundering deep within their hearts. All of their anger, all of their love climaxed in a split-second of time.

The two men gazed at each other through tear-stained eyes; confused yet confident. The strength of their emotions embraced the constant flow of adrenalin racing, surging and pumping through their bodies.

In unison, they nodded in silent agreement: Time to move.

And there was another familiar noise to the men, just beyond the pilot and unknown to him, three hundred yards to his left.

The enemy was steadily moving; growing closer and closer to their quarry; silently, stealthfully working their way through the thick jungle to the billowing smoke that betrayed the presence of the pilot's downed aircraft.

Moments before, and with laughing eyes, they witnessed the surface-to-air missle race into the sky and slam into the fighter jet, amputating its right wing.

In awe, they watched the pilot's aircraft barrel-roll, over and over, until it erupted into a ball of fire, then plummet one thousand feet below into the jungle canopy.

They listened to the explosion, when hundreds of gallons of jet fuel awakened the silence of the early morning; sending an eruption of melting glass, red hot metal shards and rubber in all directions.      

May'bay xa nhanh! Ddi mau! yelled the enemy leader. The airplane was far away, and they would travel very fast.

This was their homeland; their territory. They knew every tree; every blade of grass; every underground tunnel; familiar and unfamiliar noises and smells. Now they were moving at flank speed to capture or kill the enemy pilot, whose bombs and missiles had relentlessly harassed them night and day.  

The two men sensed the impending danger making its way through the steamy jungle. As hungry, uncaged tigers, they covered the distance to the pilot on their hands and knees in record time.

Turning his head to his right, the pilot's mind recorded only a swift-moving, nightmarish, dark green blur, before the two men entered his peaceful environment.

The pilot struggled, but swallowed his scream, as one man clamped his mud soaked hand over the pilot's mouth, while the other man clamped his hand on the slide of the pilot's unholstered .45 caliber pistol.

No noise. No one moved. Brief silence.

With raised eyebrows, the two men grinned. The panic-stricken pilot collapsed in fear.

This is not a dream! the pilot thought. I'm going to be dragged into hell by demons with green faces! "Jesus! Jesus. Please don't forsake me," the pilot mumbled through the man's muddy hand.

"He won't," whispered one of the men.

In a moment that seemed as an eternity, the pilot closed his blurred, tear-filled eyes and prepared to die.

The two men smiled at each other, looked down at the pilot, and together whispered, "We're Americans. We're here to get you out."

We're...Americans...We're...here...to...get...you...out... were but a soft, distant echo in the pilot's mind. At first, the men's words had no meaning; they kept circulating around and around in the pilot's mind like a jigsaw puzzle, until he struggled to grasp each word and place it in its correct order.

"Americans?" "Get me out?" the pilot whispered. The two men nodded approvingly, now grinning from ear to ear.

"Americans. Thank God," whispered the pilot in a sigh of relief. 

The two men gently gathered the pilot in their protective embrace, listened intently to the oncoming rush of hundreds of enemy soldiers, then disappeared swiftly, silently with their precious cargo back into the thick, dark, muddy seep of the jungle, where they rejoined the additional five team members, whose eyes, ears and weaponry monitored the entire rescue from a short distance away.

All seven of the men took turns carrying the pilot on their backs; sharing their water, encouragement, first-aid. They ran, listened and watched, until the pilot was taken into the air, this time by a medi-vac chopper, and out of harm's way.

The pilot waved farewell, with God bless you quivering from his lips. The seven men disappeared back into the thick, dark muddy jungle.

They had rescued not just another pilot or a name on a dog-tag, but a fellow human being; a brother; a Friend.  

And the pilot would live to share his harrowing experience with those he loved the most. He would tell of his wildest nightmare and his encounter with the loving God to anyone who would listen.

He would live to share the bravery of his Friends, those scary men with green faces, whose valiant deeds and names he will never forget, but never reveal; whose uncommon courage pierced the darkness of a savage war, in a land far, far away from home.

But they that wait upon the LORD shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles; they shall run, and not be weary; and they shall walk, and not faint --Isaiah 40:31
   

Written by Bud Press

December 21, 2004

Bud Press is a Christian Investigative Researcher and the Director of Christian Research Service. As a service to the body of Christ he provides information, documentation and referral on a wide variety of issues to individuals, companies, pro-family groups, outreach ministries and the Christian news media.

© Christian Research Service 2004, 2005