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by Staff Sgt. Jason Tudor
photos by Tech. Sgt. John E. Lasky On the wings of a C-17 Globemaster III and the shoulders of its 12-man crew rested 30 years of unfinished work demanded from people like Ann Mills Griffiths.
She has locked horns for more than 23 years with officials from the DMZ to D.C. Griffiths is the executive director of the National League of POW/MIA Families in Washington, D.C. She is also the sister of someone who is missing in action — Navy Reserve Lt. James Mills whose plane was shot down in 1966.
Griffiths and the C-17 crew that flew from McChord Air Force Base, Wash., to Hanoi, Vietnam, in December have a similar charge.
She wants full accounting of those who served in Southeast Asia and never came back.
The crew wanted to fly them home.
And for those airmen, these were not simply remains. They were Americans. The flight home was one step toward bringing peace of mind to Griffiths and the mothers, fathers, wives, sons and daughters she represents.
“Peace of mind is much better than closure,” she said.
Long day’s journey
Before the mission started, however, it stopped. The first C-17 detailed for the trip could not fly. The crew was told to bag drag its way over to the Air Force’s newest Globemaster with only 40 hours of flight time for the 22,744-mile repatriation mission.
Its McChord complement included three pilots, three loadmasters and a crew chief from the Air Force Reserve’s 728th Airlift Squadron. Also aboard were four assorted security forces members who guarded more than 30,000 pounds of cargo and a purser.
The cops were Phoenix Ravens. The Air Force details Ravens to provide cargo and passenger security aboard airlifting aircraft. They also serve as air marshals for the 30 passengers.
Tech. Sgt. D.J. Schmitt was the Ravens’ leader. Four of his uncles served during the Vietnam War, so he is tied to this mission. He said the Ravens’ role and visibility has increased since the Sept. 11 incidents.
“This airplane is a symbol of us. Terrorists know that. Anything that’s done to hurt us would be good for them,” said the guardsman from Minnesota.
Maj. Richard “Mongo” Price, a barrel-chested former Marine aviator, flew as a co-pilot for the mission. Price brought home six fellow Marines on a previous repatriation mission. He said an event like this is difficult to put into words.
“It means a hell of a lot to me,” he said. “It’s very emotional.”
After the aircraft switch, the plane was packed and sent on its way. After seven hours in the air, the Globemaster touched down at Hickam Air Force Base, Hawaii. Master Sgts. Derek Bryant, Leon Harper and Staff Sgt. Tom Emmens, the C-17’s loadmasters, unloaded the cargo. In the same shift, they loaded 50,000 pounds of Thailand-bound supplies, including six aluminum casket-like transfer cases.
After a day’s rest, the crew saddled up for the next leg.
About one hour after liftoff from Hickam, Bryant hung the Stars and Stripes from the C-17’s maintenance catwalk. It was the first visible sign of preparation for the remains.
“I took it with me to the desert. I take it everywhere we fly,” Bryant said as he attached the flag.
More than 19 hours after leaving Hickam, the cargo jet touched down at Bangkok International Airport. The airport is home to Detachment 1 of Joint Task Force — Full Accounting, the Southeast Asia recovery operation staging area, since Air Force planes can’t park on Vietnam flight lines overnight.
After more than 23 hours of work, including a three-hour “oh dark 30” refueling stop at Andersen Air Force Base, Guam, the crew was given a two-day rest.
In Thailand, 84 weary joint task force soldiers, sailors, airmen, Marines and civilians boarded. They were rotating out of their 30-day search and recovery tour in Vietnam, and this was their ride home. But the first stop was Hanoi to pick up remains the joint task force found.
Soaring into Hanoi
During the 90-minute flight, the spit and polish began. Some shined boots. Others tidied up the jet. There was little conversation. No one could put a finger on why the mood grew more serious.
An uneasy silence gripped the crew as the jet touched down and the massive rear door of the C-17 opened to Hanoi’s gray skies, cold winds and driving rain.
The unarmed Ravens climbed out and took their posts, some standing alongside Vietnamese soldiers. The purser, Tech. Sgt. Tom Karrack, paid Vietnam officials $5,200 cash. That allowed the C-17 to park for five hours and get fuel.
The loadmasters and task force members unloaded cargo. They cleared space for the remains and set up tables for the ceremony. Most of the 84 passengers then formed up, snapped to attention and waited, daring the rain to make them falter.
Two sets of remains were brought from a small truck. Thirty years of time represented by two olive drab wooden boxes barely big enough to store a raincoat were set on a small metal table.
Following a formal handover ceremony, Tech. Sgt. Victor Dorsey, the honor guard leader, picked up the first case. With wet white gloves, he carried it to an open transfer case flanked by two other honor guardsmen and set the unidentified American inside. Dorsey raised his right hand toward his temple, his gloved fingers outstretched, and performed a slow salute.
Moments later, the two honor guards unfurled an American flag. As if on cue, the wind animated its deep-red stripes and large blue field for moments in the Vietnamese air. They lowered the free world’s symbol of hope onto the container. After a similarly slow salute, they carried the remains onto the plane. The motions were repeated for the second set of remains.
Dorsey has done this 16 times before. He plans these ceremonies and coordinates airlift effort into the area. Prideful of his work, he said these are moments he can never forget.
“There may not be a physical link between us, but we’re brothers from a different time,” the 17-year veteran said. “This lets me know my country won’t leave me behind.”
Ceremony completed, the loadmasters added four other sets of remains — brought earlier from Laos — aboard. Shortly after, the C-17 took off and started home.
The return flight to Guam took eight hours. In that time, many of the task force members in need of sleep moved to spots on the floor. As if drawn to provide comfort, some folks curled up against their fallen comrades’ transfer cases and slept for more than six hours.
Homecoming
With the first stop came another ceremony. Shortly before arriving in Guam, the crew prepared the plane for a contingent of the island’s military and civilian brass. As a U.S. territory, Guam was the remains’ first contact with American soil and the first true “welcome home.”
Shortly after touchdown, the ceremony began. As most people on the island slept, a senior Navy officer laid a large wreath atop one of the transfer cases. Somewhere in the distance, “Taps” played. Then, silence.
Burly and imposing, the C-17’s flying crew chief, Master Sgt. Robert Sidur, watched the events and cried.
“I grew up during Vietnam. Who knows? One of those people might be one of my friends,” the 48-year-old said. “This repat mission is something I had to do.”
After another night’s rest in Guam and seven more hours in the air, the plane landed at Hickam. Hawaii was the final stop for the remains. Some of the world’s top DNA detectives still needed to identify them [See “Searching for Solace,” Page 36]. It was the first step for families to find peace of mind.
As the Globemaster touched down, many realized it was Dec. 11. This “welcome home” ceremony coincided with remembrance of lives lost three months earlier. It also came four days after the Pearl Harbor 60th anniversary.
Emotions ran high. Many of the more than 600 eyes watching watered as each of the six transfer cases was carried out to a waiting bus headed for the Army’s Central Identification Laboratory.
The flight home seemed almost anti-climatic. Following a seven-hour flight to McChord, the crew completed its journey. Each crewmember had different reasons for doing this mission. They all, however, had the same feelings about the effort made to bring home their fallen comrades.
A normally reserved Maj. Tony Angello, the aircraft commander for the mission, said these events affect everyone, including him. His brother-in-law’s father, an F-105 pilot, was shot down in 1967 and is still missing.
“It would be neat if I were the one to bring him home,” the former special operations helicopter pilot said. “It’s an honor to bring anyone home, but certainly doing that would mean something to me.”
Griffiths said the military’s work has affected many of the people she represents, but warned there’s more to be done by both governments.
“The appreciation the families have for the commitment of the military people who work this issue is overwhelming. It’s not easy,” she said. “But it’s a complex political issue. The constant proclamations are great, but both governments still need to do more.
“The guys who serve in peacetime are going to look at what happened in wartime and learn,” she reminded.
A small portion of America’s unfinished work slid off the crew’s shoulders and out of the C-17. And as he walked toward McChord’s base operations building, Bryant — whose uncle served in Vietnam — breathed a sigh of relief.
“It means a lot knowing you’re bringing these guys home,” Bryant concluded. “It gives you goose bumps.” |
