posted on Jan, 6 2019 @ 12:58 AM
Being of European stock and standing a couple of inches over six feet tall I have always known that if captured by a smaller race of people and
tortured it would not be something I would look forward to.
Because you are so much bigger than your keepers they automatically think they need to apply twice as much pressure or tools during their
interrogation and cruelty to your mind and body. Knowing this I have wondered many times why I did not blow my brains out before my capture.
Both my shoulders were dislocated over the last few days by me being hung a few feet off the ground from my hands and elbows which were tied behind my
back. The good news is the coloration of my hands have changed from the dark blue and black to a swollen red texture now. Maybe I will not get
gangrene of my hands after all ? But damn everything hurts so bad the whole dying thing sounds like a welcomed relief.
I think I have had it. I just want to go home or die. Life is just not worth the effort as I can not even reach to scratch my face or try and swat the
damn mosquitoes that have figured out they are safe by attacking my ears and head.
I have no great or small military secrets as all I have ever done in the military is be a fighter pilot. My military orders are to launch/take off at
a certain time and either escort and protect the bombers or drop bombs and strafe targets designated by military intelligence located at some far away
and safe puzzle palace. The few enemy fighters who were brave enough to face me in air to air are either dead or parachuted to safety as my equipment,
if flown correctly, was always superior.
My captors know this, but it still does not seem to interfere with their enjoyment of inflicting pain and trying to break any spirit that might be
hiding in the deep recesses of my mind. I suppose the thing that keeps me breathing is my desire for revenge and if that day ever does come I can
think of all kinds of unpleasant situations for my once captors to experience. They have trained me well.
I think my captors already know I have no valuable secrets for they never ask any questions. They just devise unique and dreadful ways of breaking the
mind and body of whoever has the misfortune of being captured.
I am not sure how long after my shoulders were dislocated before I was taken to their version of a doctor. With four assistants and three guards armed
with AK-47s the doctor reset my mangled shoulders is such a painful way I threw up my last little bit of rancid rice I had eaten several hours
earlier. I was then dragged by my feet back to my cell. I think I left several yards of my skin and hide embedded in the rough concrete on the
Time passed and my shoulders started to feel much better as I could lift my arms now. The proof I was getting better was by the mosquito body count I
had arranged in a neat line along the wall of my cell. There were now 28 as I kept hoping the word would get out to the rest of the blood suckers that
I was now able to defend myself so I could get some sleep.
All the scrapes on my back and head were probably infected but after the shoulder ordeal it really was not that big of a deal.
Something is happening ? I have been taken to the beast master they call a doctor and he applied some kind of medicine to my scrapes and scratches.
A day or two passed and I was once again taken from my cell with the feeling of dread screaming in every cell of my body of what they were going to do
to me. I was surprised to see they took me outside into the sun light where other POWs were standing head down trying to avoid eye contact with our
captures. If you made eye contact it was a sign of aggression which was usually met with a club or the butt end of a rifle aimed at some tender part
of your body.
We were all herded onto military trucks and taken to an airport. There we boarded a Russian transport aircraft and were flown to the capitol's
airport. In all cases there were 4 of us seated and one armed guard. They covered our faces with rice sack hoods so seeing and talking were not even
attempted; plus the guard would have given anyone a good smack with his billy club they all carried for such opportunities/circumstances.
After the controlled crash, they called a landing our hoods were removed and we were ordered to stand up and deplane.
The blazing sun and the unbelievable heat was the first thing that got my attention but the second thing was a big beautiful C-141 with and American
flag and markings of the United States Air Force on its' side.
We were all marched/shuffled/some carried, to the 141 Star Lifter and seated. I suppose it might seem strange but even once on board there were very
few conversations between us as the reality of our present situation had not fully sunk in.
The engines were started and the crew of the C-141 taxied out for take-off . The aircraft commander made an announcement saying, “ Next stop will be
Hawaii “ …. Then the impossible finally hit me along with all the others like a lighting bolt. We were going home ! As the bird thundered down the
runway and finally became airborne an involuntary cheer escaped everyone's lips as our freedom bird was airborne and heading to the real world.