POW GH2019

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 journey.

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.

The End.

That was so grim, yet uplifting also, you captured the essence of surviving there really well. I especially liked the mozzies lined up. Tiny victories like that are so much more important in such situations. At least, that's what I've been told.

a reply to: 727Sky


Excellent job. That brought many different feelings to the table.

Thanks guys for the replies. You know you are beat down when you look at a fish in a bowl or a pond and think it has a better life than you..

I flew with several of our returning POWs.. They were some of the most laid back guys you would ever meet as the real world problems were just not that big of a deal to them... "What are they gonna do send me back to Nam ?" Which in their minds was as close to hell as a living breathing person on earth can experience.

I was told by other sources that approximately 1800 of our guys were never returned as the Vietnamese wanted a couple of billion dollars for war damages.. They did the same thing with the French and the French paid to get the rest of their people back.. If true I can not imagine what those guys had to endure.. War sucks; and as I get older I realize how lucky myself and many friends have been....... and just how much war really does suck .

a reply to: 727Sky

It put me in mind of one of my great uncles, lovely bloke, built like a bear, he was a pow in Burma, never heard him talk about it, but my grandad knew and some of the hints he gave were awful.

Another old fella, was one of the EandE instructors in Hereford following his experiences after being captured on Gloster Hill in Korea.

Always thought how bloody tough they were to go through that and come out of it as calm, normal men. I'm sure I'd be a mess for ever more