I had to admit he was right. I had been coasting lately. My career started off well enough. I was Honor Grad out of Lackland. Distinguished graduate, at technical school. As a candidate for AWACS school, I was sent to SERE (Survival Evasion Resistance and Escape) training which I passed with high marks. Because of my diminutive stature, just about all of my instructors expected me to wash out. Sadly during SERE school the Air Force pulled AWACS from my career field, and sent me on to my first duty station. I am a mighty 27650"c." For the record it should be known the "C" shred-out (aka crap shred-out) of my career field it sucks swamp water, and this Florida boy knows a thing or two about swamp water. Our career field had it all: ancient equipment, crappy assignments, and almost no recognition. If that wasn't bad enough we were deploying every month and a half. My goal had been to complete my last year in this German hell hole, then next year I would rotate back to the States for my last year and a half. After that I hadn't thought much about my future, I just wanted the hell out of the Air Force. When the major finished his briefing he asked Sasquatch and Nessa to leave the room and close the door behind them. "Jono, I almost said no to your going. Your attitude as of late has sucked. The fact that you volunteered told me something. Little guy I wish I had a squadron of Airmen like you. You got screwed by the system. There are times Jono when that happens, it sucks, but it happens. What you have to do is take advantage of those opportunities that do present themselves. You have a bright future and I am grateful that you're stepping up to the plate again. I am going to ask that you leave the attitude behind in your dorm room. With that we have to have a new conversation."
"You're part of the base Intel staff and I have to give you an additional briefing. Bring your teammates up to speed at Rhein-Main. Tensions between Saudi Arabia and Yemen are escalating again. The Soviets are giving Yemen additional weapons systems, rumor has it they will be selling them the MI-25 helicopter. NATO and the United States are now doing the same for Saudi Arabia. I'll be sending a mission brief to the team leader letting them know about your linguistic intrepidity and your strong ties to the region. I hope they can put your skills to good use, the last thing we need is another brush fire." I asked the major what type of systems the US was sending. "Jono, we're selling the Saudis fighters, radar systems, and AWACS aircraft." My head dropped. The major put his hand on my shoulder and continued, "I know little buddy, hang in there. Who knows maybe they'll cross certify you while you're in country. Don't count on that, it is not likely to occur." I nodded as he continued, "What we are selling them is a lot of TPS-43E radar mobile TAC systems. There's a very good likelihood that we will also be selling them a Message Processing Center (MPC.) You're my chameleon, if the Saudi's buy one, how fast do you think you could get certified on the MPC with factory rep assistance?" I told him likely less than five days because of the shared common systems. "I kind of figured that would be the case. Jono, you're going to love this posting. Hell son, I wish I could go with you guys. Look out after your teammates especially Nessa. HQ USAFE has sent a mission brief on the Intel available for this deployment. Read the contents of this file and be ready to brief all those deploying. You can use my office to prepare, remember not everyone has your security clearance be ready to brief only to the secret level. I'll try to find out who has higher clearances and leave that information for you at base operations. Now, I have to go motivate the rest of the troops for their deployment. You lucky bastard the weather looks like shit for the Stade deployment. When you're done secure the file in my safe."
We got our orders cut by 1700 (five p.m.) and we were on the road to Rhein-Main Air Base fifteen minute later. Whoever needed us in Saudi Arabia sure was in a hurry. When we arrived at base operations and I was presented with my security documents on the troops who were going with us. Only four on the team could receive the full brief. Crap, I had to give two briefings. Who the fuck needs sleep anyway. Nessa, and Sas offered to stay up with me I told them to just grab some rack time. They couldn't help me with the briefing anyway because I was the only one with the TS clearance. It made no sense having them stay awake for moral support I'll sleep on the plane. Due to our departure time, I scheduled the first for 04:30 in the morning and the second for 05:30. After I verified his security clearance level (and need to know), the base commander used his executive privilege to sit in on the top secret level briefing. Damn he was an arrogant prick; he insisted that the top-secret briefing happen at 5:30 because he didn't want to have to wake up at 0330. The final briefing let out at 6:30. The General thanked me for my time, and my brevity limiting the briefing to just the essentials. When he gave me his commander's coin he said he hoped I would consider a follow-on overseas assignment to Rhein-Main, he could use a good Intel NCO on his staff. I was polite but I knew I could never work for him. At 0700 we were in the passenger module of a C-5 Galaxy and airborne. Vanessa sat next to me for the long flight to Riyadh. We chatted about stupid things, unit gossip, and such. Then she became very serious and said she hoped we get assigned to the unit at Riyadh or Dhahran. I didn't bother to ask why, she knew everything. Several members of the flight crew noticed my jump wings, during the flight they stopped by and chatted about where I went to school and stuff. Jump wings were rare as gold on ground pounder mobile TACS grunts. As usual I was the novelty. I was invited up to the flight deck to watch the in flight refueling operation. It was kind of unusual seeing an intercept from this direction. I thanked the pilot, co-pilot, and engineer for the opportunity.
With my tour of the aircraft completed, I return to my seat Poor Sasquatch was filling his third, nope fourth, air sickness bag. How could someone in the Air Force be that airsick? Then again they had to stop the van twice on the autobahn for me the night before. Even the most unstable fixed or rotary winged aircraft or boats no problem, put me in a fast moving car, it became a one way trip to vomit central. What a picture the three of us made. Sasquatch the mountain of hair and muscle, dripping sweat all the way through his service jacket. Vanessa the short brunette, with a body that would not stop. Then there is me, the sign post with the runners butt, dressed in blue. Yep, not only short I was lean (what others called skinny.) I don't know why Vanessa always hung out with me. But she became something like an occasionally over-protective older sister/mamma stand in. She said I was one of the only "safe" guys in our squadron. Ouch, friend-zoned again. The story of my life, the hot girls always go for the jocks, not the nerds.
After almost 36 hours of consciousness, I finally nodded off thinking of how I got here... When I was 10 my folks were taking my brother Michael and I on vacation to the family campgrounds in Tishomingo, Mississippi. Mike was eighteen and about to ship out to Paris Island. This was to be our final family trip. We managed to make it fifteen minutes down the road to Niceville when a drunken college jackass crossed the center line taking out our station wagon. The drunk and I were the only ones to survive. I was thrown from the vehicle as it rolled and caught fire, he climbed out of his with only a bump on his head and passed out. I had a lot of people using the term miracle to describe my survival. Laying in the mud unable to move due to the cord shock, watching and hearing my family burn. It didn't feel like a miracle.
I died twice that day; first for a minute and a half in the ER. I died again for almost five minutes on the operating table. The trauma surgeon, Doctor Edmond Fitzgerald (Doc Fitz) wouldn't give up on me; even after the neurosurgeon told him to call it. I think he was afraid to face my Uncle. He said our family had too much loss for one day. The neurosurgeon told Doc Fitz he was being a fool. "You just condemned his family to care for a vegetable for the rest of their lives." Thankfully, I beat the odds again, the neurosurgeon was wrong. Something remarkable happened that day. Instead of losing my memory, I now remembered every moment of my life with absolute clarity from the crash forward. The painful memories that I really wanted gone, would walk with me the rest of my life. In fact, the neurologist who was assigned to the medical review board voiced concern about the possibility of future PTSD based on my "gift." Then he added if I could survive and function well after what had already happened to me it should not be an issue.
The paramedics and firefighters who worked on me at the scene became regular features at my bedside they even helped the nurses with my range of motion exercises. As the cord shock faded, they went through physical therapy with me. It was Chief Duma who touched me the most. It was he who returned my Daddy's wedding ring to me. It was all I had left of my family. I hugged the stuffing out of him. I finally got out of the hospital 8 months later, I had completed both the 5th and 6th grades from my bed (what can I say; being in the hospital was very boring). The nursing staff, and doctors, lined the halls and applauded as Doc Fitz wheeled me to the front door. My firefighters, and the officers who were first on the scene, completed the cordon of honor. Chief Duma helped me out of the chair to my walker and walked behind me as I hobbled to Uncle Jack's old Dodge.
We went home; my Uncle Jack cared for me as if I were the son he and his wife couldn't have. When I was a baby his wife died in child birth. He was so heartbroken he never remarried. He counted on Mike and I to take over the family's ranch. Eventually he adopted me and gave me the Banks name. I knew it was wrong under Muslim law for him to take my father's name from me. He told me I was now Baptist and the laws of tribal goat herders did not apply. As happy as we were, even that was not to be. We were only together for just over 2 years when Jack was diagnosed with stage four cancer of the lung and pancreas. A couple months later he too was gone.
The local news ran my story. "My" hero firefighters came and loaded his casket onto their ladder truck for the ride to be buried, between his wife and daughter, and my parents and brother.
After just two years and six months of hospital and outpatient therapy, I was able to walk without assistance, just in time to bury him. Chief Duma and Doc Fitz were standing beside me when he was lowered into the ground. I was alone in the world at the ripe old age of thirteen. The Chief and the Doc tried to tell me how fortunate I was just to be alive, and something good had to come from this pain. I had been the recipient of many miracles since the crash. I couldn't see any miracle. I was standing in the middle of the graves belonging to the people I loved the most. All I knew was I had to live for them.
