NEGATIVE OBJECTIVE

These were always the most frightening of words to hear when we were flying upcountry. Sometimes relayed by Cricket, our 7th Airborne Command Post and sometimes directly on 118.9 frequency, it was radio speak for a pilot down and no hope (or need) of rescue due to death. Negative objective was the equivalent of Extreme Unction from the priest because it was Last Sacrament time. Negative objective was an announcement that no more assets would be allocated towards the rescue. It meant Det. 1, 37th Aerospace Rescue and Recovery Squadron (ARRS) was being summarily ordered to cease and desist and their HH-53 BUFFs (Big Ugly Friendly Fellows) were to return to Long Tieng or Udorn. Negative objective was a statement of finality that also implied BNR (Body Not Recovered).  We had no Geneva Conventions Agreement with them nor they with us. Simply put, we weren’t there militarily so there were no military protocols for the occasion. This was your fate upcountry and what you volunteered for.

When David passed on October 13th, negative objective came to mind. The joy of his returning to health only to be struck down by medical mishap was almost more than we could bear.  With the passage of several weeks, the pain has subsided but not the dissatisfaction. Anger is pointless and retribution is hollow. Why anyone might think they can derive satisfaction from inflicting suffering on another has always escaped me in my sunset years. With nothing left to save, David was allowed to pass peacefully as he had become a negative objective.

Bombing the Pathet Lao back into the Stone Age at age nineteen seemed a worthy endeavour, one that gave me great personal satisfaction for a job well done. Anger didn’t arise until my friends were harmed. After that, the Pleistocene Era seemed too benign a fate for them. I look back in retrospect now and see a man I don’t recognize. I can’t explain  to a sane person today that which I felt 40 years ago. I have a hard enough time convincing myself of my own sincerity.  With age comes compassion for both sides of the equation. I do not feel comfortable with that but reason says I must to remain sane.

Unfortunately, the best seats in the house at a funeral are reserved for the family. When that honor finally befalls you, the feeling is pure dread. There is no joy in Mudville today. Mighty David has struck out. Euphemisms like letting the dead bury the dead are no panacea for easing the pain. All the kind words and hugs do little to assuage the void and the hollow, empty feeling where someone should be.

A friend from this site mentioned it must feel like the leg he lost during the war. He remarked that he can still feel it and it occasionally itches. I suspect I will feel David’s itch for years to come. He will always be in our memory’s chords like a familiar song you can’t get out of your head.

We wish to thank all of you who came to the service and showed your respect for him in spite of his relatively short tenure here on the Peninsula. I would especially thank Pierce County Sheriff Paul Pastor for coming. He quipped ” How could I not come?” I will treasure those words forever in light of his own loss. There are others too numerous to mention here that are deserving of thanks for their help.  I close in praying that none will ever have to experience this loss.  History has taught us nothing if it doesn’t instruct that children should always outlive their parents. Wars have almost always been the reason scenarios like this came to pass. Here, the government’s short-sighted, myopic desire to shape society in their desired mold has backfired.  Hopefully David’s death will be the ultimate instructional video on how to care for the mentally challenged in the future. Should that happen, we feel his passing would not be for naught.

I may forgive but

I will never forget