Read Online Basher Five-Two by Scott O'Grady - Free Book Online Page A

Vietnam-era stories of U.S. Navy and Air Force pilots who’d been shot down by the enemy and captured and who had then spent years in captivity. Many had died. IfI was captured in the days ahead, I too had to be prepared to give my life for my country. I knew I could do that, but I also knew that if I stayed alert and determined, the enemy would have to be very good and very lucky to find me. During the Vietnam conflict, an American pilot named Lance Sijan had been forced to eject from his plane over the mountains of Laos. His leg was mangled, and with no emergency rucksack containing water or food, he had to crawl through the Laotian jungle for six weeks, surviving on whatever he could find. Later he was captured, managed to escape, but was recaptured by the enemy. Eventually he died in a prison in Hanoi. Nevertheless, his strong will to survive and be free was an inspiration to every pilot I knew.
    Staring out at the Bosnian countryside, I began to wonder what was happening at Aviano. I knew it was too early to assemble any kind of rescue attempt. No one had proof that I was alive or knew where I was. But I was confident that I hadn’t been forgotten. I hoped that Wilbur and other pilots were flying overhead looking and listening for some sign of me. My friends weren’t going to let me down, just as I wouldn’t have let them down if they had been in my shoes. Teamwork is the cornerstone of the military. From the first day of your training you learn to trust and rely on the person next to you, just as he or she trusts and relies on you.
    In the middle of my thoughts, I suddenly heard twomale voices in the distance. I immediately pressed as deeply as I could into the ground. The voices grew clearer and louder. Soon I could hear footsteps. Where had they come from? Were they soldiers? I curled my body into a tight ball and once more held my breath. I was staring into the ground and couldn’t see their faces. Though I wore my gray ski mask, I didn’t risk looking up. I knew from survival school that just the whites of your eyes were enough to give you away.
    The two men came within feet of me—as close as the grandfather and grandson had come yesterday—and, miraculously, they walked on.
    I don’t know how long I waited before I turned my head and gazed back at the countryside. Everything looked peaceful, but my ears told me a different story. I could hear gunfire in the distance, and after a few hours the rotor blades of a helicopter vibrated in the sky. The chopper was skimming the tree line and for a few seconds hovered nearby. My heart leaped to my throat. Could it be from Aviano? I twisted my head up and recognized a Soviet-made chopper called the Gazelle. The chopper belonged to my enemy, not to any of my rescuers. I could actually pick out the faces of the two pilots, and even though I was well hidden, I worried about their spotting me by chance. The fact that the Serbs were now mounting an air search meant that I was a very valuable prize. More soldiers and helicopters would probably be coming.Minutes earlier, I had boldly thought of trying to make radio contact during daylight. The sight of the Gazelle chopper convinced me to give up that fantasy. I couldn’t risk having my signal intercepted by the enemy and being found.
    There were no more incidents the rest of the day. I could hear cows mooing in the distance, but no sounds of people. By evening I was prepared to move again. My goal was to make my way toward that hill I had marked on my EVC. I didn’t know how long it would take, and I wasn’t going to fix a deadline. I was mentally prepared to be in Bosnia for weeks, if necessary, because I refused to rush into careless mistakes.
    Sometime around nightfall I made the decision not to pick up and run. Despite the encounter with the two men this morning, my hole-up site gave me decent cover, and I wasn’t risking too much by sticking around another twenty-four hours. There might also be something to gain.