Final Flight

[Jimmyjet]

Nation & World 2/2/04
Honoring the fallen, quietly

By Jonathan Evans
There are no reporters on the tarmac at Dover Air Force Base. The public is
not allowed to witness the military tradition of "receiving the remains."
Instead, there are soldiers, roused at dark hours to stand in the confines
of what seems like a secret as the dead are brought home.

I am one of the soldiers. Nearly every day we learn of another death in
Iraq. In our collective consciousness, we tally the statistics of dead and
wounded. The number is over 500 now. But none of our conjurings are as real
and tangible as the Stars and Stripes folded perfectly over a coffin
cradling one of those statistics on his or her way home. It does not matter
where somebody stands politically on the war, but I believe that all who
have an opinion should know the cost of that opinion. When a soldier dies in
a foreign land, his or her remains are returned to the United States for
their final rest. The remains arrive in Dover, Del., without fanfare. No
family member is present. There are no young children to feel sad or
confused. Just a small group of soldiers waiting to do their duty and honor
the fallen.

"Dover flights" are met by soldiers from the U.S. Army's 3rd Infantry
Regiment, the storied Old Guard. They are true soldiers, assigned to an
esteemed regiment, but it is a unit defined by polish, not mud. It seems
that they quietly long to be tested with their comrades "over there." But it
is clear to me as I watch them that they find immense pride in honoring
their country this way.

Silence. I am a helicopter pilot in the U.S. Army, and it is my job to have
the honor guard at Dover at whatever hour a flight arrives. In
military-speak, the plane's grim contents are referred to as "HRs"-"human
remains." Once the plane arrives, conversation ends. The soldiers form a
squad of two even ranks and march out to the tarmac. A general follows,
flanked by a chaplain and the ranking representative from the service in
which the fallen soldier served.

The plane's cargo door opens slowly revealing a cavernous space. The honor
guard steps onto a mobile platform that is raised to the cargo bay. The
soldiers enter in lock-step formation and place themselves on both sides of
the casket. The squad lifts, the soldiers buckling slightly under the
weight. The remains have been packed on ice into metal containers that can
easily exceed 500 pounds. The squad moves slowly back onto the elevated
platform and deposits the casket with a care that evokes an image of
fraternal empathy. It is the only emotion they betray, but their gentleness
is unmistakable and compelling. The process continues until the last casket
is removed from the plane. On bad nights, this can take over an hour. The
few of us observing say nothing, the silence absolute, underscored by
something sacred. There is no rule or order that dictates it, but the
silence is maintained with a discipline that needs no command. The caskets
are lowered together to the earth, where the soldiers lift them into a van,
one by one. The doors close, and the squad moves out.

Just before the van rounds the corner, someone speaks in a voice just above
a whisper. We snap to and extend a sharp salute. There are those who would
politicize this scene, making it the device of an argument over the freedom
of the press.

But if this scene were ever to be exploited by the lights and cameras of our
"infotainment" industry, it would be offensive. Still, the story must be
told. A democracy's lifeblood, after all, is an informed citizenry, and this
image is nowhere in the public mind. The men and women arriving in
flag-draped caskets do not deserve the disrespect of arriving in the dark
confines of secrecy. But it is a soldier's story, and it must be told
through a soldier's eyes. In the military, we seldom discuss whether we are
for or against the war.

Instead, we know intimately its cost. For those of us standing on the tarmac
at Dover in those still and inky nights, our feelings have nothing to do
with politics. They are feelings of sadness, of empathy. And there is
nothing abstract about them.

[Dragon Lady]

I was a member of a detail of AF Honor Guard. I too have worked far too many of these services and yet not nearly as many as those now stationed at Dover.

Thank you to each of you who now carry the torch that I passed on. We vowed a long time ago that no service member would be brought home without a fellow there to honor their service and sacrifice.

The Air Force does not have a motto that is as fitting as the Marines, so I will use that instead, I don't think they would mind...Semper Fi!

DL

[HARDCORE]

"Touching to the core - these are our own sons and daughters that are coming home for the last time!!

TRUTH AND SORROW