I'm Over Here

This incident happened when I was an enlisted man in the army serving as a helicopter crewmember stateside, near the end of the Vietnam War. Some will be skeptical and discount this as merely a tale of a new-age airhead. Others will accept what I offer without challenge. I can only present the events the way I witnessed them and ask you to consider this account judiciously.

One evening an army reconnaissance aircraft did not return to its base. While on a flight over a military training area in the Georgia forests, it and its two pilots disappeared. There were no forewarning radio calls, no Maydays, no eyewitness accounts of exploding aircraft. It simply vanished. Nothing extraordinary in that. The military does lose aircraft. What was extraordinary was the unexpected help we received in locating the aircraft, and how this unusual help skewed my view of life—and the afterlife—to this day.

An air search was organized to find the missing plane. The problem is, large forests with their oceans of lush foliage can swallow a plane whole and not leave a trace of evidence. An air search can seem hopeless, and in the days before emergency locator beacons, sometimes impossible. I had been involved in air searches before, and I know what a frustrating experience it can be. A forest does not necessarily give up its secrets easily.

For two days many mission sorties were flown over the training area looking for the missing twin engine Grumman Mohawk. The Mohawk has a large bubble Plexiglas cockpit and with its trident tail, has a distinctive look. Its flight crew consisted of a captain instructor and a lieutenant student. Though the lieutenant was the student, he had flight experience and was transitioning into the Grumman. The search continued but the results were fruitless.

On the third day, our flight crew was asked to participate in a special briefing. I was expected to attend, but I had been delayed by other duties and when I finally reported to the Operations room, the briefing was already in progress. A major was hunched over an air chart. Next to him was the post chaplain. Nothing unusual there, except the chaplain was pointing to something on the chart and appeared to be directing the day’s mission. The other search members were huddled around the table. I stepped closer and joined them and tried to catch up. The chaplain was pointing to a small mountain which was 25 miles west of the search area. The major nodded his head. This was to be our search area for the morning.

We departed and flew for 40 minutes to reach the mountain. When we arrived we noticed it was not as densely forested as the woodland to the east. It didn’t take long before we saw what looked like rubbish against the side of its northernmost peak. Our pilot maneuvered the chopper to a low hover over this area and we identified the remains of a 3-tailed empennage. It was that quick.

We made the radio calls and entered a holding pattern while we waited on the larger chopper to arrive. Once it arrived our job would be to direct it to the crash site so its onboard rescue personnel could rappel down to the summit. Once they reached the ground, we would await word. And in this case the word was: no survivors.

We were not surprised, especially after seeing the crash site below. It appeared the two pilots had flown directly into the side of the mountaintop. Nothing could have survived that. If they had been 100 feet higher they would have spent dinner with their families that evening. Instead there were only the grieving families.

Our part of the mission was completed. We returned to base, secured our ship, and reported to the major for a debriefing. The chaplain was still there and remained silent until the report was completed. The major left, but the chaplain stayed and chatted with us a while. He told us he was the army’s liaison for the families of the Grumman flight crew and wanted to ask a few more questions. We answered with what we knew, but it was we who had the one question. We asked it.

He hesitated at first, but I’m sure he knew it was coming. It’s like this he said: the young lieutenant’s wife was having a bad time with it all and so his sister had flown down to be with her and to represent his family from back home while the search was in progress. On the second night, the sister had a fitful time trying to go to sleep, but she eventually succumbed.

And she began to dream. She dreamed of her brother. Of the times when they were young, and of growing up. In the dream she felt close to him. It was real enough that she began to whimper. The dream continued. Now her brother was a young man. He was in his flight suit. He looked sullen. He began to speak to her. He was worried he said. He wanted to be found. He said the search teams were looking in the wrong place. He told her how he and the captain had been low leveling and had buzzed a mountaintop several times for some fun, but on the last attempt they had miscalculated. They didn’t pull up fast enough and got caught just below the peak. It was stupid. He knew that. But it happens. He complained how his wrists and ankles hurt. It was painful. But more importantly--he just wanted to be found. That’s all. He asked her to tell the search teams to search the mountaintop to the west. That’s where he was. He was waiting for them. And then he was gone. The dream was over, and she awoke.

She immediately woke her sister-in-law and told her about the dream, and they decided to call the chaplain at once even though it was the middle of the night. After all, the chaplain had left his direct number and said to call any time of day or night. When he answered, the sister told him about the dream. She didn’t want to sound foolish, but it was all so real. What did he think? Could he talk to the search teams? The chaplain said he understood. He would talk to the major and ask if an aircraft could be spared to search the mountain described. He was sure the major would comply, it was the least the army could do for one of its families.

Well, there it is. The bodies of the crew were brought back. There was a memorial service. The story of the dream and how it aided our search efforts was published in the post’s newspaper and talked about for days. The cynical readers pointed out the story was written after the plane was found. The believers countered the plane was found because of the dream. My buddy, who had assisted with the autopsies, said both crewmembers had suffered extreme trauma, the lieutenant’s ankles and wrists especially so. The consensus of the medical staff was he probably didn’t suffer long.

You have heard this story before. It’s not unique. The time, place, people, and the storyteller are different; only the questions remain the same. Is there an afterlife? And if so, is communication possible? In my case, I remember the crash and the two days of fruitless searching. I remember the chaplain pointing to the chart, and I certainly remember seeing the wreckage an hour later. A series of coincidences? Probably. But I like to think the lieutenant wanted to be found. He had to get word to the search teams and he found a way through his sister. Based on her dream, we found him. In the end that was all that mattered.