Sky Pilot

By David Beakey

Preparing for the service he paused as he picked up the flak jacket. He put it on and shook his head, smiling slightly. “If only my wife could see me now,” he thought. Next came the helmet, somewhat ill fitting. Unlike the marines waiting for him, he had not written anything on his helmet, not even the town of his origin, Bakersfield, California. Finally, he faced his biggest decision; whether to tuck the 45 inside his flak jacket. He looked outside his bunker, at the hills surrounding the base camp. He noticed how close the tree line was to the trenches. He remembered the sniper fire and constant incoming rounds that had kept the men on edge recently. And he thought of the probes, now nightly, when the claymores had been turned around and the razor wire cut. He decided to compromise. He picked up the weapon, but purposely didn’t chamber a round. As he left the bunker, he tucked his well-worn bible under his arm.

He walked toward the men. They waited patiently for his words of wisdom and comfort. He marveled at how such young men could look so weary. Suddenly, he felt nervous, unsure of himself. He knew that they were going on patrol later, at dusk. Would they all return? He considered changing his prepared sermon, but what should he speak of? Safety? Forgiveness? Trust? The men stirred slightly, sensing his doubt. He felt panic rising in his throat. He had spent three months with the men and was no longer naïve, or so he thought. He knew they were going hunting later, to kill or be killed. Should he wish them good luck? His sermon remained tucked inside his pocket. He decided to pray. Silently, he asked the Lord to guide him. At once he felt better. Still ignoring his prepared sermon, he let his bible fall open. His eyes fell on Psalm 31.

He started to read: “In thee, O Lord, do I put my trust; let me never be ashamed: deliver me in my righteousness. Bow down thine ear to me; deliver me speedily: be thou my strong rock, for an house of defence to save me. For thou art my rock and my fortress; therefore for thy name’s sake lead me, and guide me. Pull me out of the net that they have laid privily for me: for thou art my strength. Into thine hand I commit my spirit: thou hast redeemed me, O Lord God of truth.” When he finished, he looked at the men. They gazed back at him with gratitude. He felt powerful, through the Word.

And then it was dusk.

He walked slowly to his bunker, nestled in the center of the base camp. He often wondered what it was like living in the trenches and small bunkers that ringed the perimeter. He knew that even if a large force attacked the base at night, no enemy would make it as far as his bunker, that the first line of defenders would hold. This feeling of security, tainted by the knowledge that others might die so that he would live, stayed with him until sleep gradually carried him away. While he slept, red flares lit up the night sky. The patrol had found the action they both hoped for and dreaded.

And then it was dawn.

He heard the news soon after awakening...two marines dead, blown away, two more wounded. Five VC killed, 3 AK 47’s and documents retrieved from the skirmish area. He raced down to meet the men as they walked back into the base camp. They looked haggard and grim. He tried to think of words that would welcome them home and convince them that the tradeoff had been worth it. He suddenly realized that in his haste he had left his bible in his bunker. His throat felt dry and for a brief moment he was dizzy. The men were drawing closer. The lead marine advanced towards him. A young man, perhaps 19, probably 18 years old...

“In the morning they return
With tears in their eyes
The stench of death drifts up to the skies
A soldier so ill looks at the sky pilot
Remembers the words
"Thou shalt not kill."
Sky pilot,
Sky pilot,
How high can you fly?
You'll never, never, never reach the sky.”

Eric Burden and the Animals “Sky Pilot”