As America’s 250th anniversary approaches, Dr. Isaiah McKinnon, a member of Sacred Heart Major Seminary’s board of trustees and a U.S. Air Force veteran who served in Vietnam, offers this reflection on faith, prayer and trust in God. May God bless our military and our nation.
During my four-year tour in the United States Air Force (1961-1965), I met many dedicated military people, but one person in particular left a lasting impression on me. I met Airman First Class, Ellis “Combat” Brown during my deployment to Danang, Vietnam. We were the complete opposites in almost everything. He was a career military man and had already served more than 14 years, and I was in my third year of my enlistment. He was in his mid-30s and I was 20. He smoked and enjoyed beer and spirits, and I didn’t smoke or drink, but we immediately became best buddies.
Combat stood about 6’4” and his gait was almost perfect. His walking stride reminded me of the cadence of the soldiers who guard the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier at Arlington National Cemetery. Each step he took was as if he was marching to the call of a drill sergeant. More importantly, he took his military job seriously. He was never late for duty, and even though he drank more than his share of 3.2 beer every evening, he never drank too much to be impaired.
My assignment, as a machinist, was to repair airplanes, helicopters and their armaments, making sure they were maintained and ready for their next flight mission. Combat was part of a flight crew that on a daily basis flew to our military outposts in the dense jungle, taking relief soldiers, munitions, food and whatever else was needed to the bases located in those outlying areas. Early each morning the flight crews would load their planes for their respective trips and the ground crews would anxiously wait on the flight lines for their return.
Each day when the planes returned to base, I’d rush to the flight line to make sure everyone was safe. Combat’s plane was usually riddled with bullet holes from enemy fire, but fortunately he and his crew always returned safely. As I patched the holes and cleaned the planes, Combat explained how he constantly moved around the plane during the shooting, so not to become an easy target. He told me about his partner, who had been seriously wounded by a bullet to his shoulder and how he jammed his fist into the wound and held it for 30 minutes to stop the bleeding. I commended him and told him, “Combat, you saved his life. You are a true hero.”
I asked if he was afraid his plane might get shot down and crash and he might possibly be taken as a prisoner of war. His reply became a mantra that he’d say almost daily, “Ike, my friend, I have too much class and personality for the VC to kill me.” We would both laugh, but as we walked to our tents, we knew that the danger was real and becoming more alarming.
On Aug. 2, 1964, the war took a serious and dangerous turn as a result of the Tonkin Gulf incident in the South China Sea, when two North Vietnamese torpedo boats attacked an American ship, the USS Maddox. There weren’t any casualties, but the attack led to a rapid escalation of the war. Every day as flights departed, we would count the total number of planes that were sent out and the number returning. Before the Tonkin Gulf incident we seldom lost a plane, and now we began losing more planes and more crew members. I remember one day we sent out 100 fighter planes and only 82 returned. The pilot told me that the anti-aircraft flak was so heavy that they had to abort their mission.
Our base at DaNang was less than 300 miles away from the Tonkin Gulf, and the North Vietnam radio show spokesperson “Hanoi Hannah," who did a nightly broadcast at 10 p.m., announced that all the American soldiers at the base were going to be attacked and killed by the Viet Cong the next day. The base was immediately placed on alert as we prepared for the attack. We were issued M-16 weapons, a certain amount of ammunition and sent to the flight line to wait. As Combat and I sat by his aircraft, he said, “Ike, my friend. If they send 100,000 soldiers over the mountain to attack us and we have less than 800 troops here, with a limited number of bullets, we will need magic bullets to shoot them all.” We both laughed, but we knew he was right and we were probably doomed.
The attack never happened, but each day her threats became more dire and specific. On certain occasions she would call out the names of American soldiers and say something like, “Joe Smith from Omaha, Nebraska. Won’t your family miss you when you are killed by the North Vietnamese soldiers?”
As American casualties grew, the number of planes and solders lost in the jungle increased, as did the damage to our planes. Combat and I looked forward to our conversations and took solace in the fact that he and his crew survived their missions. However, I noticed that his voice would get lower and he became more serious and agitated when we discussed the danger we faced. He reminisced about his home and family in Oakland, California, and how much he missed them and how sad he was that he never had children. I assured him that he had a long life ahead of him and continued on a lighter note, by having us count down the days to our discharge and discussing what we’d do first when we finally arrived home.
I tried to lift his spirits by sharing stories to make him laugh, including my first assignment to Minot, North Dakota, with it’s extremely cold winters and snow up to my knees. I also told him about my 23-hour flight to Vietnam, going from Detroit to California, Hawaii, Guam, the Philippines and finally to Saigon. And when I stepped off the plane into the extreme heat and humidity in Saigon, I thought to myself, "Dear Lord, how can I survive in this weather?" He smiled and said, “I bet you wish you were back in that cold place now, don’t you?”
One night, as I was sleeping in my bunk, I felt someone tugging on my leg. It was Combat, kneeling next to my bed, smoking a cigarette and crying. I asked if everything was OK. He said, “Ike, my friend, they have extended my tour here indefinitely and I’m afraid I’m going to die. Help me my friend, I don’t want to die.” I sat and talked with him for quite some time and suggested that we go for a walk to the chapel, which was always open. As we sat in the chapel, the base chaplain walked in and I explained about my friend and his fears.
The chaplain listened intently and said, ”Gentlemen, please join me in prayer.” As the three of us held hands, I remember the words of the chaplain’s prayer: “Lord God, no one is a stranger to your loving care. In your kindness, watch over Airman Brown and those separated from their loved ones. Lord, bring him back to his home and family.”
Although it was close to 3 a.m., the chaplain took us to the Base Commander and explained Combat’s condition. The Colonel understood and immediately had him transferred to Hickman Air Force Base in Hawaii. Before Combat boarded the plane to leave Vietnam, he thanked the chaplain, gave me a long embrace and with tears in his eyes said, “Ike, you are my friend forever. You saved my life. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.”
I will never forgot the time I spent in Vietnam with Airman Ellis “Combat” Brown, who flew more jungle missions and nearly lost his life more times than one can imagine. God bless you, Combat. I miss you and will always remember our wonderful conversations.
Isaiah McKinnon, Ph.D., former chief of police and deputy mayor of the city of Detroit, is a member of the Board of Trustees at Sacred Heart Major Seminary.