Monday, December 04, 2006

Letter to the Editor: The price of freedom

Our son, Christopher T. Frishmuth, is a pilot with Med Center Air based out of Charlotte, N.C. Chris is an Army brat who attended Barden Elementary at Fort Belvoir and Hayfield Middle and Secondary schools. He went on to graduate from Embrey Riddle Aeronautical University in Prescott, Az.

I think there are many of us who would like to extend our thanks to all our military men and women who are serving our country, but I believe that Christopher has said it best in the following letter:

“Wow, another interesting one tonight. The word I use most often in my reports about my medical flights is ‘perspective,’ because so much of what I see in my day-to-day job always gives me a bit more of it. If ‘perspective’ is cumulative, I have enough to last me for several lifetimes.

We flew the Citation up to Andrews Air Force Base tonight to meet a plane coming in from overseas. It was a C-17 arriving from Ramstein and we were picking up a patient that was onboard and taking him down to Fayetteville, N.C. The guy was a DoD contractor.

We arrived at Andrews around 8 p.m. We went into Base Ops there and they told us the C-17 would be there in about 90 minutes. Once the C-17 landed we caught a ride in a crew bus out to our airplane down the far end of the flight line.

As we pulled up to our plane I noticed five buses had pulled up to the edge of the apron — olive drab with red crosses on them. Once the C-17 had cleared customs we walked over to the tail. I’ve seen C-17s plenty of times before, but never had the opportunity to walk up so close to one before. They are massive. As we stood there next to one of the load-masters there was a muffled boom and the massive rear loading ramp started to come down. The initial drop as it released actually sent a little pressure wave down and I could feel my ears pop a little.

I felt like I was watching a scene from ‘Close Encounters’ as the brilliant white light from within started spilling out the ever-widening crack and you could start to see inside. It was pretty impressive, and sobering. Once the ramp reached the ground they let us go up with our nurses to find our patient and get a report on his condition. I stayed near the edge of the ramp because I didn’t want to get in anyone’s way, but from where I was standing I could see down the side of the massive cargo bay. It was flood-lit with brilliant white lights. Two long rows of triple-layered stretchers ran down the entire length of the aircraft while the outboard edges held seats. Every stretcher and every seat was occupied. Walking wounded were in the seats while the more seriously wounded were in the stretcher ‘bunks.’ It wouldn’t be exaggerating to say the inside of the airplane looked like chaos, with Marine, Army, Navy and Air Force personnel (doctors, medics, nurses, aircraft crew) scurrying everywhere.

We managed to locate our patient, our nurses got briefed and we got him out of there to our aircraft. Later, talking with one of the nurses about it, she said something that I agreed with, but couldn’t have described at that moment: ‘There was such a feeling homesickness in there!’ Those kids all just wanted to be home — you could sense it.

One of the guys in uniform waiting next to me was (I think) a representative from one of the receiving facilities that the multiple ambulance busses would be going to (Bethesda, Walter Reed, etc.). He said there were 70 wounded on board. As we were preparing to leave I asked the ramp guy attending to our aircraft how often this scene repeated itself, and he said about every other night or so a C-17 would bring in a load of wounded.

We got our patient loaded up and I fired up and we headed out. Our takeoff instructions took us almost directly over the top of National Airport. The night was crystal clear — you could see 80 miles easily. The view of downtown Washington, the monuments, the government buildings, was beautiful. I [was struck by the contrast of what] was happening over at Andrews, practically in the shadows of our government buildings.

When I got home I was curious, so I looked up the statistics: For every Soldier killed in Iraq eight are wounded. Compared to the 1 to 3 ratio of the Vietnam War our troops today have a much better chance of survival. All I know is, I’ve read about and heard about the wounded in the newspapers and television, but seeing a plane full of them really brought home the fact that these guys are the unrecognized heroes of war. Their sacrifices in the execution of their duty are clear. I wanted to go up there and thank every one of them and tell them how proud we all are of them.

I don’t know if Andrews is the only place that wounded fly into. I do know that it’s better to fly into Andrews than Dover. Whatever the case, I hope these young men and women are treated to the finest medical care and support that our country can muster, no matter the cost. It would only repay a fraction of the debt we owe them and they deserve nothing less than the best. I’m just sorry I couldn’t say thanks while I was there. Thanks for your service, and thanks for more perspective.”

Retired Master Sgt. and Mrs. Stephen D. Frishmuth
Lorton, Va.

Editor’s note: The letter above was edited for conformance to Army policy.