Precious Cargo

It’s not about right or wrong, but how we treat soldiers

I am a pilot (first officer) for Continental Airlines and just recently had an event happen during one of my flights that I felt should be shared. I just had the honor and privilege of flying a fallen soldier flight on Flight 15 from Newark to Honolulu last Wednesday, Nov. 21. I had heard about these fallen soldier flights and knew we did them but I had no idea how intense and emotional it would be when and if it was my turn. Add to the intensity was the fact that one brother was escorting his deceased brother back home. They were from the little island of Pago Pago, and the young man that was killed was just doing the sergeant major a favor when he went on the patrol he was killed on. He was supposed to just be the driver for the top sergeant. I know they probably left their little island paradise to see the world, and likely the only way they could afford to, so they signed up. I’m guessing they still would have done so had they truly suspected the outcome, the perception of immortality as a young man is very powerful as I recall.

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The deceased soldier, a sergeant, was escorted by his real brother and active duty army specialist 5, and also a fellow Afghanistan campaign veteran. The young man was killed in Afghanistan when he stepped on an IED, probably sometime close to Veterans Day. His remains were non-viewable. The boys were on their way back home to an island wide and well deserved hero’s welcome.

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Captain Mike Montgomery, also a veteran, and I saluted the casket aboard our 767-400 for the 11-hour flight. The ceremony happened at gate C138 and in front of the huge windows of terminal C. There was standing room only in the windows and three people deep as we rode the cargo carrier up the 15 feet to bring the soldier aboard. We rode up the carrier elevator at "present arms" and held the salute until the casket was in the hold. The ceremony of bringing the body aboard was a significant and sobering event for me. I felt pride, honor and a deep sadness at the same time as I reflected on all the guys I knew personally who were killed in this war, the last one, and the one before that. Eleven hours later, my landing in Honolulu was the best I have ever done in the 767-400. I think the airplane knew we had extra precious cargo aboard as well.

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Continental reserved a seat in first class for Specialist 5 Mike and I know our flight attendants treated him extremely well during our flight. As soon as we got there, all the passengers remained seated so Mike could be the first off to escort his brother to the next flight. It was amazing to see the cooperation of the 240 other passengers. I escorted Mike down the ramp when we got to Honolulu so he could be there for the transfer of his brother. As I walked Mike down the stairs and out on the ramp in Honolulu I had no idea the cargo hold was even open yet. It was after dark when we arrived so the ramp was illuminated with soft light from the ramp lights, not bright but not dark either. We walked maybe 40 feet off to the side near the nose of the airplane so we would be out of the way of the ramp guys doing their thing. A ramp guy walked up to take over as escort so I shook Mike’s hand and thanked him for his service, and asked him to please extend the condolences of my crew and Continental Airlines to his family. I turned around to return to the aircraft and it wasn’t until then that I was confronted with the flag covered coffin for the 40-foot walk back under the plane to the stairs. The cargo bay is painted white and the cargo bay lights were bright and completely lit up the flag covered casket that was centered in the bay and open door. I took a mental snapshot thinking this is a picture that America needs to see but even if I had a camera I don’t think I could have taken it out of respect for this dead hero, or his brother standing a very lonely 30 feet behind me. In spite of an 80 degree balmy night and wearing my uniform jacket, I felt a chill. All I could do was salute with a tear in my eye and continue on my way as I walked to the stairs. That picture is indelibly imprinted in my brain for the rest of my time. I will never forget the significance of that sight and event.

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In those short moments, I realized just how lucky I am to have lived to the ripe old age of 51 after 20 years of my own active duty service and it continues to reinforce in me the need to thank the young men and women who volunteer to step into harm’s way for me every single day. It’s certainly not about whether the war is right or wrong, but how we treat those who volunteer to keep us free, in spite of knowing the potential price.

L. D. Jeffries

West Ossipee