Medal or Court Martial

Annapurna South 2010

W.R. Priskna
fliesinyoureyes.com

When Bob and I reported for duty the Monday morning after the thrilling night rescue at Tanque Verde Falls, the unit was buzzing about the mission. Rescue flights boosted morale, and every pilot and crew chief wanted an opportunity to participate in the next one. Apparently, Otto had gotten the word out that Bob and I could be counted on to perform calmly in high pressure situations, and because of this the airmen in the aircraft hanger were slapping us on the back and volunteering to fly with us.

The only person in the detachment who did not extend a congratulations was our commander, Lt. Colonel Michaels. As customary he showed up for work at 0730 and promptly sequestered himself in his office, only to emerge at 1000 after dealing with the alcoholic demons from the previous night. He never mentioned anything about the rescue. He ignored the flight crew and acted as if nothing had happened. In fact when functioning at lower blood alcohol levels, it was Michaels' practice to deny many rescue requests from civilian agencies as “too dangerous.” He was a firm believer that the safest flight was the one that never took off. An unblemished safety record was essential to any commander craving promotion to full colonel.

Captain Roberts, the unit's training officer, should have been our commander. He was only three or four years older than Bob and I, but he was a terrific pilot, well respected, and a natural leader. But this was not the way our part of the Air Force worked. Peace time leadership positions were based frequently on longevity and connections – Lt. Colonel Michael's two strongest assets.

A few weeks after the rescue Captain Roberts took me aside. “W.R., you and the crew did a great job on the Tanque Verde rescue. No one in this unit ever gets a medal. I'd like you to write up a citation for you, Bob, and the two crew chiefs. I'll get Michaels to sign it after he has had a few scotches under his belt, and we'll send it up to headquarters for approval.”

When writing the narrative for the four decorations, it was evident the rescue encompassed all the elements germane to the Air Rescue Service – danger, airmanship, team work, and success. I showed the letters to a satisfied Captain Roberts who coerced Lt. Colonel Michaels to sign them and send them to headquarters in Illinois.

A month later no one in the detachment had heard from headquarters at the Air Rescue Service. Captain Roberts asked me to give them a call. After several attempts and telephone transfers, I reached my contact, the deputy commander of the Air Rescue Service. For some reason this routine medal application had found its way to the top of the command structure.
“Colonel, Wilcocks.”
“Colonel, this is Lt. Priskna calling from the Arizona detachment. Captain Roberts asked me to call to check on the status of the medals for the crew of the Tanque Verde Falls rescue.”
“Priskna! Were you the pilot of the mission?”
“Yes, sir.”
“If I were your commander, you'd be up for a court martial. I read the details of the flight. You were reckless and placed the lives of your crew and a million dollar helicopter in harm's way.”
“Sir, no one was injured, the helicopter was unscathed, and we saved someone's life. Isn't that our mission?”
“Don't be a smart ass, lieutenant. If I were you, I'd be grateful I wasn't going to prison.”

I must admit I did not always play by the rules, but this was different. We eventually were awarded lower level medals than Captain Robert recommended, but it was clear the Air Rescue Service was discouraging all but the most routine rescues. Maybe the Air Force was not the place for me.