WHAT’S IT ALL ABOUT

Lonnie G. Schmidt

            “It is appointed for men to die once, but after this the judgment.”  (Hebrews 9:27)

            1967, Republic of Viet Nam; the “conflict” (war).  There are two seasons in Viet Nam.  The dry season and the rainy season.  It was the dry season.

            As Flight Leader “Thunderbird One” of the 118^th Assault Helicopter Company, I briefed my aircraft commanders (AC) on the mission.  We would be dropping troops into the “hot” landing zone (LZ).  Escorted by two-gun teams (4 Charlie model Huey’s) call sign “Bandits,” full suppression was the order of the day for our 10-ship flight.  Leading the flight over jungle terrain at 2,500’ altitude, I had a clear view of the large cleared rice paddy LZ as we approached.  Dotted with a few “hooches” (small stick huts with thatch roofs and open entries) it didn’t look “hot” to me… but orders are orders.   I keyed my “mike” and called the flight to move from staggered into trail (single file) formation and began a rapid descent into the LZ; calling for suppressive fire after each ship cleared the jungle’s edge.  I checked wind direction and noted possible Viet Cong (VC) positions in the surrounding foliage.  Selecting the center of the LZ to drop the troops, I un-holstered my Colt .45 auto, placed it on the console next to me and took the controls.  The M-60 machine guns on each side of the aircraft started chattering.  The Bandits started their strafing runs with quad-M-60s, rockets and two door gunners armed with M-60s.

            We began taking return fire from the jungle area from the front and on two sides as we got low and slow.  I brought the ship to a 3’ hover and the troops began off-loading.  There was a hooch about 30’ at my 2 o’clock (nose of aircraft is 12 o’clock) with muzzle flashes of automatic fire coming at us from inside the dark interior through the door opening.  I pressed the intercom trigger on the cyclic and told my door gunner to return fire.  “My gun is jammed!” he said.  I replied, “You better get it going or I’m going to come back there and beat you over the head with it.”  Roger One” came Bandit’s reply.  “You have the aircraft,” I asked my co-pilot turning the controls over to him?  Picking up my .45 and pointing it out his window, I had a clear shot at the hooch.  As I squeezed off the first two rounds about 6” in front of the door gunner’s face, the spent brass ejected over my shoulder. 

            Instantly I was standing outside the aircraft about 80 yards to the left of the flight.  I could see myself, my upper torso and helmeted head inside the ship through the window of the cockpit’s left door.  I could see the entire flight of 10 ships, the last few still approaching; troops jumping from the other ships, hugging the ground and engaging the VC.  Mortar rounds began coming in and exploding.  A view I could never have seen from inside the aircraft at the front of the flight.

            My vision was spectacularly clear and colors so vibrant!  Almost like normal vision is blurred by wax paper!  I had no sensation of feeling the ground but did “feel” a soft breeze.  I thought, “This is really what it’s all about.”  Something caught my peripheral vision to my left; a stream of machine gun bullets stitching its way toward me in the dry going… and I calmly watched as they “walked” right through me kicking up the dirt.  Time seemed to stand still; no rush, no panic… peace.

            My physical eyes saw the last ¼ and tail fin of a white 2.75 rocket as it flashed through the hooch’s doorway, exploding and blasting it into splinters!  I was back!  The slide on my .45 was locked back.  Nine rounds had been expended in the time I was “out.”  The ship was lifting off as I settled back into my seat. 

            What had just happened I thought?  Apparently, death being imminent, my spirit didn’t want to stick around…exit stage left!  What did I learn?  That there is a definite separation of our spirit and body.  All that makes up the real “me” went outside my physical body.  I had vision, thought, and feeling.  I don’t remember hearing anything.  Possibly the .45 blasting away? 

            As a Christian, I recalled Paul’s words, “To be absent from the body and to be present with the Lord.”  (2 Corinthians 5:8)  I am convinced that if I had died in that gunfight, “I would have stepped into the presence of the Lord.”

            I didn’t share this experience with anyone for a number of years, not wanting to be labeled a “Section 8” case (crazy).  But I did so eventually with my family.  April 17, 2018 my best friend, partner, my one son, unexpectedly collapsed.  “I can’t breathe” were his last words.  His wife “watched his spirit leave through his eyes.”  I know my son watched her and his sons did all they could to help him, and looking heavenward said, “This is really what it’s all about” as he stepped into the presence of our Lord.

            I wasn’t there for him, couldn’t be there; I am in prison.  Can’t be with my precious wife of 54 years, my son’s mother, to grieve.  Three months later on my son’s 49^th birthday, my 94-year-old dad joined him, and I wasn’t there.  Reader don’t let this happen to you.  Life is too short and freedom too precious to spend it in prison. 

            I close with two prayers for you:  1) Make your peace with the God who loves and cherishes you by accepting the free gift of salvation He offers (John 3:16), Romans 10:9-13).  So, when you step into eternity, you can be with Him and those loved ones of yours who also know Him, forever.  The alternative is forever “hot” LZ! and, 2) Live your life in such a manner that if someone says something bad about you, no one else will believe them:  a life about reproach.