There were times when my life felt suspended, as if the world itself had pressed “Pause,” just moments before disaster loomed and I could do nothing to stop it. One such moment came on May 17, 1968, as a Navy Corpsman with the Marines in South Vietnam during Operation Allen Brook. We walked into an ambush. A Corporal was wounded in both legs, and I rushed to help. As I tightened a tourniquet, gunfire erupted above our heads. We stayed low, waiting for rescue, knowing that leaving the shallow valley meant almost certain death.

With a smoke screen behind us, we tried to reach the bunker for safety, but an enemy grenade exploded, injuring both of us. With assistance, we managed to get to the bunker alive. Our relief, however, was short-lived: enemy soldiers had surrounded it, preventing us from calling a medivac. There was a quiet pause in the gunfire as each side waited to see the other’s move. The silence was a relief, and we were thankful no one had been killed. However, we knew this peace wouldn’t last.

Ignoring orders, a renegade rescue crew quickly arrived to extract the Corporal and me from danger. As we took off, enemy fire struck several times, but soon enough, we were soaring above the war zone, beyond enemy range. I finally exhaled with relief, a faint smile appearing as I started to relax and silently thank God for His protection, not realizing that, below us, those we left behind were being overrun by the enemy, and none would survive.

The smell of smoke and the “Brace yourself, we are going down!” warning from the crew members brought me out of my meditation and back to the reality of the moment. There was what seemed like a long time, a period of complete silence, as the rotors stopped and we fell from the sky.  I don’t remember the crash or the bounce that threw me out of the helicopter and onto the ground. I awoke with the helicopter on top of me. I had survived.

Looking back across 81 years, I see that my life has often been a holding pattern, waiting for something uncertain, bracing for impact. Perhaps that is the human condition: to live suspended between disaster and deliverance, between silence and fire. And always, the warning echoes, “Brace yourself, we are going down!”

The cry of the crewman has never left me. It was more than a warning in a burning helicopter; it became a refrain echoing through the years.

I have lived much of my life in holding patterns, suspended between disaster and deliverance, waiting for the next impact. Vietnam was only one valley among many. There were other valleys, illness, loss, and uncertainty, each demanding its own kind of courage.

I now see that the warning was not just for that day in 1968. It was for all of us. Life itself is a descent we cannot control, a fall we must endure. Yet survival, meaning, and even grace can be found in the bracing… in the act of steadying ourselves for what is to come.

And so, I carry these words forward, not as fear, but as truth, for in bracing, I have found not only survival, but the strength to keep telling the story.

“Brace yourselves, my friends; we are going down!”

This is a redacted version of No Heroes. The full version can be found in the book  Letting Go,  available on Amazon.