It turned out to be a fascinating det. We were practically the only Americans in Manta. For most of us it was our first taste of the Third World, with the shocking contrast between the cramped shantytowns on the outskirts and the walled villas of the local elite inside the city.
Although some of the crew was saddened or repulsed by the widespread poverty, I saw things differently. The poverty was wrenching, but the people I mingled with in Manta relied heavily on their strong family bonds. Like the people I grew up with in South Dakota and Nebraska, they showed a lot of day-to-day courage and resourcefulness. They loved their children, worked hard, hoped for a better future, and endured.
We returned from South America just in time for Christmas.
It turned out to be a fascinating det. We were practically the only Americans in Manta. For most of us it was our first taste of the Third World, with the shocking contrast between the cramped shantytowns on the outskirts and the walled villas of the local elite inside the city.
Although some of the crew was saddened or repulsed by the widespread poverty, I saw things differently. The poverty was wrenching, but the people I mingled with in Manta relied heavily on their strong family bonds. Like the people I grew up with in South Dakota and Nebraska, they showed a lot of day-to-day courage and resourcefulness. They loved their children, worked hard, hoped for a better future, and endured.
We returned from South America just in time for Christmas.
One of our neighbors, a sheep farmer named Lyle Brewer, flew a bright yellow Piper J-3 Cub out of a pasture near our house. I tried to visit Lyle whenever I knew he was working on his plane. I took my first flight with Lyle and Dad almost as soon as the FAA inspector signed the airworthiness certificate for the Piper. "I want to fly," I told my Dad.
"Not today, Shane." By the age of 4, I already had a basic understanding of lift and was beginning to learn how the aileron controlled the plane's angle of bank or roll.
Mom took Lynette and me back to her hometown of Norfolk, Nebraska, where Dorothy, her mother, still lived nearby. My dad was going to live in the same town, to be close to us, and for a while he did. But for his own reasons he moved on to a small town in Minnesota, and I didn't see him again for 6 years. The divorce, and our family's physically breaking apart, was painful for me, but I know I couldn't change things.
The Civil Air Patrol absorbed me completely. The CAP made me want to study even harder than before. You advanced in rank depending on both your test score and your progress in military training. Discipline in one area, I began to see, was directly related to progress as a would-be aviator. The reward for that progress was getting to fly in our squadron's Cessna 172.
By the end of my sophomore year I had logged 16 hours in the Cessna to help me qualify for a pilot's license. I never did get my license. Still, I hoped my accomplishments in the CAP could eventually help me win an appointment to the US Naval Academy at Annapolis. That had become my next long-term goal.
When I woke up, I was listening to a medic's voice. "I think this one's dead," the medic said, meaning me. As much as I tried, I couldn't answer because my lips were bruised and torn.
When I woke again, I was in the emergency room of the hospital. The doctor put in 220 stitches. I was 16 years old, and I thought my life was over. My last year in high school, while still recovering from the car crash, I interviewed for both the air force and naval academies.
"I do not plan to get divorced," I said as honestly as I could. MY parents' divorce was still unsettling to me, and I wanted my marriage to be as rock solid as possible.
At first Jen was stunned, but she understood my reasoning. We spent the next day printing out and addressing don't-come-to-the-wedding requests to everyone on the invitation list.
This harassment had been going on for years. On some intercepts during this det [detachment assignment abroad], the Finbacks had given us a quick once-over. That morning, though, they'd seemed inclined to remain with us.
For the next 45 minutes, the 2 fighters had dogged us, one on our left wing, the other hovering right behind us, as if to make sure we stayed out of Chinese airspace.
The Chinese pilot dropped away again. But the Finback approached again from our left rear; he pitched up and tried to turn away to stop his rate of closure. But it was too late. The fighter's long fuselage rose toward the chopping propeller blades. The unimaginable had happened. The pilot had just smashed his plane into ours.
I realized that the propeller of my number one engine had cut the Finback in two. The front half of the Finback smashed directly into our nose.
I couldn't see what was going on at the back end, but I imagined there was some frantic activity. Operators and technicians would snatch up their binders of classified information, erasing any classified digital information on the built-in computers, then smashing the laptop computers with a fire axe. The final item was dumping the boxes of classified material and smashed computers out the starboard hatch. We were well out to sea. The boxes would sink, and the paper on which the classified information was written would quickly dissolve.
It was a crazy kind of chaos on board. In back, [the crew] were deliberately and frantically destroying everything in sight while in front we were, with equal desperation, trying to save what had already been badly damaged.
Then another, colder thought struck me. We're alive, but we're also in Communist China. I didn't consider ourselves to be POWs yet. The collision with the Finback had been an accident caused by poor airmanship and aggressive flying, not an act of war. At this stage, I could not imagine that the Chinese would find a reason to keep us there very long. I would soon find out how wrong I was.
Later that evening, I tried in vain to sleep. Nightmare images of the collision kept popping into my head. Reliving the traumatic 33 minutes, I knew there was nothing I could or would have done differently.
The above quotations are from Born To Fly The Heroic Story of Downed U.S. Navy Pilot Lt. Shane Osbornby Michael French and Shane Osborn. Click here for other excerpts from Born To Fly The Heroic Story of Downed U.S. Navy Pilot Lt. Shane Osbornby Michael French and Shane Osborn. Click here for other excerpts by Shane Osborn. Click here for a profile of Shane Osborn.
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