Never Surrender: A Soldier's Journey to the Crossrowads of Faith and Freedom by LtGen William G. Boykin (USA Ret)

Author:LtGen William G. Boykin (USA Ret)
Format: mobi
Publisher: Hachette Book Group USA
Published: 2009-12-24T12:00:00+00:00

4

THE NEXT DAY, A TEAM OF NAVY CORPSMEN came to the hospital bay, transferred me to a litter and carried me down to the hangar deck in preparation to move me off the ship. Frank Brewer came down to see me. I got a battle update: It took the Rangers two and a half hours to complete their drop, and just as long again to take full control of the airfield. Meanwhile, part of the 1st Ranger Btn rescued 138 medical students at the True Blue medical campus. But then they learned that 224 more were holed up in a hotel near Grand Anse, a second medical campus behind enemy lines.

The next day, the Rangers rescued them in a daring helo assault, but learned in the process that another 202 students were on still another campus that no one in Grenada’s rightful government thought important to mention to the Americans. Twelve Rangers remained behind at Grand Anse to make enough seats on the helicopters for the students. They waited until dark, captured a boat and made their escape by sea.

After Frank and I visited for a few minutes, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small pin, the emblem of his Marine helicopter squadron. He bent and fastened it on my hospital gown.

“Frank, you don’t know how much it meant to me when I saw it was you flying that helo off the Moosbrugger,” I said.

He grinned. “You know, when we got the call I had no idea who we were going to pick up. But all the other aircrews were already flying. It was just me and the maintenance officer left. So when we got the call, I said, ‘Let’s do it,’ and when we got there and I saw it was you, I couldn’t believe my eyes.”

Now it was my turn to smile. “Frank, it was the Lord’s way of letting me know He was still with me.”

“Brother,” he said, “anything short of murder or treason, I’ll do it for you.”

The corpsmen loaded me onto a CH-46 and flew me back to Grenada. Someone unloaded my litter at the Point Salinas airfield, and I lay there, flat on the tarmac in a lineup of other litters filled with other shot-up guys.

“Boykin!” I heard my name but in the bustle of activity around me, I couldn’t see who was calling me.

“Hey, Boykin!”

I lifted my head as best I could, and about five feet away saw John Carney, bent over and shooting me the moon. Carney was the Air Force combat controller who’d gone into Iran ahead of us all to embed covert lighting at Desert. Now, hooting with laughter, he pulled up his pants and walked over.

I grinned at him. “John, I hate to tell you this, but you’ve gotten uglier since we started this operation.”

We laughed and talked a bit, then Bucky Burruss came over to check on me.

Two C-141 flights later, I was back at Bragg. During the flights, I had hours to pray, to ask God to give me use of my arm again.

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