Thank you. I think that learning skills young was the key to my survival because they STUCK. Essentially, I didn't do something irretrievably stupid.

It's been quite a long time since this happened, about 26 years. At that time, I only had one child and the drive to make sure I stayed alive for him was certainly a big factor in keeping me focused. I DO still sometimes dream that I'm there, but they don't seem like nightmares anymore.

At the time, what really gave me the knowledge I needed was remembering things my grandfather and my father had taught me. Things that had been buried for years in my head. I remembered the two of them talking to us about what to keep in mind if you are trying to travel or survive in an area where there is an armed conflict. Dad said, "Don't disturb anything that you don't NEED to disturb. For instance, fight any instinct to "tidy" or to "test" a surface to see how much dust it has on it. If you move something and it leaves a dust print, put something bigger and dustier where it was. If there is a mess . . . leave it. That was two discussion when I was probably about 12, but they surfaced when needed.

I was SO afraid the whole time that the guerrillas would come by and scope out their damage that I touched NOTHING in or around the HMMWV that was hit. My companions were very very dead. It was very very gross and there were a couple of partial bodies that were blown "away" and dismembered. One was just a half torso that was burned. I left everything exactly as it was and made sure that I didn't leave any footprints. I did NOT want them to be able to find their way down the hill to the entrance.

I just took what I needed, set up the rain catch in a junky, random looking sort of way, and kept out of view as much as possible. I'm still certain that was the right thing to do. Yes, I was lucky they didn't come to look at their handywork, I did NOT see any other helicopters at all. I can't even be absolutely sure that it WAS guerrillas except that we had an Army escort.

On the subject of the Post Traumatic Stress . . . At first, I had to tell everything over and over and over. I had to write a report . . . 3 versions of it. Since I was working out of L.A. I was required to go to counseling at the FBI building for almost 3 months (once a week). Mostly, that seemed sort of pointless.

I did stay extremely focused during my "ordeal." And when I heard vehicles coming, I could see them on a switchback below. I recognized that they were indeed Army and I recognized my boss's big bushy Belgian style beard as he looked out the open window. By the time they got up to the emplacement, I was sitting in the doorway of the shed, waiting for them. I even unlocked and opened the gate.

The Army guys swarmed all over the HMMWV. The bodies had been picked over by the birds and critters. I showed them where I stayed, how I survived, and what I'd disturbed and not disturbed. The Army Colonel became convinced that I was lying about being ex-military or something. When I explained that I was the daughter of a career navy man and a career army mother, as well as the grandaughter of a ranger . . . he eased off a bit. My boss was stunned speechless. It was with him that I finally cried over my lost friends and even started to mourn them.

I'd cried before some, but not really over them. It was more crying angrily through my own fear.

I think "talking" about things and re-hashing, re-living them in the beginning helped a LOT. Even being forced to write down every detail was a help. I'd kept notes on the pad in my toolbox.

What was NOT a help, all the people that kept telling me what I SHOULD have done all the time. Second guessing me was pretty annoying. I was willing to TELL what happened, I was NOT so willing do DEFEND every little thing I did or didn't do. I certainly wasn't willing to participate in "what if" discussions.

I did explore with KNOWLEDGABLE people, what I could do in the future or what I wish I'd had at the time. I was even willing (to some extent) to explain actual nitty gritty stuff, like how to make a snare and how to place one.

PTSD is real. If anyone you love goes through something bad . . . let them talk about it. Encourage them to tell you about it. Just don't pound them with questions and DON'T second guess them.

You are right. You lived it and survived. You did everything right for you. A big part of survival is in your mind. You did what you had to do to survive physically and mentally. I look at survival the same as being in combat. Unless you are there and know the situation, you cannot say what you would do. We train with our equipment and use different techniques so we can do the physical part automatically. The mental part never will be automatic.

I have a lot of respect for you and what you accomplished in this situation.

_________________
Hope for the best, but plan for the worst.

NRA Certified Instructor for Basic Handgun and Personal protection in the Home.
V.F.W. Life Member
NRA Member
U.S. Army Veteran

Thank you. I've come to respect your opinion, it means something to me.

I've been called a crackpot, weird, and silly . . . many times. Mostly it was because someone observed something and asked a question . . . like, "What is that thing in your toolkit?"

When a guy at work told me he was really interested in learning to hunt, but he had noone to teach him . . . I asked him if he wanted to go with My son and I to hunt Squirrels. I thought his EYES would drop out. To him, "hunting" is something you get all tricked out for and a big production--going off to the wilds somewhere. That anyone would just . . . go out and hunt squirrel in their own orchard was nuts. He said, "My God, you actually let a 14 year old shoot a gun!"

Well, all my kids have eaten a few snails, can skin a small mammal, dress a bird, and they can (every single one, down to my 9yo) bring down small game, dress it, set a fire, make a rock-flat cooking surface, and feed themselves. I'm not some kind of anti-government extremist weirdo . . . I'm a mother that wants my family to survive. My 9yo daughter is better with a slingshot than I am.

Wouldn't it be just awful if one of us died just because we were too lazy or too squeamish to learn. Now THAT would be stupid.

I don't think ANYBODY likes dressing a dead animal, really . . . but there comes a time when you just mentally step in there and get it done. Gross yourself out later if you have to.

In my humble opinion, of course.

I'm speechless NightBloomer.

Very impressive ... how you handled the situation, how open you are sharing it, and the way you're passing knowlege and lessons learned on to your own children. FWIW, your a helluva lady. Cheers!

Barry