In Commemoration: Major John Charles Jacobs
Even though I grew up in an Air Force family, I thought of Memorial Day more as a holiday that provided a nice, long weekend. To me, the holiday weekend signaled the end of school and the beginning of summer. Many of us know that Memorial Day has to do with our nation's military, but in times of relative peace, it's easy to lose sight that it is actually a day to remember those men and women who lost their lives in service to our country. I recall going to Memorial Day services where active duty and retired military members are asked to stand for a heartfelt ‘thank you’. But the men and women of whom we are to remember on Memorial Day are no longer here with us. Our ‘thank you’ is for their sacrificial service that ultimately cost them their lives. And perhaps the gratitude should be extended to those whose loss was the greatest with their death - the spouses and children and family who are left to continue on.
Woody suffered the loss of her father, Maj. John Charles (Chuck) Jacobs, as a young child when he was killed during the Vietnam War. His death occurred a little more than a month from her 7th birthday. Woody's mother, Jeanne, received the terrible news that Chuck's plane did not return from its mission, but there was no knowledge as to what happened. It was their wedding anniversary. Following an unsuccessful search effort, he was declared Missing In Action (MIA). With the MIA declaration, Jeanne had to pack up their household and move her two small children (Woody, 7, and Scott, 5) from Okinawa, Japan to Chandler, Arizona to wait for further news. After seven agonizing months of waiting, word came of the discovery of Chuck's body, and the body of Charles Franco who flew in his plane as his ‘gib’ - guy in back. Their remains were recovered and returned to the United States for burial.
Her dad’s casket was of course closed for the burial so Woody never saw her father again. She just recalled that he never came back home which left her with a sense of doubt about his death. For years she remained hopeful that it all was a mistake and that he would one day return. How exactly do you explain that your father is missing and then dead to a seven year old? How do you ever really recover from that kind of loss as a small child?
Woody and I met a little more than 7 years after her father's death and burial. At the time, the Vietnam War was ending and there still remained a strong anti-military sentiment in our country. The year prior to our meeting, our country had ended the draft which conscripted many young men to military service through a lottery system. I remember Woody wearing an MIA (Missing In Action) bracelet of another serviceman who went missing but whose body was never found or recovered. She had a real life empathy for those who never knew what had happened to their loved ones.
Woody knew little of the details of her father’s death or recovery until we received an odd phone call early one evening many years into our marriage. A group of former soldiers had reunited in Dallas and they had somehow located our phone number, having made the connection of Woody to her father. The caller politely introduced himself as a member of the Australian platoon that had discovered her father’s remains while serving in Vietnam. He was thrilled to have found and then gotten in touch with Woody. The caller was a member of the inaugural Australian Reconnaissance Platoon. Their mission was to provide reconnaissance for the First Australian Task Force. Over the course of their service in Vietnam, their battalion lost 25 of their members and another 79 were wounded.
We, of course, were in a bit of shock and were initially unsure if the caller was real and his intentions were good and sincere. He apologized that he couldn’t meet us in person and asked if we would like to hear of their discovery first hand. The phone call was completely unexpected and incredible in its own right, so we asked him to continue. He provided a synopsis of what transpired when they discovered the crash site of the plane and then the bodies. Incredibly it had been over 30 years since her father was killed!
The caller went on to tell us that he co-authored a book of the platoon’s experiences and that the book included a chapter regarding the discovery of the crash site. He asked if he could send us a copy. We received the book a short time later with a personal note and signatures of he and his co-author. It was dated June 7, 2001 - exactly 35 years to the date of her father’s death, which, as mentioned, was also her father and mother's wedding anniversary. We’re unsure if the date on the note was intentional, or a ‘coincidence’.
To Torey -
In memory of your father who died as a warrior. Hopefully this book will help to complete your and Recon Platoons final chapter. Thanks for caring and enjoy the read.
Robert ‘Dogs’ Kearney
Peter Haran
(unknown)
6/7/01
Here is an excerpt from the book that they sent to Woody that details the discovery of her father’s plane wreckage and remains deep in the jungle of Vietnam by the Australian Reconnaissance Platoon.
The Secret of Nui Nghe (pgs. 134-137)
Next morning Deak briefed me: I was to take the lead up the thick slopes of Nui Nghe. I shook out the section and Page stepped up, unhooking his secateurs. Ray Ferrier, Blue M scout-and one of the most experienced in the battalion up close to Pagey and whispered, 'Careful, mate. Really careful now, plenty of time...
We worked our way gradually up alongside a re-entrant. The bush was so thick we were sweating from exhaustion after only a few minutes. The main danger here - apart from being dropped by a sniper - was stumbling, falling and simply twisting or breaking an ankle. No-one would be happy bringing a Medivac chopper in here. I knew that for a fact: it had taken an agonizingly long time to get a wounded Tich Tomas out during the Casevac.
Field signals came back from Pagey - ‘Stop, wait five’. His fingers formed a circle around the eye: 'Wait and have a good look.' I studied my map, although I didn't need any bearings moving up a small mountain: the top from the bottom was obvious to even a dill like me.
Suddenly Pagey passed word back instead of a field signal: 'Rocket.'
I was flummoxed. 'Rocket?'
I pushed forward to the scout, and sure enough, there was a rocket lying in the bush - the sort that was carried by a chopper or a small plane. I motioned my scout to go on, and within a minute he whispered back, 'Wheel.'
I looked at the wheel of a small plane. "There's a wreck around here... some bastard's gone down, mate.
Pagey nodded and moved a few more metres into the bush, then, 'Dogs, wing'
I put my section down in an arc covering the immediate front and signalled back two fingers on my shoulder for Mick Deak to come forward.
Deak looked at the wheel, bent down and pushed it around. 'It's been here for a while. Dogs, get Pagey and let's check further up?
Forty to 50 metres on, we found the smashed aircraft, a crumpled wreck that had brought trees down with it. Typically, the jungle was already devouring the scene: vines had begun to encircle the main fuselage, half-obscuring the American star and stripes. A Company moved up behind us, and Company Commander Max Carroll threw a secure cordon around the crash site. We then began a detailed examination of the wreckage.
.jpg "Crossfire: an Australian reconnaissance unit in Vietnam, 2001, New Holland Publishers (Australia) Pty Ltd") |
| Grim discovery (5RAR Association) |
The Forward Air Controller (FAC) was a small, lightweight aircraft for carrying two people. The plane was a Vietnam enigma: it flew slowly over suspected enemy positions, attracting fire so it could then mark the site with a smoke rocket. Helicopter gunships would be called up to strafe the killing zone, or Phantom jets would pound and napalm the area. FACs had one of the most potentially dangerous tasks in the war: they went out as virtual bait, luring the enemy into exposing himself. Small- arms fire could bring the FAC down, and the pilot and his observer had little more than an Armalite or pistol to defend themselves with - if they survived the crash.
In the front seat of the wrecked aircraft were the skeletal remains of the pilot, killed on impact. As for the passenger, or observer, a tale of true heroism was revealed as we scrambled over the wreckage, trying to unravel the last hours of the FAC flight and these two men who were obviously Missing In Action.
(Years later, we discovered that the pilot was Major John Charles Jacobs, a 10-year US Air Force veteran and a 30-year-old married man from Indiana, sent out over central Phuoc Tuy Province in support of Australian operations. His co-pilot was Charles Franco, 25, a New Yorker. They were headed towards the slopes of Nui Nghe when their small aircraft was suddenly hit by ground fire. The FAC plane plunged down through the curtain of tall trees onto Nui Nghe.)
It was the NVA 274 Regiment commander who sent his troops in to check the wreck and kill the airmen if they had survived. Jacobs was killed on impact, but a badly injured Franco had crawled from the wreck and slumped against the fuselage, preparing himself for what he knew was coming. Franco had smashed his femur, and as the enemy crept up on him, he began firing with his Armalite rifle. The enemy was closing in. Obviously in agonising pain, Franco changed magazines and sent a wall of automatic fire into the advancing NVA. He ran out of ammunition and pulled out his service pistol, shoving it down behind his back. He was determined in those last moments to take one or more enemy out before he died. But an NVA soldier worked his way in behind him and killed him with a single shot to the head. Franco remained slumped against the plane while the NVA laid an ambush for Australian troops, who they thought would come looking for the lost FAC. We never came that day.
We prised the dead Charles Franco - his hand still clutching the pistol - from the mud with as much dignity as we could muster while a chopper was summoned from Nui Dat to remove the remains of the two men.
We sat and watched while SAS Warrant Officer Mick Wright was winched down with body bags. He carefully placed the men's remains and dog tags into the bags, then the Huey turned and clattered away. Two men, missing for months, were now on their way home. At last their relatives and friends would know the real story of their death.
I looked again at the scattered M16 shells. Franco had put up a fierce last fight for his life. Both men should have been awarded medals, and Franco was a contender for the Medal of Honor.
Think about it - the terrible loneliness, the inevitability of the predicament, the decision to fight and die, and not surrender. And all the time aware of your dead mate just metres away, a silent companion in your final minutes on Earth.
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| Vietnam Veterans Memorial, Washington DC Wall rubbing - Panel 8E Line 17 |
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| St. Peter's United Church, Osgood, Indiana |
佳信