The Fury of the Battle
“For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the powers, against the world forces of this darkness, against the spiritual forces of wickedness, in the heavenly places”. Ephesians 6:12
War has been around since the first moment when one person decided to impose his will upon another, and the other person decided that his rights (or land, or family, or property) were worth fighting for. This conflict between individuals is unfortunately one of the constants of our existence here on Planet Earth, despite what wishful sociologists and psychologists may say to the contrary. Training and preparation for war is an activity that most ancient as well as modern societies have engaged in.
In the mid-seventies, the Air Force began a series of realistic war exercises in the Nevada desert called “Red Flag.” This was an effort to simulate a genuine combat environment and provide real life training for flight crews. By using actual Soviet radar and missile systems, with tanks, trucks, runways, and missile sites as “targets,” all scattered over a 60 by 80-mile section of desert, Red Flag was the most realistic combat training available.
A typical Red Flag mission consists of a coordinated air strike against one of the targets. Each strike group is assigned a target time and given the enemy’s “order of battle”—i.e., the location of radar, missiles, and other forces. The target is “defended” by surface to air missile systems as well as an enemy air force composed of Air Force and Navy “aggressor” squadrons (each with red stars painted on their tails). Captured Soviet MIG-21s are even used for the utmost in realism. The object of the strike force is to slip in around or under the radar, avoid the aggressors, place your bombs on the target, and escape unharmed.
In Red Flag, normal peacetime safety rules were abandoned in favor of actual wartime “rules of engagement.” Peacetime rules require a minimum flying altitude of 200 feet above the ground level and no air combat maneuvering below 10,000 feet. In Red Flag, these rules were waived since the Soviets had missile systems that could track you and shoot you down at less than 100 feet above the ground, and air combat maneuvering is often necessary to defend yourself against an enemy fighter while flying low across the desert floor.
In 1977 our air wing (CVW-11) from the USS Kitty Hawk became the first Navy air wing to participate in a Red Flag exercise. This was the type of flying that we all lived for. Even though our job was to “defend national security,” (and if it came to it, all attack and fighter pilots would lay their lives on the line for this worthy cause) to most of us, flying high performance jets was one of the most demanding “sports” in existence. It’s an exclusive “arena” where the competition was intense. Simply staying alive in this unforgiving environment was a worthy achievement. Bombing scores, landing grades and air-to-air engagements were all part of the process of measuring the best.
Red Flag presented us a rare opportunity. For two weeks, we enjoyed the best of both worlds—wartime tactics in a peacetime environment. We could fly the airplanes to their maximum, and know that there was nobody shooting real bullets at us.
One of these missions was one of the most unforgettable flights of my career. . . .
Fighter Sweep. . . .
It is a mission that is exactly what it sounds like. Fighters go into an area with the sole purpose of engaging and shooting down enemy fighters—”sweeping” the areas clean so that the strike force can follow to hit the target free from air interference. A fighter sweep was included in the original Red Flag schedule for our air wing. In the Red Flag environment (no real bullets), this was the type of mission that dreams were made of.
Air Combat Maneuvering is the proper military term for what used to be called “dogfighting”—aircraft fighting against other aircraft. ACM requires a combination of acrobatics and hunting senses. It is pure multidimensional flying at its best. While putting your bombs on a target has great job satisfaction, this is a real opportunity to engage in head-to-head competition with enemies, who were not just shapes on the ground running for cover or faceless people sitting in the missile control room trying to shoot you down. These opponents are real people, trying to fly their airplane better than you are flying yours, matching you move for move, while trying to anticipate your next move. It was a personal duel between highly qualified individuals, and the stake in real combat is your life. In practice the only thing on the line was your pride.
How do you shoot down an opposing fighter?
Modern air-to-air tactics for most fighters are to intercept the enemy aircraft— called a “bogey”—and shoot him out of the sky with a missile as quickly as possible. Once you get within 10 miles of the bogey, Sparrow missiles are effective. The Sparrow is radar-guided and allows you to shoot the bogey head-on or at any angle. If the Sparrows don’t get him, then you close in and engage the bogey with the purpose of getting behind him so that you could fire a Sidewinder heat-seeking missile which will home in on his tail pipe.
These modern missile tactics left very little room for the classical shoot-’em-down-with-your-machine-guns dogfighting seen in World War I and World War II—so much so that the F-4 Phantom, which led the air war in Vietnam, was designed in the late ’50s without a gun.
However during the Vietnam war, the need for a gun on a fighter became very evident—missiles often failed to launch or hit their target. A gun is relatively simple and reliable if you can get into a position to use it. The designers of the F-4 realized their mistake in not building a gun into the Phantom, and the next generation of fighter aircraft was designed with multi-barreled guns. Still, with more reliable generations of missiles coming on-line, using your gun against a bogey was considered a last ditch effort to shoot him down—and to be used only if the missiles failed, or you had exhausted your arsenal of Sidewinders and Sparrows.
In spite of the high reliability factor of modern air-to-air missiles, the best position for a sure kill was the close in “guns position”—within 400 yards on the tail of your opponent. In the training environment this was the preferred position and the one we all strived to achieve.
In the “guns” position, there was no doubt who was shooting whom.
The excitement for this fighter sweep heightened as the day of the mission approached. Crews jockeyed for those limited places on the flight schedule. Excitement turned into frenzied titillation with the announcement that the “Opposition” would include the newest addition to the Air Force’s inventory—the F-15 Eagle. Since the Navy’s F-14 Tomcat had been introduced into the fleet only a few years earlier, there had been much discussion and debating over which aircraft was the best “Air Superiority Fighter.”
Both aircraft had their strong points.
The Tomcat has a crew of two and operates off of aircraft carriers. The Eagle has a pilot only and is shore-based. The Tomcat has a “swing wing” that can be moved inflight to a “spread” position for tight turns, or a “swept” position for high speed (Mach 2.4+). The Eagle has a fixed-wing design that allows for speed and maneuverability, and two very powerful engines that allowed it to set many speed and climb-to-altitude records. Both aircraft are equipped with Sparrow and Sidewinder air-to-air missiles, and a 30mm six barrel Gatling gun mounted in the nose that fires 3,000 rounds a minute.
The real difference between the two lies in the Tomcat’s Phoenix missile system. Operated by the Radar Intercept Officer who sits behind the pilot, the Phoenix can shoot down an aircraft at a range of 60 miles. The Phoenix, plus the extra set of eyes in the cockpit would seem to give the Tomcat the edge in any air-to-air engagement. However, until this point (mid 1977), there was no real opportunity to do more than just discuss the merits of each plane and speculate on how they would fare in a true combat head to head confrontation.
Aside from these design and weapon system differences, we all knew that the real edge in any air-to-air fight was with the best pilot—the one possessing the greatest skills and situational awareness. Given that all Air Force pilots had made the choice not to even attempt a landing on an aircraft carrier (which they did by choosing to join the Air Force rather than the Navy), we all knew where the edge lay when it came down to the human factor. . . .
Now was the time to put all speculation to rest.
Air Wing 11 sent eight Tomcats, two A-7 Corsairs, and two A-6 Intruders on this fighter sweep into the target area. Normally attack planes (the A-6 and A-7) were not included on fighter sweeps—our primary mission was air-to-ground attack. However, since we did carry Sidewinders and air-to-air fighting was a secondary role, we were included on this training mission. The A-6 didn’t have the afterburners and speed of the F-14. However at low altitude our engines had comparable performance and with its huge load carrying capacity wing, the Intruder could out turn any aircraft in the fleet.
The opposition was a mixed bag of F-4 Phantoms, A-4 Skyhawks, and, of course, the F-15 Eagles. Pete Rice and I were chosen to fly one A-6. The other was flown by a future Blue Angel, Jack Ekl, and his bombadier/navigator (B/N), Casey Gibbs.
This flight was led by our air wing commander, Sam Leeds. Sam was a skilled fighter pilot but did not have the attitude of a typical air wing commander when it came to dress, appearance, and paperwork. He was a curly-headed guy who made his mark in my book when he made the statement, “Haircuts don’t kill MIGS.” He contrasted sharply with my squadron commander—a straight laced pilot named Daryl whose hair on his eyebrows was longer than any other part of his head.
I always enjoyed flying with Sam. He was strictly goal orientated when he strapped into the cockpit. Daryl, too, was an excellent pilot, and we flew many challenging missions together. However, it took Daryl a while to overcome my marginal haircuts. In fact, when we first met in 1976, his first words to me were: “The next time I see you, you better have a proper haircut.” After flying with me for a few months, he realized that a marginal haircut did not reflect marginal performance in the cockpit. I never had that problem with Sam. We clicked from the first time we flew together.
At the brief, Sam instructed the F-14 crews to set up for long range Phoenix and Sparrow missile shots, and then close in for a Sidewinder shot if possible. After “one or two turns” with the bogey, the engagement was to be broken off and the fight terminated. To us “attack” crews now turned “fighter jocks,” he only said “If you can get a shot, fine; but if not, stay out of our way.” Jack looked at me and rolled his eyes. Sure! Stay out of the way? No Way!
My B/N, Pete was the squadron maintenance officer. He ordered the best two aircraft in the squadron to be specially prepared for this flight. Normally the A-6 carried external fuel tanks or bomb racks on each of the wing and belly stations. For this flight, Pete ordered the tanks and racks removed. With these attachments gone, the A-6 now flew faster and was even more maneuverable.
Even though the A-6 had radar designed for ground mapping, Pete was skilled enough to be able to get some airborne returns—as long as the bogeys were above the horizon. We knew the fighters would stay high and accelerate ahead of us as we entered the target area. So we decided at that point to descend to the desert floor, accelerate and “look up” on our radar for the bogeys. There were many ridgelines and mountains in the target area, and the bogeys could come at us from any direction, high or low.
We took off, rendezvoused with the 11 other airplanes, and headed south. As we approached the target area, the F-14s began getting bogeys on their radars and accelerated ahead. Jack and I began our descent, and also began dumping all of the remaining fuel in our wing tanks. With only the fuselage fuel tanks filled, these Intruders were now down to their best “fighting weight.”
As we headed down a long desert valley, Pete began to get target blips directly in front of us on his radar. At the same time, far down the valley I saw visually what appeared to be a small black spot in the sky. This was puzzling but Pete saw it too. As we got closer, this black spot expanded and took on the appearance of a small black cloud. In another minute, I could see the individual dots that made up this “cloud.” In a few more seconds as we got closer, we could see these dots turning wildly—they resembled a hornet’s nest, with the hornets buzzing madly around. It became immediately obvious to us that this was the fighter sweep happening right in front of us—with all the airplanes concentrated in one big ball!
So much for missile tactics!
This was classic World War I dogfighting! Everybody was trying to get a gun shot on each other. There were over 24 airplanes—all turning within the same three mile circle. It was an incredible sight!
Jack’s airplane accelerated and I shoved my throttles all the way forward. We continued ahead until we were directly under the center of the circle. With a nod of the head, Jack pulled up and into the fight. I followed. We both had our eyes scanning the sky for a bogey in the right position for us to get a quick shot.
Jack saw an aggressor A-4 ahead and maneuvered into his six o’clock position. I was in trail on him covering his six. Suddenly Pete called, “Bogey at our left high eight o’clock” position. It was an F-4 Phantom who was already in a good “Sidewinder” position and moving toward a gun shot bearing down on us at high speed. I warned Jack and pulled the nose of the Intruder into a hard left turn into the oncoming Phantom.
Phantoms were at one time the world’s fastest airplane, but they can’t turn that well. When this Phantom driver saw the Intruder coming back at him, he realized that he had no other option but to break off the attack. If he didn’t, he would overshoot me and with a quick turn back, I would have the Phantom in a nice gun position.
He broke off to the right, and I rolled back right to see if I could get a shot. He was gone. I looked ahead for Jack, but he was gone too. Just then, an F-15 whizzed past the top of my canopy, closely pursued by a Tomcat. Ahead of me was an aggressor A-4 Skyhawk, but before I could make a move on him, Pete called another bogey who was attacking us. It was another A-4, and he was closing in from our close eight o’clock position on our tail.
The Skyhawk is a smaller airplane with excellent turning abilities. I pulled hard left into him and saw him begin to overshoot. I then rolled nose low back to the right, as a Phantom closely pursued by a Tomcat shot past us in a climbing turn.
The Skyhawk followed my nose low roll, and I continued my roll “over the top,” and we found ourselves in a “rolling scissors” motion, with each one trying to get behind the other. As the horizon spun around me with each revolution of this rolling scissors, I noticed in my peripheral vision other fighters crossing, in front, above, and below us. With all these aircraft within such a small area maneuvering, I was amazed that so far, there had been no mid-air collisions.
After four revolutions with this Skyhawk, he suddenly broke off the fight to the left. I had no real opportunity for a shot, so I continued straight ahead, looking for Jack. I didn’t see him, but what I did see made my heart leap.
Straight ahead about 1,000 yards in front of us was an F-15 Eagle in a shallow left turn heading away from us. I pointed my nose directly at him and closed the gap. The Eagle pilot must have just seen me at that point because he tightened his turn. I rolled into a left turn, and he then rolled back right to almost wing level and pulled his nose up. “So much for this shot,” I thought as I saw his nose go up. I figured that he would next light his afterburners and pull straight up, which I couldn’t follow with my non-afterburning Intruder. Then, with him on top and me low, I would be easy prey for him.
Instead, his next move surprised me. He dropped his nose until it was level with the horizon, rolled left, and pulled harder into me. Amazing! This was exactly what I was hoping that he would do. I leveled my wings and pulled up my nose in a classic “high yo-yo” maneuver, converting my speed to altitude, which allowed me to close the gap between us while maintaining a good attack position. At the top of the yo-yo, I rolled back left, nose down, and slid into a gun position on his tail.
The Eagle attempted a reversal, but it didn’t shake me. More reversals, with more hard turns, but there was no way that this Eagle was going to out turn an Intruder. All that he had to do to escape was to light burners and go nose up. I could have never followed him. Yet for some reason, this F-15 pilot chose to try to out turn an A-6.
A fatal mistake.
The result of this tactic came soon—I called “Guns on the Eagle” over the common radio frequency. The F-15 rolled wings level, and wagged his wings back and forth—the signal acknowledging a kill. He knew who had won this fight. Had this been actual combat, he would have been floating under his parachute watching his flaming Eagle drop out of the sky—if he was lucky enough to get out of the airplane. Pete and I were ecstatic!
We dropped out of the circle and back to the desert floor. We were both soaked with sweat, and breathing hard. My right biceps was pumped up and burning—pulling 4 to 5 g’s for 15 minutes was like doing multiple sets of curls. I looked over at Pete, and he had blood running down the front of his oxygen mask! I asked him, “Did we take a hit?” “No,” he replied, “My glasses dug into the bridge of my nose during those high g turns.”
The fight was still going on above us, and after a few moments, we pulled back up and into the circle. More engagements with F‑4s and A-4s followed, but soon the fighters began running low on fuel and began to bug out. Finally it was down to us and the A-4s, and soon we, too, reached our minimum fuel. We dropped low, found Jack and Casey, and headed home.
We landed and headed to the debrief room with the other crews to talk about the flight. All the Tomcat crews were there, loudly exchanging stories of their own engagements and talking more with their hands. They were excited that they had prevailed over the F‑15s. We all were.
Sam arrived and the room got quiet. We knew that we had ignored the briefed battle plan. The temptation to dogfight with the F-15s had been too great for all of us, including Sam.
His eyes scanned the room, and with a smile he said, “I hope that you enjoyed that because it will be the last time that we will ever do anything like that again.”
“Enjoy” was an understatement. We savored every moment of this fighter sweep. It was a once in a lifetime experience. It was a flight that you would mortgage the house, the cat and the mother-in-law for.
Aside from the fun and satisfaction of that flight, I had learned a great lesson.
As Jack and I flew low across the desert, heading toward the hornet’s nest that was buzzing madly in front of us, we had only one thing on our minds—attacking the enemy airplanes and shooting them down. Yet once we actually pulled up into the fight and engaged the enemy, all of a sudden, it was us that were being attacked. We immediately were on the defensive and we spent much of our time that flight fending off those attacks. The battle was intense, and attackers were coming at us from all directions. We had our moments of success, but much time was spent in defending ourselves.
Eight years later, I began to understand that this principle applied not only to fighter sweeps, but also to battles fought in the spiritual arena.
Jesus once said, “The thief (Satan) comes only to steal and kill and destroy.” (John 10:10).
Paul told the Ephesian church, “Our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the world powers, against the world forces of this darkness, against the spiritual forces of wickedness in the heavenly places” (Ephesians 6:12).*
My experience with Lonnie had demonstrated the reality of “dark” spiritual forces. My Bible studies indicated that there was indeed an active, organized force of fallen angels with a definite command structure. Their mission here on Earth is to blind people to their need for a Savior and to actively oppose the work of the Kingdom of God. As we prepared to move the cargo out to Miskitia that February of 1985, I was about to get a lesson on just how strong this opposition is.
Remember the night I arrived in Tegucigalpa and met Neil and Joe and the group of dentists? The cargo was en route, and we had importation duties and in-country transportation all arranged. I was feeling good; everything was taken care of.
The next morning, I went to the airport with Neil and the dentists to help them load Neil’s Seneca for the flight out to Auka. Neil and I went to the Aeronautica office to file the flight plan. It was a relatively simple procedure and there didn’t seem to be any restrictions to flying out to Miskitia. I thought of my flight out to Rus Rus in the DC-3 with Fred a few months earlier, and how we had to pray as we taxied out that “the tower would release us for takeoff.” I asked Neil if there were any further procedures to get approval for the flight. “No,” was his reply. “Once you file the flight plan and get the Aeronautica office stamp on it, it’s approved.” Then why had Fred asked us to pray that the tower would release us? The pilot had already filed his flight plan. I began to wonder about some of the other things that Fred had told us. . . .
Auka is about two hours (240 miles) from Tegucigalpa in Neil’s Seneca. It’s a small village that is difficult to find by air because of the lack of distinguishable landmarks. Auka is surrounded by grassland and pine forest on one side, and a winding Kruta River with thick jungle and swamp on the other. I have flown in and out of there for over 10 years, and I still have to look carefully to find this village. It is an easy place to miss. The surest way to find Auka coming from Tegucigalpa is to find the town of Mocoron, with its Honduran army base and long dirt runway (very visible from the air), and fly a heading of 097 degrees for exactly 10 minutes. That heading and time should put you overhead Auka.
Neil took off with the first part of the dental team around 8:30 a.m. I returned to the airport at 1:00 p.m. with the second half of the team, and Neil arrived shortly after. The flight had gone smoothly, and Ron had been very happy to see him. It had been over a month since Ron had seen another American face. Neil refueled, and grabbed a burger from the Bigos hamburger place across the street, and a few for Ron as well. We loaded the team and their baggage, and he took off sometime after 3:00 p.m. Neil’s plan was to spend the night in Auka and return the following morning.
The prevailing wind in Auka comes from the northeast and picks up in the afternoon—usually averaging about 15 to 20 knots. That’s enough to blow you off course to the south.
This is apparently what happened to Neil, because when he arrived over Mocoron, he took his 097 degree cut, flew 10 minutes, and didn’t see Auka. After flying a few circles, and not seeing anything familiar, he did what you are supposed to do when you are “temporarily disoriented.” He reversed his original course and flew back to Mocoron—his last known point.
Once overhead Mocoron, he made a circle, and set out again for Auka. Again, after flying 10 minutes, he saw nothing familiar, and headed back to Mocoron to try again. By now the sun was low on the horizon. It would be dark within an hour.
He found Mocoron, and this time made a few circles over the army base to get his bearings, so that he could set up to fly an exact course to Auka. As he was circling the base, he noticed what looked like flares coming up from the base in his direction. Were they trying to signal him, or just maybe help him get his bearings? Neil wasn’t sure why they were shooting flares, but he was sure of one thing—that with approaching darkness, he’d better find Auka soon.
After 10 minutes, with a slight correction to the left to compensate for the wind, Neil sighted Auka, and landed. Everybody was happy to be on the ground in Auka. The next morning, the dental team began pulling teeth, and Neil returned to Tegucigalpa. However, there was a slight problem—Neil’s left engine lost most of its oil pressure during the flight and he had to shut that engine down. Fortunately the Seneca has two engines, and one is sufficient to keep the airplane airborne.
After he landed, he discovered a huge crack in the engine casing—most of the oil had leaked out of that engine. This crack was unrepairable—the engine had to be replaced. When I asked Neil how much a new engine would cost, he calmly replied “Oh, about $18,000.”
We made a plan. I would stay in Tegucigalpa and arrange for a plane to go pick the team up the following week. I would also arrange through our friend Joe to get an importation duty exemption for the replacement engine. Eighteen thousand dollars is a lot of money, and the importation duties would be considerable. Neil got on an airliner the next day and returned to Miami, saying that he would be back in “a few weeks” with a new engine.
What a strange time for that engine to go out! It was more than strange, and the story wasn’t over yet.
After Neil left for the United States, I spent the next four weeks living with Joe and his family. Joe had started numerous children’s feeding centers around Honduras, and in my spare time—which I had plenty of—I traveled with him to visit these centers. Joe also travelled with a group of young people who presented Gospel puppet shows and clown skits to these children as they received their plate of bulgar wheat and rice and a cup of milk. Joe’s program was to feed the children physically and spiritually.
For me, living and traveling with Joe was a crash course on how to effectively do the work of the Kingdom of God in the Third World. It was a practical course that no seminary could provide. During this time, the cargo arrived and was stored in the house that Joe used as his office.
One of Joe’s friends was a Honduran businessman named Victor. This man had recently entered into a personal relationship with the Lord, and was devoting much time toward the work of the Kingdom. One of his projects was helping start a church in Julticalpa, a town in the state of Olancho.
If you draw a straight line from Tegucigalpa to Mocoron, it passes close to the airstrip at Julicalpa, which is 80 miles from Tegucigalpa and only 160 miles from Auka. Victor suggested that we transport the cargo by truck to Juticalpa, where we could store it in his church building while we made our shuttle flights to Auka. This was an excellent idea. By flying a 160-mile leg to Auka (instead of a 240-mile leg), we would save over an hour of flight time and 20 gallons of fuel each flight.
Neil’s “a few weeks” had turned into four. He shipped the engine down on a cargo flight, and we got it out of customs the same afternoon that Neil and his wife Maggie arrived from Miami. The next day (Tuesday) we rented a truck, loaded it with as much of the cargo as it could hold (about half of the original shipment and five drums of aviation gas as well), and sent it on to Julticalpa. The engine was installed the same day. The next day, we took the Seneca for a test flight.
Victor and his wife drove out to Julticapla on Wednesday. They had some business to take care of, but they also wanted to be there to help us move the cargo out to the airstrip. Neil and I flew to Auka with a load of cargo. Our plan was to meet Victor in Julticalpa on Thursday.
When we arrived at the airstrip in Julticalpa on Thursday, Victor was not there to greet us. We took a taxi to his church building, and were dumbfounded by the scene that awaited us.
As we stepped out of the taxi, we saw that the church was surrounded by people— many of who were weeping. We made our way into the crowd, looking for a familiar face. We saw none. Finally, in my best Spanish, I asked a man where Victor was. He began a long and rapid explanation. I only caught a few words as he rambled on, but the words I did catch sent a queasy feeling to my stomach.
Victor and his wife had been killed in a head on collision the day before. They were cresting a hill when they collided with a truck who was passing another truck coming up the other side of the hill. They were killed instantly and their small car destroyed.
Victor’s friends at the church were in a state of shock. Neil and I were not sure what to do until an elderly gentleman named Julio came and introduced himself to us. He owned a bakery in town and was one of the elders of the church. Victor had told him about us and our mission. Julio offered to assist us with his truck and whatever else we needed.
We loaded Julio’s truck with the cargo and drove out to the airstrip and loaded the Seneca. Neil took off with over a 1,000 pounds of cargo for Auka. I stayed behind to organize the next load—I was just dead weight anyway. We spent the next four days moving the cargo. On the last flight on Sunday, I went with Neil to Auka. There, we had a very interesting conversation with Ron.
Puerto Lempira is the main town in the Honduran Miskitia and is about 20 miles north of Auka on the Caratasca Lagoon. It’s a 15 minute flight from Auka, but about 10 hours if you have to walk. A few weeks earlier, Ron had walked to Puerto Lempira. There he met a Honduran Army lieutenant who was stationed at Mocoron. When this lieutenant found out that Ron lived in Auka, he began asking him about any airplanes flying in there at the end of February. Ron told him that a twin-engine airplane had flown in a dental team. The lieutenant then told him an amazing story. . . .
The afternoon of Neil’s flight to Auka, this lieutenant had been on duty in Mocoron. A twin-engine airplane was seen flying overhead, heading southeast. About 20 minutes later, this same airplane approached Mocoron from the southeast, made a circle and headed off in that same direction. In another 25 minutes, the same airplane approached the army base from the southeast and began making circles over the base.
At this point the Honduras army troops were concerned. Since they had seen this airplane three times in less than an hour, and since it was coming from the direction of Nicaragua, where there was a serious war going on at that moment, and since it was late in the day, they concluded that this was a Nicaraguan airplane preparing to bomb the army base. The lieutenant ordered his soldiers to fire on the unidentified aircraft with one of the machine guns.
The gun crew fired, but after about 15 rounds, the machine gun jammed and would not fire. The crew immediately ran to another gun and began firing. After a few rounds, this gun too jammed. They went to a third gun, and began firing. Amazingly, this one also jammed after firing only a few rounds. By this point, Neil was headed off to Auka, and getting out of range. Since it was getting dark, the lieutenant ordered his men to cover the guns until daylight.
The next morning, the lieutenant ordered his men check the machine guns. Amazingly, all three guns fired normally!
The flares that Neil had seen when he circled Mocoron that last time were in fact tracer rounds—bullets that light up when fired which are spaced in the magazine at regular intervals so that the gunner can see where his rounds are going.
All three guns, which had been firing properly before, jammed and would not fire. Yet the next morning they functioned perfectly again. Ron told us that the lieutenant was “visibly moved to tears” as he realized that he had almost shot this missionary airplane out of the sky.
What about those machine guns?
Why had they all of a sudden jammed, only to work properly the next day?
Neil and I were shocked to discover that he had almost been shot out of the sky. On the surface here in Honduras everything seemed to be going smoothly. But this, plus Victor’s death, and Neil’s broken engine were vivid reminders that we were working in a very hostile environment. Somebody was opposing us. It was nothing that we could put our finger on directly, but we sensed in our spirits that we had stepped into enemy territory.
We later realized that of all the villages in Miskitia, Auka is considered one of the centers of witchcraft. This is the village that we had almost “randomly” selected in 1984 to establish our base. When we asked the village elders for a site to build our house, they gave us a piece of land on a little hill southwest of the village that had no houses within a half mile. We later were told that this hill was a place where people had “seen Satan” at night as they passed.
Yes, the “spiritual forces of wickedness” led by “The Thief” himself were upset at our intrusion into their territory. A definite spiritual battle was taking place. Our mission here in Miskitia was not necessarily to destroy the enemy as it had been in Red Flag, but rather to save the lives of the innocent. Still, we met heavy opposition. This enemy was not willing to concede an inch of territory or one soul to us.
As we entered the enemy’s territory and “pulled up into the fight” as Jack and I had done in the Red Flag fighter sweep, we felt the fury of the battle. We knew that we had our own celestial support—the “jammed” machine guns for starters. But we knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that we were in a battle. The enemy forces so far had two confirmed kills, one damaged airplane and a nearly downed airplane.
This mission was more dangerous than we initially realized. I was used to fighting using my physical senses and physical weapons. This war was on an entirely different level, against unseen but very real enemies. Weapons and strategies existed to fight in this realm but were different than what I had been trained to use.
Paul said to his friends at Corinth:
“For though we walk in the flesh, we do not war according to the flesh, for the weapons of our warfare are not of the flesh, but divinely powerful for the destruction of fortresses.” (2 Corinthians 10:3–4)
Now it was time to learn to fight this spiritual war using spiritual weapons.
The first step in this spiritual battle was what Paul told the Ephesian church—recognize the enemy. I knew from previous experience that he existed.
The next step was to recognize where our strength in the spiritual realm comes from: “Finally, be strong in the Lord and in the strength of His might.” (Ephesians 6:10)
Our strength comes through our relationship with Him.
It is He who gives us the power to fight.
Then it’s time to “Put on the full armor of God, that you may be able to stand firm against the schemes of the devil.” (Ephesians 6:11)
What is this spiritual armor? Paul goes on to explain:
“Therefore put on the full armor of God, so that when the day of evil comes, you may be able to stand your ground, and after you have done everything, to stand. Stand firm then, with the belt of truth buckled around your waist, with the breastplate of righteousness in place, and with your feet fitted with the readiness that comes from the gospel of peace. In addition to all this, take up the shield of faith, with which you can extinguish all the flaming arrows of the evil one. Take the helmet of salvation and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God.” (Ephesians 6:13–17)[NIV]
This armor that Paul describes so well in this sixth chapter of the book of Ephesians is the defense that a close and obedient relationship with God gives you—believing His truth vs. Satan’s lies; knowing your relationship as an adopted son or daughter of God Himself and the legal rights that go along with that relationship; your willingness to share the good news of this relationship; your faith in God to protect you; and your knowledge that you have eternal life with Him no matter what may happen here in this life. This is the defensive armor that God offers us.
But there are offensive weapons as well. The “sword” in the spiritual realm is God’s Word—Truth to apply to every situation where you feel yourself under spiritual attack; truth about your identity; truth about God’s promises to you; truth about the limited power of the evil one over you.
The other weapon He gives us is Prayer—communion with Him; prayer to align ourselves with God and His will and move with Him to accomplish His plan for our lives and for this world.
Truth and prayer are powerful dynamics in the spiritual realm.
The concept of a spiritual war seemed ambiguous when I lived full-time in the United States. Maybe that’s because few people there really believe in the existence of the spiritual realm. Even in most churches, spiritual warfare tactics were taught in a similar way that we flew in the Red Flag exercises—with little fear of real bullets.
Here in Miskitia, where everybody knows for a fact that the spiritual realm exists, and that it influences their lives daily, it was a different story. This was real combat— against an enemy firmly entrenched in the culture. Daily he sent “flaming missiles” in our direction.
Before, I had been trained in the Navy to recognize surface-to-air missiles and their associated fire-control radar systems, and how to take proper evasive action. Now I had to learn to recognize an entirely new array of weaponry—things like lies, deceptions, false “signs along the way,” temptations, discord, and disease. These things are common to everyday life. “The Thief” himself is the source of many of these which he uses for his own warfare purposes.
Even though the battles in the spiritual realm were for the most part “unseen,” this was a struggle more real and more important than any I had ever been a part of.
On Sunday, March 31, we flew back to Tegucigalpa. I arrived feeling like our mission was accomplished, and soon I would be able to head back to Maui. Joe met us at the airport with two reporters from the Houston Chronicle who were interested in doing a story on the Miskito Indian refugees. They wanted to go to Miskitia, and asked if I could help. Somehow at that moment, I sensed that it would be a while before I saw the island of Maui again.
I was right. A year later (May 1986), I finally arrived back home on Maui. In the meantime, some very significant things had happened.
More of the remaining cargo was taken to Auka. The rest was given to Joe’s network of churches and feeding centers for distribution.
Our relationship with Fred was increasingly strained as we realized that his interests in the mission were more political than anything else. We saw an opportunity to cultivate true Christianity among these Miskitos who had a Christian heritage but where true relationship with the Creator was rare. Fred saw opportunity for adventure and headlines, and it seemed like the Christian mission was a convenient vehicle for his own personal agenda. As time went on in early 1985, Fred’s behavior began to stray outside the norms of what is expected of a Christian leader. I sensed some “spiritual tactics” were being employed against us by the enemy to compromise our own principles. I realized that if I was to maintain any credibility in my work among the Miskitos, I could no longer work with Fred.
Ron and John agreed. We all realized that the Lord wanted to do more among these Miskitos than just deliver relief supplies. In April, John brought a medical team down, and we had an opportunity to discuss the situation. It was the following month that we (Ron, John, and myself) decided to form our own non-profit corporation to continue this work. John said that he knew a lawyer in his church in California who could probably give him some advice. Ron and I agreed to stay in Honduras while John initiated the paperwork. Then an amazing thing happened.
As John spoke to this lawyer friend about forming a non-profit corporation, the lawyer turned to his files and brought out a folder of papers. It was all the papers for a non-profit corporation he had formed two years earlier. He felt like the Lord had given him clear direction to get all the papers in order, but nothing more than that. So the papers sat in the file cabinet while he awaited further orders.
Now, while talking with John about the Miskito project, he made a decision. He gave the folder to John. The corporation that he had formed over two years earlier he now felt should be used for the Miskito project. What normally takes up to six months was accomplished in a moment of decision. We had our corporation papers—all in order. The name of the corporation was “Salt & Light.”
I received the news in July when Neil and our friend Ed flew into Auka.
“Oh, by the way, you are now called Salt & Light,” Ed told me.
“What a strange name,” I thought. I never would have picked a name like that. I had to think back to that passage in the book of Matthew where Jesus told his disciples:
You are the salt of the earth. But if the salt loses its saltiness, how can it be made salty again? It is no longer good for anything, except to be thrown out and trampled by men. You are the light of the world. A city on a hill cannot be hidden. Neither do people light a lamp and put it under a bowl. Instead they put it on its stand, and it gives light to everyone in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before men, that they may see your good deeds and praise your Father in heaven. (Matthew 5:13–16) [NIV]
We take salt and light for granted, but most cultures don’t.
Salt is an important commodity to the Miskitos. They flavor their beans and rice with it and use it to preserve their meat and fish. It was the same in Jesus’ time. His people needed a flavor enhancer for their food. Salt is also used to preserve meat. Most Miskitos are without refrigeration and use salt to keep their meat for longer periods.
Salt—a flavor enhancer and preservative.
Light is also important to Miskitos. At night they use a special kind of high-resin pine wood torch or a kerosene wick lamp to light their houses. In a dark house on the Coco River, it is difficult to find anything. With a light in a house, you can see, you can find things, you can cook, you can use a machete safely. When traveling by river or foot at night, the lights inside the homes on the river bank serve as guides to safely navigate. Light was important in Jesus’ time for many of the same reasons.
Light—an enabler and a guide.
So, now we were more than just people delivering relief supplies. By our very name we were to be a flavor enhancer, a preservative, an enabler, and a guide for these Miskitos’ lives, and any other people that we met. This was a very interesting name and mission that the Lord had given us.
But with our meager finances and limited contacts, how were we going to do anything substantial here in the Miskitia?
The answer to that question took the form of two Americans who arrived in Auka in the spring of 1986.
P.S. Regarding that tongue-in-cheek comment I made earlier about all Air Force pilots “choosing not to attempt a landing on an aircraft carrier,” let me add this: I knew two Air Force pilots who were assigned to Navy Intruder squadrons who made successful cruises aboard the USS Constellation, and whose landing grades were among the top in the air wing. They were good sticks.
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