MiG, and although my gun camera clearly showed that I had destroyed the second enemy plane, there was a question as to which side of the Yalu River I had been on when I shot it down. Consequently, I received no special honor for winning one of the most dangerous battles of my life. But I was thrilled that I had helped to protect my buddies and that I had taken another enemy of our nation out of the sky. As with many conflicts I’d encounter in life, it really didn’t matter who got the credit. What mattered was taking care of each other.
I’m certainly not infallible, and I’ve had some experiences that some of my friends and colleagues might be ashamed to admit. But we all make mistakes and sometimes cross some lines that we shouldn’t. A few of my mistakes almost cost me my life.
On another occasion, I almost ran out of fuel while flying close to the Chinese/North Korean border. I had to stay calm and nurse my fuel supply all the way back to base. As I’ve often said, fighter pilots don’t have emotions; we have ice in our veins. That quality served me well when, 16 years later, the Apollo 11 computers began to malfunction, just as Neil and I closed in on landing on the Moon. I’ll tell you more about that later!
ON ONE PATROL OVER NORTHERN KOREA, I was flying in formation with good friend and wingman Sam Johnson when we lost contact. The wingmen looked out for each other, flying side by side and watching each other’s backs. Sam and I flew all the way to the Yalu River, the boundary American pilots were warned not to cross.
We saw some movement on the ground and some other things going on that we might be able to do something about, but we had no orders from our commanding officers allowing us to attack, and we were too close to the Yalu River and the Chinese border, plus I was concerned about our fuel levels. It was a dangerous situation.
I said to Sam, “It’s time to head back.” I looked out my cockpit window, expecting to see Sam behind me to the side, but I couldn’t spot him and he didn’t respond. That wasn’t like Sam, so I got worried.
“Sam, where are you?” I asked. “I can’t see you.”
Suddenly, through the familiar sound of Sam’s gunnery fire, rat-a-tat-tat; ehh-ehh-ehh-ehh, I heard Sam’s voice on my headset. “I’ll be right with you, Buzz!” More gunnery fire: Ehh-ehhh-ehhh-ehhhh. Clearly, Sam was engaged with the enemy somewhere in the skies nearby. I swerved my F-86 hard, turning around quickly, as my eyes searched for Sam’s plane. If my buddy was in trouble, I had to help him.
Next thing I knew, Sam was flying right beside me. We chased the MiGs as far as we dared, but they were too fast for us to catch up. We zoomed out of the danger zone and headed back to South Korea, watching our fuel gauges all the way.
When we finally got back to our base and landed, we got chewed out royally by our commanding officers. I didn’t mind the scolding. After all, there was no way I was going to leave my friend when he needed me most.
To me, that is one of the most important principles of life: Never leave your friends behind. Consequently, throughout my lifetime, I’ve tried to keep in touch with my buddies, even though it has not always been easy, because most of us have stayed quite busy. In times past, I’d burn up the telephone lines; these days, text messaging has become my preferred method of communication, a great way for me to stay connected with my friends. But don’t kid yourself. Keeping in touch requires intentionality. You must consciously make the effort to stay connected with your friends, or it won’t happen. You’ll gradually slip away from each other, like a married couple that once loved each other but allowed the sparks of passion and the flame of love to be snuffed out.
Time goes by and we all get caught up with daily responsibilities, priorities, and the tyranny of the urgent. It is easy to get so busy that we forget about those people who have played such important roles in our lives, so every so often, I will swing back to see how my friends are doing. It doesn’t take a lot to do that. Maybe a quick phone call or