Major Van Harl, USAF Retired
Major Van E. Harl was a career Police Officer in the U.S. Air Force. He was born in Burlington, Iowa, USA, in 1955. He was the Deputy Chief of police at two Air Force Bases and the Commander of Law Enforcement Operations at another.
Major Harl is a graduate of the U.S. Army Infantry School, the Air Force Squadron Officer School and the Air Command and Staff College.
After retiring from the Air Force he was a state police officer in Nevada. He was a member of the Crime Scene Investigation Unit for the City of Wichita Falls, Texas, Police Department. He taught Air Force Junior ROTC at a high school in Mississippi.
Major Harl has a Bachelor of Science degree in Criminal Justice and a Masters degree in Education. He was an instructor and course supervisor at the Air Force Police Academy.
He enjoys camping, traveling, volunteering with the Girl Scouts and writing. He writes articles, poetry, and has a published, children's story. He is involved in Civil War re-enacting with his daughter.
Major Harl's father was career Navy. Major Harl is retired Air Force and his wife is currently on active duty as an Air Force Medical Officer. Because of this, he had been on the move all his life. He has lived on or near military bases his entire life. He currently lives in Colorado Springs, Air Force Base,CO with his wife Col. Dawn Harl USAF NC, daughter Felicity and two dogs. vanharl@aol.com
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In the Jemez Mountains of the Santa Fe National Forest, about a three hour drive out of Albuquerque, New Mexico, at 8000 feet is a wonderful place called Rancho del Chaparral. It is the summer camp for the Chaparral Girl Scout Council of Albuquerque. When the Colonel was stationed at Kirtland Air Force Base in Albuquerque our daughter attended many Girl Scout functions at that camp. I came to like it so much that for three years I would spend weeks at a time volunteering my labor, helping the camp Ranger do needed maintenance. In return for my free labor I got to hike in the forest and watch elk walk past me in the evening when all was quiet.
Prior to moving to New Mexico my daughter and I had done Civil War re-enacting and I had built a wooden handcart. I used the handcart to simulate removing the wounded and dead from a re-enacting battlefield. On Kirtland AFB I kept it out in my front yard with a US flag posted on it. On the flag in small print were the names of veterans who I knew were deployed. One day while working in my front yard an Air Force rescue helicopter flew low over my home. I looked at it and my handcart at the same time and realized that the rescue helicopter was the modern day version of the venerable old handcart. I went into the house to write a poem titled “The Handcart Boys.” It was about the men and women who risked their lives in helicopters to bring our injured and dead troops out of harms way.
Days after I wrote that poem the Air Force lost a Pave Hawk rescue helicopter in Afghanistan. The co-pilot was from Belen, New Mexico (a few miles south of Albuquerque) and she had been a very active Girl Scout in her youth. She had spent many happy days camping at Rancho. I sent a copy of the poem to her minister who conducted the funeral. To my surprise it was used in the eulogy. I never knew Captain Tamara Long-Archuleta, USAF, but I have come to know her family. One day while working at the camp an Air Force rescue aircraft flew over. It could have been Captain Tammy on a training flight, but it wasn’t... she was gone.
There is a large rock sticking out of the ground in a clearing at the camp. This is a landmark used by flight-for-life helicopter pilots to navigate on to if someone were to be seriously injured during camp. I named it Rescue Rock and started working with the Girl Scouts to develop a memorial for Captain Tammy. This got me assigned to a year long planning committee and lots of hours of manual labor. The camp Ranger and I dug large boulders out of the side of the mountain to establish a thirty foot stone ring around Rescue Rock. A local LDS church group provided most of the back breaking labor and technical support. The council had a memorial stone carved and it was placed in front of Rescue Rock.
During the year long planning I got to know the parents of Captain Tammy- Richard and Cindy Long. Everybody thinks their child is special--but Captain Tammy was. She was a world class Karate champion, distinguished college graduate, an Air Force officer, rescue pilot and a mother. She was supposed to be leaving Afghanistan in a few weeks and come home to be married. She had wanted to be a rescue pilot since she was a little girl. She even developed a board game in school called “Rescue Princess.” But this game was different, the Princess went out and risked her life to save, not be saved. This was what she was doing on her last mission, trying to rescue two injured Afghan children. She wanted to be a career Air Force officer and most likely would not be home in New Mexico for Christmas this year if she was still on active duty. But now, Captain Tammy will never be home for Christmas. No Christmas Eve service at the little Methodist Church in Belen. No seeing the folks, no new husband and no young son to hold.
She was a hero for her country, for her Air Force, for her family and most importantly- for her son, but Captain Tammy will not be home for Christmas. Remember your veterans, but whenever you can, hold tight your active duty family members—they may not ever be home for Christmas again, make the time count. Thank you Captain Tammy and to your family, I am so sorry.
5 December 2006
Major Van Harl USAF Ret.
vanharl@aol.com
SHE WILL NEVER BE HOME FOR CHRISTMAS
Major Van Harl USAF Ret.
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Special Operations Wing – SOW
Pigs are important in special-ops.
One is always on guard duty at Rescue Rock.
"THE HANDCART BOYS"
He's lying in the tree line, blood running down his arm.
Listening for the sound of the Handcart boys, to remove him from this harm.
He flew in on a modern jet that got shot down in this affray.
But he is no different than the wounded at Shiloh, trying to survive, till they safely take him away.
In the dark of the night she waits with so much pain to bear.
Injured in the crash of her aircraft and now this seemly endless nightmare.
Where is the chopper that will lift her from the smoke, the fire and the pain?
Where are the Handcart boys, hurry, her life is beginning to drain? He was wounded when a round slammed onto the "cruiser's" deck.
Shards of metal are protruding from the right side his neck.
The corpsman has stopped the bleeding; he's been prepared, to be extracted in the night.
The Handcart boys are racing his way, and will be there by first light.
Get in, get them out, and hurry back, to the safety of our lines.
It has been this way since ancient wars, to the battles of modern times.
The two-wheel Handcart is the way the wounded were removed from battles in past wars.
Our modern Handcart has a rotor-blade and sliding doors.
Look at history, look at art work, or at movies if you will.
When it came to removing the wounded off of some war torn desolate hill.
It was a Handcart carrying the broken and the dying with their screams of pain.
It was a Handcart transporting at Normandy in the cold June rain.
Every branch of the service has its modern version of the Handcart boys who respond to the call.
They go out for the wounded and dead, bring them back, get them all.
Some times the Handcart boys are brought back in a Handcart not of their own.
Some times they become the wounded & the dying, and for their efforts, they never come home.
There are also women who work these, latter-day Handcarts and their lives too, are on the line.
It is a dangerous mission, but just as their predecessors they to make that recovery in time.
They move out over the desert, into the night as the sand blows and swirls.
These Handcart operators are our Handcart girls.
I have a two-wheeled wooden handcart with an old worn flag sitting out on my front lawn.
It is not a protest, it's a reminder of our injured, who returned by Handcart, lying there upon.
In order to defend this Nation, we will continue to send the brave & young, our freedom they earn.
And we will always have a need for the Handcarts, for our wounded and dead, they must return.
Major Van E. Harl, USAF Ret. 15 March 2003
Vanharl@aol.com
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