Private First Class James W. Ponder III arrived in the Republic of Korea just two weeks after completing his advanced individual training as a CH47D aircraft mechanic at Fort Eustis, Virginia. At 22 years of age, the blonde haired, blue eyed Tennessee native stood just an inch shy of 6 feet and weighed a slim 160 lbs.
I had been on the ROK for just about two years when I first met PFC Ponder. I was working late on a Friday evening trying to install a new engine transmission on my Chinook’s No. 2 engine, along with fellow crewdog Jay, when Private First Class James W. Ponder III and Private Scott Jamar from the maintenance platoon walked out to the flight line offering help despite having been released for the weekend by their platoon sergeant. Jay and I readily accepted their offer as hanging the 120 lb. transmission was a three man job at best.
At 2000 hours, under the dark Korean sky, we called it quits having successfully installed the transmission.
“Looks like you guys missed dinner, the chow hall is closed, c’mon, dinner’s on me at the NCO club,” I said.
PFC Ponder replied, “That’s OK sergeant, we’ll grab something back at the barracks.”
“Private Ponder,” I said sternly, pausing momentarily to look at both he and PVT Jamar, “you two have done an outstanding job of helping to get this aircraft back into a flyable status, above and beyond what is required of you, so a hot meal and cold beer is the least that I can do, and yes, I’m pulling rank.”
The following morning, PFC Ponder showed up on the tarmac as I was getting my helicopter ready for a maintenance test flight.
“What’re you doing out here on a Saturday morning Ponder?” I asked, unhooking a blade rope from one of the forward rotor blades.
“Figured I’d see the job through,” he offered, grabbing another blade rope.
Three weeks later when a vacancy opened in the ranks of the flight platoon, PFC Ponder seemed a logical choice to fill it.
He quickly mastered the challenging tasks that come with being a crewdog and worked hard at learning the complicated flight systems of the CH47D. It didn’t take long for me to recognize that young Ponder would be one of the better flight engineers flying for the Army. It also didn’t take long for us to become good friends.
“James, let’s knock off for the day and get a few beers,” I suggested. We had been flying everyday for five days as part of his RL progression training and I had been grilling him with questions ranging from the hydraulic system to the engine’s tachometer generator, we both needed a break.
“Only if you call me ‘Tre’” he answered.
“Tre it is, c’mon, maybe we’ll find Jay, he owes me a few cold ones.”
As young single men in our early to mid 20s serving our nation in a foreign land, putting our faith into one another each time we took to the skies, a bond naturally formed among us. Eventually, Tre, Jay, and I became close and we decided to rent an apartment downtown in “the ville” giving us a place to let our hair down when we had the chance.
Most of the crewdogs could be found at our place on the weekends where we would bar-b-que meat from the commissary and share war stories over several cold beers. The old adage of “working hard and playing hard” certainly was our mantra, and nobody worked harder than Tre.
Tre could always be counted on, with his easy going, dedicated attitude you never doubted that he’d come through. He always did, and usually with a “shit eating” grin on his face.
Some of the fondest memories from my days as a crewdog involve Tre Ponder.
When our tour on the ROK was over, we went our separate ways, I to Italy, Jay to Georgia, and Tre to Kentucky. I ran into Tre five years later, after my Italian adventures, when I moved to Kentucky. He and his then pregnant wife helped me move into my apartment, lending me some tools and a ladder. Though a little older and now a family man, Tre was still that same old easy going southern boy that you could count on.
We didn’t see a lot of each other, as Tre had “gone over to the dark side” serving with the Army’s premier 160th Special Operations Aviation Regiment. I did catch his name on the promotion list to Master Sergeant in the spring of 2005 and sent him an email of congratulations. It was great to hear back from him and that he was the proud father of two beautiful daughters. I learned that he was still with special operations and was heading back to Afghanistan in the near future. Our paths had narrowly missed crossing.
On June 28th, 2005, James W. Ponder III, Tre, died when the CH47D he was flying on crashed in Afghanistan.
Tre was a “Night Stalker,” part of a unit that services all military Special Forces (like the Navy Seals and Army Rangers) behind enemy lines. Night Stalkers usually work in the cover of darkness, bringing supplies, taking troops in and out of enemy territory, and addressing other needs, like coming to the aid of soldiers in danger.
It was a risky job, and Leslie knew that when she married him. “But he was Tre … He was my husband, the father to our children. I knew he was a soldier, but the military didn’t define him.”
In Afghanistan, Tre hung up the phone with his family, showered and went to bed. Later, he was awoken with an urgent message. There were four Navy Seals trapped on a mountaintop, surrounded by enemy fighters. The Seals had called for support, knowing they were outnumbered. Even though it was the middle of the day, an unusual occasion for Night Stalkers, they took a chance so that these soldiers could be rescued.
Tre was in Afghanistan only to train and had no obligation to go on the flight, but he signed up as a crew member because they were shorthanded. As the helicopter approached the mountain, it was struck by an insurgent grenade launcher and crashed. All 16 soldiers on that aircraft, including MSG Tre Ponder, died that day, along with three of the four Navy Seals that they came to rescue.
Tre was undoubtedly a great husband and father and I know he was an outstanding soldier and friend. He’s been on my mind lately as we recognize America’s fallen heroes this Memorial Day.
Tre Ponder would love nothing more than for you to fire up the grill, enjoy a cold beer, or throw a line into your favorite fishing hole today. He lived for moments like those, and he died for them. Let us all honor his sacrifice, and the sacrifices of so many others, today no matter what we are doing.
Taps
I’ll see you on Fiddler’s Green my friend. I miss you. Sgt Hook out.
Posted by Hook @ 1356 zulu | | Permalink
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