Faith, determination of POW key to survival

  • Published
  • By Amn Michaela R. Slanchik
  • 22nd Air Refueling Wing Public Affairs
MCCONNELL AIR FORCE BASE, Kan. --  Retired U.S. Marine Corps Maj. Paul Montague enlisted in 1952. Sixteen years later, on March 28, 1968, he was captured by the Vietnamese armed forces, the Viet Cong.

The helicopter pilot was flying his CH-46 Sea Knight when he was shot down trying to pick up a recovery team that was working on a downed aircraft. It would be another five years before he saw his freedom again.

A blizzard of bullets from the barrels of enemy’s guns lit the cockpit up like fireworks. The helicopter began to lose power. He did everything in he could to keep it flying, but it was too damaged to continue.

Montague used everything he learned in training and his prior experience flying to land the helicopter properly, managing to land the crew in a small patch of land in the jungle.

“I had more people shoot at me in one day than I even knew existed,” said Montague. “I couldn’t see anything. I was looking for a way out, but there wasn’t one.”

As the helicopter filled with smoke, Montague faded in and out of consciousness. He thought he was going to die.

Montague finally found a way out through a broken window of his helicopter. As he began to move toward the window, t copilot informed him that they had company.

A piece of broken glass tucked into the waistband of his flight suit was his only means of self-defense. What he didn’t realize was that the shard was not going to protect himself from what came next.
Six enemy soldiers strapped with AK-47 assault rifles were standing just 10 feet away, surrounding the downed helicopter.

“AK-47s all around looking at us, what were we going to do?” remarked Montague. “I was captured. I spent the next five years in the communist inns.”

The Marine sounded off his name, rank and service number. From then on, it was all about survival. Montague had no one to depend on but himself and his spirituality.

“In those five years, I learned quite a bit,” said Montague. “I learned about God.”

His daily routine changed from his usual “good morning” kisses with his wife Shirley and his kids, enjoying time at home in California and teaching new pilots how to fly to being starved, dehydrated and tortured by the North Vietnamese.

He was given a concrete cell, a bucket of river water and a small twine cot to attempt to sleep on. Every night, he bathed in a nearby river and snuck a bite of toothpaste for dessert.

The prison guards decided when Montague could leave the cell to urinate or get fresh air, but one night, there were no guards to release him to urinate outside. He decided to take matters into his own hands.

“The next morning a guard came to open the door and my cell was flooded,” said Montague. “I had urinated all over the place, and I was damn proud of it.”

Interrogations were common, Montague stayed true to his oath to his country and kept his mouth shut days of constant torture and little sleep. He was tied up, slapped around and beaten with bamboo sticks. He bled from his eyebrows down to the soles of his feet.

The once-200-pound Marine now had trouble walking up a small flight of stairs.

One morning a guard, armed with an automatic weapon, pulled him from his cell. He knew this was going to be the end. He was taken outside, where, he reasoned, there wouldn’t be such a mess after he was shot, or so he thought.

Montague prepared himself for what was coming.

Instead, the guard passed him a cigarette and a light and they stood in silence.

The enemy had his orders to obey; however, the guard understood it was all a game.

“I was nothing,” said Montague. “I’m just a little ole’ pawn in this game of chess.”

Montague kept his faith and upheld his promise to America. Through the torture there were few who did not keep their vow.

“My cellmate was a North Vietnamese communist information-giver,” said Montague. “He took everything said in our cell and reported it to the guards. They would call him in and he would report everything from the week. I was outclassed, out ranked, and there was nothing I could do to stop him.”

No matter how sore and weak he was from torture, Montague always upheld his promise to his country.

“How many of you are truly Americans?” Montague asks those he meets now. “By that, I mean are you willing to lay down your life for your country? I was.”

Montague attributes his strength and ability to survive 1,814 grueling days of captivity to his faith.

“We are not supermen,” said Montague. “Not all things are possible. But with God, they are.”

On March 16, 1973, Montague was released from captivity.

After receiving two Silver Stars, a Legion of Merit, a Bronze Star and a Prisoner of War Medal, he returned to active duty until his retirement in August, 1977.

These days, the small-town, farm boy lives comfortably in his home with Shirley in Rose Hill, Kansas.