Christmas in Hanoi

Captain Robert G. Certain, 25, a B-52 navigator, was due to fly home from Guam for Christmas on Dec. 20. The day before, an officer from Andrews Air Force Base drove to the Washington, D.C., office of Certain's father, a labor-relations director for the Southern Railway System, identified himself and said: "I regret to inform you that your son is missing in action in North Viet Nam."

All across the U.S. last week, dozens of Air Force officers performed one of the saddest duties in the military: serving as couriers for the casualty division at Randolph A.F.B., near San Antonio. It had been the worst week for the Air Force since Tet 1968. Though only one flyer was known to have been killed, 38 Air Force crewmen were reported missing. Randolph passed along the news of each casualty to the Air Force unit nearest the home town of the next of kin. The officer assigned to the duty called for a blue staff car and drove off to deliver the news in person.

"They just about know what you are there for," explains Captain Edward Lindquist, 32, who has delivered such notices himself. "They guess it when they see the car and see you standing at the door. There isn't any good way to do it. No easy way. You get a cross section of reactions. Sometimes there is a blank stare. You're not sure if they've heard you. Sometimes there are tears. Sometimes there are tears before you say a word."

In each case, the officer carries with him the original confirming message, typed on plain bond paper, which he hands to the next of kin. Regulations stipulate that the notification be "error free"--double-checked for accuracy, with no erasures, no smudges. The standard text sent last week to all B-52 next of kin, with minor variations, reads as follows: "It is with deep personal concern that I officially inform you that your son is missing in action in North Viet Nam on Dec. 19. He was a navigator on board a B-52 aircraft that crashed after apparently being struck by hostile fire. Other details are unknown at this time. However, they will be furnished to you as soon as they are known. Pending further information he will be listed officially as missing in action. If you have any questions, you may contact my personal representative, toll-free, by [telephoning Randolph]. Please accept my sincere sympathy during this period of anxiety. Major General K.L. Tallman, Commander, Air Force Military Personnel Center."

The rules also require haste. An overseas Air Force commander is required to forward to the casualty division at Randolph knowledge of any crewman killed or missing in action within four hours. Randolph passes the news on to the local base almost immediately.

Last week such speed was fortuitous. Two days after several of the families were notified, photographs of their sons or husbands were distributed by Hanoi, and then published widely in the U.S. Certain's brother Alan, an accountant in Atlanta, got the news from his wife, who had heard it on a radio news broadcast. Alan immediately called his father, who had been visited just half an hour earlier by the notification officer.

For the next of kin who received such messages last week, there were particularly bitter ironies. Most of the missing flyers were B-52 crewmen, and B-52 missions throughout the war had been the safest combat duty in the Air Force. As far as is known, only one of the eight-engine Stratofortresses had been lost to enemy fire. That was on Nov. 22, and the crew was able to parachute to safety in Thailand. The air war had been confined below the 20th parallel during the peace talks, and a ceasefire, seemingly imminent, promised to put an end to the bombing missions altogether. Now, in the space of a few days, the men had become among the most vulnerable in the military.

No Split. For the Certains, as for the others, the timing seemed the cruelest blow of all. Robert was shot down on his last mission before flying home. "The family was gathering home for Christmas," said Mrs. George Vann, Certain's sister, from her parents' home in Silver Spring, Md. "My brother and his wife Robbie were coming from Arkansas. He was due home on R. and R. for Christmas." Another brother. Captain John Certain, is a tanker pilot based in Thailand.

The remaining son, Philip, is a professor of chemistry at the University of Wisconsin. Says Alan: "We are a middle-class family. We all live on our salaries. We work for a living." He said the family is "all very close. When things of this sort happen, when a crisis period occurs, we rally around each other." Alan took umbrage at a press report that the family was split on the war. "I was not aware we had a split of any kind," he commented. "We are split by distance. But I know of no other split."

If the new bombing continues, it seems a grim certainty that the P.O.W.-M.I.A. count will climb still higher. More notification officers will be fanning out across the U.S. in weeks to come, clutching their "error-free" confirming messages, just as regulations prescribe.

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