Remembering Staff Sergeant Jacob McMillan
|
Getting your Trinity Audio player ready...
|
Staff Sergeant Jacob McMillan
Jacob McMillan and I were best friends, and we couldn’t have imagined a more fun place to grow up than in the heart of Louisiana’s Cajun country. We camped in tents, built forts, staged BB gun wars in the coulees of our neighborhood, and cruised the bayous on his dad’s 14-foot aluminum boat. We trained in the martial arts, where I earned a black belt and he was the senior-class captain of our high school wrestling team. I wanted to become a secret agent and he dreamed of being an Army Ranger.
Immediately after graduating high school, Jacob enlisted in the Army. He volunteered for airborne school and completed the grueling Ranger leadership course. Soon thereafter, he wore the maroon beret and sported the Ranger tab on his left sleeve. I attended the University of Louisiana, where I studied criminal justice and worked as a police officer. But aviation fascinated me, and I took flying lessons every chance I could, earning my pilot’s license at 20 years old.
Tucker Axum adjusting uniform at Jacob McMillan’s wedding reception.
I couldn’t wait to take my best friend flying, but he was stationed in Vicenza, Italy. Thankfully fate intervened when he had fallen in love with a young lady and they were returning to Louisiana to get married. While devouring a plate of crawfish étouffée at their reception, I announced my gift to Jacob would be a scenic flight over our hometown. Not surprisingly, his mother and new bride were not the least bit enamored with the idea, but Jacob was thrilled. He hugged his mother and kissed his wife of only a few hours, and promised them we’d be fine. We rushed to the airport like kids running to recess.
“You just turned twenty-one,” Jacob said, as we sat shoulder-to-shoulder inside the cramped Cessna 152. “And I’m still twenty. We’re too young to rent a car, but they’ll let you rent an airplane?”
“Crazy, huh?” I replied.
He laughed in astonishment. “That’s freakin’ wild!”
I handed him the checklist. “You’re my copilot. Let’s check ’em off one by one.”
He didn’t hesitate as he grabbed the laminated card and started rattling off the tasks until we were ready for takeoff.
“Full military power,” he commanded.
I chuckled. “That’s only about 110 horsepower in this little engine that could.”
From our bird’s-eye view, we enjoyed seeing the Ragin’ Cajuns football stadium, Cajundome multi-purpose arena, St. John’s Cathedral, and the same bayous we used to explore as kids. We soared over the famous McIlhenny Tabasco plant at Avery Island, but Jacob was not overwhelmed by this standard flight I often shared with my friends and family.
“Do a hammerhead,” he urged.
“I’m not familiar with that technique,” I confessed.
He explained it was an aerobatic maneuver designed to get a bogey off our tail. Using his hand to demonstrate, he showed how the plane climbs full blast into the sky until it can’t power itself any higher, and then abruptly pivots to point its nose at the earth below.
I didn’t trust myself or the weathered rental plane to withstand that type of aerial maneuver. Instead, I decided to give Jake a thrill by performing a 60-degree steep turn that produced g-forces twice his body weight. Even feeling the weight of 370 pounds didn’t faze him! So, I applied full power and raised the nose to perform a climb angle so high the horizon disappeared from our view. The flight controls got mushy, and the airplane started buffeting. The plane’s nose dipped and we got that sinking feeling you get on a rollercoaster. I glanced over at Jacob and he looked as though he was trying to stifle a yawn. My sidekick was fearless!
“Army chopper pilots would try to scare us and make us airsick,” he said. “They’d fly sideways, backwards… They’d drop the nose and build up airspeed and skim the treetops. If any of us puked, we’d owe them a case of beer.”
“How many cases did you have to pony up?” I asked.
“None,” he boasted with a cool grin.
Only one option remained. Far from the city and over the marshlands, I reached over and put my hand on the red-colored knob. I slowly pulled it all the way out.
“Brother, what are you doing?” he said, looking directly at me with concern.
“You know what that knob is for?” I asked, surprised he was so knowledgeable with aviation systems.
“You bet I do! You just cut off our fuel!”
Before I could reply, the engine sputtered like a vintage motorcycle and the propeller stopped completely. My first thought was—at 5,000 feet, I’m not supposed to be able to read the manufacturer’s name on the propeller! My second thought was how eerie the cockpit silence was—only the soft rush of wind blew over the wings. Jacob looked at me saucer-eyed and exclaimed, “You got me! You got me! Turn it back on!”
Mission accomplished. I smiled widely and relished in the fact my battle-hardened friend admitted defeat. He was human after all. So, I pushed the mixture knob back in and engaged the ignition starter. It tried to crank, but the little engine wouldn’t catch. I looked back at Jacob and his face conveyed that he was eager to immediately return to normal flying, and quite frankly, so was I.
A veteran barnstormer once told me that a propeller is nothing more than an air conditioner. Turn it off, and watch the pilot start sweating. Beads of anxious sweat dotted our foreheads, and it had nothing to do with Louisiana’s oppressive humidity. I cranked the ignition again. The engine again sputtered and the propeller rotated just once, then sprang to life, and the rumble of the engine was as comforting as the air conditioner in mom’s Caddy on a summer’s day.
Truth be told, we were never in real danger. I had positioned us over an airstrip where I had done most of my student piloting. So, I was extremely familiar with the area, and my flight instructor had drilled emergency landings until they had become second nature to me. I never told Jacob that, though. Why would I? Our flight became the one wedding gift he always remembered with amusement.
Jacob McMillan and Tucker Axum on their Alaskan seaplane tour.
We remained best friends despite our vast geographical distance. He invited me to Alaska when he was stationed at Fort Richardson. I arranged a seaplane tour for us to see the majestic glaciers of Prince William Sound. He pointed out his townhouse below and some of his favorite hiking trails and fishing spots. He was honored when I asked him to be the best man at my wedding, but he couldn’t. He had answered our country’s call for service in Bosnia and Afghanistan, and now he was being deployed to Iraq. When he dropped me off at the Anchorage airport, I gave him a big ol’ hug and said, “I’ll see you when you get back from the Middle East, brother!”
Two months after my wedding, Jacob’s dad telephoned. I assumed Mr. Gerald was calling to wish my wife Heidi and me a Merry Christmas, but he rang to be the first to tell me the tragic news. My friend since 3rd grade had been killed in action when a roadside bomb exploded near his military convoy.
I hooked those stainless steel dog tags to my keyring so Jake would always be close.
I flew back home to attend Jacob’s military funeral and to be the eulogist. Of all the stories I shared, everyone’s favorite was our flight adventure. Jacob’s mom, Ms. Kathy, handed me his dog tags. Her incredibly thoughtful gesture during her immense grief moved me beyond words. I hooked those stainless steel dog tags to my keyring so Jake would always be close. This year marks the 20th anniversary of his death, yet every time I grab my keys to drive or pilot an airplane, I smile and think of our enduring friendship and the power of the memories we created.
We pay homage to our fallen veterans when we keep their memory alive. We tell stories, place flags at their resting site, and in the case of Jake’s and my alma mater, Lafayette High School, they honored his service and sacrifice by renaming their annual wrestling tournament the “Jacob McMillan Wrestling Invitational.”
Until I see my buddy again, I like to picture him in Valhalla. He’s earned his wings by now, and he’s doing impressive hammerheads.
- Remembering Staff Sergeant Jacob McMillan - May 18, 2026
- Release the Brakes: What My Flight Instructor Taught Me About Life - April 29, 2026
- A Higher Purpose: The Soul of a Cardinal - February 11, 2026
Leave a Reply
Want to join the discussion?Feel free to contribute!