"There are no atheists in foxholes," said President Dwight D. Eisenhower, supreme commander of the Allied Forces that invaded Normandy. No one is granted a clearer view of the Higher Power than a servicemember who is minutes from death.

In the U.S. justice system, for example, the "dying declaration" law allows a person's last words to be admitted in evidence, even though they normally would be hearsay.  In India, this legal principle is based on the idea that "no one faces his Maker with a lie in his mouth."  The moment just before death is different from all other moments in a person's life.

Joel Lee Russell arrived in Vietnam in 1968, at the height of the Tet Offensive.  Three weeks later, his Marine unit was dropped into a Landing Zone and was cut down from 250 men to 79 in just four hours. Then, he looked down to see a Viet Cong hand grenade just before it exploded.

He writes in his autobiography Escaping Death's Sting, "I felt the shrapnel tear through my 45-caliber holster and into my leg. I felt myself begin to go into shock! Roger asked, ‘Joel, are you all right, man? We got to get outta here!' Without further ado, off he headed down the mountain. I was still in shock and scared almost to death. I found myself with a big, bloody hole looking back at me on my leg. I then noticed that I was all alone on top of the mountain. Nobody left up there but me."

Later, Russell, who separated from the Marine Corps as a corporal (E-4) after his service in Vietnam, would be awarded a Purple Heart and a Navy Achievement Medal.  

But after the grenade went off, Russell tells us that "the fear of being captured or killed became real" to him.  He was alone on the top of a mountain, potentially dying, with the Viet Cong surrounding him.  It would be some 10 minutes before a rescue chopper could airlift him to safety, "the longest 10 minutes of my life."

In his book, Russell tells us that he believes God placed angels in front of him to absorb the major part of the grenade explosion - certainly, the positioning of his sidearm saved his life.  He survived the blast, but still faced imminent capture and torture by the Viet Cong.  The Northwest Airlifter asked Russell what thoughts were going through his mind as the VC hemmed him in.

"My first thought was to get down to the captain, and I was alone," Russell told us.  "I was definitely in shock and reacting solely on my instinct to try to get to safety.  There was not the expected spiritual experience, but merely a drive to survive."

Escaping Death's Sting is part autobiography, part war insight.  How much of his book relates to his "foxhole experience," versus his life after he got back Stateside?  "Probably about a third of the book deals with the tour of duty. Boot camp was worse than Vietnam for me," he said, "so that gets a good deal of attention, but life back home is certainly worth examining as well."

Some Vietnam combat veterans became disillusioned by the horrors of war. Russell chose to turn to God for help.  Why does one soldier choose a different "foxhole experience" than another soldier?  

He replied, "I was raised as a Catholic boy, but teenage life caused me to drift, and I thought I could always throw out the last-minute Catholic act of contrition to save me. It would have to mean something and not just be lip service of course, but I always thought I would have my opportunity."

Russell wasn't the first to assume that he could repent at a convenient moment.  As it turned out, the moment was anything but convenient.

Russell confesses that the Vietnam tragedies were only part of his spiritual journey.  It was another trauma, later, that enforced his final decision.  

"The third week in Vietnam I saw the majority of my troop cut down to a mere handful in a matter of hours, so I made my deal with God that if he brought me back home alive, I would dedicate myself to him. When I returned home, I wanted to revive my presence in the Catholic Church, but I backslid on my promise and spent my time getting a little wild and otherwise concentrating on a work life. Then in 1979, I hit my head on the windshield of a car and almost died. I realized I would've died in sin without the opportunity for an authentic act of contrition, and so I began to seek my faith again and revitalized my promise to God."

As with most Vietnam veterans, Russell felt very unappreciated upon arriving back in the States.  We asked him whether, in more recent days, his service has been appreciated more.  

"When I got back, my heart sank that there was no one there to even say hello or a simple thank you," he recalled. "No greeting at all after 13 months in Vietnam just seemed unfair. Even today, there is certainly a little twinge of jealousy when I see the great homecomings many vets receive, but with time I was able to forget about it. I was able to celebrate in my own fashion upon my return, so whether people noticed or not, I was able to enjoy my life."

Russell believes that his mission, today, is to help others "escape death's sting," per his book title.  And what does this expression mean?  

"There are two forms of death," Russell explains.  "Real death, physically dying, and spiritual death, dying in sin, which is what Jesus was crucified to save us from. Escaping death's sting is finding God and avoiding dying in sin, which is what I did when I made my deal on the battlefield, and I'm hoping to help others start to do by reading my book and inspiring them to revitalize their own faith."

Russell currently lives in Bonney Lake. His book is available on amazon.com.