This is a story about a shared experience of many Vietnam Veterans.
He was just coming home from Hell. After processing he was taken to the airport for the return flight to his home. He had been gone for a whole year and "The World" seemed strange to him somehow. He was wearing his dress greens with the ribbons, the stripes, his Combat Infantry Badge (CIB) and the 101st Airborne patch. He was happy to be home, safe from the Viet Cong, the leeches, monsoon rains, the booby traps and the mortars. Hopefully he would be able to once more sleep through the night without waking to the sound of AK fire or claymores being set off. All he wanted was a hot meal, a warm bed some quiet and lots of rest. His girlfriend had sent him a "Dear John" letter just 2 months into his tour. He had heard she married a boy who failed his physical and never got drafted into the Army. It don't mean nothing, as the grunts used to say in Nam.
The shuttle bus from Fort Lewis pulled up to the airport and the newly returned soldiers began to pile off the bus and into the airport. They were carrying suitcases and dragging duffle bags full of their clothing and other belongings. Each hoped he could get a flight quickly to his hometown, but with so many returnees it would be lucky if they got out before morning. He noticed the people pointing and whispering as he and the others passed them. A couple of hippie types even gave them the finger or cursed at them. They kept walking, trying to avoid a confrontation that would delay their homecoming. One little boy saluted him as he passed and he saluted back and smiled at the youngster. The boy's mother pulled her son closer to her and moved against the far wall as if she and her child may somehow get infected from this green monster. That saddened him more.
The soldier lucked out on his plane ticket as he was the first standby on a flight that was ¾ full. That plane would be leaving in 2 hours and in 7 hours he would be home.
He noticed several other vets had taken seats in a coffee shop and he went in and ordered coffee and a donut. He pulled out a pack of Winstons and lit up a smoke. Several of the others nodded at him and he returned the gesture. He decided to sit by himself and just reflect on where he had been and where he was going.
Just 18 months ago he was fresh out of high school with no plans for college. Money was tight at home so he decided to take a job at the local steel plant. It was hard work and he knew his future was bleak. He was almost happy to get his draft notice. Within a month he was whisked off to basic training, then advanced infantry training and then Vietnam. When the plane carrying he and the hundred or so others landed at Bien Hoa, South Vietnam, it was night. When the doors opened the stench of rotting flesh, gun powder, smoke and filth hit him in the face like a slap. He covered his mouth and kept moving toward the processing tent. Just 365 more days to go.
Three weeks later he found himself a member of the 101st Airborne and on his way to his company. Upon arrival, he was greeted by a very gruff 1st Sergeant and a company clerk who assigned him and the other "cherries" to their platoons and then showed them to a hut where there were cots covered with mosquito nets. They were issued weapons, field gear and 2 days later sent out to "the bush" to be with their new unit. Taunts of "Cherry and FNG greeted them as they were introduced to their platoon leader. He was assigned to a squad and was introduced to his new comrades. It would take a while before he was fully accepted. He would have to prove himself first. All new men did.
Over the next several months he showed himself to be a good soldier. He was excellent at walking point, running cloverleaf patrols and showed natural leadership abilities. He was promoted to Sergeant E-5 and given a squad of his own. He trained his new men to survive in a place where that was difficult and the platoon leader relied on his judgment and experience. He was wounded once in the left arm by a sniper's bullet, but was able to kill the sniper before anyone else was hurt. He really didn't know how many he killed. He didn't want to know. All he wanted was to survive and get home.
Finally, on day 358 of his tour, he was given the news that his orders had come through and he would be going home. He felt both joy and sadness. Joy in leaving this place he had come to hate, and sadness in leaving his friends and comrades. One week later he boarded the Freedom Bird to return to "The World" along with a couple hundred others. At the airport he had seen the plane that would carry the remains of the killed in action and knew that he would never forget that site as long as he lived. Many of the things from this past year would remain with him forever. At 21 years old he felt older. He had seen and done more than his contemporaries that had not served. He wondered how he would adapt to being home again. Something told him it would be hard.
A voice over the loud speaker announced his flight and he gathered his belongings and headed to the gate. As he boarded the plane he noticed the looks from the other passengers, some were respectful, others were not. A man about his father's age spoke to him and said "Hello, Soldier." He smiled and said "Hi." He found his seat and settled in beside a middle aged lady who looked out the window the whole time.
The plane began to taxi and then took off for its next destination. The soldier settled back into his seat and closed his eyes. He did not sleep, but he did say a silent prayer for his buddies still in Nam and a thank you for letting him come home in one piece and not missing a limb or two. Sitting in the seat and reflecting on what was ahead for him, he hoped he would be able to move on with his life and put Vietnam behind him. Thirty-five years later he would discover that he never would.