CHAPTER SIX
NOTHING YOU EVER HEAR about boot camp tells you how it really is. When the highlight of your day is looking for a letter from your mother, you know you're having a tough day.
Still, I met some good guys. More white guys than I'd ever known. Mostly they were okay. I even got to be friends with one. Andrew. He was the only guy in the unit who was quieter than I was. But if you got him going, he was pretty funny. And smart.
I figured I had to pay my dues, but eventually, I'd get stationed in Bangkok. Or maybe Vietnam itself. There was more and more talk about the U.S. and Vietnam reestablishing relations with each other. 'Reestablishing relations.' I heard myself say the words one evening and laughed. Who would have thought I would talk about such things? But, I didn't like the idea. There was something about going to a country where my Uncle Frank died that made me feel sort of sick inside.
I tried to explain it to Andrew, who looked at me kinda funny. "Well, there's lots of guys stationed in Germany and Japan. We used to be at war with them, too. You have to get over it sometime."
I suppose so.
I got stationed in Hawaii right after boot camp. I had put in to work in electronics, and they put me with an amphibious vehicle platoon. It amazed me that the same systems would work in water and on land, but the Marines should know. There were lots of beaches in Hawaii for practice. Me and the beaches. I'd never seen an ocean until I joined the Marines.
Even coming from D.C., I wasn't prepared for the humidity on Oahu, the island I lived on. I was even less prepared for my sergeant. And they say the Marines only take good men. He was a real butthead.
I did like going all around Oahu Island, though. I'd never seen any plants like some that were there, and everywhere you went you hear people talking in a lot of different languages. People did that in DC, too, but not everywhere in town. Not in Shaw, that was for sure.
The only bad thing was my watch band broke and I couldn't find a cheap one to replace it. I wasn't going to pay $19.99 for a band when you could get a whole watch for $15.99. I kept it, though, in a pocket in my duffle bag. I half smiled when I packed it away. Mama had laughed when I told her Uncle Rudy got it in a loser's lottery. My ass. It was the watch that started it all for me.
One Saturday, I was filing in place of the company clerk, who had gone home for his father's funeral. I didn't know the guy, so I couldn't get too broken up about it.
Sergeant Glover came in, steamed. "You still here, Myers?"
"Yessir."
He eyed me. "You busy this afternoon?"
He never asked if you were busy. He just assumed your time was his time, and ordered you to do what he wanted. "No, sir."
"Well, I never order anybody to do this duty. Got some caskets en route to Dover Air Force Base. Plane was supposed to stop here just to refuel, but they found a maintenance problem and don't want to wait until the part comes in. Going to transport the caskets to a different plane. Coming in from 'Nam, via Bangkok."
I froze.
"Good to get 'em back, of course. But we usually have some warning. Some kind of super special deal, celebrating the reestablishment of relations with Vietnam." He rummaged through the top drawer of his desk.
"Do you know names, sir?"
"Names?" He almost snorted. "The Vietnamese usually didn't keep nice lists for us."
"I see, sir." He stopped rummaging, and regarded me.
"You know someone who didn't come back?"
"Yessir." I stopped. I should have just said no. "My uncle, sir. Franklin Myers. I was named after him."
"That's too bad. You're excused." He returned to looking through his drawer.
"Actually, I'd like to sir." I must be nuts.
"Good. Now I only need eleven more men. Where I'll find 'em on short notice on a Saturday, I sure as hell don't know." He was back to being his sensitive self. In a letter to Paul, I had described Glover as having not only a bee in his butt but a board up his nose. Somehow, I thought that was real funny. Paul wrote back about a sergeant he had, and suggested I ask Glover if they were related. Of course, I didn't.
At three p.m., I showed up at the colonel's office. A quick look around the room showed me that I was outranked by everyone except the water cooler. No doubt they would ask me to stay behind when they went to meet the plane. No one commented on my rank. So far, so good. I wanted to see how this went.
The colonel briefed us. The Army, Navy, Marines and Air Force would each have a total of twelve men and women. He explained how we would stand, and that each of us would be assigned a casket to accompany on the walk from the military transport plane to the hanger. Then he went around the room and asked each person's name and home town. That was considerate of him. Maybe even colonels had hearts.
Two more lieutenants came in. Now we were fourteen. I'd be the first to go. I felt as if everyone was watching me. The colonel's gaze fell on me. As if anticipating what he was thinking, Glover spoke up. "Myers has an uncle who's still MIA."
Maybe he could just get on the P.A. system. I was really hacked off.
"Well," the colonel appeared surprised. "I'm sorry to hear that."
"Thank you, sir." I'd never answer another question Glover asked me. Ever. On the other hand, no one said anything about me not going.
We boarded the small bus for the trip to the air field. The two late-arriving lieutenants stayed behind.
No one said much. I wondered if any of the others had MIA relatives. Not likely. They probably thought I was a real brown noser, telling Glover about Uncle Frank.
We got to the base, and ended up in a large hanger with the men and women from the other services. A camera crew from a local T.V. station was unhurriedly unpacking equipment. No national news coverage? I was offended. Maybe when they get to Dover.
The plane landed, a clumsy looking aircraft. I wondered what it was like to fly in a plane that had so many dead bodies--'remains'--in it. I thought of how mama talked about Uncle Frank's good teeth.
We formed as instructed, and the color guard led us to the tarmac. I concentrated on staying in step, not something that was usually hard for me.
The last person I expected to think of was Eric. But when the first casket was lifted onto the tarmac, Eric seemed to appear in front of me. He was laughing. "Come on, man. You're being too serious!"
Eric! Why did you do it, man?
I concentrated on the buttons of the Army officer across from me. I couldn't remember what Uncle Frank's picture looked like. What did it matter?
Finally, all the caskets were on the tarmac. A Navy admiral stepped up to the microphone. He had a sheet of paper in his hand. It trembled slightly. "Men, and women. We are participating in an historic event today." He cleared his throat. "Today, we are not only welcoming home a group of American service men, we know who we are welcoming home."
No one moved. But you could feel it. The Vietnamese must have known all along.
"With that in mind," he continued, "I'm going to deviate from our plans a little. As I call out each name and service, I would like the next member of that service to step forward to escort that casket." We were supposed to just alternate, Army, Navy, Air Force, Marines. This was going to be confusing. I should have stayed home when I had the chance.
He began.
Francis B. Abernathy
Major, U.S. Marine Corps.
The first Marine moved to escort the casket.
Martin J. Collins
Sergeant, U.S. Army
Paul B. Hewitt
Captain, U.S. Air Force
Melvin F. Lyon
Captain, U.S. Navy
What was a Navy guy doing in this group?
Franklin Myers
Sergeant, U.S. Army
I froze. The next Army guy started toward the casket. My colonel stepped forward, in front of the admiral, and motioned the Army man back to his place in li
ne. He said something to the admiral, who nodded.
The colonel looked at me, and motioned that I should come forward.
Everything was cloudy. My feet. Someone must be holding them down. But I couldn't look. Eyes forward. I approached the casket. Instead of saluting smartly and turning toward the hanger, I stopped. Slowly, my hand reached out and touched the flag draping the casket.
Welcome home, Uncle Frank. It's about time.
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The first two books of the Jolie Gentil cozy mystery series will be published in October and November 2011. Can a real estate appraiser in a New Jersey beach town really get in that much trouble? After dumping a jerk husband, Jolie is rekindling friendships, getting talked into running the local food pantry, and finding dead bodies in unlikely places.
Feel free to be in touch via www.elaineorr.com or
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