Photo: Leaning on a Jeep with Patty inside.

Surprisingly, this was a fairly decent job. It provided them with a little income during a time when jobs in Vietnam were practically nonexistent. It was also a relatively safe occupation.

Once the soldiers had assembled, Captain Carter called us back to duty. Patty and I walked to our assigned positions and greeted the men.

“Welcome back, soldier,” I said, standing at the bottom of the ramp.

The homebound G.I.s climbed the portable stairs and entered the cabin. We smiled at them and thanked them for their service.

I looked over their heads and noticed olive duffle bags going up the escalating ramp into the cargo area. I also saw a large cluster of black body bags ready to be loaded into a nearby Army plane. The fate of these other warriors made it hard for me to stay focused on the ones climbing the portable stairs, the happy men now returning home.

During all flights from Vietnam, we had to be very careful when waking soldiers. Because they were combat veterans, they sometimes exploded upward, throwing punches. We knew to stand behind their seats and touch their shoulders lightly, staying out of harm’s way.

During this particular leg of the trip, two episodes caused me to ponder the fate of these returning veterans. We were a few hours into the flight when I visited with a couple of soldiers who were standing in the aisle, smoking and laughing. I asked about their opinions of the Vietnamese.

One reached into his pocket.

“This is how we left Charlie,” he said, using a slang word for the Viet Cong.

He brought out a tan-colored finger wrapped in white tissue. I gagged in disgust.

“That’s awful,” I said and turned my back, walking to the rear galley.

If he had been expecting praise, he certainly didn’t receive it from me. Although I was proud of this young man’s service, I disliked the trophy exhibit. Perhaps my negative reaction made him cautious about displaying severed body parts in the future.

On our flight to Yokota Air Base I worked the rear galley, organizing a meal and two beverage services. As I squatted in the galley, my knees almost touching the floor, I pulled breakfast trays from bottom containers and changed them to higher locations, making it easier and faster to serve.

While I was in this awkward position, I heard a loud slapping sound. Looking up, I saw a soldier above me. He glared at me, staring straight into my eyes, and smashed a clenched fist into his open palm.

He kept slamming his fist harder and faster, again and again. His fierce stance and angry look frightened the hell out of me.

I hesitated, not knowing whether I should stand or stay squatting. My heart pounded loud enough for me to hear. I remained scrunched with my body close to the floor. In a minute or so two military policemen came up and surrounded the soldier.

“Let’s go back to our seat, Jay,” one said as he handcuffed him.

The MP turned him around and walked Jay toward the front of the cabin. I stood and took a deep breath.

“What’s that about?” I asked the other MP.

“He has some drug issues. We’re taking him back to a Texas hospital. Jay needs to recuperate before we can tell his parents he’s back in the States.”

“Why was he loose? He scared me to death.”

“We thought he’d be fine just going to the bathroom. He couldn’t escape.”

“No, but he could have killed me.”

“Don’t worry. We’ll keep him secure from now on.”

The MP returned to his seat, and I was once again left to ponder the tragedies of war. How sad for Jay and his family. I took a moment to collect myself as I sat in the rear jump seat, praying that he would recover. Even today, I still think of him occasionally.

Дата добавления: 2015-08-27