My battalion is shipping out in a week, and I’ll write as soon as I get to Vietnam.
Remember, don’t believe everything you see on the news, read in the newspaper, or hear on the radio.
I love you all very much. Pass it on.
Always Your Older Brother,
Sam
Chapter 6
Sam and the rest of the battalion stood at attention on the hard, unforgiving asphalt of the tarmac at Oakland International Airport, apprehensive to board the Pan American Boeing 707 jetliner that would carry them to the front lines. The silver underbelly of the narrow-bodied aircraft glistened in the setting sun, and he watched intently as the narrow opening between day and night finally closed.
The commanding officer boarded his men. He wanted his troops as relaxed as possible. He remained silent and, despite the approaching darkness, kept his gaze concealed behind a pair of government-issued aviator sunglasses.
“It’s going to be a long, uncomfortable trip, men. Our first stop is Hawaii.” Then before allowing everyone to break rank, the officer barked his final command, “No one is to leave the airport when we get there. Do you understand?”
A booming response of “Yes, sir!” followed his order.
The men marched up the stairs in an orderly fashion until they reached the cabin, where they elbowed and crowded each other in an attempt to get the coveted window seats. Flight attendants with broad smiles, crisp blue uniforms, and long legs assisted each young man as if he were the only passenger. Experienced, charming, and sophisticated, the women presented a stark contrast to the boys they escorted to war. Sam filed to the back of the aircraft that was filled with an unsuspecting band of young Marines ready to endure the long flight to Saigon. He wasn’t sure he wanted to speak with anyone on this trip, not even with Paul who was seated near the front with six paperback novels to keep him company and occupy his time.
As the last one to board, Sam drew a sigh of relief when he found a window seat at the rear of the cabin still empty. He settled in and removed a small stack of writing paper and a new ballpoint pen from his duffle bag before shoving it under the seat. What better way to spend the next twenty-four, maybe as many as thirty-six, hours on a pent-up, testosterone-filled voyage to hell. He hadn’t planned on writing Elizabeth, wasn’t even sure when she might get the letter, but writing would help pass the hours and maybe help calm his nerves.
“Prepare for takeoff,” came the voice from the cockpit.
With one final shove, Sam used the tip of his boot to wedge his bag securely into the small space provided for personal belongings. There, motherfucker—try getting out of that one, he thought, as he blocked out the deafening noise from the revved-up engines and felt the aircraft slowly glide onto the runway.
November 8, 1966
Dear Elizabeth,
I wasn’t going to write until I got to Vietnam, but it looks like it’s going to be a long flight, probably 36 hours. Good a time as any to get started, Sophomore! Might be the last free time I have.
All the guys are hooting at the stewardesses and singing and playing cards—almost like a party. Under different circumstances, I’d probably join in. What I wouldn’t do to be back on the quad for another kegger. You’d think we were in a fraternity, listening to some of these conversations. I suppose, in some way, we are. I’m glad I got the window seat at the back of the plane, because I really don’t feel like talking. Our first stop is Hawaii. I’ll send you pictures if I can, although it looks like we’re landing at night . . . wish I could just disembark and disappear, but can’t even if I wanted to. I’m struggling even more with my stupid decision to enlist. I was on my way to a degree in history—so damn stupid! The airport will probably be filled with happy tourists while we wait to get back on a plane that will take us to our destination—war. It’s surreal.
Have to deplane for a bit. Hello, Hawaii!
)
“Should’ve brought your surfboard.” Sam caught up with Paul at the farthest end of the terminal, bustling with tourists, skycaps, and grinning stewardesses, excited because their duties included two days off on an island paradise. The two stood in awe, gazing out the massive windows stretching from floor to ceiling, at a view that beckoned them to a dream vacation just outside their reach.
“Don’t think it didn’t cross my mind. Can’t see too much in the dark, but I can make out just enough to know I’ll be back one day.” Paul moved closer to the exit to peer at the wonderland beyond. He drew one deep breath of the sweet island air—pungent with the smell of plumeria and orchids—before he joined the rest of his troop in the procession to reboard the aircraft. See you in my dreams. Paul settled into the front-row seat, waving to Sam as he muscled past the throng of men to his seat in the back of the plane.
)
Hi, Sophomore,
Okay, I’m back on board. Sure wish we could’ve landed before dark. There’s not much to see at night but distant lights of hotels and glowing cabin lights from arriving airliners. Ran into Paul. It’s not hard to tell, the guy already misses his beach and surfing days back home. We all miss something.
The guys are still too rowdy for my taste. They’re all swearing. You’d probably blush if you heard them. Took a little getting used to myself. Mom and Dad would have been horrified, but Marines swear a lot.
Next stop, Guam. It’s an island somewhere in the Pacific. I know there’s a couple military bases there, but not much else. They won’t let us off the plane. Damn, it’s getting stuffy in here! My back aches and my head hurts, but at least I feel safe for now. I’ve heard stories about getting shot down from the sky while landing in Vietnam. Don’t know if it’s true, but hoping for the best on this flight.
Changing topics for a moment . . . Please write to let me know how you’re doing in school. How many new friends are you making? And the boys—I’m sure there are a lot of them who’d like to date you. Not too close, Elizabeth. I was once one myself, so I can tell you boys are pretty rotten when they’re that age. Have fun, but be careful. That’s all I’m going to say on that subject.
We’re making our descent. I think we’re only here long enough to refuel, but I’ll be stretching my legs a bit in the cabin. Maybe strike up a conversation with one of the guys, even though I’m still not too interested in talking with anyone.
)
I’m back.
Airborne again. I’m starting to feel the humidity. Even inside the airplane, I can feel the jungle. I think everyone else feels it too because no one’s talking. Could be they’re just tired, or thinking about what we’re going to face once we land. Until now, it was just something we saw on TV, but every minute we move closer, the war becomes more and more real. I wish we could turn this plane around and go home, but that’s not going to happen . . . I wish I’d never enlisted. I’m just so damn sorry I made that choice instead of taking care of my sisters!
Our last stop before Saigon is the Philippines. The stewardess just walked by and told us to be prepared for heavy rains. Monsoons she called them. I guess they’re pretty common this time of year. Vietnam has similar weather . . . looks like I’ll be getting wet! They’re letting us disembark when we land this time, so at least I’ll get to walk around on land for a bit. Over and out, for now.
)
Where the hell did all this water come from? The rain’s coming in sheets, sideways and we all got soaked running across the tarmac! Our boots got waterlogged sloshing through ankle deep puddles and now we’re sitting in this airplane, dripping wet. Maybe it’s a test, and we’ll have to get used to it sooner or later. Everyone’s getting more and more grouchy and agitated.
Whoa! I can feel the plane getting shoved around by the high crosswinds, and the pilot hasn’t even started the engines. I don’t even know how he’s going to get this thing off the ground safely.
There’s a stench on the plane, with most of us still wet. It reeks like a high school boys’ locker room after a football game in 90° heat. Be gla
d you’ll never know that smell, but that’s exactly what it’s like.
Some of the guys found a couple of shady drug dealers in the terminal. I’m guessing no one pays that much attention here. I saw a few of them pocket some joints, but I’m not going to criticize. Well, what do you know: not judgmental for a change. But don’t you touch the stuff, Elizabeth! Ever!
We’re approaching Vietnam now . . . so close I can see the jungle below. I’ve never seen a landscape like this before, even on TV. The vegetation is so thick I can’t even see the ground. I’m imagining hundreds of the enemy hiding under an overgrowth of bushes and vines, obscuring paths that only they can navigate. I sure hope it provides us some cover as well. I’m not liking this, Elizabeth.
The cabin has gotten quiet during our approach. Some guys have their eyes closed like they’re praying. I can see the landing strip, won’t be long. I’m glad I’ll be last off the plane. I’ve barely talked to anyone during this entire flight, except for bumping into Paul in Hawaii, but I’m sure we’ll catch up as soon as we get to the base.
This really is the end of the letter and I expect it’ll be hectic and crazy for the next few days. I’ll try to write again when I have a free moment. Just so you and Nana know, I’ll be in Chu Lai. I’m sure we’ll get more information once we’ve arrived. Be sure to jot down the military FPO address that you’ll see on this envelope so that your letters find their way to me.
Remember, don’t believe everything you see on the news, read in the newspaper, or hear on the radio. I love you all very much. Pass it on.
Always Your Older Brother,
Sam
Chapter 7
It was Saturday and Elizabeth was relieved she didn’t have a weekend homework assignment. The day looked perfect, slightly cool, her favorite type of weather. It was a shame when these idyllic days were wasted on a Monday or Tuesday, stuck in a classroom or trapped in the school library waiting for the last bell of the day to ring. Her spirits usually lifted with the crisp breeze of a flawless autumn day.
But this year would be different. Her brother was thousands of miles away in the line of fire and she was afraid he might never come home. Her parents would never spend another holiday with any of their children, and her own future seemed full of unknowns and uncertainties. Elizabeth tried not to think about it. The scent of winter . . . the musty smell of abandoned piles of raked leaves in the front yards mingled with the unmistakable aroma of smoke spiraling from every chimney on the block. The memories created a knot in her stomach and a longing for just one more dinner at the Sutton table, six o’clock sharp. She waited for Sam’s first letter to arrive from Vietnam like he promised, and every day she anticipated an envelope with a foreign postmark, the proof that her brother had made it safely to Saigon.
She grabbed her winter jacket from the coat closet, left untouched for the last few months. Shoving one arm and then the other into the cumbersome down-filled sleeves, Elizabeth bounded down the stairs and headed for the front door. If I only get one present for Christmas this year, I would ask for a new winter jacket. This old brown thing is so ugly, but at least it’s warm.
“Nana, I’m going to pick up my pictures at the camera shop. Do you need anything while I’m out?” Turning the knob, Elizabeth spoke loudly enough for her grandmother to hear.
Nana looked forward to the weekends as much as Elizabeth did. She hadn’t noticed how lonely she had been, living by herself in the aging family home that was once the hub of activity, the holiday destination for her children, even when they moved away, got married, and had children of their own. Widowed after a long and contented marriage, Nana missed her husband, who never had the joy of watching their grandchildren play on the old tire swing still hanging by the barest of threads from the majestic red oak dwarfing the other trees in the yard. She tingled at the distant memory of him, throwing a two-inch thick rope over the strongest branch, tying the knot with the expertise of a seasoned sailor, and proclaiming, “We don’t want any accidents here. Best way to avoid a broken arm is to do it right the first time.”
Composing herself, Nana responded from the kitchen, “No, Dear. You have fun. Are you going by yourself?”
“Yeah. I’ll be okay. I’ll only be gone about an hour.”
Nana moved toward the living room while drying her hands on the kitchen towel she kept tucked inside her pristine red-gingham apron. It was a well-known fact that Nana liked aprons with deep pockets so she would have the convenience of keeping a fresh dish towel at her disposal at all times. She preached the importance of time management and how extra steps were a wasted effort. Sometimes she had two or three towels folded in reserve, depending on the size of the pocket and the size of the meal.
She smiled as she gave Elizabeth a hug. “I know you’ll be okay. But I had hoped you might have a few friends by now. Someone to spend the weekends with, go to the movies, shopping. It would be good for you to socialize.”
Elizabeth wasn’t upset she hadn’t made new friends. She was concentrating on her schoolwork and looking forward to letters from her brother.
Somehow that had become more normal to her than slumber parties and movie dates. “I’m fine, Nana.” She called over her shoulder as she headed out the door, “Keep an eye out for the mail. I’m expecting another letter from Sam.”
The short walk to the camera store filled her lungs with fresh air and she slowed her pace to observe the wondrous transition of the seasons. Her eyes transfixed on the stark branches of the oak trees, and was grateful for the smattering of evergreens that prevented the scene from looking like a barren wasteland.
The concrete sidewalk felt cold through her thinning canvas tennies, the last pair her mother had purchased from the local A&P at the onset of summer. Elizabeth would never forget the day her mother returned from her final shopping trip. Brown paper bags perched on the kitchen table, filled to the brim with dry goods, fresh meat, and family treats, along with an array of household supplies. Sitting atop a canister of Quaker Oats and a gallon of milk were three new pairs of unblemished, white tennis shoes: one for Elizabeth, one for Tina, and one for Laura. Cheap, and perfect for one season with three growing girls, she remembered her mother saying. She reminded herself that she was long overdue for a warmer pair of shoes or boots and that it was time to comb through her drawers in search of her woolen socks, mittens, and scarves, even though she knew she would probably keep the tattered, well-worn pair of supermarket tennies forever.
Elizabeth was eager to look through her roll of developed pictures so she could include one in her next letter to Sam. Ripping the sticky back from the envelope, she was startled when she sorted through the photos. She barely remembered posing for pictures just before Sam left for boot camp. The surviving family had gathered one last time and spread a picnic lunch in a nearby park as if it were some kind of celebration. To her, it was the beginning of life in ruins, and she quickly fanned past those snapshots, trying not to notice how unhappy most of them looked—Sam especially, flanked by his sisters, Nana, Uncle Bill, and Ricky.
Only the twins were grinning, each sheltered under one of Sam’s arms. Still summer, the nine-year-olds beamed in their bright orange sunsuits, their long sun-streaked, blonde hair pulled up in identical high ponytails. Elizabeth stood to one side, looking miserable in her tank top and shorts. Her uncombed, disheveled hair surrounded her face, obscuring her desolate expression and puffy eyes. She shuddered and pushed the memory aside.
Her mood shifted when she uncovered the more recent birthday photos. Wrapped in her new pink afghan, her head in an upward tilt, Nana had captured the relaxed expression at just the right moment. She appeared not to have a care in the world. Her long, chestnut-colored curls framed her face to perfection. Her bright green eyes sparkled. She could have passed for any carefree, lighthearted teenager. This is the one. This is Sam’s.
She gently placed the photos back into the protective envelope as the clerk rang up her purchase at the cash regist
er. Dashing back out into the winter chill, she didn’t even notice how cold it was. A slight smile, almost beyond detection, remained as she hurried home to her Nana.
The mailman was just closing the box when Elizabeth rounded the corner. “Have anything for me, Mr. Holmes?” Elizabeth half-shouted, a little breathless.
“Looks like it. Noticed the FPO address. Your brother in Vietnam now?”
“He must be. He left Camp Pendleton two weeks ago. Thank you!” The envelope seemed thicker than the other letters Sam had written and the return address was the military-generated postmark—a sure sign it was sent from Vietnam.
Instead of running inside to the protective warmth of the living room or giving into the temptation of her Nana’s fresh-baked homemade brownies that she could smell half a block away, Elizabeth settled into her favorite Adirondack chair. She tucked her chin into the upturned collar of her coat, tugged off her mittens, and ripped the corners of the envelope, careful not to harm the edges of the letter.
She studied Sam’s words over and over again. The gritty, detailed pages he wrote during the flight from California to Saigon were hers alone to read. She didn’t think it was a good idea to share with Nana. Sam always wrote separate notes to the twins and his grandmother. The real fears he shared only with Elizabeth—the genuine possibility that some horrible unknown fate awaited him.
Elizabeth hurried to collect her mittens and Sam’s letter before rushing inside. “Got the pictures, Nana!” She kicked off her damp, shabby tennis shoes and abandoned her offensive brown winter jacket in a heap at the bottom of the staircase.
Nana cautioned Elizabeth as she noticed her bounding up the steps. “Don’t forget to hang up your coat, Dear, before you go upstairs. Someone could trip.”
Keep Forever Page 4