Final Leave

This picture was taken during my final leave. The summer khaki uniforms were de rigueur in warm seasons. We could not wear fatigues off post, in our day. The light blue represented active assignment to an infantry unit. The Glider Patch on the cap, wings and boots (not pictured) designated my Airborne status. I was 18 years old; I would celebrate my 19th birthday somewhere in Vietnam.

Some of us were given priority military hops, to speed up our travel time home. I was provided a ‘hop’ to McGuire Air Force Base in New Jersey. This would allow me shorter distance by bus to Maine. We flew in a C-141 Starlifter jet from Ft. Campbell. Most of us sat nervously on the floor.  I couldn’t figure out the tension. Finally before arrival,  I popped the question, “Has anyone ever landed in one of these?” None of us had ever landed in a C-141 before. I had jumped them at least a half dozen times. This was our very first landing! Thanks to the U. S. Air Force, we landed and were immediately shuttled to the bus stop. I was at the New York Port Authority in no time. I remained inside ( see Night Perils December 15th) until my Maine bound bus arrived!

There is no place like home. These 30 days were my longest and final leave. Spending time with Dad was the first and last every day event. However, on this leave we skipped all things military. We still shared our coffee, but we talked about family memories, of peaceful happy times. My Dad was both a WWII and Korean War veteran; he knew the drill intimately. It was only recently that we had begun to reverse our roles. We never, in all my memories ever said good bye…we always said, “See you soon!” On my Dad’s last deployment, he suffered two major heart attacks. I could have lost him at the age of 15, half way round the world, in some God forsaken place. Any and every day spent with my Dad was priceless beyond all comprehension. I lived in the constant fear that we could be forever separated by one missing heartbeat.

I lost track of time…for a season. Everyone that mattered received their greeting. Most didn’t have a clue what I was about to experience, nor had they anyone in harm’s way. I wanted to be just like my Dad, which took me down a different path than my peers.

Time didn’t lose tract of me. My Dad had carefully noted my leave papers. The return bus ticket was arranged well in advance. My Dad knew the consequences of tardiness, for a combat bound unit. Once an non-commissioned officer, always a non-commissioned officer. The evening before finally arrived.

Dad cleared his throat, as an indication to listen up. He finally found the words, “Son, this is the hardest damn thing I have ever done in my life. I have seen hell and back more than once. You are going to see some things  I wish you would never have to see.  If I could only go for you, in your place, is the only thing that would give me peace. But, I can’t this time. I know you will do your best. I pray that  you come home to me, at the end of your tour…all I can do now is pray.”

The bus arrived at the designated moment. I turned around to look one for last time. I smiled to say, “See you soon, Dad!”

I would return one day. We would have a wordless, but deeper understanding. It would prove a costly bond. I would tell very little of my own experiences…the things you read today. I would just take another sip of coffee, and ask an open question of my Dad, about another war, fought valiantly by him…somewhere else.

Dedicated to the man who never heard this…Dad.

“See you soon!”