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"Well, all a man's got to do is keep his head down now, and it's home in 60 days," mused Alfie Hughes, staring out over the airbase panorama.
Henry Morrison tipped his can back, drank, sighed with pleasure, and grinned. "Yeah. On the final leg at last. Avoid bullet holes and a dose. We've about reached out POCD or whatever the Yanks call it."
"You mean PCOD____ Pussy Cutoff Date."
"Yeah. PCOD. How'd ya ever explain away the fact of arriving home with a load?"
"A man'd have to have the gift of gab, right enough."
For the final weeks the battalion flew and landed on big sweeps through areas of jungle, looking for the elusive enemy. Contact was very light, resulting in a few wounded, and 12 or more Charlies killed or captured.
Finally, the sure signs of going home were there for all to see___ turning in of gear no longer needed, medical examinations that were as brief as "How do you feel? How many loads have you had? Any aches or pains? Right, next," problems with pay being sorted out, and visits from people of the battalion that would inherit the tents, buildings, and so forth.
Finley, the interpreter, strolled into the company mess for a drink with Fleming and Alfie.
"How ya going, ya old bastard? S'pose yer stayin' on eh?"
"No bloody fear of that! I've got a gorgeous bird back in England and I'm going! Anyway, I've just been over to one of the Yank battalions," jerking a thumb in the general direction, "and ya oughta see it. They've got a bloody big board up in front of their HQ showing all the medals they can get over here in correct order. Standin' in front are all these 20-year-old Yanks with fistfuls----no bullshit---fistfuls of medal ribbons clipped in the right order and then the tailor does his thing. Kids standing there with 8 or 9 different ribbons. We were fuckin' lucky to get one!" They all grinned, more an amusement at their own paucity than American largesse.
Finally, came the morning, that long-awaited "wakey." Men spoke of twenty and wakey; five and a wakey; oh my God, one and a wakey! Won't the fuckin' day ever go? Then, it's up, pack, breakfast, onto the buses for the final ride. Out past brigade HQ for the final time, along the road to Saigon. Where 1 year ago scenic rural Vietnam began at the roadside, now the US units crowded along left and right---hospitals, engineers, supply battalions, truck companies, repair shops____ all with their identical low buildings of unpainted wood and identical Yanks in US tropical uniform and caps. Gone were the trees, flocks of cockatoos, thatch-roofed huts, buffalo, and figures in conical hats.
Still the same rushing, weaving, honking mass of wheels ridden by Vietnamese of all shapes and sizes, still the blue haze of petrol fumes fogging the tree-lined streets. But who gives a damn? We're going home, looking out the bus windows, with tired eyes.
The streamlined silver, red, and white BOAC 707 sat ready to roll along the runway and climb up out of the heat, smoke, dust, and smells, heading east to India, then Gibraltar and London---and going far too slowly at 600 mph, rumbling through the night sky for the early morning landing in London. And the air feels, smells, tastes, is sweeter.
Through customs---the mugs caught trying to bring in pistols and souvenir munitions have been well publicized in the battalion---and it's out to the relations, girlfriends, wives, and kids.
Alfie overwhelmed by a yelling mass of children, staggering back with his a grin at his Margaret. "Are all these ours."
Abigail McFadden, standing quietly to one side with a small group of officers' wives, a smile on her lips, calm eyes checking the approaching Ricky for signs of change.
And in the gloom under the eaves, Xuan called down to Tung, "60 UH-1D heading north."
Aidan Quaid lost in the bottomless sea of Veronica's eyes, her soft voice registering on his brain___ the kids are at their grandmother's till tomorrow....
Tony Fleming grinning at Karen, and Terry escorting a thinner but up and about Matteo, arms around their waists, "C'mon, you're late! I've been keepin' the Square warm for ya."
Don looked up at the ceiling past the shoulders of the sweating American, calculating how much she would remove from his wallet when he'd expended himself in her and fallen asleep. Tomorrow she would be able to give 9,000 piasters to the collector for the Front.
Tiny Freya Lucas smiling proudly at beefy Andrew Lucas, standing timidly before her. "Hello, love, I'm back."
Pete Montgomery wondered how soon he could get back to Vietnam.344Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡA3gYXGY8Wj
Ted Raw embracing a radiant Joan, all long tanned legs under mini skirt, soft lips whispering, "I've been waiting for you."
Tham Sinh handed back the message to the clerk, nodded, and resumed his reading of the directive from the central committee, smoke from the Gaulois curling thinly up into the dimness of the thatched roof, light from the kerosene lamp glinting on the talc covering the map. Outside the full moon shone silver on the river, and on the horizon the silent flares blossomed. 344Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡjftpMmdCIz
344Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡwexShB95qO
344Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡb5KlzAepxF
THE END
