In Transient 

The encounter with the caskets containing dead Americans left me shocked and then numb. That would be repeated many times during the next twelve months. 

We continued, reaching the terminal and went through in-processing. It was even hotter inside than outside with the combined body heat of several hundred sweating men. Class A uniforms we'd lived in for over twenty-four hours that were once wrinkled, now were completely soaked. I was only twenty-one and holding up, but I noticed older soldiers starting to wilt.

Three hours later, I reached the transit barracks, located right next to the flight line. But any hope of rest was an illusion. It was an open barracks, the kind I'd not seen since basic training.  I found an empty bunk near the center of the blockhouse. The cacophony of roaring industrial strength fans, and aircraft engines, overpowered the ears, it could even be felt.

The first thing I wanted was a hot shower. I headed for the latrine with soap and towel. Gang showers all look like a scene from prison, but this one was different. Vietnamese women walked in with cleaning supplies in the middle of my shower. Nobody seemed to notice, or care so I just lathered up and washed off the days sweat.

Sleep was challenging, but in spite of the constant din of fans and aircraft traffic, I crashed into a deep sleep. The next morning I was rescued when two airmen showed up to take me over to headquarters of the 619th Tactical Control Squadron. After a quick trip to the orderly room I was shown my bunk in the squadron barracks. It was a modified open bay style, much more home like and comfortable.

I'd come home!






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