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By Rich Raitano
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We made our way up the portable passenger stairs one by one and boarded to take us home. It was a civilian plane, Central airlines.
The image of that plane is stuck in my memory like the old photograph I carry around in my wallet and just can't find the heart to toss it.
It was around eight or nine P.M. The stewardesses were all young, beautiful southern bells with soft, dainty "Y' all" accents. They looked
to good to us and smelled just as nice. Other than the nurses and the occasional visits from the Red Cross "donut dollies," these lovely and
gracefully ladies were the first non-military American women we had seen in a very long time.
You would think that being in the presents of those lovely ladies would have turned us into drooling, silly seventh grade boys.But that was
not the case. We shared a common, ever present thought that stayed with us our entire tour: would we live to see this day?
Everyone on that plane knew we weren't safe yet. There were many incidences of mortar or rocket rounds hitting planes while they were
still on the ground, killing troops who were homeward bound. To have survived out tour only to be killed on the way out was the final insane
absurdity delivered by the beast. Working hurriedly, but gently, they got us seated; they didn't want to hang around any longer than we did.
We were just as anxious as they to leave that god damned place with all its death and misery.
With everyone belted in, the jet taxied into position. Given final clearance for take off, the jet lurched forward pushing us back in our seats.
I had a window seat and watched as the runway lights raced past, faster ans faster. The plane rotated upwards and we left the ground..........
Vietnam was now rapidly slipping away under us.
I've heard stories of flights that erupted into roaring cheers when the plane left the ground, but not this one...not this time. It was stone
quite as we climbed and higher into the black night. Through the window I saw explosive flashes and lines of tracers arcing through the void.
Down there the war still raged. Down there someone was still dying. And we were on our way home.
The plane banked and we headed out to sea. We had survived our tours and were headed back to the world. I leaned back in my seat
and let the tears fall from my eyes.
The image of that plane is stuck in my memory like the old photograph I carry around in my wallet and just can't find the heart to toss it.
It was around eight or nine P.M. The stewardesses were all young, beautiful southern bells with soft, dainty "Y' all" accents. They looked
to good to us and smelled just as nice. Other than the nurses and the occasional visits from the Red Cross "donut dollies," these lovely and
gracefully ladies were the first non-military American women we had seen in a very long time.
You would think that being in the presents of those lovely ladies would have turned us into drooling, silly seventh grade boys.But that was
not the case. We shared a common, ever present thought that stayed with us our entire tour: would we live to see this day?
Everyone on that plane knew we weren't safe yet. There were many incidences of mortar or rocket rounds hitting planes while they were
still on the ground, killing troops who were homeward bound. To have survived out tour only to be killed on the way out was the final insane
absurdity delivered by the beast. Working hurriedly, but gently, they got us seated; they didn't want to hang around any longer than we did.
We were just as anxious as they to leave that god damned place with all its death and misery.
With everyone belted in, the jet taxied into position. Given final clearance for take off, the jet lurched forward pushing us back in our seats.
I had a window seat and watched as the runway lights raced past, faster ans faster. The plane rotated upwards and we left the ground..........
Vietnam was now rapidly slipping away under us.
I've heard stories of flights that erupted into roaring cheers when the plane left the ground, but not this one...not this time. It was stone
quite as we climbed and higher into the black night. Through the window I saw explosive flashes and lines of tracers arcing through the void.
Down there the war still raged. Down there someone was still dying. And we were on our way home.
The plane banked and we headed out to sea. We had survived our tours and were headed back to the world. I leaned back in my seat
and let the tears fall from my eyes.
