“You made it, buddy. We made it,” whispered Paul.
Sam hardly recognized his friend, his head and face almost totally covered, but his blue eyes were unmistakable. He knew it was Paul. He glanced back at his own bandaged right hand and knew. He had felt it being ripped from his body on the battlefield. His last memory in the chopper was blood spilling from the catastrophic wound that had already severed his limb, though he had prayed it could be miraculously saved.
“Lucky us,” Sam mumbled to himself. He turned to Diane and drew a deep breath. He was stunned, visibly upset. “What now?”
“You’ve done your job, now it’s time for me to do mine. I’m not going to sugarcoat this. It’ll be hard. You’ll be fitted with a temporary prosthetic hook before you land stateside, and it’ll take months of rehabilitation to learn how to use it properly.”
Sam closed his eyes and continued to speak. “I’m alive. I know that’s all that matters. If you say it’ll get better, I have no choice but to believe you.”
Diane patted his shoulder. It was little comfort compared to the cruelty of his injury and the emotional blow he had just been dealt. “I’ll be back tomorrow, and the next day, and the day after that. I’ll be close by until you get your orders to leave this place. You boys rest.”
Sam opened his eyes just long enough to watch her melt into the sea of wounded men, a new group of damaged soldiers in need of her attention. “Hey Paul, you know her name?”
“Yeah . . . Diane. Her name’s Diane.”
)
Fourteen days in the field hospital was almost more than Paul and Sam could endure. Along with everyone else in the ward, they received Purple Hearts from a stony-faced commander as he moved from bed to bed, followed by a military photographer who captured the unsmiling face of every man in one snap of a shutter and flash of light. It made little difference if a head was wrapped in bandages, an arm was in a cast, or a limb was missing. He strolled by each soldier, one at a time, propped the black leather box on his chest to show the medal, shook each hand, and moved on to the next in line. Paul and Sam buried the six-by-three-inch black leather boxes with the snap hinge at the top and the words “Purple Heart” emblazoned in gold letters, deep inside their duffle bags.
)
“I think it’s time for you boys to go home. You’ve earned your Purple Hearts, you can leave Vietnam forever. We’ve done everything we can for you here. Get the hell out of this horrible place and go back to your families.” Dr. Shapiro stood up and saluted the men, then added, “And it’s a little out of protocol, but I’m going to see if I can get you on the same plane back home, which will make the trip a little longer for you, Paul, but I think it would be good medicine for you to fly back to the States together.”
Paul and Sam liked Dr. Shapiro. He was a straight shooter and sincere. He had no glossy diagnoses, treated everyone the same, and worked into the night to see that every man brought into the field hospital had the best possible chance of survival. Everyone he encountered was treated with respect and dignity, and he never left the bedside of an ailing Marine without a kind word and a salute.
I think this will be my only fond memory of this shitty hellhole, thought Sam, extending his left hand to Dr. Shapiro for one last handshake. They’d only been in Vietnam a month, thrown into the jungle like animals, asked to fight, kill, endure, and carry burdens home that would last a lifetime. As the men watched him file past the rows of wounded comrades, Sam turned to Paul to ask, “How long those Christmas lights been up?”
“I hadn’t noticed until you said something.”
Strings of red and green lights flickered around the ward. In between choppers, the young nurses remained determined to celebrate under the worst of circumstances, attempting to bring a little comfort and joy to the wounded and dying, even though it might go unnoticed by the men in their care. It was still Christmas, an unforgettable Christmas. Paul and Sam rolled over in their cots, too weary to think about it or care.
Chapter 10
November turned the corner to December and the long-anticipated letter from Sam was waiting for Elizabeth when she got home from school. Nana placed the envelope on the front entrance table for Elizabeth to see the moment she walked through the door. She didn’t need to look twice at the letter propped up against the candy dish Nana faithfully kept filled with Good & Plenty, Sugar Babies, or Boston Baked Beans.
“Finally!” Elizabeth exclaimed as she grabbed a fresh cookie from the kitchen that she knew would be waiting, whether she wanted it or not. She settled herself next to the Christmas tree Nana had insisted on decorating the night before. The last thing she wanted to do was celebrate Christmas without her parents, but she was glad there was a semblance of holiday cheer in Nana’s house.
Elizabeth read the postal date stamp. Sam must have written after he got to his base camp, just as he promised. She also noted the day it had been written and knew he hadn’t seen the picture she sent before Thanksgiving. She would have to get used to long delays and letters crossing in the mail. For now, she savored the moment.
November 16, 1966
Dear Elizabeth,
How are you doing now that winter is almost here? Remember how angry you used to get in the summer when your skin would stick to the chairs, and you’d have to wait for the sun to go down for a little relief? What I wouldn’t do now for those warm, sticky summers in Boston! Even though it’s November, the weather never seems to change, as humid as it is hot. It doesn’t cool down, even at night, and the monsoons are the worst. It rains sideways with such force, it takes a lot of effort to stay dry, and you know you’ll get soaked in the middle of the night if you need to go outside to use the bathroom.
All the guys sleep in their shorts and in the mornings we struggle to get on our wet fatigues. Nothing ever has time to dry. Boots don’t last very long, rotting off our feet, especially if we have to trudge through the swamps, trying to avoid getting those blood sucking leeches from attaching themselves to our skin. They’re huge reddish black, slimy bastards, and even the toughest of us gets creeped out as soon as we see or feel one climbing up our pant leg. They have no shame, they pick any spot on your body, and God help you if you have more than one clinging to your flesh. If the water is high, we have to hold our rifles over our heads so they don’t get wet, and that means there’s more body parts to choose from. No one in my platoon has gone untouched, and we can either burn them off with a cigarette or spray them with insect repellent. Watching them curl up and die is our only satisfaction.
We’re also issued a couple of 4 oz. plastic bottles of something we call bug juice, for the mosquitoes, and we get more on every resupply chopper. Can’t live without it in the jungle. What I’m trying to say is, appreciate home, sticky summers and all. They keep telling us that’s what we’re fighting for.
It’s been quiet around here the past few days, but I’m sure I’ll have more to write about next time. I’ll miss you all this Thanksgiving and Christmas, but I’m told we’ll get something different than the boiled meat and powdered eggs we’ve become accustomed to. No one’s sure where the meat comes from around here, but if I get a piece of pumpkin pie and a little stuffing this holiday season, it will be the highlight of my tour. No sugar for coffee either. Had to learn to drink it black. I miss the sugar and milk, and what I wouldn’t do for a 6-pack of ice-cold beer!
Well, gotta go for now. I’ll write before Christmas, and I can’t wait to start getting letters from you and everyone back home. Remember, don’t believe everything you see on TV, read in the newspapers, or hear on the radio. Give my love to Nana, and the twins. Over and out.
Always your Older Brother,
Sam
Chapter 11
“Do you think Sam’s all right? I mean, I keep seeing news about fighting, right where he is! I haven’t gotten a letter from him since that one before Thanksgiving. Why won’t he write?” Elizabeth’s heart ached every time she watched the images, larger than
life on the evening news depicting the young men facing constant hostility and danger. Many were not much older than she was, their sole purpose to take a life or lose their own. Her brother was one of them. Sam was in harm’s way until he came home—if he came home.
Nana laid a reassuring hand on her granddaughter’s shoulder. “I’m sure he’s just fine, Dear. Remember, he always tells you at the end of every letter, don’t believe everything you hear on the radio, read in the paper, or see on TV. Good advice.”
)
The family nestled into the comfortable surroundings of Nana’s home, every corner decorated with tender memories of holidays past. Elizabeth missed her sisters as much as she missed her brother. Their visits weren’t frequent enough to satisfy her yearning for her siblings, and the first Christmas without their parents, and Sam a world away, made Elizabeth feel more like crying than celebrating. But Nana, the matriarch, insisted that the holidays be spent together, under the same roof.
Christmas morning was a whirlwind of commotion. Laura, Tina, and Ricky dashed down the stairs before dawn in a foot race to be the first one to find the heap of presents waiting beneath the tree, and the racket made it hard for the rest of the household to sleep much past five o’clock.
Nana brewed a large pot of coffee for the grownups, asking Elizabeth if she would like a cup. Elizabeth willingly obliged, using one of the festive holiday mugs Nana kept on the kitchen counter the entire month of December. Her favorite, a bulbous likeness of Santa Claus, held just the right amount with ample room for cream and sugar. She didn’t think she was quite ready to take her coffee black. Even Sam didn’t like his coffee black, but she supposed he was getting used to it. Cream and sugar are probably the least of his worries; she thought as she joined the rest of the family to enjoy the best part of Christmas morning—opening presents.
Although this year was leaner than years past, there were still plenty of gifts to unwrap. No one was forgotten.
“Tina, would you mind handing me that package by the console? The big one with the gold stripes and red bow? I think that might be one for Elizabeth.” Nana knew that it was her gift to her eldest granddaughter. She watched as Elizabeth tore at the wrapping paper, every bit as eager as her younger sisters.
“How did you know? I never said anything!” Elizabeth almost knocked her coffee off the wobbly TV tray when she jumped up and ran straight to Nana, throwing the mangled wrapping paper to one side and clutching a brand-new navy-blue car coat under her arm. She managed to lean over and squeeze Nana tightly, amidst the new toys, discarded ribbons and gifts strewn throughout the living room. Her huge grin was all Nana needed to see. “This is perfect Nana. Thank you! It’s what everyone’s wearing! Toggle buttons all the way up the front. And look! The hood is removable! I can wear this coat in almost any weather.”
“You’re welcome, my dear.” Nana returned her granddaughter’s hug and smiled as she thought of the old brown coat that Elizabeth carelessly tossed around or shoved into a corner in her bedroom. It was an easy decision to make when she considered the one gift that Elizabeth would enjoy the most, the one that would take her mind off her brother and the lingering unspoken question on everyone’s minds.
“Are you happy?” Nana shifted in her chair and gazed at her whole family, directing her question to no one in particular.
Uncle Bill looked at Nana. “Are you happy, Mom?”
“Yes. I believe I am. At this moment, I’m very happy. A little tired now that the hubbub has simmered down, but I’m happy.”
)
Christmas day melted into Christmas night. The TV was humming in the living room with news reports about an acceleration in combat being repeated over and over. Pictures of the carnage, burning villages, heavily armed young men crawling through dense, overgrown jungles, and explosions in every direction were exposed for all Americans to view. Hell scrolled across the 19-inch screen nightly and family members with loved ones in the midst of the horror worried and waited—for good news and bad.
“It’s Christmas. It was a lovely day. Look, the snow is starting to fall.” Aunt Deborah pulled the curtains apart in the living room so everyone could see the snowfall, awash with color from the Christmas lights illuminating the neighborhood.
“Think of how nice it is just to be together.” Sweet Aunt Deborah, she tried to make everyone feel better, pretending the situation wasn’t grave. But Elizabeth knew better, knew her Aunt, and had to thank her at least for trying.
After putting the three younger children to bed in the spare upstairs bedroom, Uncle Bill, Aunt Deborah, Elizabeth, and Nana sank into the overstuffed living room furniture and surveyed the emptiness. Snow accumulated on the cold ground, and ice crystals formed on the frozen window panes. Inside, the family was toasty and warm, protected from the chill of night. Elizabeth wanted it to be late enough for her to fall asleep. She wanted this day behind her. In spite of everyone’s efforts to stay in good spirits, in particular for the twins and Ricky, the thought of her absent parents and the uncertainty of Sam’s whereabouts still consumed her every thought.
A knock on the door, out of place for the neighborhood this late on Christmas night, startled them all. Uncle Bill approached the door and peered out the window. His heart sank when he saw an official military car parked at the curb. Two men in uniform stood on the front porch and knocked again. He trembled as he opened the door, unable to say a word. Nana, Elizabeth, and Aunt Deborah rushed to his side.
The older officer asked if he could come in and speak with them. Escorting them inside, Uncle Bill took them to the living room, offered them a seat, and started the conversation. “May we please ask what this visit is about?”
Unflinching and without expression, the officer gave no hint as to the message he had been directed to convey. He looked at Elizabeth and Nana, and asked, “Are you the sister and grandmother of Sam Sutton?”
Motionless, holding hands, they whispered, “Yes.”
The man’s broad chest was resplendent with perfectly aligned ribbons, patches, and medals. Elizabeth scrutinized this array of power as she prepared for the awful words she knew would follow.
Nana cleared her voice and spoke. “Is Sam okay?” Her voice rang strong and composed. She didn’t want to ask if he had died—too horrible a thought to consider, even though every article she had read explained how a military car, dispatched with two officers, would come to your door if your son, father, or husband had been killed in action. She was waiting for an answer from these two very polite gentlemen who stood before her with devastating news, she was sure.
“Ma’am, I want you to know, Sam has not died in action. He is the only son of Mr. and Mrs. Sutton, who we understand are deceased. When this is the case, it is military policy to inform the family in person of severe injury or wounds. Sam was in combat just outside of Chu Lai, and was injured in a firefight. From there he was air lifted to the nearest field hospital where he underwent emergency surgery.”
The officer paced himself and took a deep breath. He hated the duty he had been assigned, especially during this time of year. “The doctors had to remove his right hand due to the severity of the wound, and because gangrene had set in almost immediately. I am so sorry to have to tell you this on Christmas night.”
Elizabeth remained still as she silently processed the shocking words. She felt light-headed, as though she might faint, but purposefully fixed her eyes on her grandmother, a tower of strength even in these tragic circumstances. Instead of tears, a broad smile swept across Elizabeth’s face. Knowing that her big brother was alive and that she would see him again was all that mattered to her.
Nana’s composed demeanor veiled her breaking heart, but she managed to stay brave in a situation that was about to send shockwaves through the family once again. She brushed past her son who was preparing to coax additional information from the men. With one arm wrapped around his tearful wife, Uncle Bill was surprised to see his mother step forward and shoulder
the responsibility.
“I can handle this, Bill. I’ve had a lot of practice.” Nana’s tone was gentle, but Uncle Bill never knew his mother to back down or falter in an emergency. He stepped aside and accepted her determination to take charge in the wake of misfortune, just as she had done so many times before. Elizabeth shadowed her grandmother, and Nana cautiously proceeded with the questions that were most urgent in her mind.
In hushed voices, the officers discussed the protocol, the phone calls that would follow, and Sam’s expected arrival from overseas. “I see, yes, I understand. That sounds fine,” was all Uncle Bill and Aunt Deborah could overhear from the brief exchange. “Four weeks? We’ll be ready. Yes, I understand he’ll need a lot of rehabilitation stateside.” Bill saw his mother nodding as she escorted the officers to the front door with Elizabeth close behind. “Thank you, officers. You’ve been very kind.”
“No need to come outside, ma’am; it’s too cold.” Nana followed, ignoring their cautious suggestion. She couldn’t help but notice how incongruous the porch decorations of festive colored lights and oversized plastic angels were, in contrast to the painful news they’d just received.
Nana directed her gaze from one officer to the other, bidding each a happy Christmas as she continued to absorb the impact of their conversation.
Keep Forever Page 6
