December 23, 1966. We shuffled from the bus to the terminal, went through one more baggage inspection, checked our duffles, got our receipts, and then shuffled out of the other side of the building onto the tarmac; hot, sticky, smelly asphalt that was too hot to touch with the bare skin. We endured another round of sergeants yelling at us to keep in line, keep up, no talking, etc. We clambered noisily up the aluminum stairs that wobbled and swayed under our weight. We found our seats and sat sweating and wishing the whole thing would get moving. The temperature outside had been in the high nineties; inside the aluminum tube the plane's airconditioner struggled to keep the temperature down in the low 100s. After what seemed like a lifetime, they closed up the door and things started happening. This was the point where we all remembered that Charlie had sent some mortar rounds down the flight line a couple of nights before...the sweat continued but took on that nasty, nerve-fired tang. We waited.
The stews started their spiel about emergency procedures and all that. The plane started rolling and turned toward the runway. We picked up speed then slowed. We turned onto the main runway and immediately went to take-off power. We were set back in our seats as the plane rumbled and rattled and roared...pre-noise abatement engines...a full-throated 707 at full tilt boogie. Suddenly the nose tipped up, the vibarations lessened and then we could feel the wheels come off the ground. And the real roar began. There were a hundred plus GIs in that tube, and everyone of us broke out in shouting, clapping, whistling, making joyful noise. It went on for a full ten minutes or so. As it began to settle down, the drink carts started down the aisle. The celebration was in full swing.
Just a small observation of human nature: there were only four or five stews to serve who knows how many GIs. It was hard to get their attention; every GI was trying to monopolize their time. Most of us hadn't seen a round-eyed woman in a year or more. I gave up on ever getting anyone to notice me when the guy next to me yelled at one of the girls as she went by, "Hey Stringbean! We could use a little service on this row!" I was shocked (not as much as she was) and I figured that would be the last we saw of her. But a strange thing happened. She said she would be right back and went to the stew station. I heard her telling one of the other stews "He called me 'Stringbean'". She came back and took our orders and for the next two hours, the time it took to get to Naha, Okinawa, she stopped everytime she went by to make sure we had whatever we needed. It was almost comical the way she fawned over us.
We sat at Naha for a couple of hours and then reboarded the plane. They told us we would stop at Hawaii and then go on to Travis...but we caught one heck of a tailwind..and stayed up for eighteen hours straight through from Naha to Travis. Some slept, some played cards, some were just too keyed up to do anything but talk a mile a minute. Several hours into the flight, when the lights were down and most were quiet, Stringbean came and ousted the guy in the middle seat and sat most of the rest of the way with me and the rude GI. We talked about what we were gonna do when we got back, where we were going, whatever else. I soaked it up but it was obvious that she was interested in the other guy...it seemed important to her that he like her, I have no idea why. When it was time for breakfast, she got up and went back to work; the other guy looked over at me and winked. Sigh.
Well, it was a memorable flight. Thanks to flying for about 22 hours against the time zones and crossing the International Dateline, we landed at Travis AFB in California two hours after we took off.
GIs all over Vietnam called them the "Freedom Birds", those aluminum beauties that lifted off from Than Son Nhut several times a day and carried GIs home. We had all watched them crossing the sky and dreamed of the day it would be our turn.
It was an amazing experience, the worry, the sweat, spontaneous applause, the pretty girl as a travel companion, and the best part of all was the touchdown: the chirp and puff of smoke off the tires, the reverse thrust shifting our weight forward, and no cheering...just a solemn, quiet, thanksgiving to be home.