Soldier From The War Returning by Childers Thomas

Author:Childers, Thomas [Childers, Thomas]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: History, Military, World War II, Veterans, Psychology, Psychopathology, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD)
ISBN: 9780618773688
Google: mrgU33zij9gC
Publisher: Houghton Mifflin Harcourt
Published: 2009-01-15T04:54:22+00:00

On August 1, the pilot ship met the West Point at the entrance to the harbor at Hampton Roads, and naval personnel distributed oranges to the thousands of troops onboard, the first many of them had seen in years. The men were tired of being cooped up, eager to be home, on furlough, and out of the Army’s grasp. No parades, no welcome home celebrations, thank you. As the ship eased into the slip, a band of black musicians, brightly clad and standing in formation on the dock, belted out rousing march music—a patriotic welcome home. Oranges, by the hundreds, rained down on them.

Hours of unloading followed, men streaming, anxious and exhausted, down the gangway. Sweltering in the summer sun, they formed into lines and waited. Trucks arrived to take them to nearby Camp Patrick Henry, where they would spend one night in stifling barracks. No phones were available, but the Army dispatched a form telegram to Mildred: “Arrived safely. Expect to see you soon. Don’t attempt to contact or write me here. Love, Thomas.”

The embarkation center at Hampton Roads was a major staging area for troops bound for and now returning from Europe—row after row of stark wooden barracks, a sprawling train yard, dust hanging in the blistering heat, the stony sunbaked earth hard as brick. On August 2, he boarded a crowded troop train bound for Atlanta. As first sergeant, he was placed in charge of one carriage—about fifty enlisted men—the last thing he wanted. The men hung out the open windows, gaping at the cars, the clothes, the lights, the size and the speed of everything after drab, war-diminished Europe. For many this was the last leg of a long, long trip home. Some sat quietly, lost in reflection. Some played cards or shot dice. Others, full of pent-up energy, were in high spirits, aided by several half pints that passed up and down the car. Where had the hooch come from? They hooted and whistled at women on the train platforms. One soldier, a corporal from Louisiana, even scrambled up onto the roof of the train as it plodded through steamy South Carolina. Tom had to haul him down.

In Atlanta the troop train emptied, and, his responsibility discharged, he made his way through the crowded terminal to a bank of public phones. He waited in line, pushing his barracks bag along with his foot, sweating in his once crisp summer khakis. Finally, he reached the phone. Men pressed impatiently from behind, making it impossible to close the door to the booth. Over the din behind him, he heard the long-distance operator place the call to Mildred, and as the phone rang, he realized that his hands were shaking. He could never remember what they actually said to each other in that hurried, anxious conversation, only that after two years apart, he hardly recognized the voice at the other end of the line.

He would be catching a train, he told her, coming into Union Station in Chattanooga. He gave her the arrival time; she would take her parents’ ’38 Chrysler and meet him there.

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