Deros

DEROS There is great relief when a tour ends and you are processed out of the unit; addresses exchanged and goodbyes done all thought is about the Freedom Bird and the long awaited flight home. Binh Hoa the last stop in Vietnam here transitional shock begins; pushed into unfamiliar rigid ranks while a sergeant in starched fatigues storms back and forth ranting. This sergeant is rear echelon yelling about disgraceful soldiers, a sorry embarrassing mob none of who look like soldiers, undeserving of the title, soldier. Disgruntled combat soldiers very willing to wring his neck, but unwilling to delay departure; these veteran troops stand quiet wishing him twelve kinds of Hell. The ride home is long and dreary, the stewardesses compassionate, thinking about the inbound flight delivering their last batch of kids; new lambs fresh for slaughter. Flying over the Golden gate bridge brings a cheer of cliché response; no official screams disgust at Oakland, their welcome is indifferent silence, returnees only represent more work. Every process is done haphazardly with an implied threat of delay if there should be a complaint; a very convenient ploy to dissuade close inspection of slack procedures. Papers in hand albeit fraudulently incorrect regarding service record, health and well being of the processed; newly ex-soldiers rush to the exit glad to be rid of this Stateside welcome. Once out the door begins the real welcome of dark looks, dirty glances, open sneers, smirks and quietly mumbled obscenities; too many soldiers about to cause trouble, these guys would bring the war home. Now memories of home started corroding, a dawning reality of this dismal reception weighing on soldiers hearts and minds, they were now neither soldiers nor civilians; just war’s debris lacking respect of country.