Dulles International Airport

 

A few minutes later, exactly as promised, just as the team exited the long ramp leading into the terminal, all the wives and children and family members that you would normally expect to be there gave the men a well-deserved greeting. Some of Blake’s rock-climbing buddies were there, too, along with his parents. This was when airport security used to let the waiting public greet their friends, right as they exited the aircraft.

"Blake," Sutton said, "I've got some debriefing to take care of, like I told you, but I’ve been doing some thinking and I’ve got something important to discuss with you. Something really important. I’ll call you in a couple of days."

"Sure, Mr. Sutton, I’ll be home."

"Good, you’ll be hearing from me soon. Hey, watch out for that crew of yours. They look more dangerous than Lt. Ngo’s men."

While the rest of Sutton’s team made their way home, because he didn’t have a family waiting to greet him, Sutton decided to make his way toward the Pentagon. General Samm was expecting his report and after getting a hotel room he planned to call for an appointment. Outside, trying to flag down a taxi, it was just as hot as it had been in Hanoi. There are some things you can never escape.

Because of a traffic accident, it took the cab almost two hours to finally make it over to the Holiday Inn. Sutton kept thinking about Nick’s letter.

General Samm! Yes Sir, hello. Oh, not much hotter than here. OK, tomorrow morning at 9:30 is fine. No, everything went well. Just great. Blake held up better than the rest of us. Yes Sir, Roberts made all the arrangements—and General Chin sends his regards. He thanks you for the gift. Yes Sir, the film’s been developed. But General, there’s one other thing. Oh—Ok, I understand. Yes Sir—I’ll give you a complete briefing in the morning. No, 9:30 is perfect. I’m going to bed early and I’ll see you in the morning. Ok, see you then. 

Compared to the hotel that Sutton and his team had stayed at in Hanoi, the Holiday Inn seemed like a palace.

 

 

The sheets were fresh and the room ice cold. After a thick steak and a baked potato, Sutton made his way down the carpeted hallway to the bar. It was only 7 PM. Inside; Ebb Tide was playing softly in the background. Perfect. Sutton took a seat and adjusted his chair. The bartender was in his late 40s and had a soothing voice. Sutton ordered a cold beer. With that finally in front of him, he took out his Colibri and lit one of his JR cigars, taking note that he needed to buy more. Lifting the tall glass to his lips and tasting the cold beer in his mouth, for the first time in what seemed liked months, Sutton felt relief. It would take three, maybe four more beers to finish off the cigar. That was exactly what he wanted—time to think.

But really, there was only one thing to think about—Eleni. She had to be told. She had to be given the letter. Such a terrible thing had happened to her husband. Her country had let her down. Sutton also thought about Nick. God, what a shame! After all he went through—first abandoned—near death—then rescued and nursed back to health—only to be snared by the clutches of death a second time. No matter how much Sutton thought about it or felt sorry, the shame remained. It just wasn’t right what had happened. Of course, other men face injustice and learn to move on. In time, they probably don’t even give it a second thought. But this had become far too personal for that. For over an hour Sutton sat at the bar, trying to enjoy his fine cigar—thinking.

General Samm, nice to see you again. How’s the family?

Thank you, Sutton. Everyone’s fine. Please take a seat. Did you get a good night’s sleep?

Yes Sir. Probably the best I’ve slept in weeks.

Well, good. OK, let’s see those photographs.

Sutton reached down for his brown briefcase and placed it in his lap, his fingers reaching to release the two buckles.

 

photo by: J. Mark Bertrand

Operation Frequent Wind

 

Nobody was to blame—this was just an anomaly of war. Every war has its share of mistakes.  Of course, the Pentagon was never going to reveal the larger picture that involved dozens of abandoned soldiers. That was never going to happen.

A Staff Sergeant entered the room and handed the General photocopies of Nick’s letter. Here, let his wife have the originals. This will be sufficient for our records. Man, that has got to be one of the strangest letters I have ever read: monks in a jungle. What do you think of that, Major?

What could he say?  Shaking the General’s hand, Sutton turned to his right and headed down the long hallway.  He had to get hold of Blake.