A Long Way Home

By Terry Raycraft

When Ben lands in Oakland, California, after one year in the Vietnam War, he decides to take a slow journey across America to ease back into "the world." Joining another Vietnam vet, the pair leave California in an old bread truck headed for Boston. Along the way, they reflect on episodes that occurred in Vietnam, help some stranded students, attend anti-war rallies, meet other veterans of the war, and, ultimately, must deal with the sad consequences of the war. Ben has a promise to keep before returning home. But home seems further away than he ever imagined. His journey continues as he learns and reaches his own conclusions about America.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Sep 28, 2021
• ISBN: 9781098398842

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INTRODUCTION

This book is a novel. But it incorporates many real events, which will be obvious at times to the reader. Thus, it is appropriate to say it is historical fiction. The main characters are not real. The things they say and do are fictional. But they observe or participate, at times, in actual events. As such, there is a likelihood, sometimes a strong probability, that the reader will recognize a description of an event as a story about someone they know, a friend, a relative, or even his or her self. And my guess is that many soldiers of that war will identify with the attitudes, actions, and even statements of the characters. There is no intention to incorporate any particular real person, except as specifically mentioned. I have merely attempted to describe events through the eyes and minds of the characters. An example is the killing of students at Kent State. One of the characters uses a nickname, fictionally, of a student who was murdered. I chose not to use the actual name of any student. But, unfortunately, real students were killed. For me, the importance of this book are the events. I hope the reader is shocked at what happened at Kent State. Like most of this story, the events are upsetting and should be remembered, and we should learn from them.

This is not my story. However, as typical in most fiction, and even more so with historical fiction, I do at times pull from my life experiences. An example is the first chapter. Yes, I was on that plane. I watched and participated in that event. But I am not Ben, the main character. More on this at the end, in Last Words.

PART I

1.

There is one thing Ben would never forget: the precise moment the aircraft’s tires lifted off that godforsaken country’s blood-stained soil. Instantly, every soldier, in an unexpected, yet unified reflexive action, screamed and clapped, cheering something that only they understood and shared. It was loud, and it continued as the plane climbed, transporting this group of young men away. It was a moment of true joy, a celebration of survival, of life, of departing a world of death and danger, knowing that home was no longer a remote hope, but a reality.

Of course, that memorable moment is stored only in the minds of those who were not sent home in plastic bags or to Japan on stretchers to waiting surgeons skilled at stitching raggedly-ripped body parts back together.

Ben looked out the window with a big grin as the celebration subsided to intermittent yelps and howls. But he was conscious of a lingering nervous paranoia, until the plane was beyond the range of any insane enemy rocket. At that point of semi-comfort, Ben let out a bellowing howl: Yeeesss!! He stood up and screamed, WE ARE GOING HOME!!!! At that, the other soldiers joined in, hollering and whooping it up, some dancing in the aisles.

He knew he was still a long way from home. What Ben did not know was that home was much, much further away than he could have ever imagined.

2.

Ben’s eyes opened upon a change in airspeed. Like most of the boys in the plane, he was hyper-sensitive to subtle changes in movement, sound, anything unusual in his immediate environment. He sensed the plane slowing, descending. Suddenly, another round of ear-shattering yells broke the silence. Ben quickly turned to the window to find San Francisco below, the tilted plane sinking towards Oakland. His heart pumping, Ben inhaled a deep breath and stared at the delusive scenery, afraid that he would wake from this dream at any second, like he had done a thousand times before, finding himself still in Vietnam.

It had been one year, to the minute, since Ben had departed the USA for the Far East war zone. The good old military machine was that precise. He figured that if he had returned in a body bag, he would have been buried at some exact moment pursuant to an Order issued from some office somewhere, totally in compliance with every regulation covering such morbid events, including a final militarily-measured haircut, with his dead-weight arms laid in the correct position, following the military manuals prescribed minutia of details. He was glad to be getting out, to be done with the military edicts that never made sense to him. He longed to think on his own for a change; to embrace his life according to his own dictates. He laughed, remembering his beard and longer hair that would never pass muster on any stateside military base. In Nam, the rules had been relaxed.

WHAAAAAAA-HOOOOOO!!!!!!!! yelled the fellow next to Ben, initiating yet another celebration as the plane touched down on USA ground in Oakland.

When the plane came to a stop, Ben noticed a dozen or so people standing just outside the entrance to the terminal. A large banner hung above the door: WELCOME HOME. Not exactly the classic picture of World War II, but, he thought to himself, the war is not over. He wondered how many body bags were also landing in the U.S. on this day. He quickly changed his thoughts, and rose from his seat.

Shortly, Ben’s feet touched solid ground. The big grin returned.

3.

Ben shook the outstretched hand of a stranger as he met the small crowd of greeters at the terminal door. Thanks for your service, said the stranger. Ben just looked at the man, not knowing what to say, feeling oddly uncomfortable with the statement, and continued into the building. He began looking for a telephone. Ben had already planned on calling his buddy, Tom, who had been his best friend in Nam. Tom had returned to the USA three months earlier, after completing his one-year stint. But instead of going back to his home in Indiana, Tom had stayed in California.

Ben remembered Tom’s last night in Nam. They had started celebrating early, drinking beer and munching on pistachios. Eventually, Tom retrieved his beat-up guitar he had purchased from an old papasan who survived by dealing in the black market. Tom and Ben had sung songs between beers, until the Sun began to rise.

Do you think you are capable of driving me to the airport? asked Tom.

Hah, I haven’t driven sober in this country yet, replied Ben.

Well, let’s get going! exclaimed Tom.

What?? It’s just a bit after 5 a.m. You don’t have to report for 4 more hours.

Hey, man. You’ll know what it feels like in a few months. I don’t want to take ANY chances. Especially knowing the condition of my driver. I am not missing my ticket out of this hell-hole.

Ok. Meet me at the Jeep in 10 minutes.

Wait a minute. Can you verify that the roads have been swept, first? I don’t want to go back in a box. Now that I think about it, I’ll check on that one myself.

Ben recalled that the trip to the airbase was in silence. He also remembered the funky grin on Tom’s face. When they reached their destination, they just looked at each other and started laughing.

Damn!!! yelled Tom. I can’t believe this day is here.

Look, said Ben, in an unfamiliar serious tone, write me. Let me know where you are. ‘Cause the day I get back, I will be coming to see you. I will be in the mood for another celebration.

You got it. Take care, man, said Tom.

You, too. Oh, and get me a date lined up when I get out of this place.

You got it!! DAMN!! What a thought!! AMERICAN GIRLS!!

With WHITE TEETH!!!

Ben watched Tom grab his gear and walk to the dispatcher’s office. Tom turned and waved. Ben started up the Jeep, waved, laughed at Tom’s funky grin, and began his journey back to his unit, wondering if he would survive the next few months.

4.

When Ben entered the terminal, he immediately felt strangely uneasy, out of place, but, at the same time, he enjoyed the flow of civilians, regular people, without guns, without flak jackets. He passed beautiful girls, children, and, of course, other soldiers, those returning and, he thought, those poor souls going.

Ben Tatum!!

Ben turned to the voice on his left to see a sign that read Welcome Home, Ben, YOU CRAZY SOB! The sign hid the face of whoever was holding it.

What is this? asked Ben curiously.

The sign lowered and Ben looked at a brown-haired girl with warm, spirited green eyes, a complete stranger, who smiled at him. Welcome home, she said.

TATUM!!! AH-TEN-HUH!!!

Ben looked over the girl’s shoulder to see Tom sitting at the bar with a sheepish grin on his face.

Do you want this beer or not?

Tom!! What is going on!!! yelled Ben, as he stepped over to the bar.

Just having a beer. Thought you might like one, too.

Ben grabbed the beer and turned it up, taking several large gulps.

Welcome back to the world, said Tom.

Thanks. It feels good at the moment, replied Ben, before taking another big gulp. Man, I needed this, he added. Then he glanced at the girl sitting next to Tom.

Ben, this is Carol.

Pleased to meet you, said Ben.

And the sign girl is Katie.

Ben turned to find Katie behind him. Well, you were definitely a sight for sore eyes. Nice to meet you, Katie, said Ben.

You, too. Sorry you had to go over there, she stated.

Ben looked at her curiously. I‘ve only been here a few minutes and have already gotten a ‘thank you’ from three people, but this is the first ‘sorry’ I have heard, laughed Ben. He shook his head and said, I’ll have to think about that one.

Was it bad? asked Katie.

Hey, I don’t know. I have already forgotten, advised Ben, smiling.

Oh, I see. I am sorry. Let’s talk about something else. That’s OK. You’ll come around, said Katie.

Ben looked at Katie. No, I don’t mean that. But let’s do talk of something else. Like who you are. Do you live here? How do you know Tom?

I am from New Hampshire, but I am in school at Harvard. Carol and I are roomies there. She is from Oakland, responded Katie. And I am your official date tonight.

Ben turned to Tom. You remembered?? Way to go!!

Tom turned around. Remembered what?

You were supposed to get me a date with a beautiful girl. Ben turned to Katie. And you really did.

Ha Ha!! You are right. But Carol got you the date. You can thank her, laughed Tom.

So what are we doing tonight? inquired Ben.

Three guesses, said Tom.

A movie?

HaHaHa, laughed Tom. Man, you have been gone too long for sure.

Dinner?

Nope.

Dancing?

Tom shook his head.

I give up. What is it?

The Dead.

Grateful Dead concert?!!!? exclaimed Ben.

By invitation only. A jam session to raise money for a protest march in Washington.

You are kidding me! How did you get tickets?

Carol is from Oakland. She has a lot of friends in Haight-Ashbury. She knows Jerry Garcia.

Hey guys, we will be right back, OK? said Carol.

Yeah. We will be right here. I am ordering another round for you before you get back, said Tom.

Good, said Carol.

Ben watched as the girls walked out of the bar.

Damn. They are both good looking as hell! How did you meet Carol?

At a club the first night I arrived here. She was on break from school. She introduced me to her friends, and I have never left.

What? You are living out here?

Yeah. The weed is good here. I have pretty much been stoned since I came back.

Have you been home at all?

I made a trip to Boston to visit Carol. On the way, I stopped at home for a while. You know, to visit with my parents and some friends from high school. But Indianapolis doesn’t compare to California. Have you ever surfed? Ha!!Ha!! Anyway, I went on to Boston and spent about a month living with Carol. Boston is cool, too, added Tom.

So the Dead is a protest thing? Are you into protesting now? asked Ben.

Not really. I just go along with Carol. So I have been to a few things. It is getting wild. It was all students before. Now the vets are coming back and joining them. They are putting on their camos, jungle hats, and peace signs. Even their medals, and marching. That’s why Carol and Katie are here. They are really into it, man.

Ben saw the girls coming towards the bar. He quickly leaned over to Tom and whispered: Man, I am having the hibbie-jibbies. I am like feeling paranoid. All this commotion and noise. I am jumpy, like I’m looking for a hole to dive in when I hear anything loud. Were you like this? asked Ben.

Yeah. For a few months. But beer and weed got me through the transition. Actually, now that I think about it, I haven’t been sober since I got back!!! Tom exclaimed, laughing. You remember meeting in Japan?

Yeah. That was great. But I stayed drunk the whole time, said Ben.

Right! Well, it is like I have gone back to Japan on R&R, except I am in Oakland, Tom laughed.

Where’s my beer? asked Carol.

OH! Sorry! Barman? Another round, please, sir.

Ben, what are you staring at? asked Katie.

Ben shook his head. I am so sorry. It’s….well….I haven’t seen an American girl in over a year.

Don’t worry, Katie. Tom did the same thing when I met him, asserted Carol.

I am so sorry, said Katie.

I really don’t think you need to apologize, laughed Ben. You can’t help it. Ben tried not to stare at her, but he was finding it difficult not to look. The Grateful Dead. How cool is that? This is quite a welcoming committee. You did it up right, I must admit. I think you should run for President, Tom, said Ben.

Yeah. Then we could stop that stupid war, said Katie.

And everyone would get free weed! said Tom.

Ben laughed. He silently wondered what life was going to be like in the world now. He knew he was nervous and jumpy. I better have another, Tom.

I know what you mean.

5.

Ben absorbed the scene as they walked along the streets in Haight-Ashbury. The sidewalks were filled with students, hippies, pot-heads, peaceniks, flower-girls, long dresses, long hair, mustaches, beards, color-dyed T-shirts, peace signs everywhere: on posters in windows and painted on the sides of vans, on metals hanging from necks, on shirts and dresses. It was all colorful, peaceful, and laid back. Some, probably vets, wore army jackets, looking like John Lennon, otherwise indistinguishable from the rest of the crowd.

A girl holding flowers stepped in front of Ben and Katie. They stopped as the girl smiled and removed a red carnation from the bouquet she held. She placed it in Katie’s hair. There! You and this flower belong together today!

Well, thank you so much, replied Katie.

Yeah, thanks, agreed Ben.

The girl smiled and started to walk on.

Tom quickly whispered into Ben’s ear: Give her something, some change.

Wait, Miss, said Ben, as he reached into his pocket. He handed her some coins.

God bless you, sir. Peace, she said, giving the peace sign with her free hand.

As they walked on, Tom explained: There is no telling where she comes from. Lots of kids have come here from all over, seeking a new life or something. She survives selling flowers on the street. She would have given you the flower, but, she really needs some money. It’s crazy, man.

How do you like my flower? asked Katie.

I have to agree with the flower girl. And it fits right in with this place, said Ben, obviously in awe at the scene.

Is this your first time here? asked Katie.

Yes, offered Ben.

Ha! I can tell.

They stopped to watch a street band jamming. Ben smelled marijuana, noticed a couple sitting on the curb smoking, bobbing their heads to the rhythm of the chords strumming non-stop. The girl wore a head-band with long straight blond hair. The guy had dark hair that brushed his shoulders as his head moved with the music. They both wore sandals and bell-bottom jeans, like most of the students strolling up and down the street.

Hey, man! said Tom.

Ben turned to see Tom‘s arm extended out to him, holding a lit cigarette. Take a puff, said Tom.

Ben took it from Tom and sucked a long draw of its smoke into his lungs. He had smoked the stuff a few times in Nam and a couple of times at college. But that was it. He was surprised to be standing in the streets of the USA taking a toke. Ben laughed as he handed it back to Tom. He felt someone grab his arm. He turned around to find Katie, her eyes closed, swaying to the music. He had not noticed the growth of the crowd behind him that was now dancing, or just moving, grooving sort of. He joined Katie, dancing in Haight-Ashbury.

Ben no longer felt uneasy, no paranoia. The noise and crowd didn’t bother him. He had forgotten about Vietnam. He was drinking, smoking, becoming one with the music, the dance, the motion. Nothing mattered but the feeling, the scene. He looked at Katie, with her eyes still closed, her arms in the air, turning. Carol had now joined in the dance.

Here, said Tom, holding out the joint again. They looked at each other, both grinning.

Ben took another toke and handed it back to Tom. Thanks. I guess I needed that.

Tom laughed. I know.

6.

WHAT GOOD IS WAR FOR????!!!!!! screamed the man on the stage. He wore military fatigues, wire-rim glasses, a beard, and long hair.

ABSOLUTELY NOTHING!!!!!!!!!!!!! responded the large crowd that was still growing.

This week, over three hundred of our brothers have died in the jungles of South Vietnam. The numbers just keep growing. The list of wounded is four times that number, coming home to a worn-out VA system that can’t even treat them. The hospitals are filled with severely crippled vets who lie helpless, waiting for some kind of care from the war-mongering government that refuses to spend money to help them. Why? Because they are sending truckloads of our good money to big corporations to build more bombs, more bullets, more planes, tanks, and everything that does nothing but kill and maim. While the body bags come back to the U.S., bags filled with our friends, brothers, fathers, sisters, children, good Ole Uncle Sam forces more of us to march into the killing zone to kill or be killed, or both. They want to put a gun in your hands and order you to kill gooks. And who are the real gooks? It is that group of politicians that sit on their soft butts in their cushiony air-conditioned offices in Washington D.C. helping their damn friends get richer from our blood being shed!!!!!!!

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO, the crowd roared and cheered, clapping, hissing.

How many of us will be dead in a year from now? And will you have a clue what you died for? Do any of you want to give your life for whatever this cause is?

HELL NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!

You want to stop this insanity and bring our brothers home? Do you want to save lives instead of kill people????

"YESSSSSSSSSS!!!!!!!!!

"OK!!!! Here is what we are going to do. We are going to march into Washington D.C.!!! As many as we can get!!! We are going to jam the streets, stop the traffic, and surround the White House, the Pentagon, and the Capitol!!! We are going to STOP the imperialist war-machine, STOP the killing, STOP the DRAFT, and STOP spending our hard-earned money on an IMMORAL, ILLEGAL, UNJUST, AND TOTALLY SENSELESS WARRRRRRRRR!!!!!!!

YEAHHHHH!!!!!!

So!! Tonight we have something very special for you! To help raise money for this cause, for this trip to our capitol….we will, by the way, be passing a hat around for any donations you can give….I am honored to present to you…….THE GRATEFUL DEAD!!!!!

YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY!!!!!!!!!! the crowd roared, cheered, yelled, and screamed, as Jerry Garcia and the band took to the stage.

WELCOME EVERYONE!! yelled Garcia into the microphone. LET’S END THIS WAR ONCE AND FOREVER!!!!

The band began jamming as the crowd yelled and screamed, finally subsiding into attentive ears catching the flow of the notes booming from the speakers across the huge crowd and past them into the