Repost: Going Home-The End in Cuba

[Matt Wiser]

Reposted by request: the rest of Kelly Ray's Cuba stories will follow.

Part I:


Going Home: the End in Cuba:


Prologue: Presidential Suite, The Ritz-Carlton Hotel, Philadelphia, PA: 1100 Hours Eastern War Time, 1 March, 1990:


“Mr. President,” the White House aide said. “The Ambassadors from Algeria, India, and Malaysia are here.”

President Bush nodded. “Send them in, please. And please ask Secretaries Baker and Carlucci to join us, along with General Scowcroft..”

Since the Summer of 1986, the President had been staying at the Ritz-Carlton in the temporary capital of Philadelphia, with Congress having taken over the Four Seasons, pending construction of a temporary Congressional Hall, while plans could be laid for what was being called The Second Reconstruction. A new Homestead Act, encouraging people to move into States that had been occupied, was on the agenda, along with a National Reconstruction Act, to rebuild war-damaged infrastructure such as roads, bridges, and railroads. Congressional leaders from Missouri, Kansas, Nebraska, New Jersey, and New York were already pushing for rebuilding Omaha, Kansas City, and the New York area, Not to mention that for the first time in its history, the U.S would be maintaining a considerable part of its wartime military force structure, along with using the military to speed reconstruction in certain areas, such as along the Texas-Mexico Border. Already, the mantra “Never Again” was being heard, and that was a vow that he, along with the Congressional leadership, was now taking very seriously.

But there was still a festering sore left over from the war: Cuba. Fidel Castro had refused to sign off on the Armistice, even after the Soviets and Mexicans had done so,and eventually the North Koreans had given in. But Castro, for reasons known only to himself, was making demands that anyone could see were impossible: that Cuba's war damage be paid for by the U.S, that all of his POWs be returned-even those who had told the Red Cross that they were refusing repatriation-and the U.S had told the Cubans via the Red Cross that no one would be repatriated against his or her will. Not to mention another impossible demand: that Cubans accused of war crimes be tried in Cuba, by Cuban courts. All of these had been rejected out of hand, and after the Armistice Flu had burned out-for good, the President and the Joint Chiefs hoped-old and new scores with Cuba could be settled. Operation BUCCANEER FURY was set for the end of March, and it was hoped that by 1 June, the beginning of Hurricane Season, the island of Cuba could be considered totally secured.

However, the Non-Aligned Movement, which had taken a neutral stance in the war, despite the participation of Cuba, Libya, and North Korea in the conflict, had asked a month before to mediate. Algerian, Indian, and Malaysian diplomats had met with Secretary of State Baker, asking for a chance to convince Castro to sign the Armistice. While cynics on the National Security Council-not to mention the entire Joint Chiefs, felt that the NAM was trying to get the first Nobel Peace Prize to be awarded since 1985, Secretary Baker had convinced the President to give the mediators a chance to work, and if they failed, the invasion was still going in anyway. And the President had agreed. That had been a month before. Now, had that born fruit, or had they come to either (a) ask for more time, or (b) report failure?

Before the Ambassadors arrived, Secretary of Defense Frank Carlucci and Secretary of State James Baker came into the suite. Although DOD was still largely functioning out of Raven Rock (Site R), Carlucci had a nearby suite that doubled as an office, and the State Department had taken over another floor for the Secretary's use. “Mr. President,” both men said. Then the National Security Adviser, Air Force General Brent Scowcroft, arrived.

Bush nodded to his Chief of Staff, John Sunnu. “Send them in, please.”

“Mr. President,” the Chief of Staff replied, who then ushered the three Ambassadors in.

“Mr. President,” The Algerian Ambassador said. “I see you have your 'brain trust' with you for this.”

“On an issue of this magnitude?” Bush asked. “Who wouldn't?”

“Of course,” the Indian Ambassador replied. “As you know, we have offered to mediate between Cuba and the Allies-and I do understand that British and Canadian contingents will be participating in the invasion, correct?”

“We can't confirm or deny that,” Secretary Carlucci responded. “But, it's not just Americans who are getting ready to hit Cuban beaches, I can tell you that much.”

“Ah, yes,” the Malaysian Ambassador said. “At any rate, you and your allies are preparing the invasion, and we have sent a mission-our three respective foreign ministers, in fact-to Cuba, to see if we could convince Fidel to accept the Armistice. He was....resistant at first.”

“What do you expect from him?” Secretary Baker replied. “He gave your mission a five-hour speech?”

“No, but, Mr. President, he was practically telling us to tell you that he was ready for the invasion.”

“I see. Mr. Ambassador,” Bush said. “Did he get the message?”

“Yes, he did,” the Indian Ambassador said. “Your Air Force was most helpful-having a B-52 raid on the outskirts of Havana impressed upon him the need for a quick end to the war.”

Secretary Carlucci gave a grim smile. The CIA and DIA had known when the meetings were going to take place, and JTF Cuba had decided to lay on a B-52 strike against targets near Havana at the same time as one of the meetings to help push Fidel along. From what intel had come in, seeing B-52s over Havana in broad daylight had convinced many in the Cuban capital that the war was lost. “I take it, Mr. Ambassador, that the Cuban military and the Politburo were suddenly urging that Fidel accept the terms?”

“Yes,” the Indian ambassador replied. “Even Raoul was coming to that conclusion. They retired for two days, and then decided to sign off on the Armistice. That was two days ago.”

The President and his advisers looked at each other. “Did he have any caveats or conditions?” He asked the ambassadors.

“Yes,” the Algerian Ambassador said. “when it comes to repatriating prisoners of war.” The Algerian looked at both the President and the Secretary of Defense. “He won't allow any U.S. Military aircraft into Cuba to pick up your prisoners. The same goes for any American civilian airliners.”

Secretary Carlucci looked at the President, who nodded, then he said, “You might relay to Mr. Castro that he's in no position to demand anything.”

“We've told him that,” The Algerian replied. “However....we feel that this is one way for him to save face. Not internationally, for we've told him that he's pretty much friendless.”

“Saving face at home, then.” Secretary Baker observed.

“Yes, Mr. Secretary,” Malaysia responded. “We have spoken with both Swedish and Swiss authorities, and we can get the necessary numbers of aircraft from them as well as other neutrals.”

“And where would they fly our people to?” The President asked.

“San Jose, Costa Rica, Mr. President,” India said. “We have spoken with Mr. Arias, the President of Costa Rica, and he is most receptive to the suggestion.” Oscar Arias was the President of that country, and he had been trying since 1987 to mediate an end to the war. He had tried a peace mission on his own imitative to Cuba and Mexico in 1988, only to be firmly rebuffed. “Your own aircraft can be waiting in San Jose to fly the prisoners home.”

“The naval blockade isn't lifted until the last prisoners are out,” the President said. “Once the signing's done, the bombs stop falling.”

“That will be relayed, Mr. President,” the Malaysian said.

“An accounting for those who have died in captivity, or are still missing in action is also a must.”

“Castro has been so told by our mission,” India said. “The first aircraft are waiting in San Jose, and can be in Cuba within twelve hours of the notification.”

“The repatriation must be supervised by the Red Cross,” The President insisted.

“That goes without saying, Mr. President,” The Algerian Ambassador said. “May we suggest that Secretary Baker, along with his British, Canadian, and other Allied counterparts, sign the agreement?”

“No,” the President said. “This is a military armistice, not a final political settlement. But the Chairman of the JCS won't, either.” He turned to Secretary Carlucci. “Who do you suggest, Mr. Secretary?”

“Admiral Jeremiah, the Vice-Chairman. We can relay that to the Brits and Canadians, and the other Allies, and they'll send appropriate military representatives.” And Carlucci saw, to his satisfaction, as well as the President's, the Ambassadors nod-a little reluctantly, as they were clearly hoping for the final end of the war to be a purely diplomatic affair.

“Where to?” Secretary Baker asked.

“May we suggest Algiers?” The Algerian Ambassador asked. “We have performed a similar role, as you know, during the Iran Hostage Crisis.”

“Very well,” the President agreed. “When?”

“In two days, Mr. President,” the Ambassador said. “Most of the arrangements have already been made.”

Nodding, the President turned again to Secretary Carlucci. “Tell the Admiral to pack his bags. Notify JTF Cuba that BUCCANEER FURY is off for now, and get some aircraft to San Jose to start bringing our people home.”

“Yes, Mr President.”

[Matt Wiser]

Part II:



4 March, 1990: Camp 32, Holguin, Cuba. 1000 Hours:


Air Force First Lieutenant Kelly Ann Ray sat on the edge of her bunk, in the cell she shared with three other prisoners. One of her cell mates was Ensign Stacy Davis, who'd been an officer on the destroyer tender Prairie, which had been sunk at Guantanamo on the second day of the war, while the other two cell mates were fellow aviators: Marine First Lieutenant Blanchard Ryan, who'd been shot down in August, 1987, and the other was a friend from the 308th TFS, First Lieutenant Haley Clark. The two of them, in fact, had been shot down within minutes of each other on the same mission, and had spent several months in the same prison near Mariel, before Ray's covering for an escape had gotten her sent to the Isle of Pines, then on to Holguin. Clark had come into the camp with several others from Mariel, and for some reason, she had been tossed into the same cell as her friend. Next door was Ray's former cellmate, Lieutenant (j.g) Kellie Greer, also off of the Prairie, and there was a lot of tapping back and forth.

The main topic of that tapping was what was going on? There had been good flying weather the past two days, and the bombers hadn't come over. The POWs all had been silently cheering as American and (to their surprise) British aircraft had been coming over and hitting targets in the Holguin area, and presumably, all over the island. There had been a few new shootdowns brought into the camp, but they had all been sequestered away from the main body of the prisoners, so no further news of what was going on had come in. Even the camp PA system was off the air, as the power supply had been cut, and presumably the fuel for the generator was needed for more important uses. And two more things had happened: first, there were no more work details outside the wall, and second, their rations had been increased. Something was definitely happening. But what, nobody knew.

“No work details outside, again. I'd sure like to know what's going on.” Haley Clark said, looking out the barred window.

“Join the club,” Ray said. “Somebody passed a message: the enlisted people don't know why, either.”

“Notice something?” Stacy Davis asked. “They're fattening us up.” She was referring to the food: the quality of their rations had improved, and there was more of it.

“Yeah, but why?” Ryan wanted to know. “Maybe Fidel's letting the Red Cross come.”

“To be hoped for,” Ray said. She was the senior ranking officer in the cell, and she had been trying to find out from the cell block's SRO what she thought was going on. And Navy Lieutenant Commander Terry Kramer was just as in the dark as everyone else. The women's compound SRO, USAF Major Julie Dylan, from what they'd heard via the prison grapevine, was also in the dark-but in her case, literally, for she was in a cell where louvers had been closed over the window, and thus her cell never had any sunlight.

In addition, everyone, whether officers, NCOs/enlisted, or even the handful of civilians, were all undernourished, and suffering the effects of dysentery. Not to mention that everyone was also showing the effects of physical abuse as well as work details. Though the enlisted prisoners were fed more, due to their being used outside the camp for forced labor, the officers-as well as any enlisted held with them as “bad attitude” cases, were not as lucky, for apart from those used on work details in their compounds, the most anyone there spent outside a cell was fifteen minutes a day for exercise, maybe a little more if it was a bath day. Though everyone tried keeping in shape in the cells, as Haley Clark pointed out, “It's easier to push up 105 pounds instead of 140.”

To top things off, there had been no visits from the Red Cross, nor any mail from home. News of the war was limited to what the Cubans broadcast over the camp's PA System, though new prisoners were an invaluable source of information. Though the Cubans put up a brave front in their propaganda, they had admitted back in October that the Brownsville Pocket had surrendered, which had given everyone a huge morale boost. Several new shootdowns back in December had passed the word that the Mexicans had asked for an Armistice, that the Soviets in Canada and Alaska had surrendered, and that the North Koreans had quit as well. . Some had even reported rumors of a Soviet Civil War, just as the Soviets themselves signed an Armistice with the U.S., Canada, Britain, and the other Allies. But the Cubans still fought on, with Castro daring the Allies to invade. Seeing the A-6s, F-111s, A-7s, and, if Kelly and several others were right, RAF Tornado and Buccaneer strike aircraft come over was a sign that the pressure was being put on, tight, and maybe, just maybe, the invasion would go in, and soon, the Marines or Airborne would be there, and they'd be going home.

Now, all four prisoners were just sitting or standing around. Today wasn't a bath day, and all four were just waiting for the guard to come and give them their fifteen minutes of outside time. Stacy Davis got on the wall and asked, “Somebody cover me. I need to tap something to Kellie.”

“I'll do it,” Ryan said. She got on the floor, peeped under the cell door, and turned her head to the left. “Clear left.” But when she turned right, she saw the door to the cell block open. “Guard coming!”

Everyone either got back on their bunks or just plain stood where they were. Though the prisoners were not required to be on their bunks during the day, just being close to the wall was reason enough, it seemed, for a guard to smack someone around. And the whole cellblock became quiet as a tomb. Then cell doors started opening, then closing. Clearly, the guard had something to say to the occupants of those cells, but what? They wouldn't know until he left. Then their door opened, and the guard came in.

All four came to attention, as per the camp rules, and the guard surveyed them. Then he said in a harsh tone of voice, “Gather your belongings, all of you. You are being moved. Ten minutes.” He then closed the cell door and repeated the message to the other cells in the block.

“Did he say 'being moved?' Haley Clark said.

“He did,” Blanchard Ryan pointed out. “Now I'm wondering, where to?”

“Guess we'll know soon enough,” Stacy Davis said.

“Yeah,” said Kelly Ray. “Okay, get your stuff together.” The prisoners didn't have that much to gather up: two pairs of POW pajamas, besides the pair they were wearing, two blankets, a mosquito net, their eating utensils, a towel with washrag, and a sleeping mat. They rolled the gear up in the blankets, put on their sandals, and waited. After a few minutes, guards came and began pulling prisoners out of their cells, and then it was their turn.

Four guards came with AK-47s and told the four to follow. They did, and as they got to the entrance to the women's compound, they found a number of trucks and buses waiting, and each bus had its passenger windows covered over with black tape. The quartet was told to get on the nearest bus, and find a seat. They did so, and waited. One thing that was clearly obvious to them: none were blindfolded. Kelly whispered to Haley, who had sat next to her. “Something's up.”

“They didn't blindfold us. First time in a move that's happened.” Haley replied. She looked around. It seemed everyone on the bus was from not just their cell block, but an adjacent one. Haley recognized several people from Mariel that had made the move with her, but with a guard walking up and down the bus, she didn't say anything.

“You noticed,” Kelly said dryly.

“No shit, Sherlock,” Haley replied. “Look out front.”

Kelly did, and she saw several prisoners from their compound who were obviously pregnant, in two cases very much so, being assisted into a bus, and they were followed by several others with either infants in arms, or toddlers. And to Kelly's and Haley's surprise, the guards were actually being nice. Kelly shook her head. “Glad that didn't happen to me.”

“No kidding,” Haley replied. “That was my worst nightmare.”

“Join the club,” Kelly replied.

After what seemed like forever, the bus driver came aboard, and the buses started up. The convoy left the prison, and a couple of additional guards had come aboard as well, making sure no one tried to look outside, or talk to anyone not a seatmate. The drive took the convoy into Holguin itself, which the prisoners riding up front could tell-they could see out the front windshield-then out again on a different road. A half-hour after leaving the camp, the convoy turned right, and entered Holguin Air Base. The trucks and buses pulled onto the ramp, and after several trucks had unloaded their human cargo, it was their turn.

When Kelly got off the bus, she was surprised to see an unmarked Airbus A300, with the truck-mounted stairs at the front hatch of the aircraft, and a row of Cuban soldiers on each side, with AK rifles at the ready. She walked to the aircraft, with Haley Clark right behind her, and Kelly said to Haley, without turning her head. “I don't like this at all.”

“I don't, either,” Haley replied. “They sending us to Russia? All that talk of an Armistice with Russia must've been just that: talk.”

“Get on the plane,” a Cuban officer said, and the two prisoners were the first from their bus to get on the plane. As Kelly entered the aircraft, she saw two men in business suits, and one of the had the patch of the Red Cross below his suit pocket. That man had a clipboard with several papers on it. “Your name and rank, please?” The man said very politely.

“Ray, Kelly Ann. First Lieutenant, United States Air Force,” she responded.

“Ray, Ray.,” the man said, perusing a list. “Ah, here. Would you sign next to your name, please?”

She did so, and asked, “What's this all about?”

“In due time,” the man smiled. “Please, find a seat, any seat.”

Kelly went aft, and found an aisle seat in the center of the aircraft, just past the First Class section. She stowed her gear below the seat, and Haley came and did the same, sitting down next to her. Then Blanchard Ryan and Stacy Davis followed, and the two sat beside their cell mates. As they did so, they noticed several heavily armed Arab-looking fellows on the plane, with either folding-stock AK rifles or MP-5 submachine guns, and an unfamiliar flag patch on their shoulders. “Who are these guys?”

“No idea,” Ryan said. “Egyptians or Jordanians?”

“Maybe,” Kelly said. She looked up forward, and saw the pregnant prisoners and the ones with their babies being seated in the First Class section, and there looked to be a doctor and nurse looking them over. The mothers and mothers-to-be seemed to be happy, and one of them even hugged the doctor. “They know something we don't.”

“Maybe they're taking us to a neutral country?” Stacy Davis asked. “Doesn't the Red Cross supervise that? If they were taking us to Moscow, there'd be Russians on board.”

“That's got to be it,” Kelly said. “Anything's better than Cuba. Only thing better than the rest of the war in someplace like Jordan or someplace would be going home.”

Then the PA system came alive. “Everyone, this is the Captain.” The voice spoke in accented English, but where, nobody knew. “Please fasten your seat belts, as we've been cleared for departure, We are number three in line.”

Everyone took their seats and fastened their seat belts. The jetliner taxied, and after the first two aircraft took off, the pilot gunned the engines and the Airbus began rolling down the runway. The Airbus got into the air, and after several minutes, reached its cruising altitude. Then there was another PA announcement.

“Everyone, I am Andreas Kutner of the International Red Cross. Cuba has signed the Armistice, and it's all over. You're on the first stage of your journey home.”

Heads turned at that. More than one prisoner was saying, “Did I just hear what I think I heard?” or “Did you hear that?”

“Your next stop,” Mr. Kutner said, “is San Jose, Costa Rica. We should be there in two hours or so, and there you'll be turned over to American authorities. They have asked us to tell you that after that, you'll all be flown to Roosevelt Roads in Puerto Rico, and after a few days there, on to the U.S., and home. So sit back, relax, and enjoy your newfound freedom.”

Several of the prisoners were in shock, while others were smiling, and shaking hands. But most were stunned, as the whole thing seemed too easy. Haley turned to Kelly and asked. “Well, amiga?”

“I'll believe it when I see it,” Kelly replied. “That's it? Over just like that?”

Then the stewardesses began serving drinks and snacks. The Red Cross had suggested that light snacks and food might be best, as they had a hunch that the POWs had been on a poor diet. As the drink cart came to them, the stewardess asked Kelly and her friends, “Would you like something to drink? Some tea, perhaps? Or bottled water?”

Kelly and her friends looked at each other. This was the first time in a very long while that someone was asking them what they wanted. Kelly nodded, “Water for me, Miss,” and the others nodded agreement.

“Here you go,” the stewardess said, passing out four bottles of cold water, and four ice-filled plastic cups.

“Ice...” Haley Clark said. “Haven't seen ice in four years.” She was nearly brought to tears.

Kelly looked at the bottle. It wasn't in English, but French, and what looked like Arabic. “Where are you from?”

“Oh, we're from Algeria,” the stewardess replied.

From seat across from Kelly, Kellie Greer asked, “Then who are the guys with the AK-47s?”

“They're our Special Commandos,” the stewardess said. “Just in case the Cubans had any...ideas.” She then served Kellie Greer and her companion, then went on. “If you need anything, just hit the call button, and we'll be right with you.” She then headed aft on her rounds.

“Just like on any airliner,” Blanchard Ryan said. “Did you think it'd be like this?”

“God, I was hoping the Rangers would show up,” Kelly replied. “Or maybe a tank just crashing through the main gate, like a Stalag in World War II.”

“Or the Marines,” Ryan replied with a grin.

Nodding, Kelly poured her water into the glass. “Well, if this is it, here's a toast: to freedom.” She raised her glass of ice water, and her friends, and those around, followed suit.

After the drinks, the stewardesses brought the food around. A vegetarian sandwich, with some crackers and spread, and a small salad, was the fare. As far as everyone was concerned, it might just as well have been filet mignon, for everyone savored the meal, and Kelly took her time, savoring every bite. Then she went to use the aircraft's toilet, and for the first time in nearly four years, she had a real toilet, and a real seat. After she was finished, she looked in the mirror as she washed her hands. “Oh, my God,” she said to herself. Her hair was filthy and matted, her face looked gaunt, and she just plain looked like a mess. It only hit her as she went back to her seat that this was the first time in four years she'd looked at herself in a mirror. She sat down. “Well...I guess I really do look like hell.”

“Like we've been in hell,” Stacy Davis said. “What else do you think you look like?”

“Not like a model, I'll say,” Ryan quipped.

Kelly nodded, and leaned back in her seat. Then she turned to Haley. “I need to see Pat's Mom.”

“I know,” Haley said, holding her friend's hand. “At least I know Nathan's got a good chance of coming out.” First Lieutenant Nathan Wells had been Haley's pilot, and when she got to Holguin, she had asked around if he was there, for she hadn't seen him since the Interrogation Center in Havana. It had taken a while, but word had come back from the Men's compound. He was there. And she hoped now that he was on another aircraft coming out of Holguin.

Kelly was referring to Pat Arwood, her WSO, who had never made it out of Havana. All through her captivity, she had hoped that somehow, he had survived, but while she was in solitary in the Isle of Pines, a tapped message had told her that he was dead. She had suspected that, but had held out hope that she'd been wrong. Now, though, it was almost certain that he had died in that torture room. And meeting Pat's Mom and telling her that she'd come home without her son was not something Kelly was looking forward to.

Now, Kelly just leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes. She had barely closed her eyes when a voice said her name. “Lieutenant Ray?” She opened her eyes and found another ex-prisoner there, a brunette with cropped hair, standing at her seat, grinning and offering her hand. “I'm Major Dylan.”

“Ma'am,” Kelly said, shaking hands with the ranking female officer.

“They tell me you and your friend Lieutenant Clark are the two longest-held USAF women in the camp, at least, maybe in all of Cuba,” Dylan said.

“Ma'am,” Haley said, “that's one distinction the two of us can do without.”

“I know,” Major Dylan nodded. “How do you two feel, and the other two-Ensign Davis, isn't it? And Lieutenant Ryan?”

“Drained, Ma'am,” Kelly said. “It just feels so...unreal. This isn't the way we expected we'd be going home.”

“I know, we all thought it'd be either a bunch of Green Berets and Rangers landing by helicopter, or some Marines, something like that. But hey, we're on our way home.”

“Yes, Ma'am,” Ryan said.

“Major, can I ask you something?” Kelly asked.

“Ask away.”

She motioned to those in the First-class cabin. “What about those folks? The ones with kids or who are pregnant?”

“I don't know, to be honest.” Dylan replied. “DOD may have something in mind, but to be honest, I'm hoping they get whatever help they need. It's not the mothers' fault, and it sure as hell isn't the kids.”

“That could easily be any one of us here,” Stacy Davis said. “Major, we're the lucky ones.”

“You've got that right,” Dylan said. “For two years, that was my worst nightmare.”

“It was likely everybody's,” Kelly said. “Lord knows, I have no idea what I would've done.”

Dylan nodded. “Remember: the kids are just as much victims of this war as their moms are. It's not their fault, and it sure isn't their mothers'.”

“Yes, Ma'am.”

“I'm headed aft. I'll see you guys on the ground. And we make a beeline for that C-141 or 747 that's waiting to take us home.”

“You got it, Ma'am!”

After Major Dylan shook their hands, she headed aft. Kelly, after shaking hands with the Major, closed her eyes again and tried to sleep. She had barely closed her eyes when an announcement came over the PA: “Everyone, please fasten your seat belts and get ready for landing. We are twenty minutes from landing in San Jose.”

Kelly woke up with a start. “How long was I out?”

“Not that long, oh, maybe twenty minutes or so,” Haley replied. “I'm too keyed up to sleep.”

“Join the club,” Blanch Ryan said. “I'm running on adrenalin. When we get to Puerto Rico, though....then I'll sleep. After I've had a Steak dinner!”

“Let me guess: rare, like all Jarheads?” Stacy Davis quipped.

Her friend jokingly elbowed her. “No, silly! Steak and baked potato, corn on the cob, salad, and iced tea. That's what I want for my first meal.

“How about you, Haley?” Stacy asked.

“Me? Give me a dozen Big Macs for my first meal.” Then she thought for a minute. “No, that's for my second. My first? Two banana splits, a chocolate milkshake, and then a half-gallon of plain vanilla ice cream.”

“Man, the flight surgeon's going to be looking at you weird,” Ryan joked. “Stacy, you?”

“I'm from the Boston area,” Stacy replied. “So I want real Gloucester style Fish and Chips.”

“Okay, Kelly. You're up. What's your first meal?” Haley asked.

Kelly thought for a minute. Then she grinned. “For me....what I want is a six-egg omelet. Stuffed with ham, cheese, bacon, sausage, peppers, and whatever else they have. With a stack of hotcakes.”

Hearing that, Kellie Greer asked, “You think you can handle all of that?”

“Probably not,” Kelly replied. “But it'll be worth it!”

Hearing hat, Kellie Greer turned to her seatmate, Air Force First Lieutenant Bobbi Hatcher. They both grinned. Then she turned back to Kelly. “We'll join you. And if you're stuffed, we'll clean up your leftovers.”

“No way.”

Then the PA came alive again. “Everyone, this is the Captain. We're beginning our approach into San Jose. We should be landing in a few minutes.”

“Nervous?” Haley asked Kelly.

“No. Just....well, how many times did we think we'd never get out of there?”

“Enough. But we made it, and that's what counts.”

“I know, but we all had times where we didn't think we'd make it.”

Haley nodded. “Yeah.”

Then the airliner came in, and they could feel it as the plane flared, then touched down. After the wheels touched down, there was applause from the now former prisoners. The airliner taxied, and after it stopped, there was more applause. Then the PA came alive again. “Just a few minutes, and we'll be ready for you to disembark.”

Kelly turned to Kellie Greer. “What do you guys see?”

“There's several C-9s and a half-dozen C-141s.” She turned to Kelly. “And they've all got the Stars and Stripes on the tail.”

Hearing that, several others pumped their arms. “Yes!” Blanch Ryan said.

After the plane taxied to a stop, people started gathering their prison gear. “What are you doing with yours, Kelly?” Haley Clark asked.

“Keep it. Maybe give it to a museum, or show to my kids one day, when I get around to having any.”

“Same here,” Haley said.

Major Dylan went up front, then she came back. “People, the folks in the First-class cabin are getting off first, then the rest of us. Just wait until they call us.” She paused, then said, “Next stop, San Juan!”And there was cheering.

Kelly looked up front, and saw that cabin's occupants getting help in leaving the plane. Some medics-whose she couldn't tell, had come aboard the plane, and were helping those ex-prisoners and the kids get off. After a few minutes, it was their turn, and her line went first. As she got to the exit, the stewardess who had served her and her cell mates shook her hand. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure,” the stewardess said, nodding. “Glad to be of service.”

“You know, when you asked us what we wanted, that was the first time anyone asked me what I wanted in four years.” Kelly said.

“Just doing my job,” the stewardess replied. “Safe trip home.”

“Thank you,” Kelly said, shaking her hand, then she got onto the stairway. She looked out, and saw three C-9s, with a fourth already taxiing for takeoff, and a half-dozen C-141s. Kelly went down the stairs, and at the foot of the stairs were several VIPs along with a Navy officer-probably from the repatriation team, she thought. The Navy Commander asked Kelly her name.

She saluted for the first time in four years. “Ray, Kelly Ann. First Lieutenant, United States Air Force.”

“Welcome back, Lieutenant,” the Commander replied. “Just go down the line.”

She picked up her gear, and the American, British, and Canadian Ambassadors were there. Shaking hands with all of them, she was met by a USAF Flight Nurse.

“Here, let me take that for you,” the nurse said, offering to take Kelly's gear.

“Thanks,” Kelly replied.

The Nurse took Kelly's gear, and escorted her to a waiting C-141. It was #66-0177. As she got closer, she saw by the rear hatch a homemade sign. “66-0177: First in Hanoi, 1973. First in San Jose, 1990.”

“Congratulations, Lieutenant,” the Nurse said. “You're the first on this bird.”

“Huh?” Kelly asked.

“All the sick, injured, and the maternity cases are going on the C-9s. You guys are going on the -141s,” the Nurse said as she escorted Kelly up the cargo ramp and into the aircraft, which, as the sign had said, had been the first aircraft into Hanoi during Operation HOMECOMING. Now, it was doing the same duty for the last POWs from World War III.

Nodding, Kelly went forward, and another nurse asked, “Are you keeping that stuff?”

“Yeah,” Kelly said. “When I have kids, I want to show them what I went through.”

“Not a problem. I'll get you a plastic bag,” the second nurse said. “Can I get you anything else?”

Just at that moment, Haley Clark came up. “Kelly....”

Both finally hugged. Now, the emotion could be released. “We're going home,” Kelly said, trying to hold back tears.

“We are,” Haley said, nearly crying.

Kelly turned back to the nurse, who was standing there, patiently waiting. “Can you get both of us some iced tea?”

The nurse grinned. “I think we can find you some. Just have a seat, get buckled in, and we'll soon be out of here.”

Kelly turned, then nudged Haley. “Look up front.”

“What... Oh-” Haley said, her voice stopped in mid-sentence.

Somebody-either the flight crew or the medical crew, had hung an American flag from a cargo support. The two immediately came to attention and saluted the flag-their first in four years. And other ex-POWs were soon coming up and doing the same. As Kelly and Haley sat in their seats, the nurse came back. “Here you go. It's powdered Nestea, but....”

“Thanks. How's things back home?” Kelly asked as she took the plastic cup.

“Messy,” the nurse said. “The states that were occupied? There's a lot of cleaning up to do. I'm from Texarkana, Texas, and though my family's okay for the most part, there's lots of rebuilding going on, everyone's lost at least one family member, and the Feds are busy hunting down collaborators.” She then said, “We'll be taking off shortly. Just fasten your seat belts, and we'll be on our way to Puerto Rico.”

Nodding, Kelly and Haley got into their seats. Blanch Ryan and Stacy Davis sat in the two seats across the aisle from them, and they were just as emotional as they were. While they were waiting, they sipped the cold tea. It may have been powdered, but to Kelly, it was the nectar of the gods. Then the rear cargo doors closed, and the engines were started. The C-141 began to move, and it soon taxied to the runway. Then the pilot gunned the engines, and the big Starlifter got into the air. After about twenty minutes, the pilot made an announcement over the intercom. “People, we have left Costa Rican Airspace. Next stop, NAS Roosevelt Roads!”

Only then, with an American voice saying those words, did years of long-hidden emotion come to the surface, and the cheering was loud and long. Now, it was really, and truly, over. And they were all going home.

[Wolfman]

Bravo Zulu, sir.

[Matt Wiser]

And here she is: the Hanoi Taxi after her final flight to the USAF Museum. (OOC: that final flight IOTL had quite a few former POWs aboard)

[Wolfman]

Nice.

[Matt Wiser]

Okay, this was asked when it was first up on the previous board, but with new readers: What would you want for your first meal after coming out of X number of years in a hell like that? For me, it's chicken-fried steak with gravy, two eggs sunny side up, hash browns, and white toast. I know, the doctors will probably look at me funny, and I'll probably be paying a head call an hour or so after finishing the meal, but it would be worth it.

[Belushi TD]

There may be something wrong with me, but I'd want my first meal to be something... well.... umm. How about I stop there?

Belushi TD

[clancyphile]

Chicken fried-steak with gravy, three scrambled eggs with ham and American cheese, bacon, sausage, and ham.

[Wolfman]

I plead the Fifth?

[jemhouston]

I plead the Fifth?

Scotch or Bourbon?

[Wolfman]

I plead the Fifth?

Scotch or Bourbon?

Copious amounts of both for the drink, and that’s all I’m saying, Jem.

[jemhouston]

I plead the Fifth?

Scotch or Bourbon?

Copious amounts of both for the drink, and that’s all I’m saying, Jem.

The 5th Amendment that is.