|
|
|
|
|
|
|
down and noticed something on the seat beside him. It was a cardboard boxa box containing four glass jars. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
For Charlie Frazier, it was one of those good news-bad news situations. The good news was obvious; two years of tolerating Newfoundland were behind him. At 0700 Zulu the following morning, MATS flight 656, the regularly scheduled Friday morning NEAC personnel flight to Westover, would be carrying him and two stuffed flight bags back to good old American soil. Seventy-two hours later he would be a civilian again, packing around a little green card that proclaimed him to be an inactive reservist. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
The bad news was that there was still the ritualistic ordeal of the Newfie "last night in Saint Johns" to endure. To Charlie Frazier, that meant sitting through a plethora of painfully insincere speeches, the obligatory rounds of final toasts, and one last dance with Cappy Salem. If there was a bright spot in all of this, it was simply knowing that within a matter of hours, he would begin to dispose of the four jars he had carefully positioned on the front seat of his car when he left Sixkill. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
He had committed the instructions to memory. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
In his room at the BOQ the previous eve- |
|
|
|
|
|