Soldiers Get a Touch of Home on Videotapes

In the gloomy Army tent, a television flickered and soldiers clutching cups of coffee to ward off the morning chill huddled in the corner to watch as home suddenly came to life.

There on the screen were their wives, their children, on sofas or on folding chairs, looking into the close-up lens and trying to find the words to tell their man how very much they missed him.

It was as if the soldiers could look into their living rooms, seeing even their own military portraits mounted on the wall, and their wives self-conscious, and the children fidgety, and all of it bringing a lump to the throat in this dusty desert camp.

The tent became quiet as the soldiers watched intently, some of them puffing now and then on a breakfast cigarette and all savoring the video connection, however brief.

Letters come rarely to the men of this 25th Support Battalion, part of the 1st Armored Division deployed from Germany at Christmastime and waiting in high tension almost ever since. For some of the dozen men whose loved ones were first on the Army list to make these postcards by videotape, it was a long-awaited glimpse of those they had left behind.

At the rate of five minutes per family, the flickering screen brought progress reports of bills paid and dogs who missed their masters, tales from kids of movies seen and classmates befriended, assurances that school and church and work were going well.

Wives bit their lips and tried to think of what they should say next, adding admonitions to be careful, confessing occasional tears and reminding their soldiers gently to read the Bible every night before they go to sleep.

But mostly, in this cross-section of military family life playing unannounced on this frigid morning in a supply-company meal tent, there were protestations of concern about the war, of love and of hopes for a happy reunion.

The tent became more crowded as other soldiers from the unit came in to grab a cup of coffee and stayed to watch, voyeurs of a sort, but in a way that nobody minded, for all knew too well what everyone had shared.

“I’ll hug you and hug you and hug you,” one sergeant’s wife promised her man with a fervor that left the tent quiet, “and love you and hug you, and you’ll be saying, ‘What’s wrong with that woman?’

“But it’s just that I love you so much.”

Then mouths began to water as one young wife detailed a menu for a homecoming dinner of shrimp, corn bread and sweet potato pie.

All listened in silence as another held herself erect and sang in haunting Gospel-choir tones the hymn that her husband could think of “whenever you feel alone.”

And when another held her daughter close beside her and told of how difficult it was to take the Christmas decorations down finally, all seemed to be remembering their last few days at home before the war began.

As static filled the gap between one postcard and another, there were compliments on wives and children, and good-natured joking about one wife who admitted to playing a lot of bingo.

Fathers beamed as their youngest stared blankly at the camera, legs swinging from their chairs as mothers prompted them to say hello to Daddy. They shook their heads as older children ran impatiently on and off camera to show off new toys and tell new stories. And when one little girl sat almost in silence, singing a song to herself, they shared stories about being bashful.

And then finally, the tape was over. The spell broken, the men tossed away their coffee cups, gathered their rifles and headed back to the war.