Operation Egress Recap

THERE are 537 of them according to the official lists--the American prisoners of war, confined in an unknown number of detention camps somewhere in Indochina. More than half of them are airmen, downed during the long bombing campaign; over 50 are civilians, trapped while out on patrol. One of them, Lieut, (j.g.) Everett Alvarez, now 34, was shot down fully eight years ago; others, still unidentified, may have been seized during the past few weeks. In the 60 days after the impending truce settlement, they will all begin their voyage home.

Their families are jubilant, but the jubilation is not unmixed with concern. "It's actually a little frightening," says Carol North, of Wellfleet, Mass., whose husband Lieut. Colonel Kenneth North was shot down more than six years ago. "When he left, our eldest daughter was 10. Now she's getting ready to apply for college. The transition is bound to be difficult. There will be a lot of adjustment for everyone."

"These men will be suffering from future shock as well as culture shock," says Eileen Cormier, 36, who became a school librarian on Long Island to support her four children in the seven years since her husband Arthur was captured. During the long captivity, the commonplaces of life have changed--there are easier abortion laws, widespread color television, the success of Hair, and Spiro Agnew has become a household word. "It will almost be like a Martian dropping in," says Mrs. Cormier. "I don't know how he's going to feel. Who helps me if he starts crying or screaming?"

To deal with such problems, and to avoid the recriminations that surrounded the prisoner exchanges at the end of the Korean War, the Pentagon has devised a program with the elaborate and somewhat mysterious name of Operation Egress Recap. (Possibly a combination of the prisoners' "egress" from North Viet Nam and their "recapture" by the U.S., though Washington spokesmen profess uncertainty as to what the terms actually mean.) U.S. officials hope to bring out the prisoners by sending Air Force C-141 Medevac planes directly to Hanoi; more likely the Communists will fly the men to Laos or some other neutral point. There, Operation Egress Recap will begin.

For each known prisoner a tailored uniform has been provided, complete with medals and insignia of rank, to which in some cases the men were promoted while in prison. The reason for this, says the Pentagon, is that prisoners often tend to feel guilty and ashamed after they are freed, and a familiar uniform helps to reassure them. The uniforms have already been flown to the returnees' primary processing center in the hospital at Clark A.F.B. near Manila. There, too, a personnel brochure will be waiting for each man, listing such welcome information as pay records and savings accounts, plus personal messages from relatives and their recent photographs.

Decision Makers. Each prisoner will get a medical checkup to find out whether he is suffering from disease or serious malnutrition. Then there will be a quick debriefing for information about other captives. (One previously released prisoner brought out with him the names of 350 P.O.W.s he had memorized; he wanted to tick them off before he reached the confusing jangle of life in the U.S.) After that debriefing, released prisoners who are able to travel will spend longer periods in military hospitals closer to home. Each returnee will be accompanied by a military escort whose job it will be to help him make necessary decisions (studies have shown that men conditioned to the authoritarian life of a P.O.W. camp have difficulty starting to think for themselves again).

Hospital stays will vary, but the Pentagon generally expects the men to be in good condition, since North Vietnamese prison life improved after the U.S. began complaining loudly of mistreatment in 1969. Part of the hospitalization will be taken up by psychological interviewing. "We have found," says Dr. Roger E. Shields, the Pentagon's expert on war prisoners, "that every man who returns from captivity urgently needs to tell his story, not publicly but privately, to someone who will listen to him with empathy and understanding."

Even with such physical and mental crutches, the transition will not be easy, either for released prisoners or for their families. Not only have P.O.W. wives had to run families and homes, but the life-style of women in general has shifted since many of the prisoners were captured. "These men were male chauvinists when they went in," says Mrs. Cormier. "So many things have changed. Can you imagine me going back to the local officers' club and doing knitting? No way!" Several P.O.W.s, including Lieut. Alvarez, have already been divorced in absentia by their despairing wives.

No matter how great the problems of readjustment, however, the return of the P.O.W.s highlights the crueler question of the 1,256 Americans listed as missing in action. Some wives and families have heard nothing definite since their men disappeared, and since the Viet Cong and other guerrilla forces have never issued complete prisoner lists, there is always the possibility that some of the lost have survived. Mrs. James White, 29, of St. Petersburg, Fla., wife of an Air Force lieutenant shot down over Laos in 1969, heard the news of a settlement last week and rushed out to buy new nightgowns and evening dresses for herself and a new dress for her daughter Katherine, 3 1/2. But Sharon White is still trying not to let her hopes get out of control. "I can't get myself too high and then sink to a low," she says. Mrs. White has cleaned out half her bedroom closet for her husband. But she refuses to put any of his old clothes in it until she learns for certain that he is alive.

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