HEROES: That's Where I Live

It was all real, the river's ice through which the transport inched, the towers of Manhattan like a backdrop in the haze. There were the pier, the music, the unbelievable feeling of being home again. There was the luxury of the warm, green-cushioned train, talking its metallic monologue across the wintry miles of home. At Camp Shanks, N.Y., there were white sheets, steaks and cold, country-fresh milk. Like gamblers fingering impossible mountains of winnings, the 1,300 soldiers could see and feel it all. But their minds could not yet quite accept this fairy-tale return.

Like Sergeant Harry Myrand of Brooklyn, N.Y.,...

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