What upsets him now is the idea that America's leaders might try to "back out gracefully, ease our way out."

"My son left his legs over there," Jim said. "It would tick me off if the last three months they're looking for a way out and just offering these young men as sacrificial lambs as a way to do that."

"If that's what we have in mind," Jim added, "pack up and bring them home. Don't waste one more drop of American blood."

Ready and waiting

He was startled to see a white bedsheet hanging over a second-floor balcony. Written in red and blue letters was "Welcome Back Hennagir."

As everyone waited for the platoon to arrive, local television stations interviewed Hennagir in the shade of an oak.

"For two years I called this place home," he told one camera. "I just wanted to see the platoon come back safely. I wanted to be here when they did."

Between interviews, Sherri wiped away his sweat.

"I've got to do makeup real quick," Cpl. Hennagir quipped to one journalist.

One reporter asked Sherri about the wedding, and she told him they're hoping for May, and she has hired a wedding planner.

"A little overwhelming?" the reporter asked.

"Little?" she replied. "I didn't know there were so many kinds of napkins."

Hennagir made small talk with a group of Marines living in these barracks, men he had come to know well though they were not in his platoon.

He said to one Marine, only 5-foot-7: "Hey, I'm shorter than you now. I used to be 5-9."

Word came that the bus was 10 minutes away. Hennagir positioned himself at the curb, right where the bus would stop, so he would be the first person the Marines saw stepping off.

The bus arrived. The men filed off, and one by one they greeted Hennagir. Some shook his hand; others hugged him.

The emotion was as choked as the words were routine:

"Hey, Ray-Ray, what's up?"

"Good to see you."