WASHINGTON — Bill Keenoy's eyes welled when he came off an airplane to a cheering crowd of strangers waving small American flags. A woman bent over his wheelchair and gave him a hug, as a French horn player performed the 1942 Andrews Sisters' hit "Don't Sit Under the Apple Tree."

"It brings back memories," he said. "Like overseas, when we'd ride into liberated towns."

Keenoy and 21 other World War II veterans had gathered in the pre-dawn darkness last week at Lambert-St. Louis International Airport. They had mustered for one last call to duty — a journey to the nation's capital in honor of their military service.

Since 2005, Honor Flight Network, a nonprofit group, has flown more than 42,000 veterans to Washington for a whirlwind day that includes stops at several military memorials. Highest priority is given to people such as Keenoy, 85, who face terminal illness.

The once-strong body that carried a young Keenoy across France and Germany as a rifleman is now withered and fragile. A thin tube feeds oxygen to lungs starved for air from the years he worked with asbestos as a boiler repairman. He lives in the Missouri Veterans Home in Bellefontaine Neighbors, most of that time bedridden. The trip marked the first time he had left the home since Easter.

On the descent into Washington, a flight attendant announced the group's presence to the other passengers: "Thank you so much for all you have done. We thank you from the bottom of our hearts. May God be with you."

Applause filled the cabin.

On the taxiway, an airport fire engine shot its water cannon over the airplane in salute. Then it was through the cheering crowd in the airport and onto a bus, where driver Al Barnes made his way down the aisle to shake the hand of every veteran on board.

"Thank you, sir. God bless. Thank you so much, God bless you. I'm sorry you had to go, but thank you for going."

Outside, a light rain fell.

A police car with lights flashing escorted the bus to the World War II memorial, built on the National Mall between the Washington Monument and the Lincoln Memorial. The veterans, stooped and gray, some in wheelchairs, others leaning on canes, gathered on the sidewalk for a photograph. Several passers-by stopped and stared as the veterans toured the site. Parents pointed and whispered to children. Several stepped forward, shook hands and offered thanks.

Keenoy, covered in a poncho, shivered as he circled the memorial. He had seen terrible things in the war while serving with the 335th Infantry Regiment. Lost friends. Been wounded. But it was the reception from strangers that he couldn't get off his mind.

"I'm not sad," he said. "Happy, really. People do think about us."

From there, the group drove by the Capitol and the White House. They visited the Vietnam, Korean and Iwo Jima memorials as well as memorials for the service branches.

Keenoy hadn't been in Washington in more than 50 years. He laughed about his fiancée's losing her engagement ring swimming in the Potomac River. He reminisced about their wedding and lamented that the last member of their bridal party had recently died.

The veterans drove by the Pentagon and saw the repairs and memorial made after the Sept. 11 attacks. They finished their day at Arlington National Cemetery. Conversations stopped as the bus rolled past the regimented rows of tombstones that seemingly stretched on forever.

At the Tomb of the Unknowns, the veterans in wheelchairs were given a prominent seat for the changing of the guard ceremony. A shaft of sunlight cut through the late afternoon rain clouds, bathing the tomb in a golden glow. While many in the crowd focused their cameras and attention on the rigid young soldiers and their precision movements, others cast their gaze on the aged veterans who watched in silence. Afterward, a few, again, came forward and offered thanks.

Arriving back at Lambert that night, Nov. 1, dozens of family members were on hand for the group's return. The trips routinely unleash a torrent of emotions among the veterans, organizers say.

Marvin Selsor, 89, of Imperial, saw combat as a gunner on a B-29 flying out of the Marianas in the Pacific. He said it felt good to be with others who went through similar experiences, and he made a point to talk with each of them.

"Wonderful men, and a hell of a lot more of a hero than I was," he said.

But what may have meant the most was to share the day with his son, also a veteran, as they visited the memorials that stand as testaments to the sacrifices of his generation. "He's a great guy, he's my son and he's my friend," Selsor said, his puffy red eyes magnified by his thick glasses.

Wayne Mueller, 91, was overcome at the World War II memorial.

"When I stood there and looked at the number of men that never made it, I cried a little," said Mueller, of Ladue, who spent much of the war as a machinist's mate on the destroyer Manley in the Atlantic.

But it was the kind, caring words in letters from family members, friends and schoolchildren that made him break down in sobs. Mueller was on his own at 14 and rode the rails before enlisting. With no family to speak of, he rarely received mail in the service.

To get letters now, thanking him for his service, is a joy, Mueller said. "If I die now, this will truly be the best day of my life."

At the veterans home last week, Keenoy was back in bed. A portrait of him as a young private first class hung on a nearby wall. He had grown up in the Fairground Park neighborhood. He went to Beaumont High School. He has been married 63 years to his wife, Dolores, and has three daughters.

Throughout the day in Washington he had taken a steady diet of medicine. He stayed on the bus at most of the sites, chilled by the cold, wet weather. "I used to be able to sit in a foxhole's worth of water and not be cold," he said.

Still, he's glad he pushed through. Other than a few short visits home, he expects the Washington trip was his last.

He just wishes it had been warmer. That he had felt better. That he had gone when he was younger.