Sons of Fortune

“Yes, I do, sir.”

Specialist Jackson raised an eyebrow. “And having taken advice, you made the decision not to?”

“I didn’t need to take advice, sir.”

“Good, then just as soon as you’ve completed your basic training, Private Cartwright, I’m sure you’ll want to apply for officer cadet school.” He paused. “About two in fifty make it, so don’t get your hopes up. By the way,” he added, “you don’t call me sir. Specialist Fourth Class will be just fine.”

After years of cross-country running Nat considered himself in good shape, but he quickly discovered that the army had a totally different meaning for the word, not fully explained in Webster’s. And as for the other word—basic—everything was basic: the food, the clothing, the heating, and especially the bed he was expected to sleep on. Nat could only assume that the army were importing their mattresses direct from North Vietnam, so that they could experience the same hardship as the enemy.

For the next eight weeks Nat rose every morning at five, took a cold shower—heat simply didn’t exist in army parlance—was dressed, fed and had his clothes neatly folded on the end of the bed before standing at attention on the parade ground by six A.M. along with all the other members of Second Platoon Alpha Company.

The first person to address him each morning was Drill Sergeant Al Quamo, who always looked so smart that Nat assu

med he must have risen at four to press his uniform. And if Nat attempted to speak to anyone else during the next fourteen hours, Quamo wanted to know who and why. The drill sergeant was the same height as Nat, and there the resemblance ended. Nat never stood still long enough to count the sergeant’s medals. “I’m your mother, your father, and your closest friend,” he bellowed at the top of his voice. “Do you hear me?”

“Yes, sir,” shouted back thirty-six raw recruits from the Second Platoon. “You’re my mother, my father and my closest friend.”

Most of the platoon had applied for exemption and been turned down. Many of them considered Nat was crazy to volunteer, and it took several weeks before they changed their minds about the boy from Cromwell. Long before the course had ended, Nat had become the platoon counselor, letter writer, advisor and confidant. He even taught a couple of the recruits to read. He didn’t choose to tell his mother what they had taught him in return. Halfway through the course, Quamo made him squad leader.

At the end of the two-month stint, Nat came first in everything which involved spelling. He also surprised his fellow rookies by beating them all around the cross-country course and, although he had never fired a weapon before basic training, he even out-shot the boys from Queens when it came to mastering the M60 machine gun and the M70 grenade launcher. They were more practiced in smaller weapons.

It didn’t take eight weeks for Quamo to change his mind about Nat’s chances of making Officer Cadet School. Unlike most of the other “sadsacks” who were destined for ’Nam, he found that Nat was a born leader.

“Mind you,” Quamo warned Nat, “a butter bar second lieutenant is just as likely to have his ass blown off as a private soldier, because one thing’s for certain, the VC can’t tell the difference.” Sergeant Quamo turned out to be right, because only two soldiers were selected to go to Fort Benning. The other was a college boy from Third Platoon named Dick Tyler.

For the first three weeks at Fort Benning, the main outdoor activity was alongside the black hats. The parachute instructors took their new recruits through their landing falls, first from a thirty-five-foot wall, and later from the dreaded three-hundred-foot tower. Of the two hundred soldiers who began the course, less than a hundred made it through to the next stage. Nat was among the final ten chosen to wear a white helmet during jump week. Fifteen jumps later, and it was his turn to have silver jump wings pinned to his chest.

When Nat returned home for a week’s furlough, his mother hardly recognized the child who had left her three months earlier. He had been replaced by a man, an inch taller and seven pounds lighter, with a crew cut that made his father reminisce about his days in Italy.

After the short break, Nat returned to Fort Benning, pulled back on his glistening Corcoran jump boots, threw his barrack bag over his shoulder, and took the short walk from airborne to the other side of the road.

Here he began his training as an infantry officer. Although he rose just as early each morning, he now spent far more of his time in the classroom, studying military history, map reading, tactics and command strategy, along with seventy other would-be officers who were also preparing to be sent to Vietnam. The one statistic no one would talk about was that more than fifty percent of them could expect to return in a body bag.

“Joanna’s going to have to face a disciplinary inquiry,” said Jimmy as he sat on the end of Fletcher’s bed. “Whereas it’s me who should be suffering the wrath of the ethics committee,” he added.

Fletcher tried to calm his friend, but he had never seen him so incensed. “Why can’t they understand that it’s not a crime to fall in love?”

“I think you’ll find that they are more worried about the consequences of it happening the other way around,” said Fletcher.

“What do you mean?” asked Jimmy, looking up.

“Simply that the administration is genuinely concerned about male teachers taking advantage of young, impressionable female undergraduates.”

“But can’t they tell when it’s genuine?” asked Jimmy. “Anyone can see that I adore Joanna, and she feels the same way about me.”

“And they might even have turned a blind eye in your case if you both hadn’t made it so public.”

“I would have thought you of all people would have respected Joanna for her refusal to be disingenuous on the subject,” said Jimmy.

“I do,” said Fletcher, “but she’s left the authorities with no option but to respond to that honesty, given the university regulations.”

“Then it’s the regulations that need changing,” said Jimmy. “Joanna believes as a teacher, you shouldn’t have to hide your true feelings. She wants to make sure that the next generation never have to face the same predicament.”

“Jimmy, I’m not disagreeing with you, and knowing Joanna, she will have thought about those regulations carefully and also have a strong view on the relevance of rule 17b.”

“Of course she does, but Joanna isn’t going to become engaged just to let the board off the hook.”

“That’s some woman you asked if you could carry her books,” said Fletcher.