Sons of Fortune

“I hardly think Nat’s in need of much more of that,” was his mother’s response.

Nat smiled as he glanced out of the window and took in the Connecticut landscape. While pulling a stretcher for seventeen days and seventeen nights with snatches of sleep and little food, he had wondered if he would ever see his homeland again. He thought about his mother’s words, and had to agree with her. The idea of a wasted year of form-filling, making and returning salutes before training someone else to take his place angered him. The top brass had made it clear that they weren’t going to let him return to Vietnam and thereby risk the life of one of America’s few recognized heroes.

Over dinner that night, after his father had repeated the conversation he’d had with the president several times, he asked Nat to tell them more about ’Nam.

For over an hour, Nat described the city of Saigon, the countryside and its people, rarely referring to his job as a warrant officer. “The Vietnamese are hard-working and friendly,” he told his parents, “and they seem genuinely pleased that we’re there, but no one, on either side, believes that we can stay forever. I fear history will regard the whole episode as pointless, and once it’s over it will be quickly erased from the national psyche.” He turned to

his father. “At least your war had a purpose.” His mother nodded her agreement, and Nat was surprised to see that his father didn’t immediately offer a contrary view.

“Did you come away with any particular abiding memory?” asked his mother, hoping that her son might talk about his experience at the front.

“Yes, I did. The inequality of man.”

“But we’re doing everything we can to assist the people of South Vietnam,” said his father.

“I’m not referring to the Vietnamese, father,” Nat replied, “I’m talking about what Kennedy described as ‘my fellow Americans.’”

“Fellow Americans?” his mother repeated.

“Yes, because my abiding memory will be our treatment of the poor minorities, in particular the blacks. They were on the battlefield in great numbers for no other reason than that they couldn’t afford a smart lawyer who could show them how to avoid the draft.”

“But your closest friend…”

“I know,” said Nat, “and I’m glad Tom didn’t sign up, because he might well have suffered the same fate as Dick Tyler.”

“So do you regret your decision?” asked his mother quietly.

Nat took some time before he responded. “No, but I often think of Speck Foreman, his wife and three children in Alabama, and wonder what purpose his death served.”

Nat rose early the next morning to catch the first train bound for Fort Benning. When the locomotive pulled into Columbus station, he checked his watch. There was still another hour before his meeting with the colonel, so he decided to walk the two miles up to the academy. On the way, he was continually reminded that he was on a military base, by how regularly he had to return salutes from everyone below the rank of captain. Some even smiled in recognition when they spotted the Medal of Honor, as they might with a college football hero.

He was standing outside Colonel Tremlett’s office a full fifteen minutes before his appointment.

“Good morning, Captain Cartwright. The colonel told me to take you straight through to his office the moment you arrived,” said an even younger aide.

Nat marched into the colonel’s office, stood to attention, and saluted. Tremlett came around from behind his desk, and threw his arms around Nat. The aide was unable to hide his surprise, as he thought only the French greeted their fellow officers in that way. The colonel motioned Nat to a seat on the other side of his desk. After returning to his chair, Tremlett opened a thick file and began studying its contents. “Do you have any idea what you want to do for the next year, Nat?”

“No, I don’t, sir, but as I’m not being allowed to return to Vietnam, I’d be happy to take up your earlier offer, and remain at the academy to assist you with any new recruits.”

“That job has already been taken,” said Tremlett, “and I’m no longer sure if that’s what’s best for you in the long term.”

“Do you have something else in mind?” asked Nat.

“Now you mention it, I do,” admitted the colonel. “Once I knew you were coming home, I called in the academy’s top lawyers to advise me. Normally, I despise lawyers—a breed who only fight their battles in a courtroom—but I have to admit on this occasion one of them has come up with a most ingenious scheme.” Nat didn’t comment, as he was keen to learn what the colonel had in mind. “Rules and regulations can be interpreted in so many ways. How else would lawyers keep their jobs?” asked the colonel. “A year ago, you signed up for the draft without question, and having been commissioned, you were sent to Vietnam, where you proved me wrong, thank God.”

Nat wanted to say, get on with it, Colonel, but restrained himself.

“By the way, Nat, I forgot to ask if you’d like a coffee.”

“No thank you, sir,” said Nat, trying not to sound impatient.

The colonel smiled, “I think I’ll have one.” He picked up his phone. “Fix me up with a coffee, will you, Dan,” he said, “and perhaps even some doughnuts.” He looked across at Nat. “Are you sure you won’t change your mind?”

“You’re enjoying yourself, aren’t you, sir?” said Nat with a smile.

“To be honest, I am,” said the colonel. “You see, it’s taken me several weeks to get Washington to fall in line with my proposal, so I hope you’ll forgive me if I indulge myself for a few more minutes.”

Nat smiled wryly, and settled back in his chair.