Heads You Win

When he came around a few moments later, Alex was horrified to see Big Sam standing over him. He braced himself for the next blow, but Big Sam took off his glove and helped Alex to his feet; his new best friend.

* * *

In week two, they were introduced to the rifle range and stationary targets.

“Tomorrow the targets will move,” said the staff sergeant. “And once you’ve got used to that, they’ll shoot back.”

During week three, day became night. No food, no sleep, and if you weren’t dead, you wished you were. Week four was hand-to-hand combat, but only after they hadn’t eaten or slept for fourteen hours. When they were finally allowed to collapse onto their bunks, they hadn’t even fallen asleep before they were ordered back on their feet and told the Vietcong had just launched a counter-attack. “And don’t forget, for them, it’s a home game.”

No one was surprised when in week five, Alex was made up to corporal and put in charge of a dozen of his fellow recruits. He immediately chose Big Sam as his second in command.

By the end of the sixth week, Alex’s squad were regularly outperforming their rivals. Every one of them would have followed him over a cliff.

In the seventh week their platoon commander, Lieutenant Lowell, took Alex to one side after morning parade.

“Karpenko, have you considered applying for a transfer to officer training school? Because if you did, I’d be happy to support your application.” He was disappointed by Alex’s reply.

“I’m a street trader, sir. I have no desire to be an officer. I’ll stay and fight with my unit, if that’s all right with you.”

Over the next few weeks Lieutenant Lowell made several attempts to get Karpenko to change his mind, but he always received the same uncompromising response.

On their final day at Fort Bragg, Alex’s platoon received a commendation from the commanding officer. Big Sam accepted the award on their behalf.

“You’re one of the finest units I’ve ever had under my command,” said the general as he handed over the pennant.

“Show me the others,” said Big Sam. The general burst out laughing.

On June 5, 1972, Lieutenant Lowell, Corporal Karpenko, and the enlisted men of the 116th Infantry Division climbed aboard a dozen trucks in the middle of the night before being shipped out of Fort Bragg and driven to an airport that didn’t appear on any map. Fourteen hours later, after three brief stops when the plane was refueled and they weren’t, the troops finally landed on a heavily guarded runway somewhere in South Vietnam. They were no longer recruits, but trained infantrymen ready for war.

Not all of them would return.

* * *

The 116th spent a couple of weeks settling into their makeshift barracks, and another fortnight preparing for their first assignment. By then, every one of them was more than ready. But ready for what?

“Our orders are clear,” said Lieutenant Lowell at his morning briefing. “We’ve been assigned to patrol the area along Long Binh. The Vietcong occasionally stray close by in the hope of finding a weak spot in our defenses. If they’re foolish enough to do so, it’s our job to make sure they regret it, and send them packing.”

“And will we get the chance to take the fight to them?” asked Alex.

“It’s unlikely,” said Lowell. “That’s left to the professionals—the Marines and the US Army Rangers. Only in exceptional circumstances would we be called on to assist them.”

“So we’re no more than traffic cops,” said the Tank.

“Something like that,” admitted Lowell. “They also serve who only stand and wait.” Alex would have to look up the quote when he was next in a library, which might not be for a couple of years. “The good news,” continued Lowell, “is that every six weeks you’ll have a few days’ R and R, when you can visit Saigon.”

A small cheer went up.

“But you can’t afford to relax even then. You’ll have to assume that anyone who approaches you is a Vietcong agent. Be particularly wary of attractive young women, who’ll offer you sex in the hope of extracting what you might consider a trivial piece of information.”

“Couldn’t we just have the sex and keep our mouths shut?” suggested a soldier.

Lowell waited for the laughter to die down. “No, Boyle,” he said firmly. “Whenever you’re tempted, just remember it might cause the death of one of your comrades.”

“I’m not sure I can go six weeks without a woman,” said Boyle. Although the rest of the unit burst out laughing, they clearly agreed with him.

“Don’t worry, Boyle,” said Lowell. “The army’s made a provision for soldiers like you. We have our own designated brothel on the outskirts of the camp. It’s run by a lady called Lilly, and all the girls have been carefully vetted. On the only occasion that Lilly discovered one of her girls was working for the Vietcong, she was found floating in the river the next morning. Every unit in the camp has been allocated one night a week on which its men can visit Lilly’s establishment. Ours is Wednesday.”

No one needed to make a note.