Heads You Win

Vietnam, 1972

“What do you plan to do when you get back home?” asked Lieutenant Lowell as he and Alex sat in a dugout and shared what passed as lunch.

“Complete my economics degree at NYU, and then build an empire to rival Rockefeller’s.”

“My godfather,” said Lowell matter-of-factly. “I think you’d like him, and I know he’d like you.”

“Do you work for the great man?” asked Alex.

“No, I’m chairman of a small bank in Boston that bears my family name. But to be honest, I’m chairman only in name. I prefer to concentrate on my first love, politics.”

“Do you want to be president one day?” asked Alex.

“No, thanks,” said Lowell. “I’m not as ambitious as you, corporal, and I’m well aware of my limitations. But when I get back to Boston I plan to run for Congress, and possibly one day for the Senate.”

“Like your grandfather?” Lowell was taken by surprise and certainly wasn’t prepared for Alex’s next question. “Why didn’t you try to defer? You must have all the right connections to make sure you didn’t end up in this hellhole.”

“True, but my other grandfather was a general, and he convinced me a spell in Vietnam wouldn’t do my political career any harm, especially as most of my rivals will have made sure they avoided the draft. But you’re right, every other member of my year at Harvard found some excuse not to be called up.”

Alex dug the last bean out of the bottom of the can, and devoured it slowly, as if it was one of his mother’s most delicious morsels.

“Well, I guess it’s time to go in search of the enemy,” said Lowell.

“Some hope,” said Alex.

* * *

On Wednesday evenings, while the rest of the unit went off to Lilly’s, Alex could be found in the canteen, his only companion a book. He had already exhausted Tolstoy, Dickens, and Dumas in their own languages, and had recently turned his attention to Hemingway, Bellow, and Cheever.

Addie wrote every week, and Alex hadn’t realized just how much he would miss her. He would have proposed, but not in a letter. However, once he was back …

Big Sam kept pressing him to join the boys on the brothel bus, but Alex continued to resist, even showing the Tank a photo of Addie.

“You wouldn’t have to tell her,” said Sam, with a huge grin.

“But I would have to tell her,” said Alex, as Presley crooned away on the canteen jukebox: You were always on my mind.

“I think you’d like Kim,” said Big Sam, refusing to give up.

“I had no idea you liked Kipling,” said Alex, returning his grin.

* * *

“Do you ever give any thought to the futility of war?” asked Alex.

“Not if I can help it,” said Lowell. “It might weaken my resolve, which wouldn’t help the men under my command if we ever had to face a real battle.”

“But there must be young North Vietnamese soldiers sitting in dugouts nearby who, like us, just want to go home and be with their families. Doesn’t history teach us anything?”

“Only that politicians should think a lot more carefully before they commit the next generation to war. How’s your mother coping without you?” asked Lowell, wanting to change the subject.

“As well as can be expected,” said Alex. “My eleven stalls are just about breaking even, but the truth is, she can’t wait for me to come home. It’s almost time to renew my licenses, and my mother will be no match for Mr. Wolfe.”

“Who’s he?”

“My landlord.”

“Can’t Dimitri deal with him? He sounds like a pretty tough guy.”