Heads You Win

“But why are we sacrificing our soldiers’ lives for a small country on the other side of the world?” asked Alex.

“Because if the communists in the north took control of the whole of Vietnam, who would fall next?” replied the education officer. “Laos? Cambodia? And would the enemy even stop when they reached Australia? It’s the domino effect. Allow one to topple, and others will follow.”

“But Vietnam is still on the other side of the world,” said Alex.

“You can’t be sure of that,” said the EO. “With Cuba in the hands of Fidel Castro, the communists are only a stone’s throw from the US coast, and if they were to get their hands on anything other than bows and arrows, Florida could be next in line.”

Alex didn’t ask any more questions, as he was well aware of how the Red Army had occupied the whole of Eastern Europe while the Allies sat and watched.

Alex quickly made friends among his fellow recruits, some of whom were, like him, first-generation immigrants. He helped them write letters to their families and girlfriends, fill in forms, and even taught one of them how to tie his shoelaces. However, there was one—there’s always one—who took against Alex from the first bugle call.

Big Sam, also known as the Tank, was 6 foot 4, and the scales didn’t stop until they’d reached 226 pounds, most of it taut muscle. He certainly didn’t consider Private Karpenko the unit’s natural leader. Most of the other recruits avoided Big Sam, and even one or two of the staff sergeants were wary of him. Alex also kept his distance, but he couldn’t avoid Big Sam when, during one gym session, the two of them were ordered into the boxing ring for a friendly bout. Big Sam didn’t do friendly. All the other recruits crowded around to witness the inevitable slaughter.

“I am the greatest,” Alex whispered without conviction as he climbed through the ropes, hoping the words of Cassius Clay would inspire him, and he might at least survive the three three-minute rounds.

For the first round, Alex danced nervously around the ring while his opponent threw punch after punch, none of them hitting the target. Alex somehow made it to the end of the second round, even hitting Big Sam a couple of times, not that he noticed. But Alex’s legs were quickly turning to lead. This wasn’t a slow waltz at a local dance hall with a young lady as your partner.

About halfway through the third round Sam managed to land a glancing blow on the side of Alex’s head. Alex wobbled long enough for Sam to hit him a second time, on the chin, when he collapsed in a heap onto the canvas. A wiser man might have stayed put. But not Alex. He attempted to haul himself to his feet as the referee counted, “Five, six, seven…” He was still only resting on one knee when the next punch landed squarely on his nose. All he could see in front of his eyes were stars and stripes, and far more than fifty. Big Sam would have been disqualified if it had been a championship bout but, as the staff sergeant pointed out, no one would have time to explain the Queensberry Rules to the Vietcong.

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.