Heads You Win

“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.

*   *   *

Alex found patrolling boring at best, and pointless at worst. It was five weeks before they spotted a Vietcong patrol. Lieutenant Lowell immediately gave the order to advance and fire at will, but they failed to hit anything other than the odd tree, and within seconds the enemy had melted back into the jungle.

When Alex described the incident in a long letter to his mother, he tried to reassure her that he was more likely to be killed crossing Brighton Beach Avenue than on patrol. This observation was redacted by the censors.

Alex received regular letters from his mother. Bernie had finally retired, and Elena confessed that since he’d left, they were just about breaking even. Alex didn’t have to read between the lines to realize that neither his mother nor Dimitri was a natural trader. Elena told him they couldn’t wait for him to get back, although Alex had to accept that it wouldn’t be for at least another year. As the long weeks turned into longer months, he wondered if he shouldn’t have taken Addie’s advice and applied for a deferral. He would have completed his final year at NYU and, more importantly, asked Addie to be his wife. He even had the ring.

20

SASHA

London, 1972

“I would like to request your permission, sir, to ask for your daughter’s hand in marriage.”

“How gloriously old-fashioned,” said Mr. Dangerfield. “But, Sasha, don’t you think you’re both a little young to be considering marriage? Shouldn’t you wait a little longer before you make such an irrevocable decision?”

“Why wait, sir, when you’ve found the one woman you want to spend the rest of your life with?”

“I’d ask if you were confident my daughter feels the same way about you, if I didn’t already know the answer.” Sasha smiled, well aware that Charlie was sitting in the next room. “So, as your prospective father-in-law, I think I’m meant to ask about your prospects?”