Kane and Abel/Sons of Fortune Read online

  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.

  “It appears that there are several avenues left open to you, and most of them in my view are a complete waste of time. You could, for example, apply for a discharge on the grounds of an injury sustained in action. If we went down that path you would end up with a small pension, and be out of here in about six months—after your spell as a warrant officer you don’t need to be told how long the paperwork would take. You could, of course, as you suggested, complete your service here at the academy, but do I really want a cripple on my staff?” the colonel asked with a grin, as his aide entered the room with a tray of piping hot coffee and two cups. “You could on the other hand take up some other posting, in a more friendly environment, like Honolulu, but I don’t expect you need to go that far to find yourself a dancing girl. But whatever I have to offer,” he once again glanced down at Nat’s file, “you would still only end up clicking your heels for another year. So now I need to ask you a question, Nat. What had you planned to do, once you’d completed your two years?”

  “Return to college, sir, and continue with my studies.”

  “Exactly what I thought you’d say,” said the colonel, “so that’s exactly what you’re going to do.”

  “But the new term starts next week,” said Nat, “and as you pointed out, the paperwork alone …”

  “Unless you were to sign up for another six years, then you might find that the paperwork moves surprisingly quickly.”

  “Sign up for another six years?” repeated Nat in disbelief. “I was hoping to get out of the army, not stay in it.”

  “And you will,” said the colonel, “but only if you sign up for six years. You see, with your qualifications, Nat,” he added as he stood up and began to pace around the room, “you can immediately apply for any course of higher education and what’s more, the army will pay for it.”

  “But I already have a scholarship,” Nat reminded his commanding officer.

  “I’m well aware of that, it’s all in here,” said the colonel, looking down at the open file in front of him. “But the university doesn’t offer you a captain’s pay to go with it.”

  “I would be paid to go to college?” said Nat.

  “Yes, you would receive a full captain’s pay, plus an added allowance for an overseas posting.”

  “An overseas posting? But I’m not applying for a place at the University of Vietnam—I want to return to Connecticut, and then go on to Yale.”

  “And so you will, because the regulations state that if, and only if, you have served abroad, in a war sector, and, I quote,” the colonel turned another page in his file, “then an application for advanced education will be given the same status as your last posting. I’ve decided I now love lawyers,” said the colonel, looking up, “because, can you believe it, they’ve come up with something even better.” Tremlett sipped his coffee while Nat remained silent. “Not only will you receive your full captain’s salary as well as an overseas allowance,” the colonel continued, “but because of your injury, at the end of six years, you will automatically