Read Jerry Boykin & Lynn Vincent for Free Online

brass insignia, a saucer cap, and some kind of bizarre harness used for who-knew-what. At that moment, I made two important discoveries. First, I had absolutely no clue what went with what. Second, I didn’t have any shoes. Had I been attending indoc classes like the other freshman rats, I would have known I had to go buy shoes separately. But now it was too late. And I had just two choices of my own: football cleats or penny loafers.
    I had seen cadets wearing black shoes, so I thought I’d try to scare some up in the athletic dorm. After a trip down the hall knocking on doors, the best I could come up with was a big old pair of work boots from a big lineman named Shorter who was taller than me and whose feet were two sizes bigger.
    The next morning, damp and smelling of shower soap, I put on an ensemble that I thought looked pretty good: a pair of charcoal gray winter-wool pants and a light gray summer shirt. Shorter’s size fourteen boots poked out from under my pants legs like houseboats.
    I grabbed my books and clomped outside, a light feeling of anticipation percolating in my belly. It was my first day of college, yes. But I was more excited that it was the first day of my Army career. I knew my shoes weren’t regulation, but I felt I’d done a pretty good job with the rest, and was proud to finally be wearing the uniform.
    Walking up to the upper quad, I saw two Army captains walking toward me. These officers were sharp as bayonet points, with tightly clippered haircuts, knife-edge creases in their slacks, and spit-polished shoes. About a car length from me they stopped dead in their tracks and stared at me, astonished. I glanced down at my clothes and back at the captains. Compared to them, I looked mighty crappy.
    “Mornin’!” I said, trying to blind them with cheer. “How y’all doin’?”
    “Cadet!” snapped the officer on the left, who looked as if he just stepped out of a recruiting poster. He scanned me up and down as though I had just blown in from a carnival sideshow.
    “What company are you in, Cadet?” the officer snapped.
    “T Company—” I ventured, now dead certain I was in for some demerits or pushups five minutes into my military career.
    But then the two officers just looked at each other and chuckled, shook their heads, and walked on by.
    Relieved and vowing silently to at least iron my uniforms in the future, I started walking again. When I got to my first class, I sat down next to one of the cadets from the upper quadrangle and looked him over: matching summer uniform, sharp creases, and high-gloss shoes.
    I sank down in my chair.
Great start, Boykin
.

5
    IN THE CORPS OF CADETS, I was drawn to the instructors who came from the infantry. All of them had recently returned from Vietnam and I noticed they were the most highly decorated. Most of them were wearing Purple Hearts. As much as I could, I followed what was going on in the war. Now I was able to get firsthand information and I peppered my instructors with questions. What was it like there? What kinds of operations were they involved in? And they would tell me their stories—of patrols and ambushes, artillery strikes and firefights.
    One of my instructors had been at Ia Drang Valley during the bloody battle in which 450 American soldiers faced two thousand North Vietnamese Army regulars in November 1965. The battle had tested our new air-mobility tactics—troops dropped in landing zones by helo, then supported by air, artillery, and rocket fire called in from a distance. At the end of the four-day battle, the U.S. lost 234 men to the NVA’s one thousand dead. One ambush, on November 17, would stand as the deadliest in the entire war. The first major U.S. battle in Vietnam, Ia Drang is history now. But then, my instructor’s memories of raging infantry clashes and hand-to-hand combat still fell into the category of current events. I hung on every word.
    I noticed there was a brotherhood among the infantry men in my cadre.