Junior Year Overseas

[Robbie C.]

Just my own little rumination about how Sonny and Robbie ended up in Vietnam. I've explained my reasoning for USMC and other things elsewhere.

 

James “Sonny” Crockett punched open a fresh can of Budweiser and took that first, long, cool drink, savoring the feeling of cold beer after a long practice in the Florida sun. Somewhere down the hall one of the dorm long-hairs blasted something that was mostly guitars and chanting. Two years ago it would have bothered him, and maybe last year if he was honest. But three years in he didn’t even blink. Just took another long swig of beer and tried to straighten his knee.

Without warning his room door crashed open and Robbie Cann exploded into the room, his hair still wet and dripping from his post-practice shower. “Man, can you believe that stoner down the hall is playin’ Cream? Little puke can’t make it to class, but he can jam out to one of the best albums of all time.”

“Is that what that is?” Sonny took another drink, waiting for the beer to work its way down to his knee. Damn thing still hurts. I should kick that big goon Jablonski in the nuts. You don’t hit like that in practice. “I thought it was two cats fighting.”

“Shows what you know.” Robbie grabbed himself a beer out of the cooler by the room’s tattered couch. “But I get it, man. If it ain’t some dude singin’ love songs to his sister you ain’t interested.”

“Very funny. But at least my songs tell a story.”

“So do theirs! If you just…”

Grinning, Sonny leaned back and let Robbie ramble on about the deeper meanings hidden in something called ‘Sunshine of Your Love.’ It was the quickest way to derail his old friend and roommate, and keep him from asking questions Sonny didn’t want to answer. Draining his can, he crushed it and reached into the cooler for another.

“Go easy there, chief. You got a test tonight, don’t you?”

“We have a test, you mean. Stats. And I’ve got a GPA to maintain if I want to stay on scholarship.”

Robbie’s face changed, going from light to dark in a single heartbeat. “No…you have a test. Even if I ace the damned thing I’m still gonna fail that class. That’s why I was late, buddy. Coach put me on notice. I’m done at the end of the semester.”

“Don’t they have to put you on probation or something?”

“Sonny…I’m already on probation. You remember last spring, right?”

“Yeah…well, sort of, I guess.” Sonny grinned in an attempt to boost Robbie. “There was lots of beer involved.”

“And not enough classes.”

“Come on, man. We’ve been roomies for damn near three years now. You can’t…”

“I don’t have a choice, Sonny. My old man isn’t the understanding type. I get kicked off the team, money for school goes away.”

“You’re the best safety on the damned team! I can’t see coach cutting you.”

“You forgot about that sophomore. Herman I-forget-his-name.” Robbie drained his beer in one long swig and reached for another. “He’s the new golden boy after that string of interceptions in practice. Kid’s also a brain. At least that’s what Rhonda says. He does her damned homework, not the other way around.”

“Shit.” Sonny let the single word hang in the air. Out of school meant Robbie would also lose the golden ticket and likely get another; a direct flight to South Vietnam. Even focused on football and cheerleader panties, it was hard to miss the war…or its expanding casualty list. Some days Sonny felt guilty about it. His father, after all, had answered the call in World War II, and his grandfather in the first war. And here he was, playing catch and being the first Crockett to go to college. Watching other men’s sons getting blown up on TV.

“You know, I’ve been thinking about it.” Robbie slugged down half the beer and grinned his sloppy grin. “I mean really thinking, you know? Hell, I know I ain’t good enough for the pros. Not like you, anyhow. And this school thing? Man, it ain’t for me. Never has been.”

“Yeah, I remember you that first week freshman year. You were more interested in finding the nearest package store than you were your classes.” Sonny chuckled at the memory, even though part of him was wondering where Robbie was going with all this. “And after that it was the tallest tree with a good view into the Kappa house.”

“Man’s gotta know where his talents lie.” Robbie chuckled. “And I remember you bein’ right behind me on both missions.” He sat for a moment, his foot tapping as he listened to the music still echoing down the hall. “Man, I could listen to Clapton play all day. But you know? Maybe that’s the problem.”

“What? The stoner music makes your brain soft?”

“No, asshole. That I can sit here and listen to that all day.” Robbie took another long drink and started pacing with an intensity Sonny had only seen in him prior to a big game. “But that’s the point of that? I mean really? I’m three years in and my only damned major is football with a minor in chasin’ skirt. My old man…”

“Yeah. You said he was all about you goin’ to school.” And that’s about all you ever said about him. Though I don’t talk much about my old man, either. “But you know what happens if you leave school, Robbie.”

“Vietnam happens, Sonny. Yeah, I know. And you ever think about that?”

“Sure I do. Two guys I graduated high school with got drafted. One of ‘em came home in a box.” He paused. “Same thing happened to my old man, though. He don’t talk about the war much, but he did say one of his good buddies from school didn’t make it home.”

“That’s the thing, though, man.” Robbie was on his third beer now, and Sonny knew from long experience that was when the lean safety really hit his stride. “You see those hippies runnin’ around campus with their signs. Maybe it’s wrong, maybe it ain’t. Hell, I don’t know. I just play ball. But I do know it’s the ultimate game, man. The biggest test of them all. And it don’t feel right sittin’ on the sidelines.”

“What brought this on, man? I didn’t think you were one of those Combat-watching guys. Hell, you said you came here instead of Florida State so you wouldn’t have to do ROTC.”

Robbie cracked a bashful grin. “I say lots of stuff, Sonny. But after I met with Prof Dinkins and she said I was gonna fail stats even if I passed every test left this semester, I got to thinking. If I’m out on my ass, the draft gets me, right? I go wherever good ol’ Uncle Sam thinks I’m needed. But I’m still a Gator, man. I gotta play with the best.”

Sonny nodded, seeing where Robbie’s thinking was leading. “The Marines.”

“That’s right, buddy. The USMC.” He pronounced each letter like it was a word on its own. “I did some checking. You go in on your own, you got a good chance of getting the job you want.”

“I didn’t think they recruited skirt-chasers.”

“Be serious, man. We’re gonna need jobs once this is done. Marines have cops…military police they call ‘em. World’s always gonna need cops.”

Sonny didn’t notice Robbie used ‘we’ right away. Shifting, he winced as another bolt of pain jabbed through his knee. “Damn Jabs anyhow. Big ox didn’t need to hit that hard.” But what Robbie said was starting to eat at him. Deep down he knew he wouldn’t make the pros. Not really. He wasn’t big enough. Or fast enough. He’d make the big catch now and again, but that was all. And school? He was hanging on by a thread. And there was the other thing.

Sonny Crockett was the first one in his family to go to college. It was a big thing, and he remembered the look of pride on his father’s face when the scholarship award letter had arrived. All the time the old man had put into helping him train and drill looked to be paying off. But he also remembered the medals in the case in his father’s workshop, and the way the old man looked at the nightly news on TV when he was home on break. Any time they showed protesters the elder Crockett had snarled a curse. “Little bastards get everything from this country,” he’d mutter, casting a glance toward the workshop door, “and that’s the thanks they give? I was younger, I’d…” That’s when his mother usually brought the older man a beer and changed the channel.

But quitting school was out of the question. Not only had he given his word when he’d signed the scholarship paperwork, he didn’t want to risk them coming after pop for money. Crushing his empty can, Sonny reached for another. I’m stuck, and there’s no two ways about it. And if Robbie goes…

Robbie was still talking. “Man…I get you’re gonna stay. Grades are good, you got prospects. You’d be an ass to bail on all that. It’s all lined out for you.” He shook his head. “Me? I gotta find my own way. A way I can live with.”

“What about your old man?”

“What about him? It’s my life I gotta lead, not his. I look at myself in the mirror every morning, not him.”

Sonny nodded, taking a drink to cover his surprise. Robbie never talked much about his family, let alone his father. And there was an anger in Robbie’s voice Sonny had never heard before. “I get it, man. Both parts.” Maybe it was the beer, or memories of that medal case. Or something deeper. You can’t prove yourself playing a damned game. My dad sure as hell didn’t. “When are you gonna go?”

“I haven’t signed anything yet, if that’s what you’re worried about.” Robbie’s words were starting to run together as he opened another beer. The music from down the hall had stopped, and he frowned. “So much for my damned background music. Hell, they always have good background music in those movies. Figure I’ll finish out the semester unless I get benched. If that happens, it’s goodby school. No reason to stick around if I ain’t playing.”

“Coach isn’t gonna bench you with games left on the schedule. He likes winning more than he likes classes.” Sonny shifted and winced. “I ain’t gonna get much playing time with this knee, though.” Then it hit him…thoughts jumbled in his head coming together all at once. “We’re buddies, Robbie, right?”

“Course we are, man. I’ll write…”

“No, man. If you go, I go. Someone’s gotta keep you honest.” Sonny grinned. “If they bench you, I think I know how to get out of the scholarship without my dad taking any kind of hit.” He took another long drink, feeling the beer’s fuzziness growing in his head. “But I gotta be sure you’re really done.”

“Dinkins said what she said. And that battleaxe isn’t known for exaggerating. Odds are damned good I’m gonna bomb that business class, too.” He shook his head. “Paid more attention to a blonde’s rack than I did assignment due dates.” Turning, Robbie opened the room door and shouted down the hall. “Hey! Hair head! Put on some damned Airplane! Or the Byrds!” He grinned as the opening drum line of ‘White Rabbit’ echoed down the hall. “Thanks, man!”

“I don’t get you and that music.”

“And I want to hear this damned plan of yours. How the hell you gonna ditch this place without payin’ money back or gettin’ killed by your old man?”

Sonny smiled. He could feel his nose getting numb, a sure sign it was time to have another beer. “It’s a secret. But one thing…we can’t tell anyone we volunteered. Ever.”

 

Sonny work up the next morning with a mouth packed with steel wool and a head that felt like it had been run over by a train. Rolling over, he winced as a ray of sunshine stabled him right through an eye. Somewhere in the distance he could hear Robbie snoring. And then it started coming back.

At least it’s Friday. No class and no practice. He’d managed to blunder through the Stats test drunk, and even cajoled Robbie into going, but as soon as they finished it was off to buy more beer and finish the night in style. Or what they thought was style.

Sonny sat up slowly, easing into an upright position with a caution learned from too many team parties. At least the knee didn’t hurt. That was something, even if it was the only part of his body that wasn’t. Grabbing his toothbrush and toothpaste, Sonny pulled on a pair of Florida Gators shorts and limped down the hall to the common washroom. He thought he might feel better if he chased the nesting skunk out of his mouth.

Robbie was sitting up in his bed by the time Sonny got back to the room. He looked dazed, as if someone had smacked him on the head with a pan. “Just tell me we didn’t do anything stupid.”

“If you mean bring home girls who look like Bubba the offensive guard, no we didn’t.” Sonny slumped back on his bed and rubbed his eyes. “Anything else I ain’t gonna swear to.”

Robbie nodded, then winced at the motion. “That was a damned mistake.” He paused. “You remember what we talked about before that pointless test?”

“Yeah. Think we talked more after that, too, but I doubt it made much sense.”

“I’m still gonna do it.” Somewhere down the hall a stereo came on, and Robbie shuddered. “Aw, no. Not the Goddamned Beatles! Aw, man.”

“You know there’s a solid chance you could get killed over there. Remember that Tet thing just after Christmas? Those VC don’t mess around.”

“Neither does Robbie Cann.” Robbie started to swing his legs out of bed but thought better of it. “Look, Sonny. I know I sound nuts. But I’ve been thinkin’ about this for months. I know the Marines got shot up at Hue and that Khe Sahn place, but they got shot up at Iwo Jima, too. And they made a damned statue out of that!” He paused. “I just wanna prove something, you know? Maybe to pop, and maybe to me. Prove that I can do it when it’s real and not just on some damned field. You know?”

“Look. Let’s get cleaned up and go get some breakfast.” He looked at his watch. “Or lunch. Before they shut the damned lines down.” Turning, he dug through his small dresser for a clean towel. But no matter how hard he tried to shake it, the thought kept chewing at him.

Robbie was still talking as they walked back to their dorm room, and Sonny wasn’t sure if he was trying to convince him or himself. “I mean, look at ‘em. All running around with those damned signs. I bet most of ‘em couldn’t find South Vietnam on a map.”

“You expect me to believe you can?”

“That’s not the point, Sonny. Hell, you know I can barely find Florida on a map.” Robbie grinned. “They just don’t see what they’ve been given. You know? All this was handed to them. Kinda like it was handed to me.”

“Sure. But…”

“That’s the thing. If there wasn’t no damned war, do you think most of ‘em would even be here? College, I mean.”

It wasn’t something Sonny had really thought about before, and even with a burger and fries in his stomach he wasn’t sure he was ready to start thinking about it now. “I don’t know. Some of ‘em might be like me and my folks. The first one in the family to make it to college.”

“Sure. But you got here playing ball, Sonny. How many of them did?” Robbie waved his hand to encompass every student in the quad walking to and from classes. Or just hanging out wearing sunglasses and listening to God knew what on their transistor radios. “How many of them came here just to avoid their junior year overseas?”

“Their what?”

“Yeah, man. Some of my dad’s friends talk about that. It’s something the rich kids all do. They go to school for two or three years, then take a year to go wander around Europe, smoke dope, and find themselves. At least they did before that mean you lost the student deferment.”

“I didn’t know you ran with the rich kids.”

Robbie shook his head, and Sonny realized his friend had said more than he’d intended. “Naw. Nothin’ like that. But how many of the guys you went to high school with could say that? What about that kid my coach asked you about? McStatten, I think his name was.”

“Jimmy was crosstown, but yeah…I get your point. His parents didn’t have much. Just like mine.”

“Well, I know after he talked to you, coach did some checking. The kid’s test scores aren’t high enough, so no scholarship for him. So you can bet he got his junior year overseas. In Vietnam. All because his parents didn’t have the green to avoid it.”

“I still don’t…”

“It’s cool, Sonny.” They were almost to the dorm. “Look, I got some things to do this afternoon. See you in time for dinner, though.”

Sonny grabbed his buddy’s arm. “Don’t do anything yet, Robbie, ok? Wait until they tell you for sure. I still got a plan.”

“Well…it’s not like the Marines are gonna stop takin’ guys. Ok.” Robbie looked down and chuckled. “But you better look after that knee. Looks like it might be swollen again.”

“I’ll take care of it, all right. Don’t worry.”

 

Sonny rode the bench for the next week of practice and following game. And right after that game - one the Gators lost, ending their conference run - the coach benched Robbie Cann. Robbie took it with a shrug and a grin. “Can’t say I didn’t know it was coming,” he said after leaving the coach’s office and finding Sonny sitting on one of benches in the hall. “All I gotta do now is go sign some papers.”

“You’re still gonna do it?” They hadn’t talked much about Robbie’s plan, and Sonny had been secretly hoping Robbie might change his mind. But he also knew his buddy, and once Robbie got a plan in his head it wasn’t going anywhere without a large charge of high explosives.

“Yeah. More set on it now, actually. That protest last Wednesday really did it for me. It…I don’t know. I just know what I gotta do to feel right about things.”

“Yeah.” Sonny got to his feet, wincing as he put weight on his knee.

“That thing still bad? Didn’t the doc…”

“He poked at it a bit and said it was fine. Until it wasn’t. I think he said what coach told him to say until there was no way we could come back in that game.” Sonny shook his head. “All part of my plan, anyhow. And come on. I gotta go have it looked at again. Physical for scholarship eligibility.”

The team doctor could have been an extra from one of the Westerns Sonny’s father loved to watch…old, grumpy, and not inclined to look too deeply into anything if you didn’t want him to. Sonny went though the usual height, weight, blood pressure, and general poking and prodding before the doc turned to his knee.

“Still botherin’ you, I see. Can’t put full weight on it?”

“No, doc. Tell the truth, it hurts like hell most of the time. I think ol’ Jabs landed on me with everything he had.”

“That’s what a good lineman does, Crockett. Can’t fault a guy for doing his job.” Doc prodded some more, moving Sonny’s ankle and leg. “Motion’s a bit restricted. Couldn’t tell much from that X-ray we did, but something could be torn.”

“Coach benched me because I can’t run cutbacks clean.” Sonny twisted his face into a pained frown. “I keep feelin’ this pop every time I try to turn. Almost gave out on me more than once.”

“If it’s what I think it is, you’d have at least six months of recovery. Maybe more. Hell, that would put you past your senior season.” Doc scribbled notes on his clipboard, and Sonny had to fight to keep the frown on his face. “I’ll get this to coach. You should expect to hear from him in the next day or so.”

Outside, Robbie gave him a puzzled look. “What the hell are you smilin’ about? You get a look at Kristie Frankel without her top on?”

“No, but it might be something better. I’ll know Monday most likely.” Once they were clear of the training facility Sonny lost his limp. “And I don’t know about you, but I need a beer.”

“This a celebration?”

“Could be, Robbie.” Hell, we’re both young and dumb as pop would say.

 

Coach called Sonny into his office just before Monday practice. Even with the season more or less over he liked to work the team, and Sonny knew his habits. If he called you in before practice it was bad news. Coach liked it for players to disappear before practice so he could work new people into the lineup.

“Crockett, I got the report from the doctor.” Sitting behind his battered metal desk, the coach was a block of gray hair and muscle going to fat wrapped in a sweatshirt and track jacket. “He says that knee of yours isn’t getting any better. Worse, maybe.”

“I’ve been doing everything he told me to, coach.”

“Maybe, but the report’s pretty clear. You can’t play, so you’re not scholarship eligible. And by the time you can play, you won’t have enough eligibility left to spit at.” Coach let his face slide into what he assumed was a sympathetic expression but looked more like he realized his laxative was about to kick in. “If you can’t play, you can’t be on scholarship and according to the doctor’s report you can’t play. I’m afraid I’ll have to cut off your scholarship at the end of this semester.”

“What about Jablonski? He was the one who laid on that hit.”

“Jablonski is one of the best defensive linemen we’ve had in years. He doesn’t make bad hits.”

“Sure.” Sonny laid the anger on thick in his voice. “You figure he’s better for the program’s rep. For your rep. Never mind he ended my damned playing career with a cheap hit.” Turning, he headed for the door. “And I won’t tell you what you can do with that scholarship.”

 

Robbie was laughing so hard tears were running down his face by the time Sonny reached the part about reputations. “That fat bastard had it coming. You shoulda heard the line of crap he tried on me. Said they’d ‘done me a favor’ by letting me play. Never mind no opposing team ever scored on my side of the field was I was running coverage.”

“You’d think I never made that game-winning catch, either.” Sonny drained his beer and reached into the room cooler for another, tossing one to Robbie as well.

“All well and good, but how are you gonna break it to your old man?”

The beer was cold and good running down his throat. “I been thinking about that, Robbie. You tell me if I’m off my rocker. I’ll tell him I got hurt, which he already knows, that I got cut, which he’ll know as soon as that fat bastard calls him, and that I got my draft notice…which ain’t happened yet. And won’t if we play our cards right.”

“You think he’ll buy it?”

“Well, they got that GI Bill thing I can use for school when we get done. I know once other guy from my old high school got called up while he was in college. Paperwork for his deferment didn’t get filed right, and by the time they started fixing it he was off to Basic.”

“You mean…”

“Robbie, we’re buddies. We can’t watch each others’ backs if you’re over there and I’m still here.” Sonny stopped, listening to another song echo down the hall from the stoner’s room. We Gotta Get Out of this Place. Who the hell names these things? “And it doesn’t feel right, like you said. Sitting here while other guys do the fighting. Guys who can’t play ball or take tests or don’t have rich dads. It’s how I was raised. Everyone’s gotta do their part. And it doesn’t feel like I’m doing mine.”

“That stoner down the hall would say we’re crazy.”

“Maybe we are. Or maybe he is. Hell, I don’t know.”

“One thing I do know.” Robbie’s eyes were bright in the gathering darkness. “My old man used to say every generation has its adventure. That war’s our adventure. It’s…it’s somethin’ I gotta see, you know? Be part of.”

“Yeah.” Hell, we’re both too drunk to know what we’re saying. But a part of Sonny did know. He’d seen the men down at the Legion Hall or VFW when his dad or granddad would stop by. Quiet, gray men sitting along the bar or shooting pool or throwing darts. But there was something about them. A kind of silent brotherhood he’d desperately wanted to belong to. And as he got older, he started to figure out the price of admittance. The toll to cross over. Maybe this was his chance to pay that toll.

 

In the end Sonny decided his father was secretly proud. There’d been some shouting, mostly threats to beat hell out of the coach, but in the end the elder Crockett had come around. Sonny had even been able to convince him he’d been drafted by the Marines. “They have to take draftees to fill the quotas,” he’d said over the phone, looking down at his enlistment paperwork and his indicated MOS of Military Police. “You always said they were the best.” And four years isn’t forever. Then I get the GI Bill and join the club.

He couldn’t tell how it went with Robbie, or if he’d even told his father. They spent their last couple of weeks in the dorms in a beer-induced haze, especially after Sonny passed the enlistment physical with flying colors. One last tear through the sororities and they were done, what little they owned packed up and sent home or added to the pile of refuse left behind at the end of every semester. Then it was time.

 

The bus ride seemed to take forever, and when they arrived it was pitch black. Parris Island. Sonny and Robbie were jammed in with a busload of other recruits, many of them reluctant draftees. There’d been talking at first, nervous chatter or boastful bragging to cover fear, but eventually it all died out.

The bus came it a stop with a screech of old breaks. And then the end of the world arrived in the shape of three men wearing brown hats and wielding voices that could bend steel and break glass. “Out! Out! Out! All you pussies outa my damned bus and on the deck! Stand in the yellow footprints! Do not talk! Do not look around like you want to date each other! Do not breathe without permission! Go! Go! Go! You are now the property of the United States Marine Corps!”