He smiled offhandedly and walked around the tent. At the door he sighed. "Youknow, if the wife, girlfriend or children of a marine need anything, fellowmarines will pitch in and help. It's an unspoken camaraderie, if you will."

Taking out a sheaf of stationery from a drawer, Alex looked at Breckenridge.His profile appeared harshly chiseled against the sunlight pouring through thescreen door. "I don't know what I can ever do to thank you for helping Jim andme."

Matt looked over his shoulder at her. "I hope you understand that CaptainJohnson isn't the best example of a Marine Corps officer, as far as I'mconcerned. Jim is one of the finest marines I've ever commanded. There's a guthonesty in him that I've seen in very few men. He's straightforward,intelligent, and he has an unbending loyalty to his friends."

"I know," Alex said softly. "I was on the receiving end of that care. That'swhy he deserves my best effort-my courage, not my cowardice."

"He's a lucky man. I hope he knows that."

With shaky hands, Alex unfolded the letter. Jim's scrawl was nearly illegible,and she recalled him telling her how much trouble he had learning to read andwrite in school. Hungrily, she absorbed his handwritten note.

Dear Alexandra, I'm asking Lieutenant Breckenridge to hand deliver this letter to you. I'mdoing okay. At least my leg's stopped hurting me. I'm getting used to thecast. It seems that the word goin' around is I'm gonna get sent to Long Binhhere in Vietnam. That's not too bad. I told my skipper I'd get real good atbusting rocks with a sixteen-pound sledgehammer.

I want to thank you for all your help. My skipper said you stirred up ahornet's nest out there on my behalf. Right now, my worry is for you. Pleasego home. You've done all you can for me, and I'm grateful. If you could do meone favor and visit my ma and pa, I'd be beholden. They don't have a phone, soyou'd have to drive up to see them. I hope this isn't asking too much, but Iknow how worried they'll be. My skipper's writing them a long letter ofexplanation. Could you deliver it to them? Tell them the truth of whathappened? I'm worried my pa might think I'm a coward. Tell him I'm sorry I'vecaused him such shame. I didn't mean to.

Go home and go back to learning to be a nurse. You'll make a great one. Forgetabout me, gal. I'm worthless compared to some college guy you'll meet, fall inlove with and marry someday. You deserve better than me. When you get home,you'll see the wisdom of my words. Take care. I'll never forget you,Alexandra. You're as purty as your name.

Your friend forever,Jim McKenzie "Oh, G.o.d." Alex choked and pushed the letter away. Burying her face in herhands, she began to cry. A moment later, she felt Breckenridge's hands on hershaking shoulders.

Sniffing, Alex said brokenly, "I'm okay. Really, I am. Just let me write him aletter."

Jim lifted his head from where he sat in his small cell when he heard the door at the end of the facility open and close. Light was low, the humidity high,and the smell of sweat hung in the air. His cot was long, narrow anduncomfortable. Out of the shadowy gloom he recognized Lieutenant Bieckenridgebeing escorted by a brig chaser. Swinging his leg over the cot, being carefulnot to crack the plaster cast on the iron chains that held the cot against thewall, Jim stood.

The clanking of the keys in the lock, the protesting screech of the iron-bardoor opening and closing, filled the sour-smelling air. Jim remained tense andquiet until the brig chaser left for his station at the end of the pa.s.sageway.

Matt gestured for him to sit down. Keeping his voice very low, he pulled out awhite envelope and handed it to Jim.

"From Alex."

With a nod, his heart doing double time in his chest, Jim carefully opened theletter, his hands trembling. He hadn't expected a response, and joy pouredthrough him, momentarily erasing the sadness that had hung with him since he'dreturned to Da Nang.

Alex's handwriting was small and flowery, so very feminine in comparison tohis large, almost unreadable scrawl. Jim glanced over at his skipper.

"Was she able to read my letter at all?"

Matt smiled. "Yes."

"I don't know how. It looked like hen scratchin' in the barnyard."

"I think," Matt added, "that loving you as much as she does, she could readanything you wrote."

Jim's heart thudded hard in his chest. He held Breckenridge's wry look andthen hungrily began to read her letter.

Dear Jim, It was such a relief to know you're all right. Lieutenant Breckenridge hasbeen wonderful about explaining all that's happened. And yes, I will go seeyour parents and deliver his letter as soon as I get home. That's a promise.I'm sure your father won't be ashamed of you. I know I'm not. I'm proud ofyou, Jim. Proud you have the courage of your convictions, proud of yourhonesty, morals and values. I stand behind you all the way.

Matt said you would probably be at Long Binh for imprisonment. He gave me youraddress, so I'll be writing to you. Jim, I love you. You can't tell me to goaway and forget you. What I feel for you, even if it was born out of thewartime situation, is real. I'm not going home to forget what we shared orwhat you mean to me. I know you love me, too. I saw it in your eyes every timeyou looked at me. I'm willing to let time test our relationship. I'll be waiting for you. I love you- forever.

Alexandra "Lordy," Jim whispered, his hand clenching the letter.

"What?"

He glanced over at Breckenridge. "That woman's got the stubbornness of theworst Missouri mule I've ever known."

With a grin, the lieutenant said, "You deserve Alex Vance whether you know itor not."

"Sir, you know what kind of life I could offer her. I'm a hill boy. She's thedaughter of a congressman. She's got book learnin'. We're from different sidesof the track. Why doesn't she see that?"

"I guess because she sees the good in you, Jim, like I do. Economic level,education or where you live has nothing to do with what you are inside."Breckenridge shook his head. "I hope like h.e.l.l my morals and values are neverasked to be tested as yours have been. I'd like to think I could stand up formy convictions the way you have."

"I never thought my time in the corps would end like this. I wanted to make mypa proud of me..."

"Alex said she'll talk to your folks. I'm sure that, between my letter and herexplanation, your father will understand." Breckenridge gave him an appraisinglook. "You love her?"

"Yes, sir."

Placing his hands on his hips, the officer sighed. "I hope you can overcomeyour own prejudice about Alex and write back to her, then. She'll be writingto you."

Unhappy, Jim bowed his head. He stared at the pristine white paper in thegloom of his cell. "I-I don't know if I can. I'm sure once she gets back tothe States, this intense love she feels for me will go away."

Breckenridge came over and patted Jim's shoulder. "You're afraid of losingher, aren't you? You're not really doubting her love at all."

With a nod, Jim shut his eyes. "She's too purty, too special, Lieutenant. Howcan someone like Alexandra love me? She's like a dream. I have no bloodlines,no money. My folks are poor. Once she gets back to her own kind, she'll forgetabout me."

The lieutenant gripped his shoulder. "I don't have the answers you need, Jim.Maybe the letters you share with each other will help. You two need timeanyway, to get to know each other better. Perhaps something good will come outof this, after all. I hope for your sakes it does. You deserve to be happyafter all the h.e.l.l you've gone through."

Tears leaked into Jim's tightly shut eyes. He wanted to cry for himself andfor Alex. Lieutenant Breckenridge left, and Jim sat alone in the gloom.Despair settled around him. Tomorrow, he'd be sentenced at the court-martialand hauled in chains down to Long Binh. Would Alex write once she got back tothe States? Or, as his weeping heart was aleady warning him, would she forget him?

Chapter Nine.

Dear Alex, By now, Lieutenant Breckenridge has probably gotten ahold of you-he promisedhe would-to tell you about my court-martial and sentencing. My mail can becensored, and there are a lot of things I can't write about now that I'm inLong Binh. I'm doing as well as can be expected. I wonder when you'll receivethis letter.

My leg is much better, but the doc said even if I wanted to go back intocombat, I couldn't 'cause I chipped one of the bones and it won't stand forthe kind of punishment a recon would put on it. He said that heavyconstruction work was out for me, too. Guess I'd better change my idea ofcareers, huh? I had thought of going home and apprenticing as a constructionworker after my tour was up. I like working with my hands. A lot of hill folkgo down to the city and work in the walnut factory where they make bowls andother wood products for the tourists. I don't know if I want to spend the restof my life cutting and shaping bowls from walnut wood.

How are you doing? Is your shoulder healing? I think about you a lot.Lieutenant Breckenridge mentioned you went round and round with your father,and that he was het up. That's Missouri slang for being angry. I hope you'vemade peace with him and you're now back getting ready to graduate after summerschool.

I really don't expect you to write, Alex. I just wanted to let you know I'mwell and things will settle down now that I'm in prison. They gave me fourmonths, a bad conduct discharge, busted me down to private and fined me. Asidefrom that, I'm alive. I want you to go on and live your life and forget aboutwhat happened here in Nam. You deserve only the best. I got a letter from Mathe other day, and she said you came to visit them right after you gotStateside. For that, I owe you plenty, gal. Her letter made me cry. Theyforgave me for my decision. Even my pa, who can't write much at all (he onlyhad sixth-grade book learnin'), penned me a few lines. I don't know what youdid, Alex, but whatever it was, they think I'm some kind of hero instead of anundesirable jailbird. Thank you, gal. You're the kindest, purtiest lady I'veever met, and I pray for your happiness back in the real world.

Your friend,Jim McKenzie Alex sat curled up on the small sofa in the apartment she shared with twoother nursing students. Tears blurred Jim's handwritten pages. His whitestationery was stained with sweat and dirt smudges. Outside the apartment, theJune breeze barely moved the yellow curtains that framed the window.

Another letter, this one from Lieutenant Breckenridge, had arrived two daysearlier. Alex reached down and opened it up again, her stomach twisting withfear for Jim.

Dear Alex, Jim McKenzie was sentenced to four months at hard-rock labor at Long Binhjail, down near Saigon. I had hoped he'd get less of a sentence, but the localmilitary machine wasn't going to show much leniency. The appointed counsel forJim told me after the sentencing that two years had been talked about earlier.

The counsel felt all your work, the publicity and the threat of further media spotlighting of Jim's case forced them to give him a "light" sentence. Right now, I'm in the midst of an appeal process for him. It will be slow, but Jim is worth fighting for.

What Jim won't be able to tell you are the conditions he'll be under at Long Binh. Deserters, malingerers (men who maim or injure themselves on purpose to get out of combat duty) and AWOL individuals are housed at this facility. All the mail is read by censors. Further, Jim can't say anything "bad" about his jailers, the jail itself, his living conditions, or anything that might be viewed as a negative. You're really going to have to read between the lines of his letters to glean the truth.

I'm sure Jim will get his mail. I believe the military wants this whole thing to blow over and be forgotten. I don't think they'll fail to deliver your mail to Jim for fear you'll start granting more interviews.

I'll miss Jim out on recon missions. He was one of the best, and I told him so. I also realize that each of us has a limit that, once it's reached, we can't go beyond. Jim reached his. I don't see his decision as negative. I respect what he did. I just hope I don't hit my limit. I'm going back in the bush, so this is the last letter you'll get from me for a while, but I will keep you posted on the appeal's progress. However, if you do have problems getting mail to Jim, write and let me know. I'll see what I can do from my end.

Sincerely, Matt Breckenridge

Both letters lay in her lap as Alex mulled over the situation. Jim's folks were warm, simple people, and seeing them had helped heal some of her unseen wounds. It had also increased her love of Jim, and her commitment to him.

Getting up, Alex moved to her study table. She was in the middle of summer school and wanted to pen Jim a long letter before she sat down to hit the books.

June 20,1965

Dear Jim,

I hope you know how important and wonderful it was getting your letter. I just got back from one of my summer-school cla.s.ses, and your letter was waiting in my mailbox at the apartment building where I live off campus.

I realize more than you know that you can't talk about a lot of things. That's okay, I understand. I can't see you spending your life in a wood factory turning out walnut bowls, either. Why not reach for the stars? Go after something that may seem impossible but really isn't? You were so good with me when we were under fire. Your calmness, your common sense and practicality are skills not everyone has. And why think only of menial jobs when you get out of jail? You have a good head on your shoulders. How about college? I'm going to send you my college's catalog of courses. Maybe there's something in there that interests you. What about starting a correspondence course? Why let the time in jail be a waste? Let it be a concentrated period of learning, instead.

I know you have to perform physical labor there, but surely you would have time to study, too.

I'm afraid my father and I aren't getting along at all. He's still "het up"

over my active partic.i.p.ation on your behalf, so we aren't talking much. I still do go home on weekends. Mom and I get along fine, and she understands my

feelings. My father's a proud man with stubborn opinions. I wish he couldbend, like you did, Jim. But I don't think he will. Mom says with time he willget over being angry with me.

My shoulder wound is healing well. I'm undergoing some physical therapy to getfull use of it, but right now I've got about eighty percent mobility. Aroundschool I'm a heroine, if you will. Everyone wanted to know what happened,because they'd read magazine and newspaper accounts-which I'm sending on toyou-of the crash and you rescuing me. They all think it's neat, but I don't.War is a terrible thing, and I try to get them to understand that. They tendto look at me sort of funny, think I'm crazy for saying it and shrug it off.

I've talked to my college counselor, Mrs. Riddell, who was an army nurse in amedical unit during the Korean War! So far, she's the only one who understandswhat I'm going through. Yes, I get nightmares (I could hear you asking thatquestion as soon as I wrote the above sentence!) and whenever I hear a carbackfire or something, I wince. Or, worse, I break out in a cold sweat. Twicenow I've had vivid flashes of the time we were in the jungle getting bombed bythe B-52's. Mrs. Riddell told me she had similar reactions to things thathappened to her in Korea. We share a commonality.

I've talked to Dr. George Fielding, the head of the psychiatric departmenthere at the college, and asked him if these kinds of reactions had beenreported by men in other wars. He got so interested in my observations of myown responses that he wants me to start compiling them. I think we're ontosomething, Jim. Mrs. Riddell has agreed to help me make up a questionnairebecause of her combat-duty experience. I don't know where this all is leading,but I'm bound and determined to try and help our returning men adjust afterthis awful war.

I enjoyed my time with your parents. Your mother is so warm and outgoing-likeyou. Once I had told them the whole story, she cried. Your father is a kindman, too. You have his sensitivity, Jim. He asked me a whole bunch ofquestions about the circ.u.mstances surrounding your decision, and when I wasdone answering them (hours later!), he nodded. I asked him if he was angrywith you and he said no, that he understood exactly what had happened. Therewas this look in his blue eyes, a faraway look, Jim. I know your father was amarine in World War II, and I wonder if some terrible atrocity happened tohim, too, and that's why he understands your situation. I'm sure you two willhave a lot to talk about when you come home.

I'm going to be sending you a big "care package" of material-something to keepyour mind busy while your body's imprisoned, so to speak. If you want to signup for a correspondence course, let me know, and I'll help you.

I'm counting the days until you get home. And I'll be waiting for you. Thisisn't goodbye. You're not getting rid of me, Jim McKenzie. There's so much I'dlike to say, but knowing my letters are going to be read by a stranger beforethey reach you stops me from being too private. I hope you understand. I prayfor you every night, and I know your parents do, too. My love to you.

Alex Jim sat in his cell, the darkness chased away by lights in the aisle outsidethe bars. Alex's letter sent an incredible wave of joy through him. Spreadacross his thin mattress was a heap of material, mostly college-related. Hishands shook as he folded the pale pink stationery. Alex had thoughtfullydaubed a bit of perfume on each page, and compared to the sweaty, stale air ofthe jail, the scent was heavenly.

His cellmate, an army private who had gone AWOL was asleep in the upper bunk.Frowning, Jim looked at the date of Alex's letter, mid-June. It was alreadymid-July. Were they holding up his mail? Probably, as part of the subtle andnot-so-subtle punishment they meted out to him on a daily basis. He'd readAlex's letter so many times that the edges of the paper were sweat-stained anddog-eared.

He appreciated the box of information she'd sent. It sure beat sitting aroundat night with nothing to do. Jim could stand anything except inactivity.Working hard made the daytime hours go by rapidly, but when evening fell, hefelt like a trapped animal wanting to howl out his pain at being imprisoned.Night was when the full weight of his tortured conscience came to life, whenhe felt deeply about Kim's death. Night was something he dreaded even morethan the regular hara.s.sment from the guards.

In Alex's box were not only several college catalogs, but paper, envelopes andstamps so that he would write back to her. His mouth curved into a slightsmile. He knew the brig guards would already have gone through the contentsthoroughly. Alex had baked a tin of cookies and the tin was there, but allthat was in it were a few crumbs as a blatant reminder of who was in control.

Anger threaded through Jim, but he understood the mentality of the brigguards, they hated the prisoners because in some way, each had broken strictmilitary rules, labeling them misfits. And in the Marine Corps, especially,there was no place for a misfit. The cookie tin was painted with bright springflowers, and Jim looked at it a long time before setting it aside. There werenewspaper and magazine articles about himself and Alex. Those he read withhungry intensity. One newspaper quoted Alex's father as saying that Jimdeserved a firing squad, not publicity, for what he'd done. Silently, Jimagreed that he deserved it-but for killing Kim, not for refusing to carry outa superior officer's order to pick up a rifle and kill.

What was Alex really going through with her father? Jim wondered. He laid theitems aside and thought again about her letter. It was so frustrating that shecouldn't write how she truly felt about many things, understanding thatcensors read his mail. He dug deeper into the box. There were severalhardbound books by Carl G. Jung, a psychiatric pioneer and student of Freud.Alex had penned on the outside of the first volume: Jim, start reading these cover to cover! I love Jung, and I love hisunderstanding of the human psyche. I found myself in these volumes as I readthem last year, and wanted to share them with you. See if you find yourself!

"Hey, McKenzie."

Jim saw Private First Cla.s.s Wood, an army guard, outside his cell. "Yes?"

Wood grinned and held up a colored photograph. "Your girl sent this, but wedidn't think you deserved to keep it."

Frowning, Jim realized Alex had sent a small color photo of herself. He couldbarely make it out in the dim light. "That belongs to me."

Wood's smile broadened as he held up the photo. "Like h.e.l.l it does. You know,those cookies she made for you were real good. Peanut b.u.t.ter. Too bad youdidn't deserve them, either. As for this picture...well..." He slowly tore itin two, letting the pieces flutter to the concrete floor.

It took everything Jim had not to leap off the bunk and make a grab for Wood.But he knew better. Ever since he'd gotten to Long Binh, they'd been pushing him to blow up. They wanted to find any excuse to take him into solitary,where they'd beat the h.e.l.l out of him with rubber hoses. Rubber didn't leaveas many bruises as wooden billy clubs. Jim had seen other prisoners goadedbeyond their limits, and the resulting beatings they took at the hands of thebrig guards. His mouth compressed as Wood stood belligerently, waiting for Jimto lose control.

Jim kept his roiling emotions in tight check, forcing himself to return to thebox before him and say nothing. If he said one word, he knew Wood could draghim out of the cell and force hours of calisthenics on him at the very least.At worst, Wood had his buddies waiting outside the outer door, salivating togive Jim a beating.

"What this girl sees in you is beyond us," Wood shouted, and he took the heelof his boot and ground it into the torn photo lying on the deck.

Clenching his teeth, Jim ignored the brig guard. Under his anger, he realizedwith startling clarity that the picture of Alex he held in his heart couldnever be taken from him. His dreams about her were beautiful and poignant.They were only dreams, but they were important to keeping his sanity in thisinsane environment.

July 15,1965 Dear Alex, Your box arrived and it was a real surprise-but a nice one. Your letter meanta lot to me. Thanks for the cookies and the photograph. I've looked throughthe correspondence courses you sent along and have made a choice, sociologylooks good to me. And those books by Jung are real interesting. I think I'llread the one on dreams first, as I have a lot of those.

I'm filling out the correspondence-course forms in hope that you can help meget started. Ask my folks for the money you'll need-I had an allotment senthome monthly since I've been in Nam. The money's in a special bank account,and I know my ma can help you with that.

I'm doing fine. The leg is pretty much healed up now, and the cast comes offnext week. I get a lot of physical exercise, which I don't mind, and it helpsthe hours go by. I hope your father realizes the bravery of his daughter, hergoodness, her courage and the hope she gives to others.