To Love Again: A Life Destined by Fate

By William Markey

At one point in time, Bruce Walker was just an ordinary student athlete at UCLA playing on yet another soccer field at a time when the unpopular Vietnam War was taking center stage on many college campuses. For himself, Walker was too busy earning an economics degree, playing soccer, and completing his marine reserve officer training course to merely get involved in a protest.

He has graduate school in his sights, but the Marine Corps has other plans for him. Upon graduation, Walker is commissioned a second lieutenant and soon finds himself in the vortex of the Vietnam war. While dealing with the death and personal injury suffered from deadly combat in the Vietnam conflict, Walker must come to grips with the loss of his first love, Lupita Viviano-Sanchez.

Providing insight into the turbulent times of the 1960s, To Love Again tells the story of a decade marked by social and political unrest, in which generational and racial norms of an era were being challenged and cultures and cultural classes began to intercourse and collide.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Jan 31, 2013
• ISBN: 9781475967036

William Markey

William Markey earned a bachelor’s degree in psychology from Spring Hill College and a pharmacy degree from the University of Florida. A retired pharmacist, he has taken novel writing classes at the University of California – Irvine and has written many short stories, poems, and research articles.

Book preview

To Love

Again

A Life Destined by Fate

By William Markey

iUniverse, Inc.

Bloomington

To Love Again

A Life Destined by Fate

Copyright © 2013 by William Markey.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Certain characters in this work are historical figures, and certain events portrayed did take place. However, this is a work of fiction. All of the other characters, names, and events as well as all places, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

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ISBN: 978-1-4759-6702-9 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4759-6704-3 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4759-6703-6 (ebk)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2012923665

iUniverse rev. date: 01/28/2013

Contents

Chapter 1      Miss Viviano-Sanchez

Chapter 2      Miss Ana Robles-Aguilar

Chapter 3      Seńor Luis Sanchez

Chapter 4      Graduation and Ana

Chapter 5      Second Lieutenant Bruce Walker to Vietnam

Chapter 6      Captain Fraiser and ’Nam

Chapter 7      Expedite now, damn it, now!

Chapter 8      Hill 362 and the Soccer Field

Chapter 9      LRRP and Sergeant Bodine

Chapter 10      Losing It and Becoming One of Them

Chapter 11      Being Back and Being out of Step

Chapter 12      The Con Thien Firebase and the Nurse with the Caring Eyes

Chapter 13      Another Walker in Front of the Net

Chapter 14      Is This Seat Taken?

Chapter 15      A Amar de Neuvo (To Love Again) Te Amo (I Love You)

A single violet transplant,

the strength, the color, and the size,

all which before was poor and scant,

redoubles still, and multiplies.

(a conceit)

The Ecstasy

John Donne

Preface

This novel is a fictional depiction of the turbulent 1960s and the Vietnam War. Though fictional, the narrative is based on actual facts from that period of time and from that Southeast Asian war.

Prologue

Lieutenant Walker, we’ve finally got the body count. There’s a hundred and eleven dead, thirty-odd wounded, and another dozen or so in need of immediate medical evacuation.

The young marine officer quietly listens, momentarily glancing back at the sergeant, who is busy detailing the scope of the civilian casualties from the sudden, deadly Vietcong attack.

When the sergeant steps away, Walker gazes around the still-smoldering, pockmarked soccer field trying to emotionally blot out the scene from his mind. It is then that his memory begins to wander back, back to a not-so-distant time when he was just an ordinary student athlete playing on yet another soccer field.

Chapter 1

Miss Viviano-Sanchez

Smack. The sound of the goalie’s hand spiking hard against the ball echoes clear across the practice field. Moments later the thud of pounding footsteps and taunting shouts suddenly fill the air. Scrambling to his feet, the goalie lunges forward after the loose ball and cradles it securely in his arms.

Helluva block, Bruce.

Seconds later, the sprawled-out goalie quickly rises to his feet and punches his foot into the ball, sending a towering kick into the air that almost covers the length of the field. It is late afternoon, and the UCLA soccer team is hosting a practice match with their crosstown rival, Loyola, which has a large contingent of Hispanic players on its squad. The lanky, six-foot-two goalie has had to work extra hard. The merely routine practice scrimmage quickly devolves into a heated goal-countergoal grudge match with both sides slinging verbal taunts at one another. Finally, after almost two hours, the match settles into a two-two tie. When the time comes for the usual handshakes, the hard feelings from all the trash talking and the unusually rough play quickly become evident as coaches and assistants on both teams have trouble keeping apart the still fired-up players, not the least of whom is the intense Bruins goalie from Boston. With much effort, and after several minutes, the two squads separate. As the Bruins team gathers its gear, Ted Stevens, the Bruins coach, pulls aside his still-agitated goalie, desperately trying to calm the young man down. His efforts are pointless.

Those greasy bastards, they really play dirty, and it’s never called!

Listen, Bruce, if you’re ever gonna learn to play at a higher level, you have to stay focused, Stevens fires back, casting an angry look at his player.

Coach, you don’t know what goes on out there, interrupts the hot-tempered goalie. Stevens grabs the young player by the arm, pulling him away from the rest of the team. When they’re far enough away from the others, he begins a verbal attack of his own.

I don’t care whether they play dirty or not. You represent UCLA, and you damn well better act like it. And another thing—Stevens pauses, collecting his thoughts—you’d better watch that foul mouth of yours . In case you haven’t noticed—he again pauses, pointing over in the direction of the UCLA team—"some of your own teammates happen to be Latino. The suddenness of Stevens’s words, and their impact, pall the excited goalie to silence. And they aren’t dirty!" Stevens finishes, noticing that his words are finally having their intended effect. The physically chiseled six-foot-two goalie draws his gaze away, lowering his head and trying to hide an intimidated look while quietly thinking through the obviousness of the situation.

If you’re ever gonna amount to anythin’, Bruce, you’ve got to watch that temper of yours, and watch what you say!

With that, Stevens steps away, leaving the still-humiliated goalie all alone. The subdued Bruins player is Bruce Walker. He’s been the Bruins’ starting goalie and cocaptain for more than two years. His usual quiet manner belies his fiery on-the-field aggressiveness, and although this competitiveness has gotten him in trouble many times before, this is the first time he’s felt the blunt reprimand from his coach. After the stinging rebuke has worn off, Walker slowly makes his way back to the team bench.

Coach gave ya a rash of shit, huh? remarks a teammate.

Forget it, Walker replies, smarting from the comments.

"Don’t worry ’bout it, man; we all know what went on out there. Those beaners were really somethin’, and they’re never called for any of it either," chimes in yet another teammate.

Just forget it. I’m sick of the whole damn thing, Walker follows, keeping his head down while jamming his equipment into an athletic bag. When he’s finished, Walker puts on his Bruins warm-up jacket, slings his athletic bag over his shoulder, and then moves off to the team locker room. Once inside, he wedges his athletic bag into his locker, strips down, and makes his way toward the showers.

Bruce, wait up, a voice calls out while Walker is about to enter the shower. The voice belongs to Luis Ramirez, better known as Ponch by everyone on the team, and one of Walker’s close friends. Rough game today, huh? Ramirez begins as he finally makes his way up to his friend. Walker doesn’t respond but just nods his head. Listen, that other team, Ramirez slowly starts, "man, they were dirty, and I just wanted to let ya know that we’re not all like that. Walker looks back at his teammate with a puzzled look. I mean …" Ramirez haltingly struggles to come up with the right set of words for what he’s trying to say.

I know, Ponch, I know what’cha mean, Walker finishes, sensing the sincerity in his friend’s voice. Let’s just forget about it, okay? The two players then start to joke around as they enter the steamy shower. Afterward, Walker busily finishes dressing and leaves for his off-campus apartment.

There goes our next ambassador to Mexico, a cynical voice rings out from behind one of the lockers.

"Just call me El Presidente," Walker yells back as he leaves.

It’s a short walk from the field house to Walker’s apartment on Gayley Avenue. Even though it’s late afternoon, the campus is buzzing with activity where small groups of students busy themselves for a peace march scheduled for the upcoming weekend. As with many other college campuses, the unpopular Vietnam War is taking center stage, and Westwood is no exception. Walker, however, remains aloof, almost detached from the entire proceedings. He couldn’t believe that these same students had nothing better to do with their time. Walker will be graduating in June with an economics degree and has already completed his marine reserve officer training courses. He’ll be commissioned a second lieutenant the same time he receives his bachelor of science degree in economics. Between playing soccer, getting his military commitment out of the way, and his efforts to get to graduate school, Walker is left with little time for anything else, especially something as pointless as protesting.

When he arrives at his apartment, he tosses his bag aside and starts to sort through his mail. Like some well-rehearsed routine, Walker opens the refrigerator door and pulls out an opened carton of milk. After several deep gulps, he rapidly finishes it off. He then goes into his bedroom, sits down at his desk, and begins to leaf through his proposed class schedule. Tomorrow is the beginning of his last quarter as an undergraduate. He is acutely aware that he has already meticulously filled all his major course requirements for graduation. The only items remaining are two elective courses. He thought he’d be adventurous this last quarter and pick something outside his area of study. After much consideration, he chooses two political science courses.

The courses are titled Approaches to Modern Society, POC 351, and Cultural Dynamics, POC 404. What a crock, he mumbles to himself as he reads through the course descriptions. He then flips the schedule aside and stretches out on the bed. As he closes his eyes, his mind begins to wander back to the day’s soccer match with Loyola. The stinging reprimand by his coach and the dirty play by the other team begin to gnaw at him. Aw, forget it, he quietly muses. In a few minutes Walker is fast asleep, clothes and all.

The rays of the early morning sun begin to filter into the room, catching the sleeping Walker in a scrunched-up position, still fully clothed atop his bedspread. In minutes, the first telltale sign of movement begins as the sun first gently warms and then settles on Walker’s face. After a few blinks, he focuses on the desk clock; the green digital display blares out the time: 6:30 am. He stretches out his arms and then slowly rises until he’s sitting at the edge of the bed. After rubbing his eyes and scratching his head, Walker gapes out a wide yawn.

He makes his way over to the bathroom for his morning shower. After another thirty minutes or so, he’s finished and dressed. He walks over to his desk, where he glances down at his class schedule and again pushes it aside.

What a pile of crap, he mumbles, not believing he’s actually getting up this early to attend an eight o’clock poli-sci class. Got to be out of my freakin’ mind, he continues murmuring. He then shuffles off to the kitchen and prepares his usual breakfast, a wholesome, nonathletic, no-frills meal of dry toast and juice. The simple fare is in keeping with Walker’s frugal nature of just doing the necessities. When finished, Walker grabs his backpack and then leaves.

His first class, Cultural Dynamics, is an hour-long lecture followed by group discussions. Still not totally awake, Walker makes his way around to Bunche Hall. As he enters the building, he stops and reads through his schedule once again. In the four years he’s been at UCLA, this is the first time he’s been in the humanities department. He eyes everything with a skeptical gaze. His field of concentration in business and finance has kept him pretty much isolated from the rest of the campus, especially when it comes to the cheese and croissant crowd, as he would label anyone involved with nontechnical courses. As he climbs the stairs, he again gazes around and starts to read the room numbers on the different lecture hall doors. With each glance his frustration grows.

I could still be in bed instead of doin’ this crap, he irritably mumbles going from door to door, trying to find the correct room number for the lecture.

Like a pilgrim wandering in some unfamiliar territory, Walker slowly moves down the hallway, checking numbers on doors, craning his neck, making sure that he doesn’t pass the designated lecture room he’s looking for. Finally, after several minutes, he stops another student who looks like he knows where he’s going, and asks directions.

Yeah, just go up the stairs, first door on the right, is the advice he receives.

Following the directions, Walker frantically paces up the stairs, turns to his right, and enters a room. Immediately he realizes he’s late. The lecturer is already busily handing out a course syllabus.

There are a few seats in the back, the instructor says, casting a quick glance at Walker. With a few awkward moves, Walker makes his way to the back and then plops down in one of the empty seats. He quickly grabs a pen and a spiral notebook from his canvas backpack, readying himself for notes. Once everyone has a syllabus, the instructor turns and steps over to the green chalkboard and scribbles out his name.

I’m Professor Hermacio Goetcherez, he begins, turning around from the board to face the class.

And for those of you who don’t know where you are, this is Political Science 404, Cultural Dynamics. He throws the chalk back into the tray and then rubs his hands together, wiping off the dust from the tips of his fingers.

There’s a little bit of bookkeeping to do first, he adds, pulling out a student list from a pile of papers on the desk. Just indicate by raising your hand when your name is called. In seconds, he begins to take roll. The alphabetical sequence goes by quickly, as hands are raised after each name. Walker has the dubious distinction of being the last.

After all the routine busywork is finished, Goetcherez launches into his first lecture. Some of my lectures will be in Spanish, so for those of you who don’t understand Spanish, I suggest you double up with someone in the class who does. That’ll make it easier on you.

Immediately, a murmur rumbles through the class. Goetcherez looks back and surveys the startled looks on the faces in front of him. Just kidding, people, just kidding, he finally says, after getting everyone’s attention.

But it wouldn’t hurt to learn, especially where I intend to go with my lectures. Again, there’s a muffled groan from the class. By now, Walker is totally confused. He quickly glances at the syllabus, not believing he’s in a non-English lecture, and a bit flustered by Goetcherez’s last comment.

Now, now, people, just settle down. You were supposed to have completed prerequisites before entering this course, weren’t you? Goetcherez says, waiting for the murmuring to die down. And one of those suggested prerequisites was learning conversational Spanish, I believe, he adds, still monitoring the level of discord among the students.

Walker is now completely baffled. What started out as a noble experiment on his part quickly deteriorates into an unwanted nightmare, a nightmare that could easily delay his graduation, especially if he’s unable to earn a passing letter grade.

After seeing the consternation he’s caused, Goetcherez raises his hand and calls for quiet. When everything is calm, he resumes his lecture.

Everything I just told you is false; I just wanted to show you how a sizable segment of our population feels every day when they go to work, especially those who don’t have command of the English language. A hush suddenly falls over most of the class as the real point Goetcherez is trying to make finally settles in.

Our course is called Cultural Dynamics. This course is designed to make you more aware of what’s going on in everyday society, the pressures, the realities, the facts of life, if you will. Again the professor’s eyes sweep the room, measuring the different reactions he sees. This is just an exercise to make you a little more cognizant of what’s really going on around you, Goetcherez surmises, still sensing the reactions from the class. Instantly, Walker raises his hand, unable to stifle his anxious frustration any longer.

Yes, Mister ah, Mister …

Walker, the name is Bruce Walker, Professor Goetcherez.

Okay. Mr. Walker, what’s your question?

"The last time I checked, we are still in the United States, and English is still the recognized language of the land."

So what’s your point, Mr. Walker? Goetcherez shoots back, pleased that he’s finally caused a serious comment to be raised.

The point is, sir, it doesn’t make an anthill’s bit of difference whether Juan or Jose doesn’t speak English; English is the recognized language of this country.

Have you checked the trended statistics for Southern California for the year 2010, Mr. Walker?

No, no, I haven’t, Walker answers, feeling a bit stifled by the question.

Well, Mr. Walker, it says that 70 to 80 percent of the population will be Hispanic by then.

I don’t care if it’s 110 percent. If they can’t speak English, they’re gonna be locked out of the future, Walker forcefully reemphasizes.

And your statistics only cover Southern California, not the rest of the country, he defiantly adds.

"Obviously we have a closed-minded Anglo here," a soft voice interrupts from the front of the class.

Oh? answers Goetcherez. And would you like to refute this gentleman’s argument, Miss, er, ah, Miss …

Viviano-Sanchez, the voice fires back.

Well, Miss Viviano-Sanchez, the floor is yours. Go right ahead.

From a seat in the front row rises a strikingly beautiful Latina. She stands about five feet four. Her figure is both smooth and angular, with flowing black hair that reaches halfway down her back. Her facial features are soft yet well defined, with a complexion that is highlighted by a pair of expressive, dark brown eyes.

"In the first place, this state, the state of California, was Spanish, and Spanish was the recognized language before the Anglos came. And secondly, the Spanish settlers were given assurances that they could speak and conduct their personal and legal affairs in their own native language. It was guaranteed."

"I guess the young lady has never heard of the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo, in which the United States paid Mexico $3 million to $4 million for a territory that was already won by force of arms, and further guaranteed that Mexico would drop all claims, not only in California but also to most of the western states that were known as the frontier. These became subject to the Constitution of the United States," Walker unhesitatingly answers back.

Well, Miss Viviano-Sanchez, the facts are on Mr. Walker’s side. He appears to have a command of them, Goetcherez calmly interjects. But, just for the record, Mr. Walker, how do you propose for a society to survive, when such a large portion of its people are cut out of the system? All because of a language barrier, Goetcherez pointedly asks.

For one of the few times in his academic career, Bruce Walker is now placed in a situation where he has no clear-cut answer to offer. His mind desperately races, searching for some logical, quantifiable response. An answer that he’s so accustomed to giving, but there is none. He instead embarrassingly looks about, trying to rationally answer Goetcherez’s razor-sharp question.

I guess they’ll just have to learn to fit in, he finally answers, now wishing that he’d never entered into the argument.

Oh? Okay. Mr. Walker, we’ll just teach all of ’em, right?

Walker doesn’t immediately respond, sensing the sarcasm in the instructor’s remark.

Have you checked the latest budget figures from Sacramento lately, Mr. Walker? Goetcherez continues, baiting for a response.

Budgetary figures, like financial trends, fluctuate quarter by quarter, and year to year, Professor Goetcherez, Walker finally retorts, sensing that he’s now on more familiar academic ground. They respond to market pressures that are directly attributable to the economy as a whole.

All right, your point is, Mr. Walker?

Point being, Professor Goetcherez, is that a vibrant, healthy economy can absorb an influx of unskilled workers, a place for everyone to fit in. That’s the beauty of economics.

Let’s see now, your major is …

"Economics," Walker fires back.

Oh, of course, a graphs and numbers person, Goetcherez finishes in a somewhat condescending tone.

Well, ladies and gentlemen, we’ve had a very stimulating exchange about the dynamics of this course, and we haven’t even begun the lectures yet. This should dispel any doubts about the importance or relevance of the topics we will be discussing, Goetcherez ends, glancing up at the clock.

For Friday, chapters two, three, four, and five, he orders while eyeing the syllabus. Oh, and one last thing, I’d like to thank Miss Viviano-Sanchez, and especially Mr. Walker, for setting the tone for our first class. I’m sure we’ll be hearing a lot more from both of these students before we’re finished.

With that, Goetcherez dismisses the lecture and turns to gather his things from the desk.

Boy you’ve got guts. I like what you’ve said, though, one of the students comments, getting out of his seat next to Walker.

It’s nothin’, Walker mumbles back in a low tone, shoving his pen and notepad back into his canvas knapsack, feeling a bit disappointed for making a spectacle of himself.

Oh, Mr. Walker, Goetcherez calls out, getting Walker’s attention just before he is about to leave.

Yeah, Walker cautiously responds.

I’d like to commend you on your class participation this morning; you seem to have command of your facts.

Dr. Goetcherez, I’m an econ [economics] major. I don’t usually get embroiled in politics or political issues. I just see the world in black and white, dollars and cents, that’s all.

Goetcherez intensely studies the young man, sensing the cold logic of his remark. You know, Mr. Walker, the world of dollars and cents revolves around attitudes, and what people think, otherwise, products and services don’t sell, Goetcherez finally says as he finishes collecting his papers. Anyway, we’ll see if your views don’t change, or modify a little, as the course moves along. Goetcherez shakes Walker’s hand and then disappears down a hallway that is now filled with students rushing to other classes.

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"Hey, Bruce,