Historical Info: In January of 1964, President Johnson announced his plans to wage a "War on Poverty". The "War" included government-sponsored programs to help the poor, but it took months before any major projects were started.

By April of 1964, the U.S. had already sent thousands of troops over to South Vietnam to help support the South Vietnamese in their battle with North Vietnam, a communist nation. Basically, it was our way of fighting the Cold War without bombing Russia. In 1964, we weren't technically at war yet (that wouldn't come until 1968), but it was coming. Not many people were aware of what was going on in Vietnam, though there were some people who were paying very close attention and could see the writing on the wall. By law, men between the ages of 18 and 26 had to register for the draft. They weren't burning their draft cards just yet, but there was a lot of protesting going on, starting right about this time. Guys that didn't want to go to war sometimes went up to Canada, who was against the war. This was called "draft dodging", and it was considered a very, very dishonorable and cowardly thing to do, especially by those that supported the war.

The term "j.d." stands for juvenile delinquent, and was used to describe a teenager that acted like a rebel or got into trouble a lot. "Tea-smoking" was a reference to smoking marijuana.

Disclaimer: The opinions expressed by the characters in this chapter do not necessarily represent my own opinions. This is how I imagined the characters would feel about these topics, and their words aren't meant to offend anyone.

A/N: Thanks to everyone who reviewed!


Chapter Seven: The Wars of Our Fathers


Alice had never played poker before, but there she was, not ten minutes into her first game, cheating.

"Do you have any fives?" Jack whispered, glancing down at her cards, which were hidden in her lap.

Alice looked down at her cards. She had a eight of clubs and a jack of diamonds. "No," she said quietly.

On the other side of the table, Frank was explaining to Maggie the difference between a straight and a straight flush.

"What about that eight?" Jack asked. "Are you going to use that? Because I have an Ace, if that helps you."

Alice looked over at him. "I don't know if I have anything," she confessed.

Jack glanced down at her cards again. "Oh, sure you do!" he whispered excitedly. "If I give you my Ace, you'll have a straight."

"Really?" Alice paused. "Is that good?"

Jack laughed. "Yeah, it's pretty good, especially since your high card is an Ace."

"Oh." Alice looked down at her cards, then up at the table, where five other cards were spread out at the center. King of clubs, Queen of diamonds, ten of spades…

"Oh, I see it!" she exclaimed, forgetting to keep her voice down. Immediately, four other people turned around to look at her.

Alice felt her face grow warm. "Sorry."

Jack laughed, and Frank turned back to Maggie, who was still having difficulties remembering the different hands and their rankings.

"You'll probably win with that hand," Jack whispered in her ear.

Alice felt a shiver go up her spine. She turned to face him, only to find that he was leaning close and their faces were less than three inches apart. Alice's stomach tightened nervously, but Jack didn't move away.

"Nobody's going to get a full house with the cards on the table," he continued, keeping his voice low so that only she could hear him. "No chance of a four of a kind either."

Alice nodded, but she was finding it difficult to concentrate with him so close, looking at her so intently. "Oh," she whispered lamely.

"Hey, no whispering," Frank said loudly.

Alice's heart skipped a beat, and she looked up to see that everyone was looking at her again. "Sorry," she said again, knowing that her face was probably as red as a tomato. Why did it always have to do that? Did she have some kind of medical condition that made her blush so easily? Sometimes she wished she was more outgoing and comfortable around people that she didn't know, like Jack.

Frank turned to look at Jack. "No cheating either," he said firmly.

Jack held his free hand up in defense. "No cheating on this side of the table." He glanced over at Carl, who was sitting to his left. "Unless Carl's got an extra deck up his sleeves, which is entirely possible."

"No, I don't!" Carl insisted. "That was my only deck!"

"I believe you, man," Jack assured him. "But Frank's the one you're going to have to convince."

Frank rolled his eyes. "Is everyone ready to put their cards down?"

Alice was about to bring her cards up from her lap when she suddenly felt something touching her free hand. She looked down at see Jack pressing the Ace firmly into her palm. He reached over to take her eight of clubs, and his fingers brushed lightly against hers. She looked up at him, and he winked and turned back to his own hand.

Alice felt like her stomach was melting.

"Alice, are you ready?" Frank asked.

Alice nodded quickly and put her cards down on the table.

"I've got a pair of fives," said Jean.

"So, that's where they were," Jack murmured, so quietly that only she could hear. Alice bit her lip to keep from smiling.

"Three Queens," said Carl.

"I've got two pairs," said Frank. "And Maggie has a straight, six through ten." He looked over at Jack and Alice. "What about you two?"

"Pair of eights," Jack told him, drumming his fingers against the cards. He turned to look at Alice. "What about you, Alice?" he asked, glancing down at her cards. "Wow! A high straight!" He looked over at the others. "Ladies and gentlemen, I think we have a winner!"

"Darn," said Maggie. "I was so excited about mine."

Frank had his eyes narrowed in Jack's direction. "If I didn't know any better, I'd think you had something to do with that," he said, nodding over at Alice.

"Who, me?" Jack asked, feigning innocence.

Frank just sighed and started collecting the cards to start another hand.

"So, do you play poker a lot, Frank?" Maggie asked, handing him her cards.

Frank nodded and started shuffling again. "I get together about once a month with some of my friends, and we have poker night, just the guys. We just hang out and have fun."

"Get drunk, smoke cigars?" asked Jean, smirking. "Beat your fists against your chests and howl at the moon?"

Frank turned to glare at her, but he didn't look angry, just annoyed. "Not exactly."

"So, what do you do?" she prodded. "Surely you don't just play cards all night."
Frank was still staring at her, obviously irritated. Finally, he sighed. "We drink beers," he admitted. "But we don't get drunk."

Jean lifted an eyebrow. "And the cigars?"

Frank clenched his jaw. "Sometimes."

"Well, so far you're batting two for three," said Jean. "Wanna go for one more?"

Frank didn't answer, just shook his head dismissively and started dealing the cards for the next round.

"I heard that some boys got caught with alcohol at school this week," said Maggie. She was speaking in a hushed tone, as though she might get in trouble just by mentioning it.

"I heard about that," said Frank. "Some of those j.d. kids that hang out on the front lawn every morning before classes start."

"Who was it?" asked Jean, picking up her cards.

"I don't know their names," said Maggie. "But one of them was the boy that was caught smoking in the boys' bathroom last semester." She scrunched her nose in disgust, but Alice didn't know which part offended her the most, the smoking or the fact that it happened in boys' bathroom.

Frank glanced over at Jack. "Friend of yours?" he asked, smirking.

Jack smiled, but didn't look up from his cards.

"Why aren't those boys here in detention?" asked Jean. "Did they get suspended?"

Maggie shrugged. "I don't know. I guess."

Jean nodded and looked down at her cards. She compared them to the other five cards lying face up on the table, then glanced up at Jack, who was looking at Carl's cards, probably trying to figure out if the younger boy had anything he needed. "So, you never told us why you're here," said Jean.

Jack looked up. "You want to know what I did to get in here?"

Jean shrugged. "Sure."

Before Jack could respond, Frank jumped in. "I know why you're here," he told Jack.

Jack smirked. "Oh, really?"

Frank offered him a smug smile. "You pulled the fire alarm on Monday."

Alice looked over at Jack, who was still smiling, as though Frank's suggestion amused him. "You think that was me, huh?"

Frank nodded. "Wasn't it?"

Jack shrugged. "Maybe it was, maybe it wasn't…" He paused, arching an eyebrow in defiance. "Maybe it was one of my j.d. friends."

Frank let out a derisive chuckle and looked down at his cards again.

"What about you, Alice?"

Alice looked up to see that Jean was watching her. "Why are you here?" she asked.

For the eight millionth time that day, Alice felt her face heating up. "Oh." She looked up to see that everyone was watching her, waiting for her to respond. Jack especially seemed interested in hearing her answer, as he was watching her intently, lips parted slightly in anticipation. Alice swallowed. "Well, I--"

Before she could answer, she heard the cafeteria door burst open. Frank, who was facing the door, muttered, "Oh, shit."


Oh, shit.

Mr. Vernon let the door shut behind him, taking long strides in their direction. "What's going on in here?" he demanded.

Frank didn't know what to say, so he just kept his mouth shut and didn't move.

Mr. Vernon stopped in front of the radio, which was still playing jazz, and turned it off. He looked back at the table and opened his mouth to say something else, then stopped dead in his tracks. "Who the hell are you?" he asked, looking straight at Carl.

Oh, this is just keeps getting better and better, thought Frank.

Carl didn't answer. Instead, he jumped up from the table and made a sprint towards the door.

"Hey!" Mr. Vernon shouted after him. "Get back here!" The door slammed shut, and Mr. Vernon glanced at the table, then back at the door again, as if he couldn't decide who to go after first. He must have decided that the teenagers were more punishable, because he turned back to the table, face red with anger. "What's going on here?"

No one said anything.

"Who was that kid?" the older man demanded, glancing around the table to look at each of the students. "Who was it?"

"I don't know, sir," said Jack. "He just wandered in. Maybe he's homeless." He shook his head sadly. "I know that President Johnson has declared war on poverty, but so far very little has actually been done about it. In Chicago alone, there are--"

"That's enough!" shouted Mr. Vernon. "I'm tired of your smart mouth, Mr. Reynolds."

Jack offered the teacher an apologetic smile, but didn't say anything else.

Mr. Vernon turned to look back at the others, finally letting his eyes settle on Frank. "Give me those cards," he told him, holding his hand out. Frank nodded and started gathering the cards together. He slid them back into the cardboard sleeve and passed them over to the teacher, who jerked them out of Frank's hand.

"Thank you," Mr. Vernon said sarcastically. "I'll be taking these as evidence." He smiled smugly. "Obviously, Mr. Reed will be hearing about this." Without saying anything else, he swept back down the aisle and pushed open the door leading to the hallway.

As soon as the door closed behind him, Frank slammed his palm against the table. "God dammit!" he shouted.

Maggie jumped. "Frank!" she exclaimed.

Frank ignored her. "This is the second time in one day! Mr. Reed will probably suspend me now."

"Yeah, me, too," said Jack, rubbing a hand across the stubble on his chin. "Maybe we could catch a movie together…or go bowling."

Frank glared at him. "This isn't funny."

Jack nodded glumly, though Frank didn't think that he looked nearly as upset as he should have, given the circumstances.

"Mr. Reed is a nice man," Maggie said tentatively. "Maybe he won't be too mad."

Frank scoffed. "We were playing cards with his twelve-year-old son. Mr. Reed will probably think we were corrupting him." He paused, and a horrible thought occurred to him. "I hope he doesn't find out he has those cigarettes. The kid might say we gave them to him."

"Carl wouldn't lie about that," said Jack.

"How do you know?" Frank asked. "He's not going to admit he stole them from his father. It's easier to blame us."

Jack didn't say anything, just shook his head and looked down at the table.

Frank sighed. He really wanted to blame Jack for this…really, really wanted to. But he knew that he couldn't, and that made him even angrier. It might have been Jack's idea to play cards, but it was Frank that had made the decision to sit down at the table, and it was Frank that took the cards out of Jack's hand. It was even his idea to play poker instead of blackjack. God dammit.

Frank stood from the table and walked back to his own table, which was right in front of Maggie's. One by one, the others followed suit until they were all sitting at their original tables. Everyone was silent.

Frank leaned over and buried his head in his arms as if he was trying to go to sleep. His eyelids fluttered closed, but his mind and pulse were racing, trying to process the situation. Because there definitely was a situation, and Frank had no idea how he was going to handle it.

Frank's father didn't have a lot of sympathy for troublemakers. In fact, he loathed them. During the Second World War, Lieutenant Colonel George Bender had led one of the many battalions that landed on the shores of Guadalcanal Island on August 7, 1942. Frank didn't know how many times he'd heard the story, but after nearly eighteen years, he knew every detail. How everything started out okay, but then it all went to hell when they encountered the Japanese resistance. How they'd spent the night in the jungle defending themselves against no fewer than four Japanese counterattacks. How they'd risen up the next day to defeat their enemies, killing all of them, almost down to the last man. A success story if he'd ever heard one.

But wars aren't won by individuals, Frank's father was fond of telling his children. They're won by individuals working together under strong leaders for a common goal, and if one person steps out of line, it can ruin everything. A group is only as strong as its weakest link, whether that group is a Marine battalion or a family.

Frank let out a deep breath through his nostrils. His father hadn't been very happy about what his son had done at school earlier in the week, just as Frank suspected he wouldn't. If he'd thought about what he was doing before he did it, then imagining his father's reaction would have been enough to help him keep his mouth shut. His father believed in discipline and self control, and if someone couldn't keep their mouth shut--to a teacher, a superior--then how much good were they going to be in the heat of battle, when one decision can mean the difference between life and death?

He hadn't mean to do it, which was probably the point. The words had just flown out of his mouth, like a missile aimed for the largest target in sight. All Frank really remembered was being so angry that he wanted to hit someone, but that words had been the next best thing. "Old bastard". That was what he'd called him, and he'd deserved it, too. Mr. McElroy had no respect for his students, and he seemed to have a personal vendetta against Frank and his friends, though Frank couldn't imagine why. He just knew that he was tired of being baited, tired of being quiet and respectful to someone who didn't deserve his respect in the first place. He didn't care how much authority the man had; a jerk is a jerk.

But Lieutenant Colonel George Bender wasn't very impressed with that excuse, just as Frank had suspected he wouldn't be. There will always be leaders that you don't want to follow, he'd told him, but that doesn't mean that you can do or say whatever you want to them. Rankings existed for a reason, and if Frank had the right to make the decision to follow his leaders or not, then the whole thing would fall apart. Frank understood that, really he did, but he also understood that Mr. McElroy was a bitter old man that abused his power and loved to make his students' lives miserable. People shouldn't be able to get away with stuff like that.

Still, he was afraid of disappointing his father. Frank worried that he was losing esteem in his father's eyes, that the older man's image of his strong, dependable son was slowly being replaced by one that looked like someone George Bender couldn't trust. Frank didn't want that. He knew that he could be brave and dependable like his father, and he wanted to prove that to him. If it wasn't already too late.

"Looks like Carl left his radio."

Frank looked up to see that Jack was out of his seat again, walking down the aisle towards the front table, where the kid's radio was still sitting. Jack ran his hand over the top of the radio, brushing his fingertips against the buttons.

"Don't turn it on," Frank warned him tiredly. "We're in enough trouble already."

Jack didn't answer, but he did step away from the radio. "I guess he'll come back later to pick it up."

Frank didn't respond, but he didn't look away either. He watched Jack climb up onto the table and sit right next to the radio, which he didn't touch. Suddenly, Frank wondered what Jack' parents thought about their son. He had hair so long that it brushed against his collar, and he hadn't shaved in a day or two. He was dressed in dark denim jeans, like a construction worker. His jacket was covered in pins and buttons with pictures of peace signs and slogans like "Make Love, Not War".

"Your dad was in the war, right?"

Jack looked up, startled. "What?"

"Your dad," Frank repeated. "You said he was in Korea, right?"

Jack blinked. "Yeah, he was," he said emotionlessly.

Frank nodded. "So, does he get mad that you have all those buttons on your jacket?"

Jack narrowed his eyes. "Why would he get mad about my buttons?"

Frank let out a short, frustrated breath. "Because they're making fun of the military. Doesn't that make him mad?"

Jack was still staring at Frank, his expression blank. "I don't know. I can't ask him."

"Why not?"

"Because he's dead," Jack said bluntly.

Frank felt his stomach turn over, due more to surprise than anything else. "Dead?" he echoed.

Jack nodded. "Three bullets to the chest, dead before he even hit the ground." He paused. "Or so they told my mother. They never recovered a body. It's still rotting somewhere in South Korea, presumably. We buried a set of dog tags and an American flag."

There was something so cold and passionless about Jack's tone, like he was telling Frank the weather report instead of the details of his father's death. But there was also something else underneath it all. Anger, and bitterness. Frank didn't quite know how to respond. "Oh," was all he said.

Jack turned away from him.

Frank looked over at the others, who were watching the two of them silently. Maggie glanced over at Frank, and he could see the disapproval in her eyes. He'd said the wrong thing, as usual. He cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Well, you should…you should be proud of him." He knew it sounded dumb, but he didn't know what else to say.

Jack looked over at him. "Proud of him?" he asked. "Why should I be proud of him?"

Frank frowned. "Because he was a hero."

"My father wasn't a hero," Jack spat out. "He was cannon fodder, just like all those guys they've got in Vietnam right now. They needed a warm body to throw grenades and pull triggers, and my father was dumb enough to sign up for the job."

Frank was stunned. Jack wasn't even proud of his own father, who'd been killed defending his country? "How can you say that?" he asked incredulously. "He was your father!"

Jack shrugged. "Not for very long, he wasn't."

Frank shook his head in disbelief. "How can you dishonor his memory like that? He was defending his country!"

"He was only there for three days!" Jack exclaimed, eyes blazing. "Three fucking days! I could count the number of meals he ate in Korea on one hand. He didn't have time to defend anything."

Frank didn't say anything, just sat there, staring at Jack. Jack had been annoying the shit out of him all day, but he'd never spoken to him like this, even when Frank said things he knew Jack disagreed with. The guy was brash and selfish and irritating, but he hadn't been angry or violent, which was possibly the most irritating part of all. Now Frank didn't know what to expect.
"Just because someone got killed before he could fight doesn't mean he isn't a hero," Frank pointed out.

Jack scoffed. "Why do you care what I call my own father? It's none of your business."

Frank clenched his jaw. "When you say that about one man, you say it about all of them. Those men gave their lives."

"No, they had their lives taken from them," said Jack. "They didn't have any choice in the matter, just like those poor assholes in Vietnam right now. They don't get to choose. The government chooses for them."

"Yeah, well, if they didn't, we'd be speaking German right now!" Frank exclaimed. "That's why we have the government, so they can make decisions for the good of the people. Nothing is free, as much as you'd like to think otherwise. You can't have peace without war."

Jack smiled, but Frank knew that he wasn't happy or amused. "Did you come up with that by yourself or did you hear it from your father?" he asked.

Frank let out a sharp breath. He had heard it from his father, but he believed it, too. It made sense to him. If nothing was worth dying for, then what was the point in living?

"You have to make sacrifices sometimes," said Frank, trying to keep his voice steady. "Nothing is free."

Jack paused thoughtfully, his eyes never leaving Frank's. Finally he said, "Are you willing to make that sacrifice, Frank?"

"Yes," Frank answered. He didn't even have to think about it.

"Really?" asked Jack. "You sure about that?"

Frank stared back at him. "Absolutely."

Jack nodded slowly. "Well, that's good," he said casually, "Because you're just the kind of guy our military needs. Young, strong, and too stupid to think for yourself."

Frank wasn't prepared for the swell of pure rage that rose up inside of him. "Don't you ever call me that, you lazy, tea-smoking Beatnik!" he shouted, jabbing a finger in Jack's direction. "You don't know the first thing about honor or sacrifice or serving your country!"

"I don't give a fuck about my country!" Jack shouted, face contorted with anger. "What has my country ever done for me or my family, huh? My father's dead, my mother's poor, and I'm about to sign up to get drafted into a war that we shouldn't even be fighting!"

Frank shook his head, trying to calm down. He couldn't even think straight when he got mad like this, and he could feel the anger coursing through his veins, so swift and strong that it was going to overtake him if he wasn't careful. "We aren't even at war," he said lamely, just to fill the silence until he could think more clearly.

"That's true," Jack admitted. "But you can be sure that it's coming."

"We're just helping the South Vietnamese," said Frank, taking deep, ragged breaths. "They're the ones doing all the fighting, not us."

"Our boys are still dying," Jack pointed out. "They aren't on vacation." He paused, studying Frank carefully. "But you'd love it if we were at war, wouldn't you?"

Frank narrowed his eyes. "Why would I want us to be at war?"

"Because then you'll get to go over there and be a hero," said Jack, as if it was obvious. "Just like your Daddy in Guadalcanal."

There it was again, that debilitating anger. It was all Frank could do not to jump up from his table and punch Jack in the face. "You don't know anything," he said bitterly. "You don't know anything at all."

But Jack wasn't finished. "This isn't your father's war, you know that? Those days are over, gone." He stood up from his table and crossed the aisle so that he was standing right in front of Frank. "You think war is just another way to turn men into heroes," Jack said quietly, "but you're wrong. War doesn't turn men into heroes, it turns them into animals."

It would have been so easy to hit him just then, so unbelievably easy, and Frank wanted to, too. His hands were curled into fists on top of the table, and his arms were throbbing with unspent energy. He wanted to, but something stopped him. As the son of a military man, Frank had learned how to size up his enemies. He'd learned to judge strength and weakness, fear and courage. He knew when he could win and when he was probably going to lose. All day long, he'd known that Jack was no match for him physically, and he'd known that Jack knew the same. If the two of them fought, Frank would win, no doubt about it.

But now he wasn't so sure.

"You can't teach a man to kill and then expect him to go home and sing lullabies to his children," said Jack, with no trace of fear or hesitation in his voice. "You can't turn them into animals and then expect them to act like human beings again."

Frank swallowed deeply. His heart was beating so loudly that it almost drowned out the sound of Jack's voice.

Jack took another step forward so that he was standing right in front of him, their faces just inches apart. "And there's no honor in death, Frank," he whispered. "It's just death. You get a free pass to heaven, and everyone else gets to pick up the pieces. If you ask me, it's a pretty shitty deal."

With that, Jack stood up straight and walked out of the room.


A/N: Thank you for reading. Please review.