you so that you had to build outnprotections for yourself with moneynand men, deploying arrnament, buyingnalliances, patrolling borders, as in anstate of secession, by your will and witnand warrior spirit living smack in theneye of the monster, the very eye.”nDutch comes to his meet end: Billy,nthe capable and flexible boy, survivesnand thrives. Abbadabba Berman taughtnhim well. He regrets missing the gang’snsalad days — “I had caught on with thengreat Dutch Schultz in his decline ofnempire, he was losing control … anbloody maniac” (anyone for metaphor?)—butnBilly is smart, and nondoubt his subsequent life is smooth,nstreamlined, and profitable.nDoctorow has written a bleakly accuratenassessment of the nature andnprice of power. But the incongruity ofnit all nettles: the, author is a NewnRochelle socialist, a grandee in thenworld of Long Island summer homes,nbackyard tennis courts, lavish grantsnand emoluments. Is he a hypocrite ornjust obtuse?nDoctorow’s runaway best-seller wasnpublished coincident with the appearancenof two extraordinary and sempi­nternal novels: Wendell Berry’s Rememberingnand Edward Allen’s harrowingnStraight Through the Night, neither ofnwhich received one-fiftieth the hype ornlucre that our Abbadabba Bermanizedneconomy showered on Billy Bathgate.nThe monopoly capitalism that henrightly deplores has been very good tonE.L. Doctorow, the literary lord of SagnHarbor. Counting his millions, bedeckednby Governor Cuomo with thenlaurel of “Official New York StatenAuthor,” peering into the Mammonishnabyss of blockbuster movie deals, henknows even better than Billy ofnBathgate Avenue just how seductivenpower can be.nBill Kauffman ‘s novel Every Man anKing was reviewed in the Augustnissue. He lives in Batavia, New York.nHow to ‘Out GntheG^nbyH.W. Crocker IIInAbout Face: The Odyssey of annAmerican Warriornby Colonel David H. Hackworth andnJulie ShermannNew York: Simon & Schuster;n875 pp., $24.95nColonel David Hackworth’s highestnaccolade is to call a man a “stud.”nHe is certainly deserving of the monikernhimself An Army volunteer at the agenof 15, the recipient of a battlefieldncommission at 20, four times woundednbefore he was 21, a hands-on battlefieldnexpert on counterinsurgency, an expertnleader of men whose ambition wasnnever to be in the rear echelon, butnalways to be on the line, he was perhapsnthe most decorated man in uniformnwhen he retired from the Army inn1971. He takes his fun where he findsnit, has an affair with the wife of anothernofficer when her husband is postednoverseas, and keeps his own wife in linenby reminding her that the Army alwaysncomes first: “When Patty knocked outntwo of her teeth in a bicycling mishap,nshe rang me at work; my response wasn’What the hell do you expect me to do?nFor Christ’s sake, go to the dentist. Andndon’t ever call me at work again!'”nWhat a guy!nHackworth’s portrait of himself isnwarts and all (though, confessedly, anwarts and all portrait done by a combatreadynegotist). Freezing in a foxhole innKorea, he considers wounding himselfnso that he can be sent back to thenUnited States, and at another point henexaggerates the pain he is feeling from anwound in the hope that he’ll get sent tona hospital (and get a little R & R) innJapan. But this is the same Hackworthnwho as a brave and astute teenagensergeant was a regular blood and gutsnPatton:n”Why didn’t the tanks fire?” Inasked my Regular Army platoonnleader moments later.n”I didn’t want to give ournpositions away,” he replied.nI couldn’t believe it. “Givenaway your positions, bulls—t!” Incried. Sergeants didn’t talk tonnnofficers like that, but I didn’tncare. We’d had the closest thingnto a glorious victory that I’dnseen since the Chinks stuckntheir noses in the goddamn war,nand now this p—s-weaknlieutenant . . . “You were justntoo yellow to do your job,” Inshouted, and stormed back tonmy scout section in a rage. Ingrabbed my pack and rifle. “I’mnleaving this ouffit right now!” Intold my platoon sergeant. “I’mnnot waiting for orders — I’mngoing AWOL. I came here tonfight, not to play hide-and-seek,nand where I come from, officersnlike you’ve got here would havenbeen drummed right out of thenofficer corps.”nIt’s not every soldier who goes J’WOLnto get more action.nAbout Face is mostly one long collectionnof Colonel Hackworth’s warnstories, building up to an escalatingnindictment of the collapse of the oldnArmy and its replacement by bureaucrats,nincompetents, and flabby, pastyfacedncareerists who do their fighting innthe halls of the Pentagon or whonmaniacally interfere with their officersnwho are on the ground, fighting thenbattle. There is, inevitably, a last chapternthat seeks to turn his ideas intonpolicy, and that chapter is, just asninevitably, disappointing. Hackworth isnnot a politician.nBut what he is, is a soldier — or tongive him the tide he prefers, a warriorn— and with a few lapses, he is a goodnone. His recollections of his experiencesnmake his case much more profoundlynthan does his policy-formulatingnepilogue. Hackworth is a professionalnwho took his job seriously. Never onenfor “higher learning” — he thinks thenB.S. is, well, B.S. — he nevertheless isnvery well-read in his field. He knowsnmilitary history, he has read the biographiesnand the memoirs of the greatnwarriors, and he knows that in battie,nfield knowledge, tactics, training, discipline,nand knowing your enemy are thenqualities that save lives and defeat thenenemy.nFor Hackworth, wars are fought tonbe won. It was his misfortune to havento serve in three wars — the KoreannWar, the Gold War, and the VietnamnWar—where victory was never thenSEPTEMBER 1989/37n