Battle Dress (17 page)

I wiped my tears on the white gloves that I clutched in my hands. Nobody had ever told me I had
anything
before. I was always stupid and ugly and ungrateful. I sniffed again and tugged at the tag on the inside of my glove. Size 4.

“You
have
the raw materials—brains, talent, drive. But that’s not enough to make it through this place. A thousand kids walked through Thayer Gate four weeks ago, with the same stuff that you have. But guess what? Not all of them are here today! And you know why? Because this place is hard, Davis. It takes more than a high SAT score and a varsity letter. It takes self-discipline. Not the rules that West Point puts on you, but the rules you put on
yourself
. That’s what character is all about. Slamming doors when you’re mad isn’t self-discipline. Making excuses for poor performance, even when they’re true, isn’t self-discipline. Feeling sorry for yourself isn’t self-discipline.”

“Yes, sir.” I started to feel a little better. This place, I realized, wasn’t anything like home. Here, all the name calling and yelling had a purpose, a purpose aimed to give us character, not to hurt us.

“I can’t imagine you being a quitter, Davis. But if that’s what you want, I can’t make you stay. But I can make you think about it.” He checked his watch and stood up, his helmet under his arm. “All right. ’Nuff said. Police up your roommate. You’ve got twenty minutes to be on my wall in White Over Gray.” Then he smiled, and it wasn’t a nasty smile. “Drive on, Hardcore.”

I watched him walk out my door, feeling as if a fifty-pound ruck had been lifted off my back. The day I’d leave West Point would be the day I collected my diploma from the President of the United States. I had no other choice, and I found that fact strangely comforting. I opened my mouth and yelled, “NEVER SURRENDER, SIR!”

“That’s right, Davis,” I heard Cadet Daily answer from somewhere in the hallway. “
Never
surrender.”

CHAPTER 10

MONDAY, 2 AUGUST 0510

Here we go again.
Same old stuff again.
Walkin’ down the avenue,
In a column, two by two.
One more week and we’ll be through.
I’ll be glad and so will you.

—U.S. ARMY MARCHING CADENCE

T
HE SKY WAS BLACK, the air foggy and damp, and the morning much too early for the boom from the Reveille cannon. H Company was silent, except for the muffled clink of equipment as we trudged through West Point’s sleeping streets, up the hill past the Cadet Chapel, behind Michie Stadium, and into the woods. Marching in columns, two by two, like the long animal procession to Noah’s Ark, we resembled odd, prehistoric creatures ourselves. Wearing Kevlar helmets and web gear, and slightly hunched from the weight of our rucks, we gripped our M-16s and moved toward our destination, Lake Frederick. In about four hours we’d be twelve miles from the only home we’d known since the beginning of Beast, five weeks ago.

I was thinking of nothing in particular as I marched, but I had a lot on my mind. I thought about what Cadet Daily had told us yesterday. “I’ve got you for one more week, Third Squad,” he had said. “After that, you’re on your own.”

On your own.
It was a scary thought. I couldn’t imagine life at West Point without Third Squad. I’d gotten used to the routine, to my squadmates’ and Cadet Daily’s constant presence. I didn’t feel ready, not yet.

I thought about what I’d feel like a week from now, marching back from Lake Frederick, with Beast finally behind me. I wouldn’t be a new cadet anymore; I’d be a plebe. An accepted member of the United States Corps of Cadets. All the cadets from the upper three classes would be back from summer training then and, as Cadet Daily had put it, would be “ready and waiting to steal your lunch money.”

Then I thought about what Cadet Daily said we’d do this week at Lake Frederick—throw hand grenades and practice tactics, run obstacle courses and sleep in tents, get gassed and read maps. “All the skills you’ve learned in Beast,” Cadet Daily had said, “are gonna come together at Lake Frederick. All the drill and ceremony, honor classes, rifle marksmanship, bayonet drills, P.T., discipline, and attention to detail we’ve been pounding into you, day and night, all summer long, is going to make sense. At Lake Frederick, Third Squad, we’re gonna make
warriors
out of you!”

I tried not to think about the muscles in the back of my neck that ached from the weight of my ruck. Everything I owned was either packed in that ruck, worn on my body, or locked inside H Company’s trunk room in MacArthur Barracks’ basement.

I thought about room 305, how it had looked when I’d closed my door that morning. The room was bare, the beds stripped down to their black-and-white-striped mattresses, the drawers and closets empty. A slight breeze had been blowing through the open windows, but we had left nothing on the shelves or desktops for the wind to carry away. In a week we’d return, but room 305 would no longer be ours; it would house other people’s uniforms and books. No scrap of paper, not even a whiff of Gabrielle’s baby powder, would remain to prove that we had ever lived there.

We stopped only three times, and then just long enough to refill our canteens and have Cadet Daily check our feet for blisters. We changed our socks and then moved on, plodding up long, rocky hills, across meadows, and over trails through thick woods. Along the way we passed a few new cadets who had fallen by the wayside.

Better watch your step.
The last thing I wanted was to be numbered among the “walking wounded” and loaded onto a truck to finish out the ruck march, in my eyes, a failure.

My fingers grew numb, and my arms ached from holding my weapon across my chest as I marched. Dust covered my boots, my M-16, and everything else that wasn’t slimy with sweat. My Kevlar’s chin strap tasted like soggy pretzels with too much salt.

Finally we came out of the woods and into a huge, flat, grassy space. New cadets from I Company—the company that had been marching ahead of us—were scurrying around and erecting canvas pup tents into rows.

“Here we are, Third Squad,” I heard Cadet Daily say. “Welcome to Lake Frederick.”

My heart sank. The village of little tents and campfires encircling a silvery lake that I had envisioned faded into the dusty, olive-drab shanty-town reality that I saw. And then some voice from inside me with a tone amazingly like Cadet Daily’s said:
This ain’t no Girl Scout camp, Davis. You’re in the Army now.
I smiled to myself.

“Okay, Third Squad,” Cadet Daily said. “You get to take a short break while we wait for the stragglers to arrive. Cadet Aussprung and I just got tasked to help police them up. We don’t want any Hardcore boneheads left wandering around out there, lost and crying for their mommas. By the way, Third Squad, I want to commend you on your outstanding effort. You all made it. You lived up to our motto—”

“NEVER SURRENDER, SIR!” we yelled.

Cadet Daily smiled. “That’s right, Third Squad.
Never
surrender.”

“Push-ups!” screamed Cero.

Push-ups? Now?
I thought of my exhausted, aching body.
He’s got to be joking.

Cero dropped to the ground. “Motivational push-ups, Third Squad! PUSH-UPS!”

“PUSH-UPS!” Third Squad roared in unison, dropping to the ground to push out a few, rucks and all. This ruck march hadn’t kicked
our
butts!

“Okay, Third Squad, okay!” Cadet Daily was laughing. “Cease work!” He waited for us to stumble to our feet. “Now, listen up. Ground your gear—”

We grunted a collective sigh of relief and moved to dump the burdens off our backs.

“Hold up, Third Squad! Did I give the command to move?” His smile was gone. “Never assume anything, you got that? You know what happens when you assume?” He looked us over, one at a time. “It’s all contained in the word, Third Squad. It’s all contained in the word. Now—you will ground your gear, remove your Kevlars, and take off your boots. Make sure you drink at least one full canteen of water, then refill it at the water buffaloes. Over there.” He pointed toward a small hill about a hundred yards away where the camouflaged portable water tanks stood. “And remember—keep your weapons secured at all times, Third Squad. When I get back, I’ll inspect your feet. Fall out!”

I stumbled forward as I dropped my ruck.

Kit laughed. “I guess that’s what happens, Andi, when your ruck weighs half your weight.”

“What about when it’s half your
height
?” Gabrielle said, flinging her ruck to the ground. “I look like a stupid turtle with this thing on!”

“Hey, don’t let Daily hear that, Gab. He’s into nicknames, remember?” Kit dumped his ruck, too. Then he started massaging his right shoulder with his left hand. “Whew. Thought we’d never stop. This kind of walking’s brutal on the ol’ shoulders.”

I took off my helmet, tossed it on top of my ruck, and ran my fingers through the damp mop on my head. “They’re really going to let us rest. Thank God.”

“What? The Iron Woman is actually tired?” Kit asked, smiling. “Unbelievable.”

My BDU shirt was soaked, and the brown T-shirt under it clung to my back. I pulled the wet fabric off my skin and squinted at him. “Oh! Did I say I was tired?”

Jason McGill dumped his stuff next to mine and winced. “Man, my feet are killing me. I’m afraid to take my boots off and see the damage.” He pulled out a canteen and swore. “Empty.” He looked at the water buffaloes up on the hill, then back down at the empty canteen in his hand. “Great.”

“Here, Jason. Catch.” Gabrielle tossed him hers.

“Thanks, Gab. But don’t you need—”

“Are you kidding?” Gabrielle plopped down on the ground. “I’ve drunk so much water on this stupid ruck march, I’m about to wet my pants. Life’s rough for us females, you know. All you guys have to do is go behind a tree, whip it out, and—”

“I’m glad you know so much about the male anatomy, Gab,” Kit said, laughing. “But you can spare us the details. We already know all about the benefits.”

Gabrielle’s face turned a shade darker than her hair, and she started to talk fast. “If I have to drink another sip of that water, I’ll gag. You know, one thing I can’t stand is tepid water. Especially tepid
tap
water. Makes me want to puke!”

“What did you expect, Bryen?” Hickman tossed his helmet on the ground next to her and sat down on it. “Pellegrino on ice?”

“That would be great, Hickman. But actually, I prefer Perrier. Chilled with a twist of lime. You got some?”

I laughed and sat down between Jason and Kit. Cero was sprawled on the ground across from me. He was leaning against his ruck with his boots off, eyes closed, and an open canteen lying on his chest. I smiled as I worked on taking off my boots.

Here I was, just sitting around with these guys, relaxing and joking around like a normal person. I used to watch the kids in the lunchroom or in the hallways between class periods do it, wondering what it would feel like to really be part of a group. Not just someone watching from the sidelines, hanging on the fringes. Now I knew, and it felt great.

Jason pulled off his socks and whistled under his breath. “Not good.” His toes, the outsides of his feet, and his heels were bloody and raw. And almost half his toenails were black.

My feet started to throb sympathetically. “Jason!”

“Yeah, I know. If Daily sees them, that’s it. Profile for me, for sure.” He hung his head, looking at his mangled feet. “McGill and Often-slacker, two peas in a pod.”

“Hey,” said Hickman, “speaking of that Often-slacker chick, Davis and Bryen, y’all did good today. Congrats.”

I looked at Hickman, then quickly dropped my eyes. Was that a compliment? Or an insult? It was hard to tell with Hickman. I’d just let it pass.

But Gabrielle was glaring at him. “And what exactly do you mean by putting the phrase ‘speaking of Often-slacker’ in the same sentence with Andi and me?”

“What do
you
mean, Bryen? Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed. I mean, you’re all three
females.
Right?” Hickman looked around at the rest of us, nodding his head.

Gabrielle pulled off her socks and wiggled her toes. “I resent the comparison. Hardly a compliment, thank you very much.”

I didn’t like the direction that the conversation was going either. But I liked the hostility even less. “He didn’t mean anything by it, Gab,” I whispered.

Hickman narrowed his eyes. “Well, to be honest, Bryen, I didn’t think y’all’d be able to hang.”

“You didn’t think that Andi could hang?” She looked over at me. For support, I think.

At home, I’d always get pulled into my parents’ fights. I didn’t want it happening here, too. I didn’t want to have to pick sides. So I said nothing.
Let’s just drop this conversation. Please!

Hickman shrugged. “Yeah. Humping twelve miles with a pack on your back’s a lot different than running twelve miles, you know. Ruck marching takes lots of upper body strength. Girls just aren’t made for that kind of stuff.”

“What?”
Gabrielle looked at me again.

I wanted to disappear.

Kit stretched his legs out in front of him and leaned back against his ruck. “Well, Hickman, there’s one thing you’ve failed to take into account. We don’t have just
ordinary
girls here,” he said in his slow, easy way. “They’re Third Squad caliber, same as you and me. You can’t just look at
girl
or
guy,
Hickman. You’ve got to look at the individual.” He smiled at me. “And Andi and Gab can hold their own with any guy.”

Jason nodded. “Yeah, where’ve you been all summer, Hickman?”

Those two are great!
I’d always heard that actions spoke louder than words when it came to self-promotion. But right then, the words coming from Kit and Jason spoke louder than any action we could’ve done. And I was grateful for it.