Battle Dress (18 page)

Hickman flexed his jaw muscles. “Hey! What’re you guys jumping all over me for? Man! I just said they did good, didn’t I?” Then, suddenly, he smirked. He pointed toward the wood line where the H Company stragglers were making their way over to us. “Just look over there. What do you see?” He crossed his arms. “’Nuff said. End of story.”

We looked. Most of the stragglers were females, with a few recruited, overweight football players mixed in.

The scene sickened me. Those women dragged down the rest of us girls—like Gabrielle and me—who worked hard to prove we could be as tough as the guys. That we belonged here. They made Hickman’s smugness seem justified.

I could physically feel myself hardening against them. Repelling them.

“Facts are facts, guys,” I heard Hickman say, his voice heavy with self-satisfaction. “And I’m entitled to my opinion.”

“Then keep it to yourself.” We all turned toward the voice. One of Cero’s eyes was opened, staring at Hickman. “You’re cutting into my rack time, pal. And I like my beauty sleep.” Then he yawned and slowly rolled to his side with his back to Hickman.

Bonanno suddenly stood up. “Hey, uh, how abouts I fill up some canteens? I’ll make a run to the water buffalo. All this argumenting’s getting on my nerves.”

“I’m with you on that one, Bonanno,” Kit said. “Let me give you a hand.” He got to his feet and started collecting canteens. “Hey, where’d Ping go?”

Hickman was chewing on a long blade of grass. “He’s over there.” He waved his hand toward where Fourth Squad was sitting. “Bein’ a hero. Fixin’ up some guy’s feet.”

I looked at Jason. “Hey! Why didn’t we think of that? Ping used to be a medic, right? I bet he can fix you up. Hey!” I called after Kit and Bonanno, already on their way to the water buffaloes with their arms full of canteens. “Stop by Fourth Squad and tell Ping to hurry back, will you?”

A couple of minutes later Ping was jogging back over to us with his weapon slung across his back and a camouflaged pouch in his hand.

“What’s up, McGill?” he asked. “Bogus and Bonanno said your feet look like ground beef.”

“Yeah,” Jason said, “raw ground beef.”

Ping squatted in front of Jason and held the feet in his hands, gently turning them this way and that. He blew out slowly. “You ain’t kidding, buddy.” He shook his head. “You finished the march on
these
?”

Jason nodded.

Ping shook his head again. Without another word he opened his pouch and got right to work with razors, disinfectant, foot powder, and moleskin, his hands working fast to mend Jason’s feet.

“Okay, Boneheads!” Cadet Daily yelled, making his way back to us. “Mission accomplished, Third Squad. We’re gonna hold formation in about five minutes, so let’s get a quick look at your piggies—” He stopped abruptly and looked at the feet in Ping’s hands. “What did you do, McGill? Step on a land mine?”

“I’ve got them under control, sir,” Ping said without looking up. “As long as he keeps them dry, he shouldn’t have to go on profile.”

Jason nodded. “Sir, they don’t hurt that bad. Really. They look worse than they are. I don’t want a profile, sir.”

Cadet Daily folded his arms across his chest and watched Ping finish. “Well,
Combat
,” he finally said, “I’m glad to see you putting that Combat Medical Badge to good use, for once. Besides looking pretty on your uniform, of course.” He paused. “I know this ain’t brain surgery, Ping. But I’m counting on you to keep McGill, here, healthy. You hear?”

“Yes, sir.”

“It’ll be my butt if he gets gangrene or something and has to get his feet whacked off.” Then he moved on to inspect the rest of our feet.

After First Sergeant Stockel held a formation to make sure that all of H Company had made it to Lake Frederick, he drove our guidon into the ground. “This is your standard, Hotel Company. Your rallying point. Erect your shelters in line with it. Look for it if you become disoriented. And whenever you see it, remember that you are Hardcore Company, the most motivated, high-speed, low-drag, combat-ready company in Beast!”

I only half listened as he turned us over to our platoon sergeants; my eyes were on the guidon. With no wind, it hung limp from the top of its staff, this year’s drill streamer dangling below it. All those evenings that I’d spent practicing the Manual of Arms had paid off. I had mastered the movements, and Hardcore had won the competition. One glimpse of it should remind me that I hadn’t held my company back. But now Hickman’s opinion was gnawing at me, my small victory tainted. I had a lot more work to do.

Cadet Black released the platoon, one squad at a time. Shouldering our rucks, we followed Cadet Daily past the line of half-erected tents to our squad’s area.

“Okay, listen up,” Cadet Daily said. “As we’ve done before, roommates will be tentmates.” He designated which piece of ground each pair would occupy. “Remember to leave a couple of feet between tents, and cover down on India Company.” He nodded at the rows of tents that were already up behind us. “We want Tent City ‘dress right, dress.’ Just like a formation.”

“Tent City?” Gabrielle whispered to me. “How imaginative.”

“The sooner we knock this out, the sooner you can rest! Remember—no sags, no wrinkles. Third Squad, fall out!”

“NEVER SURRENDER, SIR!”

Gabrielle and I dragged ourselves over to our spot. Just like in the barracks, Jason and Kit were our neighbors. They were dropping their gear on our left. A few feet on our right, two guys from Second Squad had just finished snapping their shelter halves together and were spreading the butterfly-shaped canvas on the grass. One of the guys nodded at us. Gabrielle smiled back. I looked away.

I stripped myself of all my gear and stretched my arms over my head. New cadet voices in relaxed conversation mixed with the
clink-clank
of entrenching tools hammering tent pegs into the ground and spread, row by row, over the grassy field. Another new cadet company emerged from the woods, marching in double file behind G Company’s guidon.

I glanced at Gabrielle. Her fingers were working in frantic motions, smoothing and adjusting her sweaty but somehow still frizzy hair. Then she opened one of her ammo pouches, fished out some Chap Stick, and ran it over her lips.
Gabrielle—always worried about her looks. Even after a twelve-mile ruck march.
I rolled my eyes and started digging around in my ruck.

I pulled out my tent poles, tent pegs, and shelter half. After fitting the poles together, I started unwinding the rope from around my tent pegs.

I stole glances at Kit and Jason as they worked, mirroring everything they did. By now, putting up tents wasn’t anything new to us. We had practiced setting them up during Squad Leader Time several times, and had even bivouacked once—on the rifle range the night before we fired our M-16s. But Gabrielle and I still hadn’t been able to erect a habitable tent on our own. We understood what we were supposed to do. But somehow our tent always ended up looking like we had thrown a blanket over a broken-down, swaybacked mule.

When we had pounded the last tent peg into the ground, Gabrielle and I stood back to inspect our work. It looked only slightly better than our previous attempts.

Gabrielle tossed her entrenching tool on the ground. “Oh, forget it! This sucks. I’m gonna get help.”

“No, wait a minute, Gab. I think I know what’s wrong.” I really wanted us to figure this out on our own. I walked over to the left side of the tent. “Look. We just have to pull these tent pegs out here and move them—”

“Great. Let’s let Ping do it.” She looked down the line of Third Squad tents. “His tent’s up, and he’s just sitting there, talking to Hickman—”

Hickman.
I thought about what Kit and Jason had said to Hickman earlier. They’d gone out on a limb for us. We owed this to them, if not to ourselves. “We really don’t need Ping’s help, Gab.”

“Are you kidding? As soon as Cadet Daily sees this thing, you know what he’s going to do. He’ll haze us, and then he’ll yell at the top of his lungs so the whole world can hear.” She deepened her voice to mimic Cadet Daily’s. “‘Hey, Ping! I got a mission for you! Bryen and Davis’s tent needs some CPR! Let’s put that Combat Medical Badge to good use.’ I, for one, would like to avoid that.” She leaned closer to me and whispered, “Especially with Nathan Monroe right next door. I want him to think I’m squared away.”

I frowned. “Gab, what are you talking about?”

“You know, Andi. Nathan Monroe.” She jerked her head toward the Second Squad tent next to ours. “The big guy? With the golden hair and baby-blue eyes? He has the cutest dimples when he smiles.”

Gab definitely had her priorities. But they weren’t mine.

New Cadet Monroe was the new cadet who stood directly in front of me in Second Squad at least three times every day in formation. I could describe the shape of his head and knew that he needed a haircut at the end of each week because stubble always grew down the back of his neck by Friday. But I didn’t know his first name, had no idea what color his eyes were, and had never made him smile.

“He was recruited for football. A quarterback, Andi
.
And he’s from San Antonio, Texas, and he’s really nice and—I told you all about him. Remember? The day we fired our M-16s. He was in the foxhole next to me.”

She was really starting to irritate me now. “Well anyway, Cadet Daily won’t need to haze us this time, Gab. We’re going to get this tent right, all by ourselves.”

“Why do it ourselves when Ping can do it better? And faster.”

“Because I hate to always have him do our work for us, that’s why! I don’t want to be . . . the weak link in the chain.” I got down on my hands and knees and yanked out a tent peg. “Where’d I put my e-tool?” I sat up and looked around. “You see it, Gab?”

“Weak link in the chain?” Then she snorted. “Oh, I get it. Hickman’s little remark is getting to you, huh?” She put her hands on her hips and glared at me. “That’s ridiculous! We pull our weight, Andi. Everyone, even Hickman, said we—”

I looked up at her. “Oh, yeah? Well, I don’t call getting someone to bail us out all the time ‘pulling our weight.’”

“But Ping doesn’t mind, Andi! He likes—”

“Well,
I
mind. Okay? So pass me your e-tool? Please?” Standing up to her was hard. It would’ve been easier to just get Ping. I put out my hand; it was shaking.

But Gabrielle didn’t notice. She had crossed her arms and closed her eyes. “Plus it’s not bailing us out. It’s called ‘cooperate and graduate.’ Ever hear of that? It’s one of Cadet Daily’s most favorite things to say.”

I dropped my hand. “Yeah. ‘
Cooperate
and graduate,’ Gab. Not ‘
get over
and graduate.’”

“You’re so funny, I forgot to laugh.”

Couldn’t she see that getting the guys to do things for us all the time wasn’t really that different from falling out of runs or ruck marches? That every time we did it, we became weaker in their eyes, and soon they’d despise us like they despised Offenbacher? Well, I wasn’t going to play that game.

“Your e-tool, Gabrielle?”
Great, now my voice is shaking.

Gabrielle huffed but tossed me her e-tool. “I just don’t understand you, Andi. You’re acting really weird, you know that? What are you trying to prove, anyway?”

I didn’t answer her. Instead, I uprooted the other two tent pegs on that side of the tent and worked on stretching the canvas as tightly as I could.

“There you go, not saying anything,” Gabrielle said. “As usual.”

She was right; I knew I hardly ever said anything. But now I wanted to. I wanted to scream, “You wouldn’t understand! You don’t have to prove anything. You can go home to your mom and dad and your debutante balls anytime you want. You don’t have to belong here. But I do . . . because I’ve never belonged anywhere!” But I just couldn’t do it. It was better—safer—to say nothing. I’d said way too much already, and now she was mad at me. I pounded the tent pegs back into the ground. I took a deep breath and sat back on my heels. “There.”

Gabrielle was watching me, her arms crossed again. “There, nothing. The rest of Third Squad is already done. So we’re the weak link in the chain whether Ping helps us or not.”

I ignored her and walked to the other side of the tent. “Oh—there’s my e-tool.”

“Good. Give mine back.”

“Hey, Andi,” I heard Kit’s voice behind me. “Why don’t you try angling the tent pegs toward your tent instead of up and down. You know, at about 45 degrees? It’ll give you some more pull.”

I heard Gabrielle snort again. I nodded at Kit, resigned. “Oh, that’s right. Ping did that the last time he—”

“And try moving that one up some,” he said, pointing to the peg holding down the tent’s front right corner. “See? So it’s even with the other side? And that should do it.”

“Yeah. That makes sense—”

“Shh!” Gabrielle hissed. “Andi wants no free advice, Kit. She likes doing things the hard, stupid way.”

Kit gave me a look that said, “What’s up with her?” I just shrugged my shoulders. Kit rolled his eyes and walked the few feet back to his tent and unrolled his bedroll, mumbling something about rather living on a rooftop than being around a contentious woman.

And somehow I felt better. For some reason, I didn’t mind Kit’s kind of help. Maybe because he’d been so laid back about it, just sort of offering it up to us like I’d seen him do with some of the Third Squad guys on occasion. Or, maybe more importantly, because he let
us
do the work. He didn’t wave us aside and fix things himself while we just stood there. He didn’t assume—or better yet, make me feel
—
that I was incompetent.

After Gabrielle and I fixed all six tent pegs around the tent, we stepped back. “Well, Kit?” I called over to him. “What do you think? Better?”

Kit gave us a thumbs-up.

“So I guess we just need to tighten the ropes at the front,” I said, thinking out loud. “And hopefully that should be it.”

“I’ll do it,” Gabrielle said, pushing past me. We watched as she slowly pulled on the rope, causing the front tent pole to tilt forward. Like magic, the sag in the middle disappeared.