Battle Dress (32 page)

Me?

“—and Ziegler,
front and center!
”

I saw a new cadet from First Platoon, then one from Second Platoon, step away from their squads and hurry to the front of the formation.

Oh! They’re the guys that did the Iron Man Competition with me! But why—

“Go !” Ping whispered beside me.

I scurried through the narrow space between Third and Fourth Squads, and up the aisle in the center of the formation to the front. The other three new cadets were already there, standing in a row facing First Sergeant Stockel. I slid into line at the end.

“Okay, New Cadets,” First Sergeant Stockel said to all of us. “About, face!”

We spun around. The entire company stood before us—four platoons, neat and square. My eyes jerked toward Third Platoon. I spotted Cadet Black first, out in front, then Cero, way back in Third Squad, his head sticking up above all the others in the platoon.

First Sergeant Stockel stepped around in front of us, our company guidon in his hand.

“Just as the battle flags of the Civil War bore their units’ scars, this guidon wears your history. I know it hasn’t been shredded by bullets or sullied by blood, but the rain has stained it, the wind has worn it, and the sun has faded it. It’s been with you at every formation and on every P.T. run. It’s marked where we camped and flown before you when you drilled on the Plain. It’s been your rallying point for six weeks, Hardcore. And today, it’ll lead you home.”

His words gave me goose bumps.
Home.
Yes, West Point was a great place to call home.

“Traditionally, a unit chose its guidon bearer by his character. Only the most courageous and honorable man was entrusted with protecting the guidon, because to the soldiers in combat, their guidon was more than a piece of cloth hanging off a pole. It was their standard, the heart of the unit, the rock that everyone clung to in the thick of battle. And so the guidon bearer was charged to defend it, even if it cost his life.” He paused, turning to look at the four of us, standing behind him. “Our guidon needs soldiers worthy of carrying it. Your four classmates here have demonstrated that they possess the physical strength and mental toughness to carry out the job. They proved themselves during the Iron Man Competition yesterday, and they won’t let us down today.”

H Company roared its approval.

They’re cheering for us . . . for
me
!
I could feel the pride and excitement bubble up inside me, warming my heart and prickling my skin. I was experiencing something close to what I’d always imagined gold medalists must feel at the Olympics when the Star-Spangled Banner unfurls and the anthem is played. It was the most awesome feeling in the world. I peeked over at Third Platoon again, and a smile started at the corners of my lips.
Be military. Don’t you dare smile!
I forced my eyes to stare past the formation, at the horizon. The sun was working its magic, slowly changing the night into day. Streaks of pink wove in and out of the thin gray clouds, causing everything hidden by the darkness to become visible.

I wondered: If my parents were here now, would they be cheering for me, too? But I let the thought go. I knew, deep down, that my parents’ seeing me now wouldn’t change a thing. To them I’d be the same Andi I’d always been; it was unrealistic for me to expect anything else. But
I
knew different, and that’s all that counted now.

First Sergeant Stockel had disappeared behind us. “New Cadets,” I heard him say, “about, face!”

We turned to face him.

He nodded. “All right. When I say, ‘Post,’ I want you to render a salute and move out.” He took a step back and fell into the position of attention. “POST!”

I saluted with the others and hurried back to my spot in Third Squad.

I can’t believe it—I’m going to carry the guidon back!

“SICK CALL, FALL OUT AND FALL IN BEHIND CADET BARRINGTON AT THE REAR OF FORMATION !” First Sergeant Stockel bellowed.

Down our squad on my right, I saw Kit reach for his ruck at his feet.

Kit’s not marching back with us.
The realization of that fact hit me—hard—for the first time. If I could’ve carried all his gear and his M-16 in addition to my own so he could make the march back with us, I would have done it. But it was impossible—West Point had its rules, and I wasn’t strong enough.

Kit’s face looked strained as he heaved the ruck over his one good shoulder, trying to hide his pain. Then with one unsteady step backward, he was gone.

I couldn’t whisper good-bye or even nod as he passed behind me. I could only stand there, staring blankly at the stubble on the back of New Cadet Monroe’s neck. Then I scooted my ruck and myself one space to the right with the rest of Third Squad, and the void that Kit had left behind was filled.

When the injured new cadets had disappeared behind the formation, First Sergeant Stockel ordered the platoon sergeants to conduct safety briefings, then turned the company over to them.

“Okay, Third Platoon,” Cadet Black yelled. “You’ve got twelve miles to go today, so I want to see you emptying those canteens. You get three short breaks, so make the most of them. We’re gonna take a slightly different route back. We’ve got this little detour through Camp Buckner to break up the monotony.” He grinned. “That’ll be a rush, Third Platoon. Those yearlings will be watching you, seeing what you’re all about. Remember, they just finished spending a year in your shoes a couple of months ago, so they’re gonna be hopping in their little booties to see somebody else on the bottom of the totem pole.”

A whole year of this.
I could hardly imagine life past this formation, let alone all the way to next summer.

“First Platoon!” I heard First Platoon’s platoon sergeant yell. “Right . . .
face!
”

I turned my attention to First Platoon in front of us. The new cadets, hunched from the weight of their rucks, wobbled and bumped into each other as they turned ninety degrees to the right. “Guidon bearer, post! Columns from the left, forward . . . march!” And First Platoon started across the field in double file. New Cadet Valente sprinted to get himself in front of them, his ruck bouncing on his back, and the guidon, held in his hands, waving above his head.

That’s going to be me soon.
I couldn’t wait.

Then I heard Cadet Black say my name. I snapped my eyes to his face.

“You’ll get the handoff after the second break.”

“Yes, sir.”
The guidon.

“Second Platoon!” shouted Second Platoon’s platoon sergeant. “Columns from the left! Forward, march!”

“Get it up and get it on, Third Platoon!” Cadet Black yelled at us. “Let’s go!”

Hickman asked me to hold his M-16 for him while he hoisted his ruck onto his back, then he held mine for me. And before I knew it, I was one cog in a long, camouflaged marching machine that stretched across Tent City and into the woods.

0610

The first part of the march was mostly downhill, and the canopy of branches overhead dimmed the woods, making the march seem almost effortless. My mind slipped into neutral as I watched the ground in front of me pass beneath my boots. It was almost like sleepwalking. Only my aching arms and shoulders from yesterday’s competition reminded me that I was, indeed, awake.

We took our first break in a large clearing, stopping barely long enough to top off canteens and check feet, then scrambled down a rocky path to a dirt road, out of the shade and into the sun. By then the morning was stifling, and as we marched, lining either side of the road, clouds of dust kicked up under our feet, choking our lungs.

Cadet Daily stayed close to us during most of the march, striking up short conversations to pass the time. I heard him behind me talking to Ping about how he had spent last summer, working with a bunch of drill sergeants at a place called Fort Jackson. He talked to Hickman in front of me about major-league baseball players. I even heard snatches of the discussion he had with Gabrielle about Philadelphia cheese steaks. But before he got to me, the column halted.

“Okay, Third Squad,” Cadet Daily said. “Camp Buckner’s just ahead.”

I squinted. Up ahead new cadets were abandoning the edges of the road to make a formation in the middle.

“We’re gonna march through that place like we own it. But no gazing around, you got that? You don’t want those yearlings to think discipline was slack this summer. Do you?” He smirked. “I don’t think so. First impressions are lasting impressions, Third Squad. It’s trite, but it’s oh so true. Now, move out to the road and get in platoon formation. Let’s go!”

We formed up and started moving down the dirt road, Cadet Black marching to our left, calling cadence.
“YOUR LEFT, YOUR RIGHT. NOW KEEP IT IN STEP. YOUR LEFT, YOUR RIGHT, YOUR LE-E-EFT!”

My heart started pounding in my chest just from the thought of seeing the yearlings looking at us. We marched up a hill, across a hardtop road, and through an opened gate. A weathered metal sign with a West Point crest stood off to one side: Camp Buckner.

Cadet Black looked at us as he marched. “Now, I want three things outa you. I want you standing tall. I want you looking good. And I want you sounding off. You got that, sports fans?”

“YES, SIR!”

We marched past a steep hill that rose up sharply on our left with long tin trailers stuck into its side, like stair steps, to its rounded top. Bodies in BDUs streamed out of them.

The yearlings!

The road curved to our left. I could hear the boom of voices from the other companies ahead of us, growing louder. As the road straightened out, we were suddenly flanked on both sides with yearlings in BDUs. Waving, cheering, some grinning, others scowling, but all looking at us, a river of camouflage flowing forward, for as far as I could see.

“ALL RIGHT, THIRD PLATOON!” Cadet Black shouted over the roar. “SEEING US ISN’T GOOD ENOUGH. I WANT THEM TO HEAR US!”

I could hear the excitement in his voice, and it was contagious.

“I’M A STEAMROLLER, BABY!”
Cadet Black sang. The veins of his neck bulged and his arms flexed at his sides, reflecting his effort.

“AND I’M ROLLIN’ DOWN THE LINE!”

I could feel Third Platoon’s tension mounting all around me. I peeked at the throng of upperclassmen watching from the sidelines.
They don’t look any older than we do!
When I looked at the Beast cadre—First Sergeant Stockel, Cadet Black, Cadet Daily, the King of Beast—in my mind I knew they were only three or four years older than I. But they seemed ancient, like they’d been around forever, had seen the world, and had come back again to disclose its secrets to us.

“SO YOU BETTER GET OUTA MY WAY, NOW—”

No gazing around, remember?
I stared dead ahead, with the most serious, military, “Don’t mess with me!” look on my face that I could muster, belting the phrases back.

“’FORE I ROLL ALL OVER YOU!”

“Way to go, Third Platoon!” Cadet Black said after we had gone through Camp Buckner and pulled off into the woods for our second break. “You looked great out there. Now, fall out and take a load off.”

I changed my socks and leaned back against my ruck, the sling of my M-16 wrapped around my leg. “Wake me up when it’s time to go,” I mumbled to Gabrielle and closed my eyes.

“Davis!”

My eyes flew open. Cadet Black was standing over me, the guidon in his hands.

“You’ve got a job to do, Iron Woman.” He raised the guidon above his head and drove it into the ground between his feet. “Get on your ruck and report to First Sergeant Stockel.”

I pushed myself to my feet and grabbed my gear. “Yes, sir.”

Cadet Black hovered around me as I pulled on my ruck. “Don’t forget to sling arms, Davis, since you’ll need your hands free to carry the guidon. Carry your weapon across your back with the barrel pointing down. It’ll bother you less that way. All right?”

“Yes, sir,” I said, swinging my M-16 across my back the way he said.

“Your canteens filled?”

“Yes, sir. Both of them, sir.” I was amused that he was fussing over me like some kind of mother hen. I slapped my Kevlar onto my head and snapped the chin strap.

He smacked me on the shoulder, almost making me topple over. “You’ll be setting the pace for the company, Davis.” He grinned. “Don’t dog us out too bad. And whatever you do, don’t let that guidon touch the ground. Do us proud. Now, get on outa here!”

“Yes, sir!” I yanked the guidon out of the dirt and ran as fast as my load would allow over to First Sergeant Stockel. I raised my right hand in a salute and gasped with the little breath I had left, “Sir! New Cadet Davis reports to First Sergeant Stockel as ordered!”
Whew!

First Sergeant Stockel stared at me in his intimidating way, then looked at his watch, making me hold my salute. “You’re late, Davis. I was starting to think I was gonna have to find a replacement for you. Thought maybe you fell out back there or something.”

“No, sir!” I gritted my teeth.
I’ve never fallen out on
anything
, sir.

He smirked, as if he had read my mind. “Leading the company won’t be like going on a little run, Davis. Or like marching back in formation. There’s no accordion effect up there to give you that little breather, now and then, you know. It’s just plain hammering.” He narrowed his eyes. “Sure you can handle it?”

“Yes, sir!” I shouted, louder.

“Okay, then.” First Sergeant Stockel returned my salute. “We shall see.”

He spun away from me and bellowed, “H COMPANY, FALL IN!” New cadets scrambled for their gear, their squad leaders herding them into two columns. When all the platoons were ready, First Sergeant Stockel marched me to the front of the company.

“H COMPANY!” First Sergeant Stockel shouted over his shoulder. “FOR-
WARD
, MARCH!” And we stepped off, side by side, onto a narrow trail in the woods, the equipment of one hundred and twenty new cadets in two columns thumping behind us.