Authors: Susan I. Spieth
Gray Girl
Gray
Girl
Susan
I. Spieth
Gray
Girl is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either
are the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any
resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or events is purely coincidental.
Copyright © 2013 Susan I. Spieth
All
rights reserved.
ISBN-13:
978-1491272817
DEDICATION
To my mother and father, you are my
foundation.
To the women of West
Point, you are my kindred sisters. To my daughters, you are my best work. To
Bob, you are my best decision. To my Creator, Redeemer and Sustainer, You Are.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I am deeply grateful to many who helped Gray Girl come into
existence.
Thank you, Lucian
Truscott, for reading the first few chapters and advising me to start
over.
Lisa
Bruck
,
thank you for reading the first draft and pretending to like it.
Your feedback during our walks prompted
the genesis of a better story.
Thank you, David Bullock, Liz Horner
Boquet
and
Luci
Fernandez (a West Point roommate), for
reading sections and encouraging me to keep going.
Barb
Eimer
,
thank you for editing the fourth or fifth version and giving me renewed hope
after I had shelved Gray Girl for six months.
Thank you,
Jenni
Moehringer
(’85) and Marcia
Ganoe
(’84) for your encouragement.
Linda
Fiebig
, thank you for editing what I thought was the
final draft until you got your hands on it.
Special thanks to my
cuz
,
Chris
Zarza
, for a phenomenal cover design. Twice.
Thank you, Alex and
Marlo
, for many
things but mainly for always asking, “When can we read it?”
You can read it now.
Finally, thank you,
Bob.
Your willingness to
read each version (which isn’t fair to ask of anyone), your gentle feedback,
your persistent encouragement, and your patience with me (no easy task)
are
just a few reasons why I love you beyond words.
1
“
A cadet will not lie, cheat or steal, nor tolerate those who do.”
Cadet Honor Code, United States Corps
of Cadets, United States Military Academy at West Point, NY
Thursday, May 6, 1982
1530 hours
She felt the warm tickle begin between her
shoulder blades, then glide slowly but purposefully down her spine, curling
inward at the small of her back until coming to a halt at the crack of her bum.
The drop of sweat stood there, like a
sentry, under her Dress Gray, under the Army-issued white T-shirt, under the
black webbed belt, under the heavy wool trousers, and under the Cadet Store
cotton panties
..
Jan
Wishart
stood at
attention in a windowless room in front of a phalanx of thirteen young men
armed not with spears but with an exacting and rigid Honor Code.
Two freshmen, two sophomores, four
juniors and five seniors sat across from her at three rectangular tables
arranged end to end in a line.
Only
this was West Point, so they were called plebes, yearlings, cows and
firsties
, respectively. The image of da Vinci’s
Last
Supper
popped into her head.
Two Army officers occupied another table to the left looking like
courtroom deputies.
Their hunter
green uniforms looked downright bright and cheery compared to the dark gray
wool uniforms of the cadets.
Yellow
legal pads and pencils waited in front of each cadet, but the bulging manila
folder in front of Cadet Casey Conrad bothered Jan the most.
She knew it contained all the evidence and
statements against her—most of which she had not seen.
She had been notified of the charges
only three days ago.
Conrad, the Brigade Honor Captain, pulled a
paper from the pregnant file and delivered the prepared statement to all
present.
“Cadet
Wishart
,
you have been charged with two Honor Code violations regarding events on May
second and third.
The
responsibility of this Honor Board will be to weigh the evidence and testimony
and determine whether or not the Code has been breached.
If we determine guilt, we will recommend
your immediate dismissal from the Corps of Cadets to the Superintendent of the
United States Military Academy.
If
we find innocence on all charges, then you will return to your company in good
standing.”
Without moving her head, she glanced toward
her Army legal counsel whom she had met only ten minutes before reporting to
this room.
Major Hastings sat to
her right looking down at his shoes.
Jan lifted her eyes, looking for something,
anything
, that might
help calm her stomach.
Then she
noticed the middle-aged, civilian woman sitting erect in front of what looked
like a large adding machine.
Something about her straight back made Jan feel slightly better.
“Do you fully understand the charges against
you?” Conrad asked.
“Yes, Sir,” Jan said, shaking.
How am I ever going to survive this?
She had survived quite a lot already.
Plebe year at West Point is all about
making it through each day, putting one
Etonic
sneaker in front of the other, memorizing one menu at a time, cutting one
Martha Washington sheet cake and passing it up the table before being told you
are a “failure to the entire Corps of Cadets” for butchering the dessert.
Every day of plebe year begins at
o’dark
-thirty when
Beanheads
(plebes) deliver mail and laundry to the sleeping upperclassmen.
Before breakfast, fourth classmen
(plebes) must memorize enormous amounts of information—the entire front
page of The New York Times, the menus for every meal, various speeches,
heritage, trivia and the number of days left before the high and holy days of
cadet life.
This last requirement actually serves as a
small help to plebes.
When you fall
exhausted into the rack at Taps each night, you subtract one more day from the
seeming eternity until the Army-Navy game, Christmas leave, spring break and
the highest of all holy days—graduation.
This small, daily discipline actually
instills hope in the breast of all plebes, reminding them that if they just
endure, it will eventually end.
One
day, this shit will all be over.
“Have you received a copy of the evidence
including Cadet Jackson’s statement, the exhibits, and other statements from
Cadets McCarron and Trane?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Sit down, Miss
Wishart
,”
the Brigade Honor Captain instructed.
Jan sat in the wooden chair at attention as
required during meals in the Mess Hall—keeping her back straight, one
fist distance from the chair and the same distance from the table.
She squeezed her legs tightly together
at a perfect ninety-degree angle from her knees.
Conrad continued, “Although I will preside
over these proceedings, I have no vote. To my left are the First and Second Regimental
Honor Captains, followed by their Honor Lieutenants and two cadets from each
regiment.”
West Point consisted of
four regiments, each with approximately one thousand cadets.
“On my right are the Honor Captains from
Third and Fourth Regiments, their Honor Lieutenants, and two cadets from each
regiment.
These cadets constitute
the jury of your peers to hear and decide the charges before us today.”
Jury of my peers?
Only two plebes?
No
women?
“Now, Cadet
Wishart
,
before we bring in the first witness, do you have any questions?”
Conrad had to be at least six feet tall.
All Brigade leaders were tall and
usually white men.
His class ring,
a big, black onyx enveloping a half-carat diamond, set in eighteen-carat gold,
weighed
down his right hand.
Firsties
, or
senior year cadets, now had their class rings, wearing them with their class
crest facing the left.
When they
graduate, they will wear their rings the other way—with the academy crest
closest to their hearts.
“Yes, Sir.”
She cleared her throat.
“What is it then?” he asked as he looked at
his notes.
“Sir, I haven’t seen a statement from Cadet
Dogety
in my file.”
Without looking up, Conrad said, “Cadet
Dogety
doesn’t wish to make a statement.”
Dogety
was Jan’s Squad
Leader during the first seven weeks at West Point, appropriately called “Beast,”
and her current Executive Officer.
He could provide a statement in her favor, but he would not go against his
classmate.
Cadet Jackson and Cadet
Dogety
were also best friends since their first day of plebe
year, known as R-Day.
“Sir, he
was a witness to the events.”
Conrad flicked his wrist.
“Cadet
Dogety
was not even present for the second honor charge.
And he has the right to refuse to make a
statement.”
“Sir, Cadet
Dogety
was entirely involved in Sunday night’s events and he has information about
Monday morning that needs to be part of the record.”
Jan felt like a whining child, but she
had to try.
Conrad sighed. “Cadet
Dogety’s
actions regarding the incident have been admitted by Cadet Jackson.
No one has tried to hide the fact that
they were unduly hazing you.
So I
am not sure what more Cadet
Dogety
can add to the
file that has not already been accounted for.”
I’m taking one last shot at this.
She looked back at Conrad.
“Sir, Cadet
Dogety
knows more about the situation that has not been mentioned in any other
statements so far.
He has
information that will help my defense and I would like for him to submit a
statement.”
“Well, Cadet
Wishart
,
he has the right to refuse because he was not the one who brought the charges
against you.
You can still call him
as a witness and you will be able to question him at that point.”
Conrad continued to shuffle some papers,
never looking at Jan.
Not every battle is Armageddon.
Save your strength for later.
“Yes, Sir,” she sighed.
Cadet Conrad motioned to one of the
plebes who quickly rose and left the room.
He returned a moment later with Jackson in tow, leading him to a small
table to Jan’s right.
The plebe
went back to his seat while Jackson remained standing.
“Cadet Jackson, please raise your
right hand and repeat after me.”
Conrad read from a paper,
“
I,
state your full
name.”
“I, Markus William Jackson,” his voice was
clear, strong and confident.
“Do solemnly swear to tell the truth, the
whole truth and nothing but the truth….” Jackson repeated every word from
Conrad.
“…
in
accordance with
the Uniform Code of Military Justice…”
“…
and
the Honor Code
of the United States Corps of Cadets,”
“So help me God.”
Jackson emphasized the last word as
though his left hand had been on the Bible.
He sat down in the chair, placing his
gray hat on the table.
“Markus, you have charged Cadet
Wishart
with two honor violations.
These are serious offenses.
Before we begin, I must ask you if you
wish to withdraw your accusations against Miss
Wishart
?”
“No, I stand by my statement,”
Jackson said.
“We have your written account, but
please explain the circumstances leading up to the honor violations in
question.”
Jackson took a deep breath and began
recounting his version of events.
“On Sunday, May second, Cadet
Dogety
and I
returned from weekend leave.
We
took a trip with Cadet
Forthmeyer
.
Because
Forthy
was the designated driver, the Dogs and I had a few drinks.
I make no excuses for our behavior when
we returned to the barracks.
We
shouldn’t have made Cadet
Wishart
run our errands
that evening, and for that, I sincerely apologize.”
Jan rolled her eyes.
Asshole!
“However, our actions in no way
justify the lies that Miss
Wishart
perpetrated as a
result.”
He looked straight at Jan.
Self-righteous
asshole!
“Please tell us exactly what transpired
when you returned to Post,
”
Conrad
said.
“Cadet
Dogety
sent Cadet
Wishart
from H-3 to my room in B-1 with a
routing envelope.”
Each regiment
consisted of nine companies, called A, B, C, D, etc.
Company H-3 was H Company in the Third
Regiment and B-1 was B Company in the First Regiment.
Jackson continued,
“It contained a message on a legal pad
from
Dogety
.
The content of the note does not have any bearing on these
proceedings.
Suffice it to say, the
note was meant only for me to read.”
Just
like the Watergate tapes were meant only for Nixon.
“Miss
Wishart
arrived to my room, I read the note, replied, and ordered
Wishart
to return the routing envelope to
Dogety
.
We were just having fun.”
“Was this during study hours,
Markus?”
Conrad asked.
“It started about 1900 hours but
ended after study hours began, about 2030 hours,
”
Jackson
admitted.
Seven
to eight thirty pm.
Jan still
converted military time into “normal” time in her head.
The twenty-four hour military clock just
never felt quite right.
“So, this went on for about an hour
and a half?”
The question came from
the Third Regimental Honor Captain, Cadet Tourney.