“Yes, Sir.”
“Those are the ones who didn’t make the march—the weak, the lazy, the pathetic. Aren’t you glad you’re not one of them?”
“Yes, Sir.” And she was.
Jan had not had a period since before R-Day, which was perfectly normal and perhaps the best thing to happen during Beast barracks. But she broke out in a rash covering her back, chest, legs and arms. It had spread to her face by the time they reached Lake Frederick. Dogety noticed the next morning.
“What the hell, Wishart? You look like you have chicken pox. What's going on?”
“No excuse, Sir.”
“Seriously, you put something on your face or what?”
“No, Sir.”
“Well, what happened? You look like you got some rare disease.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“I ASKED WHAT HAPPENED, WISHART?”
“I don't know, Sir.”
“It was probably something you ate.”
Day three into Lake Frederick, Dogety handed Jan a padded helmet attached to a goalie mask. “Wishart, put this on!” He tossed her a padded vest, like a baseball catcher’s. “This, too.”
“Sir, what is this for?”
“You’re first in the Pugil Boxing ring.”
What? Pugil Boxing? Dogety led his squad to an open area with a ring of stacked sandbags. The other squads from Second Platoon were already seated on three quarters of the sandbag ring. Fourth Squad filled in the remaining quarter. Dogety motioned for Jan to step in the ring.
Jan stood in the center of the makeshift ring, wondering what she was supposed to do. Dogety handed her a long stick with padding on each end. “Don’t embarrass me, Wishart!” he said before stepping out of the ring.
Before Jan could contemplate the situation any further, she heard a familiar, wild scream. She twirled around just in time to see Wright leaping over the sandbag wall between two seated new cadets. She wore the same outfit as Jan—padded helmet with mask, chest vest and the long padded stick. Oh shit! Not Wright!
Wright immediately began pummeling Jan with the Pugil Stick.
Cheering rose up from the circle of new cadets—mostly yelling for Wright. But one voice shouted, “C’mon Wishart! You can do it!”
Do what? Jan began to hit back. She took a few jabs at Wright, who was clearly the Alpha dog in this fight. Jan felt sick to her stomach. Her mind raced back to the first time she rode a roller coaster. I just want it to be over! Please let it be over!
Wright’s smile, beaming through the facemask, belied her intent. A left jab, out of nowhere, knocked Jan off balance. Then another on her right sent her falling backwards. She found her footing and swung back, but Wright ducked and came up with another blow at Jan. The circle of new cadets continued to cheer for Wright except for one voice shouting for Jan. With jellied knees, she swung a few more times, once hitting Wright in the arm. Still, it wasn’t even close. Wright pummeled until Jan fell down on both knees. Wright was declared the victor and two more new cadets were chosen to do battle in the Pugil Boxing war.
Once everyone took a turn in the Gladiator ring, Cadet Jackson dismissed the platoon for dinner. “Wishart, stand fast,” Dogety barked. Jan stood at attention by the sandbag ring while everyone else ran off. “You gave up, didn’t you?”
How should I answer that? Jan didn’t want to say yes or no. Neither one would be quite right.
“Didn’t you?” Dogety asked again.
“Yes, Sir.”
“What the hell, Wishart? Why did you give up without even trying?”
Um, maybe because I don’t know how to physically fight? Or because Wright scared the shit out of me. “No excuse, Sir.”
“You continually perplex me, Wishart! Why are you even here? Where do you think you are exactly?” Jan couldn’t think of a good answer. “Do you think you can just give up in war when the enemy seems to have the advantage? Geez, Wishart, you aren’t at Girl Scout camp for God’s sake!”
I know, I know, but….
“Do you have anything to say for yourself?”
“No excuse, Sir!”
“Wishart, sometimes you are a sorry piece of shit.”
“Yes, Sir.”
Last in line again for the dinner meal, she picked up a tray and entered the Mobile Serving Station. An Army specialist plopped what looked like chili into a paper bowl and passed it to her. Another specialist pushed a paper plate with cornbread toward her. She picked up a pint of milk, passed on the chips and brownies, and walked out of the other end of the vehicle.
At Lake Frederick, the cadre ate with cadre and the new cadets ate with their squads. Both Dogety and Jackson, sitting on a patch of grass near the exit of the serving station, looked up when she emerged.
“What’s on your plate, Wishart?” Jackson asked.
“Chili, cornbread and milk,” she answered.
“Chili, cornbread and milk, WHAT?” Dogety demanded.
“Sir! Chili, cornbread and milk, SIR!” she said with attitude as her mother use to say.
“Do you really need to eat that cornbread, Wishart?” Jackson asked again.
Suddenly she had had enough. “Sir, you can have my damn cornbread,” she said as she threw it at him.
“What the hell!” Jackson jumped up and stormed toward Jan.
Dogety got to her first. “Wishart, go inside the mess station, NOW.” Jan turned and ran up the three steps. Dogety stood at the bottom of the steps while Jackson tried to push past him. “Markus, leave it alone,” she heard him say quietly to Jackson.
“What the hell are you doing, man? You saw what she did,” Jackson yelled at his friend.
“Yeah, I saw it, and I’ll deal with it,” Dogety said.
“Like you’ve been doing? Your plan ain’t working so well, Sam? I’ll deal with her myself.”
“Settle down, Markus. She’s in my squad. I’ll take care of it.” Jan had never heard Dogety defend her before.
Jackson stared at Dogety in disbelief for a moment. Then he said, “You’re pussy-whipped, aren’t you, Sam? She giving you something, is that it?”
Dogety grabbed Jackson by his shirt with both hands, “I said that’s enough. Let’s not make this worse than it is.” Jan watched as the two firstie friends seemed locked in a trance. Then Dogety let go of Jackson’s shirt.
“You’re an idiot,” Jackson mumbled as he turned away.
Dogety looked into the mess station and said, “Wishart, come here.” Jan ran down the three steps, still holding her mess tray with the chili and milk. “Don’t ever pull that kind of shit again, you got me?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“You could have been in a truckload of trouble if Jackson wanted to push it. I plan to finish Beast with my entire squad intact. That includes even you.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“If you pull another stunt like that, I will not be able to protect you. You got me?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Now go eat with the rest of the squad.”
“Yes, Sir.”
She approached her squad, nine male new cadets sitting nearby on the grass, all of whom had witnessed the mess station incident. Without an opening in their circle, she sat down just outside the loop. She hoped someone would move over, making room for her to join, but that didn’t happen. After an awkward minute of silence, they resumed their talking and laughing.
Well, now they must love me even more.
She observed the other squads with women. Wright laughed in the midst of her squad. Plowden and McCarron seemed fully engaged with their squads. And here I am sitting by myself, talking to myself. Maybe it’s just me. Maybe I'm just never going to fit in here.
At that very moment, New Cadet Hambin turned around. “Hey, Wishart, what the hell just happened?”
“Oh, I just threw my cornbread at Jackson.”
“Whoa! That’s gutsy—throwing your food at Jackson!”
“Yah, well, I just got sick and tired of his shit.”
“Did Dogety save you?” Hambin asked.
“I guess so. He’s never done THAT before.”
“Maybe he feels bad about the pugil boxing.”
“Well, he should. That was miserable.” Jan admitted.
“I thought you did fine. I mean, I wouldn’t want to go up against Wright either!”
“Thanks, but it was no contest really. I kind of gave up.”
“Well, I was cheering for you!”
“I thought I heard one fan in the crowd!” Jan smiled at him.
“You didn’t do any worse than some others.” Hambin said.
“Thanks, I’m just glad it’s over.”
“That makes two of us!”
Andrew Hambin, called Drew by friends and family, grew up on a farm in Oklahoma. Beautiful would be an understatement for Drew Hambin. He was model gorgeous, stunning actually, at about five feet eight inches tall with blonde hair and blue eyes. Jan mostly noticed his long fingers. She wondered how he could be both gorgeous and nice. Those qualities usually didn’t go together in most men, Jan believed. But there they were in Drew Hambin, an enormously handsome AND kind young man. He even agreed that Dogety and Jackson seemed to take a particular interest in hazing Jan. Then she knew that it wasn’t all in her head.
The Land Navigation Course was the final challenge of Lake Frederick week. Armed with a compass and a map, the new cadets had to find ten stamps matching the ones on their checklist. At least fifty different stamps had been set across the thousand or so acres of wilderness surrounding Lake Frederick. Once all ten stamps were found, the new cadet could then proceed to the finish point. Cadets had two hours to complete this challenge.
Jan found herself alone for the first time in seven weeks. She slowed down to enjoy the quiet of the forest and the precious moments of solitude.
“What do you think you’re doing, Wishart? This isn’t some nature walk!!” Jackson seemed to sneak up on her, again.
Where’d he come from? “Yes, Sir.”
“Have you found all your stamps yet?”
“No, Sir.”
“Then why are you bird-watching? Do you think the stamps will find you?”
“No, Sir.”
“Wishart, did you think you could just blow off this last challenge?”
“No, Sir.”
“Then get your ass moving and find the rest of your stamps, Wishart! I want you double-timing this course!”
“Yes, Sir.” Jan began jogging in boots, helmet, rucksack and rifle.
Not satisfied, Jackson ran behind her and screamed, “PICK UP THE PACE, WISHART!” She felt him on her heels right before he shoved her forward. The force of his push knocked her onto the ground. The M-16 flew a few feet ahead while her helmet dropped down over her eyes.
Jan assessed the situation: she was on her knees in the middle of the woods with Jackson standing over her. Shit. But this time, she didn’t feel afraid. She wasn’t the least bit scared. Nope. Only pissed off. Goddamn angry.
She stood up slowly. Even more slowly and dramatically, she turned around to face Jackson. If he thought she was about to lose it, he would have made a good assumption. She stared at him for a few long seconds, gathering her rage, reining it in. Then calmly, with complete control, she said, “Jackson, if you ever touch me again, I will make sure you regret it for a very, very long time.”
Jackson stood still. He seemed unsure of what to do. Then, as if clearing an image, he shook his head and seethed, “If you ever try to humiliate me again, Wishart, YOU will regret it. I promise you that!”
Neither one moved. They were locked in a staring trance for another long moment until Jan bent down and picked up her M-16. Then turning her back on Jackson, she walked away, realizing the power of anger.
11
Friday, May 7, 1982
0800 Hours
Cadet Trane held the door for Jan as they entered room 413 of Mahan Hall. When’s the last time THAT happened?? She wondered if she would ever meet another man like Trane and secretly hoped he would fail his final exams. Maybe then he’ll have to repeat firstie year and I could snag him while Cadet Williams is stationed in Korea.
Everyone sat in the same seats. Cadet Trane took the chair to Jan’s right, closest to the witness. She heard Jackson say “Morning, Bill.” She saw Trane nod in return without saying anything. She hoped that meant he didn’t like Jackson either.
Conrad opened his thick file and cleared his throat. “Welcome back, everyone. We have a lot to get to today and I want to keep on track as much as possible. Because final exams begin Monday, I hope to finish by today or tomorrow at the latest. We will continue to be thorough in all we do, of course.”
Of course you will.
“So at this point, Cadet Wishart may now question Cadet Jackson,” Conrad said as he waved his hand in Jan’s direction.
Jan knew Jackson would not betray his own testimony. She couldn’t expect him to change his story, even if confronted with her version of events. Yet she decided she would highlight some of the discrepancies in their statements. Maybe she could draw him out, even a little, from what he said happened. She also wanted him to verify, confirm and solidify other parts of his statement—in hopes that it could be contradicted later.
She turned to face Jackson although it hurt her eyes to look at him. “Cadet Jackson, you stated that I had the routing envelope at all times between Cadet Dogety’s room and yours.”
“Yes, you said as much yourself,” Jackson said.
“You also admitted that you were in the latrine during my last trip to your room when I left the routing envelope leaning against your door where you found it.”
“Yes, that’s right, but it could not have been there for more than two minutes. I only took a leak, Miss Wishart, not a dump.” A few chuckles punctuated the room.
They think this is funny. “But you have to admit, Cadet Jackson, that the routing envelope was unattended for a time when it was not in my possession.”
“Yes, like I said, I doubt anyone could have changed its contents in the minute or two it sat at my door—or that anyone else would have a reason to change its contents.”
“Except if someone really wanted to mess with me, they could have done it at that time, right Cadet Jackson? If someone wanted, let’s say, to teach me a lesson, to get me in trouble, or to make me look insubordinate?”
“Cadet Wishart, if you are insinuating that I had something to do with writing that note, just to get you in trouble, you are going down the wrong rabbit trail.”
“I simply want to verify that the envelope was out of my possession for a time before it was in your possession,” she clarified.
He said, “Yes, for probably no more than two minutes.”
“And then, when you found the envelope, how long was it before you brought it to Cadet Dogety’s room?”
“I took it over right away…maybe about 2045 hours.”
“Did anyone else see or touch the envelope in that time between your room and Cadet Dogety’s room?” she asked.
“No, just me.”
“Okay, so just to be clear, you had the envelope for approximately fifteen minutes after it left my possession and before Cadet Dogety saw it.”
“About that, yes. But I didn’t write that note Wishart, and you know it.”
“I just want to clarify that the envelope was NOT ALWAYS in my possession that night.” She looked over at the jury of her peers. Their expressions gave nothing away.
“Okay, Wishart, it was in my possession while I walked it over to Cadet Dogety’s room. Happy?”
“And when you and Dogety questioned me in the CQ room,” Jan continued, “would you say the tone was ‘conversational’ or ‘adversarial?’”
“When was the last time any firstie was ‘conversational’ with you? Despite being this close to Recognition, most firsties are still not ‘conversational’ with plebes.” He raised his voice slightly.
That’s it, Jackson. Show your anger. “Exactly, Cad
et Jackson,” she refused to call him Sir. “So you would characterize the CQ room questioning as adversarial?”
“We questioned you the way firsties question plebes. Is that what you mean?”
“Yes, you had me standing at attention against the wall and screaming at me about two inches from my face, correct?” This was not unusual plebe/upperclassman interaction, but she wanted the Honor Board members to picture it.
“We were angry with you. You screwed up AGAIN. So, yes, we had you in the smack position which was appropriate given the circumstances.”
“Okay, but only you screamed in my face, right? Cadet Dogety did not scream at me in the CQ room. In fact, Cadet Dogety asked you to calm down, didn’t he?”
“I don’t recall that.”
“You don’t remember screaming in my face or you don’t remember Cadet Dogety asking you to calm down?”
“I recall screaming at you, maybe in your face, as you put it. But I don’t recall that Cadet Dogety didn’t do the same, or if he asked me to calm down.”
“He asked you to calm down or quiet down at least three times. You don’t remember any of that?”
“No, I don’t recall that.”
“One last thing, Cadet Jackson. When I came to your room at 0515 hours, you were still in bed, correct?”
“I was sitting on my bed, yes. You were late, remember?”
“Yes, I was late, but you were still lying in bed when I arrived. Do you not remember that either?”
“I DO remember that, Miss Wishart. I was sitting up and waiting for you to arrive.”
That was the crux of the problem. Jan’s version and his version of that morning were entirely different. And no one else witnessed what really happened.
Cadet Trane slid a piece of paper in front of Jan. She read his handwriting which was not at all easy to do. That’s enough for now. You will piss everyone off if you keep pushing him.
“That’s all I have, Sir,” Jan stated as she looked directly at Cadet Conrad.
12
Q: Where do plebes rank?
A: Sir, the Superintendent’s dog, the Commandant’s cat, the waiters in the Mess Hall, the Hell Cats, the Generals in the Air Force, and all the Admirals in the whole damned Navy.
Gray Girl Page 7
