Gray Girl

by Susan I. Spieth

  “Miss McCarron! What did I just tell you?” Conrad shouted again.

  “Oh, sorry, Sir. I forgot to mention that I was in the same platoon in Beast with Jackson, Dogety and Cadet Wishart. So I personally observed and witnessed several incidents which can substantiate my previous claim.”

  She is so damn cool.

  Just as Kristi began getting into the specifics of Sunday night’s events, Cadet Conrad announced it was time for lunch. “Miss McCarron’s testimony will resume when we come back. I want to remind everyone of the confidential nature of these proceedings. At no time is anyone, ever, allowed to discuss the contents of this Honor Board with ANYONE outside this room. I cannot be any clearer than that. I will see every one back here at 1300 hours. Dismissed.”

  Everyone stood to leave. “McCarron, stay here a minute with us,” Cadet Trane said motioning to Jan and Major Hastings. “I want to have a defense strategy session.”

  Jan had not even considered a “defense strategy.” She first heard about the accusations against her only two days ago. The Honor Board began the next day which was yesterday. They didn’t waste any time with this stuff. The accused wasn’t allowed to gather information or any other evidence nor obtain legal counsel. If accused of an honor violation at West Point, you were left to fend for yourself for the most part. In other words, you had to find a way to prove your innocence and do it fast. Otherwise, BAM! You were history, gone, done, kicked out for honor—the worst way to leave West Point.

  “Sir, what do you mean? Are you saying we should plan out how to argue my case?”

  “Yes, Miss Wishart, there should always be a plan—even a bad plan is better than no plan. Well, in this case anyway,” Trane said. “Major, I’d like to hear your thoughts as well. What can Miss Wishart do to prove her innocence?”

  Please say that again, Sir! The “prove her innocence” part!

  “Well,” Major Hastings began, “I’ve already told Miss Wishart, there’s not a whole lot she can do except state the truth, ask appropriate questions from each witness, and then try to appear as innocent as possible.”

  He’s useless.

  “Okay, Sir, thank you. We don’t want to keep you from your lunch.” Cadet Trane said, giving Major Hastings his out.

  “See you at 1300 hours, then.” Hastings stood up and walked out of the room.

  “He’s about as helpful as a pile of dung,” Kristi stated the obvious again.

  “Well, let’s concentrate on what we can do,” Trane said. “Look, this is a classic case of he said/she said, right? Wishart, you have to convince the board that you are AS likely to be telling the truth as Jackson. In other words, you don’t have to show he’s lying; you only need to show you are NOT lying. Does that make sense?”

  “Not really, Sir. How can I show that I am not lying if he is not lying?” Jan asked.

  “You just need for them to see things from your perspective. In other words, don’t try to make Jackson a badass, though he probably is. Instead, just show them what you experienced that night and the next morning,” Trane said.

  “Sir, everything I experienced is in my written statement,” Jan replied.

  “I understand that. But the statements are so far apart that these guys on the Honor Board probably think they have to find one person to be lying and one to be telling the truth. Without any evidence or other witness to the events, by default, they will pick Jackson’s version as the truth. After all, he is the firstie about to graduate. If they pick your version, then they have to ruin this guy…they have to kick him out for an honor violation, kill his career and basically end his life. You, on the other hand, are just a plebe. And a female. So you don’t count.”

  “What? Sir, you don’t mean that,” Kristi insisted.

  “Yes, I do mean that. These guys are NOT gonna kick out one of their own just because Wishart says he assaulted her. They have to have proof. They DON’T, however, need proof to find you guilty.”

  “Then I’m screwed no matter what I do,” Jan said.

  “Pretty much. UNLESS….” Trane said.

  Jan looked at her firstie Knight in Shining Amour, “Unless what, Sir?”

  “Unless you can somehow convince them that you are ALSO telling the truth. In other words, you both are right in your perception of the events.”

  “What the hell…are you talking about?” Kristi asked. “Sir?”

  Trane turned to Jan. “I’m saying that you were exhausted from running back and forth between Third and First Regiments, right?”

  “Yes, Sir,” Jan admitted.

  “And when they got you in the CQ room, you were scared shitless, right?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “Because they screamed and yelled in your face and accused you of doing something you didn’t do, right?”

  “Right, Sir.”

  “Then the next morning, you were exhausted again, having only slept a few hours…when you went to Jackson’s room at 0500 hours.

  “Well, about 0515, but yes, Sir,” she agreed.

  “And you were scared—scared shitless because he has a history of hazing you—so in your exhausted, frightened state, you entered his room. Then your version of events may not be considered so unreasonable if they can put themselves in your shoes for a moment. If you went to his room, tired and scared, maybe they will see why things seemed very different to you,” Cadet Trane argued.

  “But Sir, I’d have to be delusional to have made such a differing account from Jackson. I wasn’t out of my mind, Sir,” Jan insisted.

  “I know, Wishart, I know. I’m just trying to get them to consider that there might be two versions of the same event. Maybe all of it happened—what he says happened and what you say happened. That way, they can have an out. Don’t you see?”

  “Yes, Sir, I see. I just don’t know that it’s enough.” Jan thought a moment, “Sir,” she wasn’t sure how to bring this up, “if I can convince Debra Plowden to write a statement about what happened over Army/Navy weekend, would….”

  “What? Why?” Trane looked confused.

  “Sir, I may be able to raise enough doubt in their minds if they hear about something that happened to her in our hotel room. We all feel fairly certain that Jackson….”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “Sir, I know it sounds crazy, but I have a very good reason for this…do you…”

  “NO!” he shouted.

  Jan flinched. She had never heard him sound so angry.

  “That’s stupid, Wishart! Whatever happened to Plowden has absolutely nothing to do with what’s gong on here. If you try a ridiculous stunt like that, they will find you guilty for sure.”

  Jan felt like an idiot. Of course it was stupid. “Sorry, Sir. I just thought …”

  “Well don’t do anymore thinking like that! It’s not helpful and not relevant to your case. Just focus on the events of last weekend, not on something that may or may not have happened to someone else months ago!”

  “Yes, Sir.” A long pause ensued as Jan contemplated how she could use Trane’s advice. She had accused Jackson of hitting her in the face during their altercation in his room Monday morning which he flatly denied doing. That’s why he brought the honor charges against her. He also claimed that she threw a shoe at him, which she readily admitted. No one is going to believe we are both telling the truth.

  “Jackson’s a friggin’ asshole!” Kristi said, plainly as always.

  The roommates pinged back to lunch formation and fell in their squad lines. Dogety seemed to ping straight over to Jan.

  “Miss Wishart, how are things looking with the Honor Board? I know you cannot give me specifics, but can you tell me if things are going well?” he asked.

  “No, Sir. Things will not likely go well for me, unless someone validates my side of the story.”

  “And you’re sure there are no other witnesses from Monday morning? Anyone who heard you or saw you in Cadet Jackson’s room?” He almost seemed to be hopi
ng.

  “Not that I know of, Sir. I didn’t see anyone else that morning.”

  “But what about one of your roommates—Cadet McCarron or Cadet Trane? Did either of them see anything that could substantiate your version?”

  “No, Sir. I told them what happened later, but they didn’t notice anything unusual about me that morning.”

  Dogety lowered his voice, “Miss Wishart, you know I want to help you, don’t you?” This was the first time Jan heard him admit anything like this. His eyes held a sadness she had not seen before.

  “Sir, I don’t know that.” She answered truthfully.

  “Well, I do,” he looked straight into her eyes. Then lowering his voice even more, he added, “I’m trying to figure it out.” He walked back to the front of the platoon.

  After lunch, Jan raced back to her room to brush her teeth. She found a folded piece of paper lying on her bed.

  Jan,

  I know you are not supposed to say anything but you have to tell me a little more. I might be able to help..? First, I have to know what are the specific charges against you. Can you just write them down? That way you can honestly say that you didn’t talk to anyone…

  PLEASE, don’t delay!!

  SKIP

  Jan quickly wrote a note and taped it to her door.

  SKIP,

  I am under strict orders not to talk about the Honor Board. No one mentioned anything about writing though. Still, I trust that you will destroy this note as soon as you read it. Jackson says I opened his routing envelope, took his notes and replaced them with another note. He’s also charging that I lied about what happened Monday morning. He flatly denies hitting me. So, it’s likely that he will get me one way or the other.

  You’ve been a good friend to me this year.

  Jan

  14

  Q: What is the definition of leather?

  A: If the fresh skin of an animal, cleaned and divested of all hair, fat and other extraneous matter, be immersed in a dilute solution of tannic acid, a chemical combination ensues; the gelatinous tissue of the skin is converted into a non-putrescible substance, impervious to and insoluble in water; this Sir, is leather.

  Heritage, Bugle Notes, 81, p. 242

  Saturdays were parade days. Even when the football team played away games, the cadets still had to march for visiting dignitaries or reunion weekends or just because it was Saturday.

  Jan looped the white starched belt around her waist and pulled tightly so that it held the bayonet firmly in place over her right hip. She lifted the other white straps over her head and across her chest, securing them between her breasts with the small brass shield. She donned the patent leather, pluming hat, which never actually fit on anyone’s head, and placed the chinstrap just under her bottom lip. Whoever thought this hat design was a good idea? After sliding on the white gloves, she turned to Angel.

  “Need help?”

  “Check my breastplate, please.” Jan adjusted Angel’s gold centerpiece, making sure it canted forty-five degrees from vertical.

  “How’s mine?” Jan asked.

  “Looks good,” Angel replied. They both grabbed their M-14’s from the wooden rack by the door, gave each other one last glance, then shot out of their room to parade formation.

  Free time supposedly began when the parade ended. So the roommates frowned at each other when they heard two loud knocks on their door just after they returned to their room.

  Do they really have to put a fist through the door every damn time?

  “Enter, Sir!” Jan and Angel yelled at once.

  Cadet Dogety stood at the entrance to their room holding out a package. “Wishart, this needs to go to Cadet Jackson in Company B-1. You don't mind delivering it for me, do you?”

  “No, Sir.” As if she had any other options. She couldn't say, “Sorry, I'm busy right now. Why don't you deliver it yourself, Sir?”

  “Good!” He tossed the package at Jan. He was close to six feet and probably weighed less than one hundred sixty with not one ounce of fat. His arms extended almost to his knees when standing at attention. Jan noticed his disproportional body during Beast, which seemed like another lifetime ago.

  “I'm sure you'll have no problem finding Cadet Jackson's room in First Regiment,” Dogety added with a smirk before turning and walking down the hall.

  Jan closed the door and turned to Angel. “Shit.” Angel didn’t like to hear cussing, but Jan felt justified this time. Going to First Regiment would be difficult; going to Jackson’s room could be downright dangerous. “Why doesn’t he get a male plebe to deliver this?”

  Dogety and Jackson both seemed to enjoy harassing plebes. But Cadet Dogety never physically touched anyone without permission. Jackson was a whole different animal. He gained a reputation in Beast for harassing the new cadet women. Jan had first hand experience with that. He didn’t hide his verbal assaults either. “Move those fat cheeks, new cadet,” Jan heard him say once to a classmate. Another time, she saw him slap a new cadet’s butt and say, “You better get that spare tire moving!”

  “He’s disgusting,” Jan muttered to herself, recalling the time he took her for the late night run. But she also smiled, remembering when she hit him with a piece of cornbread at Lake Frederick.

  “Maybe he won’t be in the room when you get there,” Angel said.

  “Well, I will just have to cross that river when I get to it or however the saying goes.”

  “Okay, well, just worry about getting in and out of First Regiment safely,” Angel said. Plebes avoided other regimental areas if at all possible because each one had its own rules. No one wanted to “spazz-off” in the wrong side of town.

  A small tapping on the door indicated a friendly visitor, another plebe most likely. “Come in,” the two roommates said.

  Drew entered the room. “I heard our favorite Squad Leader’s voice at your door. What did he want?”

  “He gave me this package to deliver to Jackson in B-1.”

  “Oh.” And then Drew seemed to realize her double jeopardy, “Oh, shit!”

  “Tell me about it,” Jan replied. Drew once had to deliver something to Fourth Regiment. Although that trip went smoothly, they heard rumors from other plebes. Crossing over to another regiment felt like crossing into enemy lines, sort of. No one would die, no one would get wounded, and no one would be captured as a POW. But for a West Point plebe, it still felt like walking into the lions’ den.

  “I’ll go with you,” Drew said.

  It’s just like him to offer. Jan knew Drew had her back more than anyone else. He always seemed to be willing to sacrifice his own safety for hers. He’s going to be a great officer one day.

  “No thanks, Drew. It’s going to be difficult enough for me to find his room without spazzing off. One lost plebe might go undetected. Two confused looking plebes will definitely stand out.” Jan didn't want to get anyone else in trouble for her sake.

  “Why don’t I just go then?” Drew asked. “Jackson won’t mess with me.”

  “Then they will give me shit for passing off my duty to you. No, Drew, Dogety purposely wanted me to deliver this. He’s best friends with Jackson, and if I don’t bring the package myself, I will never hear the bottom of it.”

  “End of it,” Drew said.

  “Whatever. You know what I mean.”

  “Well, Jan, I know you can handle this. You’ve dealt with much worse already,” Angel said. And she was right. Jan, Angel, Drew and all their classmates had survived Beast. They were now solidly in plebe year at West Point. They were managing the tremendous demands of the “Fourth Class System” and they were going to survive this. “I'll be praying for you,” Angel added. Jan didn’t know if Angel was Baptist or Catholic or Mormon; she only knew she was extremely religious.

  “Thanks, right now I just need a dress-off.” Jan turned her back to Drew who helped execute a perfectly tight dress-off.

  “Okay, how do I look?” Jan asked.

  “Maavelous, daal
ing!!” he said.

  “You got this, Jan,” Angel added.

  “Well, here goes!” She opened the door and stepped out into the wild, wild jungle that was West Point.

  Hugging the walls all the way down the hall and moving at three times the normal walking speed, Jan made her way to the stairwell. Descending the steps, she lifted her forearms, parallel to the floor. She turned at every corner of the stairwell until she came to the next set of steps. She called it the “plebe shuffle.”

  Exiting one set of double doors, she pinged across Central Area, the large paved quadrangle separating the Second and Third Regimental barracks. She passed through a sally port, one of many at West Point, which allowed access through a building without going inside. Then she entered the new and strange land.

  First Regiment was divided into two sections: New South and Old South. The dilapidated barracks of Old South housed Companies A, B and C. Companies D, E, F, G, H and I were located in two facing buildings called New South. Jan wondered how long these would be called New South—since they were built in 1962, a year before she was born. And now that Old South was being renovated, with scaffolding stretching across the entire front of the u-shaped, gothic stone structure, Jan thought it should be called “New, Old South.”

  Crossing Old South area, Jan looked for the entrance to B Company. Each leg of the U-shaped building had a set of double doors but nothing to indicate which wing held which Company. She chose quickly. Better to act like you know what you’re doing and be wrong than to act unsure and be right. Jan learned this lesson early. At West Point, appearing “squared away” was more than half the battle.

  A and C companies are probably the end ones. B should be in the middle. She headed up the flight of stairs to the third floor. Best start there and work my way down.

  As she squared the corner of the last stairwell, an upperclassman screamed, “BEANHEAD, HALT! What the hell are you doing, Smack?”