Gray Girl

by Susan I. Spieth

  “Did you explain that to Markus?”

  “Yes, that’s what we were arguing about. He was convinced that she had something to do with it,” Dogety said.

  “Did you see Miss Wishart the next morning, Sam?” Gaskins asked, jumping ahead.

  “Briefly, yes.”

  “When was that?”

  Dogety cleared his throat, fidgeted in his chair, and then said, “I saw her between first and second class periods, about 0845 hours. She reported to my room saying she had something to tell me.”

  “Please explain what happened next,” Gaskins said.

  Dogety appeared ill. He looked over at Jan, then at Bill Trane, then back to Casey Conrad. He opened his mouth, like he was going to speak, then he closed it and dropped his eyes to the floor. Jan thought she saw his lips moving as if he was talking to himself or praying.

  “Sir, may I ask a question?” Jan looked to Conrad for the answer.

  “What is it, Miss Wishart?”

  “Sir, I would like to call a recess,” she stated rather than asked.

  “Why, Miss Wishart, do you need a recess?”

  “I believe there’s a new witness, Sir.”

  “What are you talking about?” Conrad almost shouted.

  “Sir, I have information that someone saw something pertaining to my case, but I need some time to …to…secure his information.” She hoped they wouldn’t ask for a name.

  “Miss Wishart, we cannot stop the proceedings just because you want to chase down a new witness.”

  “Well, Sir, I just found out about this witness tonight at dinner time.”

  “Miss Wishart, we are running a highly irregular Honor Board as it is. We are running out of time. TEE week starts Monday, and some of us need to study. If I adjourn now, we will lose precious time that will have to be made up tomorrow,” Conrad said. “Besides, you had a full day to submit your witness list.”

  “Sir, the Honor Board guidelines stipulate that new witnesses can be called if and when they are determined to have information pertinent to the case. I believe this witness has information pertinent to my case, and I need some time to get his statement.”

  “I am well aware of the Honor Board guidelines, thank you.” Conrad stood up. “I need the Regimental Honor Captains to step outside with me for a moment. Everyone else remain here.” He walked out the door followed by Cadets Tourney, Leavitt, Gaskins and Seymour.

  When they were gone, Trane turned to Jan, “What are you doing?”

  “I’m trying to get a witness….”

  “I understand that much, but why now? Why not wait till we adjourn?” Trane asked.

  Because I don’t even know his name, and I have to write notes back and forth to communicate with him. She needed as much time as possible to convince SKIP to come out of hiding. That’s what she told herself anyway. But she also wondered why she didn’t ask for the recess at the beginning of this session. Why did she wait until Dogety was about to answer a critical question? Was she trying to protect him? Or was she afraid of his answer?

  Conrad and his cabinet returned to the room. While standing, he said, “Miss Wishart, as much as we’d like to finish questioning Cadet Dogety tonight, we realize that you can call as many witnesses and in whatever order as you want. We want to afford you every opportunity to do so. Therefore, we will adjourn for the night and reconvene at 0830 hours tomorrow morning.” He closed his folder before walking back out of the room.

  “I hope winning this battle doesn’t cost you the war...” Trane said.

  “I hope not either, Sir.”

  24

  Q: How is the cow?

  A: Sir, she walks, she talks, she's full of chalk, the lacteal fluid extracted from the female of the bovine species is highly prolific to the nth degree.

  Heritage, Bugle Notes, 81, p. 242

  Jan's parents drove them back to West Point on January 10, 1982. Her dad attempted a few jokes and small talk. When he didn’t get any response from the young women, he gave up and turned on the radio. They were not in the mood for conversation, laughter or anything other than staring out the windows and trying to enjoy the last few moments of peace.

  West Point was not a war zone. They knew that. There were many people in the world living with real suffering. Sometimes Jan felt guilty for being so miserable at one of the best institutions in the country. Complaining about it felt a little like not eating her peas at dinner. Her mother would rightly say, “There are starving children in Africa who would love to eat those peas!” And no matter what she said, it always came out sounding like whining.

  Besides, some female cadets seemed just fine. Wright always appeared happy, confident, and totally in her element at West Point. She and other well-adjusted women caused Jan to think that her own skin just wasn’t thick enough. Or perhaps those women didn’t hear the comments and chuckles from clusters of men. She didn’t know how they could have avoided it, though. The sexual and bodily comments, some from cadets and some from officers, were constant. Every day, sometimes several times a day, Jan heard something about her body, another woman’s body or the female body in general.

  As she stared at the passing white lines on the highway, she resolved to put on a kind of body armor—a mental and emotional shell—for the coming semester. She would keep vigil and stay on guard, so that when she heard snide remarks, sarcastic jokes or sexual comments, they would not penetrate her skin. They would simply bounce off her from now on, she told herself.

  By fifteen hundred hours, Jan and Kristi arrived at the gray walls, the gray halls, the gray gloom and doom of West Point to fight another day.

  The first order of business was to change rooms again. Because Debra did not return, Jan, Angel and Kristi moved to a three-person room. Inspection scheduled at twenty hundred hours meant they were ready by eighteen hundred hours. They used the extra time to memorize the menus for the week, the number of days left for every major event, and other necessary “poop,” all while polishing their shoes.

  KNOCK, KNOCK! Popping to attention, the three roommates shouted in unison, “Enter, Sir!” The door violently swung open. Dogety stood in the hallway in civilian clothes. Jan thought he seemed uncomfortable out of uniform.

  He was born wearing Dress Gray.

  “Is this room ready for inspection?” he asked.

  “Yes, Sir!” They replied simultaneously.

  “Good.” Dogety walked into the room. He looked around, at the bookshelves, the beds and the closets. He opened the medicine cabinet and the laundry bins. Then he started to walk out the door. “Guess what, ladies?”

  One of the five responses didn't quite work, so Jan said, “What, Sir?”

  “There’s a new chain of command in H-3, and I’m now your Executive Officer.”

  Damn.

  “What do you think of that?” he asked.

  The three plebes looked at each other. Kristi and Angel kept quiet, but Jan said, “Sir, I think….” She wanted to say something semi-congratulatory—without being too over the top. “Sir, congratulations on your promotion.”

  Dogety did get a promotion, but everyone knew he aspired to be the Company Commander. Executive Officer fell one rung short of his goal. It’s like Vice-President. You have a title but not any real power…unless, of course, the head honcho quits or dies.

  He said, “I suggest you three get this room squared away before the next inspection. You know my standards, Miss Wishart.”

  He walked away and Kristi closed the door. “His mother must have dropped him when he was a baby.”

  “That’s just Dogety, Kissy. He’s wired to be an asshole.” Jan resigned herself to another semester under his thumb. “You guys will get to see what I dealt with all during Beast.”

  Kristi seethed, “Well, he's a dick head! And if he brings that Jackass dude around here, I’m going to kick them both in the balls!”

  They set out on a reconnaissance mission to find Drew’s new room. Hugging the inner walls of the barracks an
d pinging at three times the normal walking speed, they read the nametags on the doors without moving their heads. Looking two or three doors ahead, Jan spotted “Hambin” on the last door, second floor, west side. She made the sharp left turn to Drew’s room. Kristi followed, and Jan knocked softly three times. “Come in.”

  Jan and Kristi walked all the way to the middle of the room before realizing they had the wrong one. The male cadet, lying on his bed in his underwear said, “Can I help you, ladies?”

  “Uh, Sir…we, uh, we…” Jan stuttered, flummoxed by his bright pink boxer shorts with something written in black all over them.

  “Yes, you were saying..” he said.

  “Sir, we thought…” She tried to read the words on his boxers. Something like love me, kiss me, baby, hot, cute and other amorous terms. “We..uh…we thought this was Cadet Hambin’s room.” She finally managed to get it out.

  “Well, I’m afraid you are mistaken, my dears.” He didn’t seem at all angry that they interrupted his bedtime in his favorite, sexy boxers.

  “Sorry to bother you, Sir,” Jan said, executing an about face and striding past Kristi to the hallway.

  “Nice underwear, Sir,” Kristi said as she followed Jan out the door.

  “The pleasure was all mine, ladies!” they heard him say as they shut the door.

  The nametag read “Hanlin” instead of “Hambin.” Rookie mistake. They set off again and found Drew’s room on the East side, center hallway, second floor. “Come in,” he said.

  “Oh thank God it’s you!” Kristi said.

  “Who else would it be?”

  “Oh, some guy named Hanlin.” Jan told him what happened.

  “Hanlin has some pretty fancy underwear,” Kristi added. “Pink with sexy writing all over.”

  “Well, you went to the right, wrong room,” Drew said. “He’s one of the coolest firsties in our Company.”

  “Well, it looked like he was about to get pretty hot.” The three friends broke out laughing along with Drew’s cute new roommate.

  Plebe English continued, as did History of Modern Europe, foreign language (Arabic for Jan), Calculus and Military Science (MS). Psychology replaced the computer class and the PE courses changed, from Self-defense for Women and Boxing for men, to Survival Swimming for both. To ensure attention to detail, the academic schedule included alternating days, numbered one and two respectively. On one days, half the plebes attended foreign language, computers or psychology, and history. The other half took math, PE, English and Military Science, sometimes called “mandatory sleep.” On two days, the schedule reversed. Twice a week, a STAR day was added—once on day one and once on day two—where plebes had to attend all of their classes. Then, the classes were shortened to one hour, except for computers, math, language or Chemistry, which became one hour, one and a half hours, and two hours long, respectively. This method, along with Saturday classes, ensured pinging continued to be necessary to the fourth-class lifestyle.

  The male cadets lined the pool deck, many with their hands folded in front of their genitals. Some guys, braver ones, folded their arms across their chest or just dangled them at their sides. The women exited their locker room with arms folded across their chests or clasped together in front of their crotch.

  Jan tugged at her black, one-piece, non-lined, non-cupped, Speedo swimsuit. Obviously no one asked what we thought about these god-awful things. But the men had it worse. They wore tiny, black, one-piece, non-lined, non-cupped Speedos. No sane American male would wear such a thing in real life.

  Jan and Kristi looked like kindergarteners on the first day of school, each trying to hide behind the other women in the class. They came together with their male counterparts by the pool, where three DPE instructors awaited. We should get a passing grade just for walking out here in these god-awful suits.

  The men stared at the women without even trying to be discreet. The women, on the other hand, kept looking away from the scantily clad men. But Jan stole glances when she thought they weren’t looking. She had never seen practically naked men before. Jan's cheeks flushed when she noticed Drew, his new roommate everyone called Jenk, and Rick Davidson in the group of exposed men.

  Captain Janes, in the standard black shorts with black and white referee shirt, explained a new swimming method called “The Bob and Travel.” Captain Forrest, in a swimsuit, jumped off the diving board to demonstrate this technique. Then it was the cadets’ turn.

  Jan jumped into one end of the Olympic-size pool, keeping her body completely straight, arms overhead. Under water, she let out all the air in her lungs, which she had already practiced with the body fat test, and allowed herself to fall completely to the bottom of the pool. Once her feet touched, she pushed off the bottom with her legs, simultaneously arching her arms in a wide circle down to either side of her body, thrusting herself back up to the surface, a small distance beyond the first spot. She took a deep breath at the top, then repeated the process until she arrived at the far end of the pool.

  Jan’s swimming classes at Camp Alexander during the summers of her childhood had paid off. She finished “The Bob and Travel” across the pool in adequate time, climbed out, crossed her arms in front of her chest, and waited for Kristi. Jan unconsciously began praying for her roommate.

  Kristi jumped into the pool, went down to the bottom, pushed off and came back up. So far, so good. She did it once more before panicking on the third attempt. Jan saw flailing arms in slow motion under water. Kristi came up choking and spluttering water then went under again. The DPE instructors at each side of the pool, along with Captain Janes next to Jan, saw it all.

  “Sir, should someone help her?” Jan asked.

  “Let's give her a minute, Miss Wishart,” he said. “She may self-correct.” But Jan knew Kristi would not “self-correct.” After what seemed like minutes but was probably only seconds, all three DPE instructors dove into the pool simultaneously. Like dolphins, they swam over to Kristi and lifted her to the surface in one swift motion and then onto the pool deck. Captain Janes coached Kristi as she choked, gagged and spit up water. “Lean forward,” he said. “Relax your breathing, Miss McCarron.”

  “Take it slowly,” Captain Forrest added. “You're okay, Miss McCarron.”

  That little blunder resulted in Kristi’s demotion from “Drowning 101” to “Dog Paddling 101,” the class for mostly inner-city kids who never learned to swim. It also ended Jan and Kristi’s one and only class together.

  Dear Jan,

  I'm glad you decided to come back to our Rockbound Highland Home. I’m also pleasantly surprised to see we have a class together. Oh, I probably shouldn’t tell you that. You might start being suspicious of everyone in all your classes. Okay, I will narrow it down for you. Let’s just say I REALLY look forward to seeing you in class.

  I am saying too much to someone who has not yet joined our organization. I have to stop now as it would be dangerous for both of us.

  Just know I am glad you came back and I hope to hear from you soon. It's been a while since we last corresponded and even just writing to each other is a subversive way to have fun, isn't it? I think I even saw you smiling recently.

  SKIP

  Dear SKIP,

  You might be REALLY happy to see me in class uniform, but my guess is that you are one of the leering guys in my Drowning class. Although it seems to me that there are a few other women more worthy of your attention, I will take it as a compliment that you REALLY look forward to seeing me. I REALLY look forward to knowing who you are!

  In fact, this is REALLY starting to drive me crazy. I am REALLY getting unnerved by your spying!

  Jan

  She scoured the pool deck at the beginning of the next survival swimming class but only recognized Drew, his roommate and Rick Davidson. A couple others looked familiar, perhaps from another class or her battalion. With all of them, she tried to keep her eyes above their chest level.

  They conquered “The Bob and Travel” across the pool
in Speedos and then again, wearing fatigues and boots. This entire sequence, jumping into the pool wearing fatigues and boots, then removing them while “Bobbing and Traveling” to the other end of the pool, is how Drowning 101 got its name.

  As grueling as the course was, it was the god-awful Speedo that motivated Jan to pass Drowning 101. Even if it killed her.

  A familiar voice called the ten-minute bell. “Sir, there are ten minutes until dinner formation. The menu for dinner is—oh shit, I don't know. And who cares anyway? But get your asses outside in Dress Gray over gray. Ten minutes, Sir!”

  Dogety stood under the hall clock wearing the full-dress hat, tennis shoes, and the dress-gray coat, on backwards. He turned to go back to his room. That’s when Jan pounced.

  “BEANHEAD, HALT!”

  Role reversal, a long-standing tradition on the one-hundredth night before graduation, allowed plebes their only chance to haze firsties. The first classmen dressed in rally-type attire and spazzed off in every possible way, knowing they were not really going to get in trouble.

  “Yes, Sir.” Dogety turned to face Jan.

  “Do you know how ridiculous you look, Beanhead?”

  “Yes, Sir!”

  I should have known he would not play fair. “Your coat is on backwards. Take it off and turn it around.”

  “Yes, Sir.” He removed the coat, revealing only the white t-shirt underneath.

  “Dogety, you have a scrawny chest. Have you been eating? Do you do any push-ups or sit-ups? Your arms look like spaghetti for God’s sake.” None of it was true. He had a very nice chest with strong arms, but this wasn’t about reality, Jan decided.

  “Sir, at least....”

  “Is that one of your five responses, Dogety?”

  “Well...”

  “No excuse, Dogety! Your body looks like a limp noodle. You obviously don't work out enough, nor are you eating enough! Otherwise, you would be more filled out, stronger and more attractive to women.”