For Love or Country

by Jesse Jordan

  Lorraine shakes her head. “I broke it off with my boyfriend before coming. Figured might as well get that shit outta the way before it hits out of the blue. You?”

  I nod, smiling. “John. He's going to be a junior next year, we were taking classes together.”

  “Yeah? So what the hell brought you here?” Lorraine asks. “I mean, going to college already, a boyfriend, what else were you looking for? You bucking for something?”

  I chuckle, shaking my head. “No.... just felt the need to. Another time though, okay?”

  Lorraine hums and before I know it it's three forty five, or fifteen forty five as I'm supposed to think of it now. I quickly strip down and change, grumbling at the fit. The Army's idea of making a pair of uniform pants meant for women is clearly lacking, and I don't even have a big ass.

  “How do I look?” I ask Tamara, who looks up and gives me a shy smile. “Decent?”

  “Good,” she says, and I wonder about the way she says it. She didn't say if she left a boyfriend behind, and perhaps she was just shy about that side of herself, but maybe because she's not interested in boys. If that’s the case, she shouldn't have to worry. I'm not interested in girls, but that doesn't mean I'm going to flip out about it either.

  “Thanks. Good luck, see you later,” I say, grabbing my gray cap and heading to Cadet Mandrews' room. We're not allowed to wear the white cap until after completing Beast, one of the hundred tiny steps between R-day and Recognition that slowly brings us back to feeling like real people again.

  Cadet Mandrews is waiting when I get there, but there's still three guys from the squad missing, and he's not looking happy. “Westman! Lilly! Parker! Get your butts out here!”

  Mandrews storms off, yelling for my three tardy squad mates, and I feel a tremor of fear. We didn't act as a squad, which is one of the cardinal sins that I should have remembered. We should have met as a squad before reporting down here en masse, all ten of us.

  The blood in the water of seven unattended New Cadets in the hallway soon draws the sharks, unoccupied Cows and Firsties who have seemingly nothing better to do than turn the heat up on us. Our platoon sergeant and platoon leader are first, and I quiver when I realize that my platoon leader is Cadet Mitchell, she of the angry face and scuffed shoes.

  “Ah, New Cadet Carlyle, I remember you,” Mitchell says, giving me a grin that would turn the Wicked Witch of the West to jelly, “tell me, what are your four responses?”

  “Yes ma'am, no ma'am, no excuse ma'am, and ma'm I do not understand!” I pop off, hoping against hope that it's going to appease her. Out of the corner of my eye I see another face come in, the same one that was there the last time Mitchell and I talked. That scar makes him identifiable anywhere, but also, there's something about him. Probably because he's the only upperclassman I see who is not yelling at someone or making demands right this second. I spare a half second and see that he's named Lancaster. It fits him, he's got that sort of patrician, blue blood look to him, but he's also got a look to him that says he's not snooty in the least. If he were civilian, I'd say he'd be cute.

  Cadet Mitchell however, pulls my attention back before I can notice anything else about him. “New Cadet Carlyle, I've heard you're Old Grad family. Is that true?”

  “Yes ma'am!”

  “Then give me... oh, we can't be too difficult, it's only R-day... give me Benny Havens.”

  Benny Havens, one of the pieces of so-called 'Plebe knowledge' that everyone is supposed to learn, is an old drinking song back in the eighteen hundreds. Unfortunately, I don’t yet, it's nothing that I'm supposed to know for quite a few weeks. So I stand mute, and Mitchell's shark's grin grows an inch. “Oh, don't know it?”

  “No ma'am!”

  “What do you know, Carlyle?” Mitchell asks, stepping back. “Anything outside your four responses?”

  It's a test, for sure. I mean, I could lie my head off, and say I don't know my ass from the back end of the Army mascot. Nobody could bust me for that, it's too easy to say I brain farted. But Dad raised me to be better than that, to be someone of true honor, and I raise my voice. “Ma'am, the Alma Mater!”

  The other upperclassmen stop, intrigued. The Alma Mater isn't R-day level knowledge, hell that's like week three or even four knowledge. Even Cadet Mitchell gives me a raised eyebrow, and gestures for me to continue. “Oh... but sing it, if you can.”

  Fuck. I can't sing! Even in karaoke, give me some Sir Mix-A-Lot, give me Dropkick Murphys, but to actually sing the Alma Mater? Fuck me sideways. My voice is already harsh just from a full day of popping off loud and proud, and now she wants me to sing. Still, I swallow the lump of fear in my throat and try my best. “Hail Alma Mater dear... to us be ever near...”

  I'm nearly crying by the end, I can see the bad reaction on the faces of the upperclassmen, but I get through it all, and Mitchell nods. “Fine. Two things. First, report to my room at nineteen thirty tonight with a one page paper explaining why you should check where your stuff is going to fall. Second, until you get some voice lessons or something, don't ever sing again. I'm in the Glee Club, and that made my ears bleed.”

  Mitchell moves off, and Cadet Mandrews comes back with my three tardy squadmates, who look as flustered as I feel. Just as I go to wipe my eyes, the quiet cadet, the one who has the scar on his face, steps up and whispers something to Mandrews, who nods. “Gotcha, man. Second squad, this is Cadet Lancaster, the company counselor. He's gonna give me a hand. Also, if you need a moment, someone to talk to, or you feel like doing something stupid and hurting yourself, this is the man to talk to. Do any of you need a moment?”

  None of us do, and Mandrews starts our uniform checks. As I'm waiting, Lancaster steps up to me and looks me in the eyes. He's taller up close, and in his face I see that he's got handsome, deep brown eyes, and he's studying me intently. “You did well,” he says quietly, looking over my uniform. Even though I feel like hell, the way he’s looking at me gives me a thrill. “You're going to catch hell for a little while, they like to push Old Grad blood around here, so get ready.”

  “Yes, sir,” I reply, my voice low. He nods, and I take a moment to wipe my eyes before going back to attention, and he looks me over again.

  “Good. Now, let's get those epaulets down tighter, they're supposed to be at the seams. You mind?”

  Things go into fast forward again, and the next thing I can realize is us standing out on the parade ground, my right hand up, swearing to uphold the Constitution and serve to the best of my abilities. There's no hugs or family reunions, nobody's got time for that even if it were allowed. Instead, after marching past the stands and 'passing in review', we head into Washington Hall for our first real meal as a squad and as a Cadet Basic Training Regiment.

  Welcome to West Point.

  Simon

  “Ah my Gawd, man, I'm so ready for this detail to be over!” I groan, stretching my arms up over my head. At least I get to wear ACUs for today, it’s a lot more comfortable than white over gray, and nowhere near as hard to clean up.

  “Hell Simon, you got the cushy job,” my roommate, Jim Easton, says. “You're the counselor, not a platoon sergeant.”

  “You think I wanted this job?” I ask, laughing. “I'm Foreign Languages, not Psych. I asked for a leadership slot. You know how many whines and complaints I get to deal with on a daily basis? Oh, and the fact that half the new cadets see me as some sort of bastard child. You try being both counselor and cadre. They don't open up to me if they're scared shitless like they are of you.”

  “I hate the whole intimidation act myself. But, three more days, and we start handover to second detail,” Jim reminds me casually. “Then off to SRT school for me.”

  “Special Reaction Team? You want to be an MP?” I ask, and Jim nods. “Nice school then. I'm off to Air Assault personally. Figured I'm not going to get a chance once we graduate, if I get what I want.”

  “What's that?” Jim asks. He and I aren't normally in the same regiment, we don't talk m
uch, and it's been cool rooming with him the past four weeks.

  “Aviation,” I tell him, not trying to brag. Just passing the physicals for Aviation is hard enough. “And yes, I understand the irony of wanting to jump out of a perfectly good helicopter as a pilot.”

  Jim laughs. “Don't sweat it. This is just playtime anyway. Think about it, those new cadets, they're all running around like scared rabbits, but you're able to get over to Arvin, you'll be squared away PT wise for Air Assault. Where you doing it?”

  “Campbell,” I tell him. “No use jacking off for another detail.”

  “Oh, is that what you were doing with Mitchell the other night?” Jim asks, and I have to laugh. Okay, so I'm a player. Mitchell's pretty hot when she unclenches her ass, and she and I have flirted before. Besides, we both knew, this was just sex. A little fun, and we both left the area up by the laundromat with our stress relieved. “Damn near wore her out from what I could tell.”

  “Whatever man. Seriously, it ain't no thing...” I start to tell him when there's a knock on our door. “Yeah, what is it?”

  Jake Mandrews, the second squad leader of first platoon, sticks his head in. “Hey, Simon, you got a minute?”

  “Duty or just to shoot the shit?” I ask.

  “Duty, man. One of my new cadets, just got the Dear Jane phone call. She's looking pretty broken up, and with her roomies. I'm thinking you'd be more helpful than Price or Washington right now.”

  I nod, standing up and grabbing my ACU top. “So... that's Carlyle, right?” I ask. “How's she doing until today?”

  Mandrews shrugs, smirking. “She's got her shit down pretty well for a three week newbie. Also handling the spotlight okay too. Still, she's got a few cracks showing, thought you could lend a hand.”

  “Sure,” I say, walking down the hall with Mandrews. Jim and I are on the end of the hall, next to what right now doubles as both a storage room for all of the new cadets' civilian gear as well as my office.

  I understand Jake's concern about Carlyle's roommates. Washington's compensated for the stress by becoming a bitch, plain and simple. While in duty ways that works, the TACs love to call it 'warrior spirit,' she's not earning herself any friends, and she's going to find her ass flapping in the breeze sooner rather than later.

  On the other hand Price has her own issues. Confused about her gender preferences, something she's kept secret from everyone but me in a counseling session, she's still got this idea that West Point is back in the old DADT days, when homo or bisexual cadets were kicked out. I'm not saying it's easy, there’s still unofficially ignorant dickheads, but Price doesn't need to be stressing about it the way she is.

  Carlyle is sitting in her room, a stunned look on her face, and things are pretty much like I'd expect. Washington's shining her shoes while Price is fidgeting, wanting to offer comfort but afraid of looking like she's too 'into' Carlyle. Considering that Carlyle taught Price how to shine her uniform shoes, I'm not sure if Price is lesbian, bisexual, or just socially retarded, because Carlyle has no issues about Price at all. “Yo, Carlyle. Come with me.”

  She's follows me almost silently to my 'office', which is normally a company dayroom, the place cadets can go to relax and watch TV. I unlock the door with the key that only I have before leading her inside and slightly closing it. I'd like to close it fully, but the rules are the rules. Male cadets and female cadets are not to be in a closed door room together. Unless you're Mitchell and I getting frisky on top of WKDT.

  “Have a seat, Carlyle,” I tell her, giving her a smile. “And until you leave the room, chill out. Don't even have to use sir with me, okay?”

  “Yes si... okay,” Carlyle says, taking a deep breath. “Sorry to disturb your after dinner.”

  “Meh, don't sweat it. All I was going to do was waste some time,” I tell her, shrugging. “So your squad leader tells me you had a pretty rough phone call there. Wanna tell me about it?”

  Carlyle nods, and sits back on the chair. Dayrooms don't have great furniture, it's all leftovers from the Army, but it's probably the softest thing she's sat down on in three weeks. “I was using my phone time tonight, I had already written my Dad so he wasn't going to expect anything, so I decided to call my boyfriend. When the phone was picked up… well....”

  “It wasn't your boyfriend,” I complete, and Carlyle nods. As she does, I notice something about her. A lot of the upperclass men have noticed her breasts, she's got a great rack for a female cadet. I think that's part of the reason Mitchell's all over her, boob envy, but also because Carlyle's got a massive case of RBF, resting bitch face. I can see it, she's not trying to be bitchy now, but still she comes off that way. Maybe it's the nose, or maybe the shape of her jawline, but to a lot of people, she's not classically pretty. Still, I have to admit, if she weren't a new cadet, I'd hit on her very quickly. That red hair and green eyes? She's ticking boxes in my book.

  “No, it wasn't,” Carlyle says, sighing and giving me a watery look, her eyes not quite tearing up. “It was... it was my best friend. Come to find out that they'd been sneaking around behind my back since even before I left to come here.”

  Damn, that's straight up cold shit. I mean, I've had more than my share of girls, but I've never tried to snipe a girl that was with another dude, not before she was publicly single again. Not my style. “How do you feel about it? I mean, I'm not trying to knock you down more, but that was happening even before West Point.”

  “I know,” Carlyle says, then sighs. “Still... I think it's a little natural to hate this whole scene right now.”

  I laugh, I can't help it. “Carlyle, let you in on a secret, only sociopaths like Cadet Basic Training. You might in the end look back and say that you learned a lot, you might look back and say there were some fun moments, but nobody actually likes Beast. Did you think it would be fun?”

  Carlyle shakes her head, laughing despite her hurt feelings. “No, Dad made sure I knew that much.”

  “I remember you mentioning that back on R-day, you're a legacy, right? What's it like, being second generation, if I can ask?”

  Carlyle shakes her head, ruefully grinning. “Third. Granddad, Dad, two older brothers, then me, the baby of the bunch. Fifth member of the Carlyle family to go through R-day.”

  I whistle, that's impressive. The amount of pressure has to be massive. “Damn. But you went to civilian school for what, two years? What brought you here after that amount of time?”

  Carlyle blinks, and I see tears trickle down her cheeks for the first time. “Gavin was first, he was a lot older than me. I was seven when he went through R-day, I sat in the stands with both of my parents and Julius, my other brother. Gavin... he graduated about the middle of his class, then in Ranger school he... he died in swamp phase. February in the Everglades, and there was a freak cold snap, night temperatures dropped below freezing. They... they were soaked to the bone, and Gavin and two others died, and five were permanently profiled from the cold weather injuries.”

  “Jesus,” I whisper, sitting forward as I'm drawn towards her. New cadet or not, that's not the sort of burden anyone should be carrying going through here. “And Julius?”

  “I was fifteen then, I didn't go with my parents to R-day. Julius... Julius jumped from the top of Thayer Hall when he was a Cow. They say he had taken a shot in intramural football, perhaps he had a concussion that the medics missed. There was a note, but it was garbled, and his roomie said Julius had been acting strangely prior. Unfortunately, his head was too injured in the fall to make a clear determination.”

  “And you still came here? Why in the hell would you do that?” I ask, flabbergasted. “I mean seriously!”

  Carlyle looks up at me, and when I see the strength in her eyes, I understand. “At first I tried to stay away too. But this school, it's in my blood, sir. For three generations a Carlyle has served this country, and served it with honor. My family's name is stained, even if there were accidents that weren't my brothers' faults. You see... Gavin was the p
atrol leader of that class that got hurt. I won't let it end like this. Even if I don't go career, I won't let it end like this.”

  I nod in understanding. “You have a reason to be here, Carlyle. That's better off than some of the other new cadets around. Already we've lost twenty five people who came here not knowing what the hell they were getting into. You've had that advantage at least, and you need to keep using it. Sometimes, when you've got your back against the wall, that's what's going to get you through.”

  “Does every cadet have that?” Carlyle asks, and I shrug.

  “I don't really know. I know what's between my ears, I can't tell you much beyond that. I know I have something, though.”

  “Can I ask what, sir?” she asks, and she smiles a little. It changes her face totally, it makes her actually really pretty, in a nontraditional sense. I feel a stirring down below, but I clamp down on it, she’s off limits.

  I give her a genuine smile still and shake my head with a little bit of regret. “Nope, Carlyle, sorry. Maybe later on, but not to a New Cadet in Beast. You're going to have to earn a few cool points to get that story out of me. But you're sounding better. You still angry at your ex-boyfriend?”

  Carlyle nods, her right fist clenching. “He better be glad he's not in rifle range of me.”

  “Oh? What did you shoot?”

  “I hit thirty seven. But that one hit on the far target was a lucky shot.”

  I'm impressed, thirty seven out of forty is very good, the USMA range is notoriously difficult. “Still, good shooting. And yeah, I think your ex better be grateful you're in New York right now. So, are you feeling any better?”

  “I am, sir. Thank you,” Carlyle says, standing up. “If it's okay, I'd like to go back to my room. The under arms inspection is in two days, and Price still has problems with her manual of arms.”

  “Keep that attitude, Carlyle,” I advise her, standing up as well. “You'll do better than way than you will Washington's way in the long run. And if you need any more help, talk to me, or talk to the next counselor.”