For Love or Country

by Jesse Jordan

  “I will, sir. Thank you.”

  I give her a reassuring smile and open the door the rest of the way for her. “Good luck, Carlyle.”

  She leaves and bounces her way down the hallway, her head high. I watch Carlyle for a minute, and she gets back to her room unharmed, so I lock up the dayroom and return the key. I think about going back to my room, a little old school Starcraft would be fun, but I'm still too troubled by what Carlyle said to really be able to focus on the game. Instead, I change clothes and head downstairs, out into the warm night.

  I find myself walking, but instead of across the Plain like I'd planned at first, I head over towards the library. I pass Patton's statue, then come to the edge of Thayer Hall, Carlyle's words running around in my head. I walk up the ramp to the rooftop parking lot and head over to the far side, looking down. There's a full moon out tonight, and I can see down a long, long way. I don't know how far it is from the top of Thayer to the rocks on the edge of the Hudson below, but it's a certain death. And her brother flung himself off this very roof.

  “Wherever you are, Julius Carlyle,” I whisper, looking up at the moon. “Be thou at peace.”

  I hear footsteps approach, and I turn to see a figure in the night. “Hey, Simon.”

  It's Mitchell, her black hair gleaming in the moonlight, pretty goth vamp in a way. “Hey Ronnie,” I say, knowing she doesn't really like being called the short version of Veronica, but that doesn’t stop me. “How'd you know I was out here?”

  “Saw you heading downstairs out my window,” she says, shrugging. “Heard you talked to one of my new cadets, and you looked worried. Everything okay?”

  “You mean with Carlyle?” I ask. “Yeah, she's fine. Got Dear Jane'd, just had to let off some steam about it.”

  Mitchell nods, then crosses her arms across her chest. “And you? Simon, I know you and I just play around for fun, we're both certified single, but I do at least make sure I like the guys that I fuck.”

  I laugh and come closer to Mitchell, pulling her in close. We're breaking regs sure, but it's very dark on top of Thayer right now. “So you like me, huh?”

  “You're a good guy, Simon,” Mitchell says, patting my cheek. “Do you need to let off a little steam too?”

  “I might,” I acknowledge, “but how about we wait a few days? After we get off this detail, we go down to Newark or even just out to Highland Falls and tear the headboard off of someplace.”

  “I could be down with that,” Mitchell purrs, patting my butt through my PT shorts. “You certainly know how to use what you've got. I wondered why you always wore compression shorts under your PT shorts, now I know why.”

  I smirk and pinch Mitchell's butt, making her gasp and laugh slightly. “And I never knew you always wore thongs under your gear. Now I know why, too. Come on, Ronnie. Let's get through the next few days with the darling new cadets.”

  Ashley

  I don't care how much you like the military, doing a fifteen mile ruck march in the third week of August sucks. Seriously, what idiot decided that the first half mile of the route had to go up a rocky trail at five forty five in the morning when nobody could see?

  The people ahead of me give a cheer, and as we crest the hill that we've been slogging up for the past ten minutes, I see why. It's the Ski Hill, and people are starting to sit down, enjoying a rest break. After this is two miles or so downhill through post to Central Area, where we're broken down into our academic year companies.

  I groan with relief as I sit down, happy to take some weight off my feet. I've held up better than I thought I would during Beast. After that one night of doubt, things have gotten better with second half cadre. Our squad leader, Cadet Payano, drops his ruck to the ground.

  “Okay second squad, check your feet, suck some water, and if anyone needs to pop a squat, now's the time,” he says, looking up and down the line. We had Parker quit a week and a half ago, and Payano's feeling the stress of it. I can't blame Cadet Payano though, all of us could tell back in Beast 1 that Parker wasn't going to make it.

  “Sir, I've got a blister,” Westerman says, peeling off his boot. “Should I pop it?”

  “Negative,” Payano says, coming over and taking a look. “Okay, we've got a while here before we start to move out, about twenty minutes, so I'll see if I can get Doc over here. Don't touch that blister in the meantime, just let your foot breathe. The rest of you, loosen your laces, take off your boots if you want, wiggle your toes. Remember that this day's hardly begun!”

  His cheerful words get a groan from some of the squad, and I can understand. After we finish this damn ruck march, we still have to go to our Academic companies, where the hazing starts all over again. I already know where I'm going, I-1, Ironsides.

  “First platoon!” our second detail platoon leader yells far too soon. He’s a much more laid back guy than Mitchell, with the memorable last name of O'Shaunnesy. “Five minutes, on your feet!”

  “I thought we'd wait until everyone arrived,” Westerman gripes. “What gives?”

  “You see room for eight companies of new cadets on this hill?” Cadet Payano asks. “Pull your head from your fourth point of contact, Westerman. Two companies in, then the lead company moves out to make room for the next.”

  “Huah, sir,” Westerman gripes, heaving to his feet. I pull my boots on and follow suit, and when the company commander hollers for Alpha Company to move out, we lope down the slope, ready for that final lap into post.

  It's slower covering the last two miles than before as with a half mile to go, the squad leaders take time calling cadence. We reach the Plain, where we march along the long concrete one last time as members of Alpha Company.

  We sit around for a while before the final ceremony for Beast is finished, and we're told to fall out to our academic companies. It's the first time I've met a sophomore, or Yearling/Yuk, cadet. “Right, face!” he squeaks, unfamiliar with giving orders. “March!”

  We go around Ike Barracks, and instead of going through Central Area we go around the far side, towards Pershing Barracks where I-1 is located. As we get closer, the sound builds, growing and growing. It's cheesy, it's damn near thirty years old, but it still is intimidating as Charging Fort Wagner fills the air outside Pershing. “Welcome to The Agoge!”

  The quad area around Pershing Barracks is filled with Yearlings and a few Cows, all of whom have a sort of predatory look in their faces. There's also a few uniformed officers and NCOs, TACs who are there to make sure the fun doesn't get out of hand.

  “Halt!” the Yearling marching us calls, and we come to a stop. “Left, face!”

  “At ease!” a Firstie the shaded sallyport calls, casual in his PT uniform. “I'm Cadet Price, your company commander. Standing next to me is your First Sergeant, Cadet King. You can call her First Sergeant. Welcome to Ironsides, and welcome to The Agoge.”

  I glance around, and with the music blaring, Pershing’s certainly got some aura going for it. Cadet Price continues. “Next up, your platoon sergeants are going to have you fall out to your team leaders. First Sergeant!”

  First Sergeant waves, this isn't a formation after all, and turns to us. She's short, but between the muscular look to her arms and the look in her eyes, I can see she's nobody to fuck with. “We'll have our formal get together later on tonight, but for now, know that I expect each of you to bust your butts and give me your best. I'm Cadet King. Team leaders, take your New Cadets!”

  There's another flurry of noise as the Yuks start calling off names. Thankfully they don't all start hollering at once, and some of the team leaders actually go around, tapping their New Cadet and pulling them along. Suddenly, I hear my name. “Carlyle!”

  “Sir!” I respond, picking up my rifle and double timing it over, my pack heavy on my shoulders. My team leader's tall, a total blond surfer dude type it looks like, his hair is just a bit long for the Corps of Cadets. “Come with me, I'm Zampesi, your team leader. A lot of the upperclassmen call me Z-man, so keep your ears
out for that, too. Let's grab some shade before it's all gone.”

  I follow Cadet Zampesi into the shaded area, thankful. “Okay, drop your stuff here, get your rifle cleaned quick. About me, I'm NCAA volleyball, so I've got practice most of the year. I won't be around to hold your hand when you fuck up. That also means I'm jonesing for sleep nearly all the time. You stay squared away, and I'm not going to be all up in your space. Actually, if you fuck up, the squad leader's going to be on your ass instead. He'll be down later, after you get your rifle turned in.”

  “Roger that, sir,” I reply, shifting a little from my four responses but not too much. He may be a NCAA volleyball player, and maybe he looks like he should be an extra in a remake of Top Gun, but I don't want to make any stupid assumptions.

  “Good. Now, how're you feeling?” Zampesi asks. “March back wasn't too bad?”

  “No sir. I am ready for a bed though, I had to sleep on a lump out at Lake Frederick.”

  Zampesi laughs, nodding. “Sounds like my Frederick, except it rained on us. I got flooded out one night actually. Okay, I'm going to go check your room number while you get your rifle cleaned. How much time you need?”

  “Ten minutes, sir?” I ask. Zampesi looks incredulous, but says nothing, moving off. I've already popped my upper receiver out while he talked, and now I use another trick that Dad taught me. I take a string from a chunk of parachute 550 cord that has a long strip of t-shirt tied to it and run it through my barrel. Two passes and it's clean enough I could drink water through it, and I'm working on my bolt with a toothbrush when Zampesi comes back.

  I feel good when he checks my barrel, and whistles in appreciation. “Phew, that's damn near perfect. Hey Squad Leader, check out my smack!”

  Another upperclassman wanders over, I'm too busy looking down at my bolt to notice, but when he talks, I'm surprised. “Well, well, well. Carlyle. Glad to see you made it.”

  I look up, slightly flustered for some reason when I see Cadet Lancaster handing my rifle barrel back to me. “Thanks, sir. Good to be here.”

  “Alright then. Get your stuff squared away, and everyone meet by my room at seventeen hundred, we'll do the squad introductions before dinner formation,” Cadet Lancaster says, turning around. “Zampesi will get you pointed in the right direction.”

  Lancaster walks away, and I get back to my work. He's right, Cadet Zampesi is an okay guy, he's nowhere near the douchebag that some of the Yuks are. I get my rifle turned in quickly, and Zampesi takes me up to my room. “Nice thing about being a female,” he notes as he shows me my room. “With four Plebe females, that's two per room, no tripling up for you. Start clearing your stuff, the room downstairs is unlocked for you to get your things and start hauling. I'll be back at sixteen forty five to make sure you're still alive. Got it?”

  “Yes sir. Sixteen forty five. Thanks.”

  “Don't mention it,” Zampesi replies, disappearing. I dump my ruck sack, helmet and all that crap on a bed and hustle downstairs, down to the storage room where everyone keeps their things in between semesters. I find my trunk and haul it first, it has the most essential things I need for setting up my room before I start worrying about my other uniforms and stuff.

  I'm surprised when about twenty minutes after I start unpacking, Tamara Price comes in, still super shy. “Uh... hi. Guess we're roomies again.”

  I nod, smiling. I know what's up with her, but I don't need to push that point just yet. “Yeah, that'll be nice, right? At least we've got a cleaning routine down already.”

  “Y... yeah, that is nice,” she replies, putting her rucksack down. “Hey, who's your team leader?”

  “Zampesi. He's okay, I think. Guess who my squad leader is, though,” I answer her, grinning. “Lancaster. Remember him, from Beast?”

  Tamara nods, smiling. “Yeah, he was nice. For cadre, I mean. You got lucky, I'm late because my team leader and squad leader decided to spend the whole time seeing how much of my Plebe knowledge I passed off in Beast.”

  “Ouch,” I comment, groaning. “You okay with that?”

  “I'll get through it,” she says. “I mean, it can't stay that way forever, right?”

  “Right.”

  I'm glad that at least for today, the Corps is still in ACUs instead of white over gray, I don't want to worry about tucking my shirt or the shine on my shoes right now. I'm in Cadet Lancaster's room, and looking around, the first thing I'm aware of is that this man is the definition of squared away. His roommate's stuff looks like you'd expect, with a little bit here and there that isn't quite up to inspection standard, but it's the afternoon, you're not supposed to be.

  Not Cadet Lancaster. It's not stuffy, but I almost think I could take a picture of his desk and it could serve as a template for everyone. He's sitting on the top of his footlocker, relaxed and, I have to admit, handsome despite the scar on his cheek. “Okay third squad,” he says, looking around. “Introduction time. I'm Simon Lancaster. New cadets, it's sir or Cadet Lancaster. Yearlings, well, we had our share time earlier, so let me tell the smacks what I told you guys. I'm not a yeller. I'm not going to haze or harass or ride you like an idiot.”

  A wave of relief washes over me, but I can see in Cadet Lancaster's not finished. “But what I do expect, and this is for every member of third squad, is that you bust your ass, even more than First Sergeant said earlier. New Cadets, that means your rooms are going to be held to standard, and I don't miss a single scuffed mirror edge. It means that when it comes time for the TAC to check your grades, there isn't going to be a single D in the entire squad. I don't even want to hear that you're getting Cs. When it comes to military and athletics, I don't expect Brigade Champions, but I do expect to hear that you're all busting your butts out there. And yes, I'll check. Finally, get this out of the way, I'm the company Cow Honor Rep. You can guess I take that one very, very seriously. Any questions so far?”

  There are none, and Cadet Lancaster nods. “Also, and this is something that will come with time, I want you also to try and find some sort of relief from this place. Z-man, you've got volleyball, I know, but the rest of you... by the end of the week I want to know what you're going to be doing to try and stay sane around here. Smacks, I'm going to be getting with you also one on one, making sure you're adapting well. You got any problems, my door's open. Now let's go get some dinner.”

  The early morning sun doesn't warm me too much, it's too late into the fall for that to be worth anything until at least after breakfast. Still, I'm not cold enough to change into my full sweats uniform, one of those Plebe rules that I hate.

  “Good morning, Carlyle,” Cadet Simon says, coming out of his room. It's only five thirty, but he's looking fresh as a daisy. “Ready to run?”

  “Huah sir,” I tell him, and we start off. It's a short run, just to Thayer Gate, around Buffalo Soldier Field and then back, a little over two miles. “I stretched already.”

  We still start slow, going from a brisk walk outside the barracks to a slow jog, and by the time we get onto the sidewalk past Mahan Hall, we're in normal run mode. It's not a fast run, this is a monthly thing he's done with all of the squad's Plebes to check on us in a more relaxed setting than Cadet Area.

  “So how's French going?” he asks, laughing lightly. He's a Foreign Language major, and as a weird twist, I've got my Foreign Language requirement as a Plebe instead of as a Yearling like most get. He's even taking French himself, although it's a lot higher level than I ever want to go. “Got your test back?”

  “Ninety three, sir. Messed up the listening,” I tell him, smiling a little. It’s hard not too, Lancaster’s a handsome guy, and even though I know he’s just doing his job, it’s nice to have one on one time with him. “I'll get it next time.”

  “Not too bad. I struggled with listening at first too. Now that I'm taking Russian, I can't complain about any Romantic language any more,” he says, picking up the pace. “Think you can hang?”

  “I'll do my best, sir,” I huff, striding it out. He's s
till nowhere near his top speed, but it's reaching mine, and I'm feeling the sweat. Cadet Lancaster watches me the whole time, and as we start to circle Buff Soldier he slows down. “I can hang, sir.”

  “I know you can. Actually, I'll give it to you, you're the most squared away Plebe in the squad,” he says as we round the first corner of the field. “You make my job easy. I'd appreciate it if you could continue that.”

  “Thank you, sir. Actually, I have to thank you for something, too.”

  “What's that?” he asks, and I feel myself blush a little.

  “Back in Beast, that night we talked... I was thinking of quitting. Beast itself was pretty easy, although Cadet Mitchell didn't make it any fun. Then your advice sank in, and I found that I do have the right reasons,” I tell him. “So I'm doing it for me, too. Not just my family. I want to see where my breaking point is, or at least if the Academy can push me there. So far... it can't.”

  “Good,” he says, and we round the last corner on the field. “Then let's see just how much I can push you on this mile back. Try and keep up.”

  Simon

  The Corps is feeling down, but it's been expected. Losing to Navy has everyone in the dumps, especially with end of semester exams just around the corner.

  For me though, it's the start of my favorite time of year, the plan up for Sandhurst. The Sandhurst competition is a military skills competition open to cadets from around the country. Each company in the Corps puts up a team, as well as having teams from other schools like VMI, Texas A&M, and the Citadel. Even the Brits send two teams, which kind of makes sense considering Sandhurst is the name of their military academy, RMC Sandhurst.

  The competition is fierce for bragging rights, and I love it.

  “Hey Mike,” I say, knocking on the door of Mike Price. He's already signed up to run the Sandhurst team next semester. “You busy?”