by Doug Beason
“Yes, sir!” As they prepared to march, Rod wondered about the emphasis that Justice put on memorization. He had always had a good memory, so it shouldn’t be tough to memorize cadet knowledge, whatever that was. He didn’t have time to ponder the forewarning as Captain Justice nodded his head in time with the distant drumbeat.
“Bravo, forward harch.” Keeping in time with the music, Justice fell in step beside the squadron as they made their way to a runway adjacent to the academy area.
The music grew louder as they marched. Rod didn’t dare look around, but out of the corner of his eye, he saw the metal stands erected around the runway, jammed with people. His parents were out there. A military band stood smartly at the far end of the area. As the sounds of “Stars and Stripes Forever” thundered over the field, the squadron picked up their step. It seemed that everyone held their heads a little higher and marched with more pride to the stirring music. All they needed to top off the moment were bagpipes.
The crowd cheered as they wheeled into view. The people in the stands struggled to their feet, clapping, whistling. A wave of emotion rolled over Rod as they marched in front of the crowd. He didn’t dare turn his head and look for his parents—he knew they were out there, but he didn’t want to incur Captain Justice’s wrath, for he knew the officer wouldn’t hesitate to make corrections, no matter where they were.
They snapped to a stop next to Alpha Squadron. Rod forgot about the yelling and screaming that he had been subjected to over the past five hours. In front of him people cheered, waving flags and handkerchiefs, clapping and whistling, holding signs that read: WE LOVE CADETS!
Airplanes roared overhead, one after another, saluting the festivities. A C-97 Stratofreighter lumbered low over the field, followed by an enormous B-36 Peacemaker escorted by a screaming flight of four F-100 fighters. Honor guards from the Army and Naval academies marched smartly past in review, their flags and guidons flying in the wind.
The physical gap between the crowd and candidates was not more than a hundred feet, something that Rod could have easily breached in a few seconds; but the emotional gulf that separated him from his parents seemed to widen even as he stood. Adoration flowed from the crowd, as a siren calling him to military life. It was a final sound of encouragement, a memory that would define his transition into something from which he would never return. Waves of clapping rolled over him, and he basked in the moment.
The band stopped in the middle of a stanza as the last of the cadet wing marched into place. The crowd grew quite with the sudden silence. A group of officers stepped to the center of the field.
Words echoed from loudspeakers as the chaplain gave the invocation. Rod tried to concentrate on what was being said, but he was overwhelmed by the images around him: the flag quietly flapping from the flagpole; a stunning blond girl in a white dress holding a hand over her eyes as she searched for her candidate boyfriend; two small boys off to the side, shooting marbles by the stands.
Rod felt transfixed, as if he was observing the ceremony from afar and not participating. The Secretary of the Air Force started the dedication speech by reading a congratulatory letter from President Eisenhower. He caught snippets of the words:
“We now stand at the crest in that upward climb. At last, the uncertainties, the turmoil of the past have given way to a great national institution dedicated to the leadership of United States airpower.… The Academy is a bridge to the future, gleaming with promise of peace in a stable, sane world.… Our airpower has kept the peace … it is keeping the peace, God willing, it will keep on doing so. This Academy we are founding today will carry forward that great effort.…
“With feet firmly planted in the solid center of the United States and with eyes on the stars, the Air Force Academy will move onward to a rendezvous with destiny.”
Secretary Talbot moved away from the podium as the crowd rose, clapping. Rod recognized Colonel Stillman, the Commandant of Cadets, as the colonel stepped forward.
“Candidates of the first Academy class, raise your right hand and repeat the oath of allegiance after me.” The 306 young men raised their hands in unison.
“Having been appointed an Air Force cadet in the United States Air Force, I solemnly swear that I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic; that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same; that I take this obligation freely, without any mental reservation or purpose of evasion; and that I will well and faithfully discharge the duties of the office on which I am about to enter. So help me God.”
The new basic cadets slapped their hands down to their sides as a red, white, and blue-painted four-ship formation of F-84F Thunderstreak fighters from the Thunderbird squadron roared low over the crowd. A wave of applause washed over them. Rod had never felt so proud in his life.
After the chaplain gave the benediction, the band struck up the national anthem. The basics marched off, away from the cheering crowds and toward the cadet area.
Giddy, Rod felt he hovered three feet off the ground as the last remnants of the celebration faded behind him. Ahead, the cadet area seemed to beckon him onward. And as the world he had known disappeared behind him, he approached his new life with 305 of his classmates, renewed in his energy and motivation to survive, and succeed.
***
Chapter Four
“Rollin’ Stone”
July 11, 1955
Red Rocks Amphitheater
Denver, Colorado
Grab a chance and you won’t be sorry for a might have been.
—Arthur Ransome, We Didn’t Mean to Go to Sea
Hank McCluney turned his thoughts away from the Academy and studied the stage, now filled with Boy Scouts from La Junta, Colorado. Dressed in authentic Koshare Indian garb, they danced to the beat of drums and Native American chants. They moved deftly in a circle, darting in and out of shadows, making the outdoor performance seem mystical.
The wooden benches surrounding the stage were packed with honored guests and dignitaries from the Academy dedication ceremony; they had been bussed from a massive barbecue to the outdoor amphitheater immediately after Rod’s swearing-in ceremony. The stars shone brilliantly overhead, burning bright in the thin, cold Colorado air, looking as diamonds glittering in the clear sky. The air was crisp and biting.
A sheet of massive red sandstone rose up around the stage, creating a natural amphitheater. Wooden benches were set on a steep hill with sandstone guardians on either side of the aisle. It was the perfect setting for the perfect ending of a perfect day.
Hank McCluney put his arm around his wife as she pulled a blanket tightly about them. Although she was a head taller than he, she moved her head to his shoulder. She still wore her green Coachman dress and white gloves, looking out of place in the casually dressed crowd, but she always dressed well and carried an air of elegance about her.
Hank kissed her head. “Pence for your thoughts, lass.”
She snuggled up against him, not looking up. “They say his education will be worth over forty thousand dollars.”
“I can’t stop thinking about him, either,” Hank said, admitting where his own mind had been drifting. “I just hope he learns not to be so impulsive. Or obstinate. That will get him dismissed more than any other reason.”
He had thought parting with Jean-Claude would be easier than this. Leaving Mary during the War had been tough, but they’d both known they wouldn’t go through the experience alone. The whole nation had been behind them then, and in many ways it had been easy to be apart, even though they both knew there was a chance he wouldn’t return. But at least everyone shared in the experience, from Speedy Beaumont, his wingman in combat, to the ladies’ circles back in San Bernardino.
Now they were alone. Tonight, once the last speech had been given, the last tickertape floated to the ground, and after the janitors had cleaned up the spilled drinks, he knew that Jean-Claude would still be at Lowry Field, with three hundred of his clas
smates; and it was Rod now, not the little boy he’d rescued in France so many years ago.
It shouldn’t have been a big deal, but with the anticipation that had built up over a decade of struggling to establish the Academy, it was as though he had climbed the world’s largest mountain, and once reaching the top, was suddenly left with nothing more to do. He just wished that Rod and he had parted on better terms.
Mary spoke into his coat. “How hard would it be to stay another day, change the train tickets and sightsee, so we wouldn’t have to leave so soon?” Rod’s departure had hit her hard—this wasn’t the independent woman he’d known all his life. She’d been that way since they’d married, a no-nonsense Scottish girl from the east Texas town of Tyler. They’d known each other for years, from two families of a dozen who’d emigrated from the Lowlands to work the newly discovered oil fields. She wasn’t afraid to set him straight, to speak her mind. And when she knew what she wanted, she wasn’t one to ask; she just did it. Rod really was like her: persistent, yet impulsive.
A surge of memories tugged at Hank. Rod had been with him years ago at General Fairchild’s review of the siting options for the Academy.
He’d always enjoyed taking Rod with him on such trips, but he wished Rod hadn’t been with him that last night at the Hay-Adams Hotel in Washington, D.C.; the lad was too young to be exposed to hardball politics. Thank goodness Rod hadn’t seen that woman forcing herself on him; Hank had known immediately that George Delante was behind it, blackmailing him for insider information, but Rod would have never understood.
Rod was just too damn stubborn for his own good, not to mention brash and impetuous; but unlike Mary, the lad reacted without thinking. He’d known that ever since Rod had killed that German. So Hank knew that if he was ever going to turn things around with the lad, then he had to be patient.
But with Rod starting his new life, he may never have the chance.
Hank whispered, “It shouldn’t be too hard to change our tickets. People do it all the time.”
Mary said, “I’d like to see some of the places you wrote about when you were on the Site Commission: Garden of the Gods, Manitou Springs, Pike’s Peak.…”
Hank pulled her close. “We won’t be able to see him until next summer, even if we stayed. And don’t worry about Rod. I’m sure they’re taking care of him.”
She looked up sharply. “This isn’t about Rod, husband. This is about me.”
***
Chapter Five
“Rock Around the Clock”
July 11, 1955
United States Air Force Academy
Lowry Field, CO
“The discipline which makes the soldiers of a free country reliable in battle is not to be gained by harsh or tyrannical treatment. On the contrary, such treatment is far more likely to destroy than to make an army. It is possible to impart instruction and give commands in such a manner and such a tone of voice as to inspire in the soldier no feeling but an intense desire to obey, while the opposite manner and tone of voice cannot fail to excite strong resentment and a desire to disobey. The one mode or the other of dealing with subordinates springs from a corresponding spirit in the breast of a commander. He who feels the respect which is due to others cannot fail to inspire in them respect for himself, while he who feels, and hence manifests, disrespect toward others, especially his subordinates, cannot fail to inspire hatred against himself.”
—Major General John M. Schofield’s graduation address to the West Point graduating class of 1879
Captain Justice’s voice blasted them like a wash of ionized air from a jet engine. “All right, gentlemen, the show is over for mommy and daddy.” B squadron stood stiffly at attention outside of their dorm as Justice walked their rows.
“It’s time to suck it up, for you are now basic cadets, not civilians anymore. Therefore, you are legally bound to obey my orders and anyone over you—which means every damned person on this planet except for the waiters in Mitchell Hall. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir!”
“From now on you are only allowed five responses to any question: yes, sir; no, sir; no excuse, sir; sir, I do not know; and sir, I do not understand. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir!”
“And finally, unless you’re told otherwise, you remain at attention in everything you do, everywhere you go. That means everywhere—when you’re taking a piss, when you’re in the hallways, when you’re eating: Everywhere. When an officer enters your room, you pop to attention. When you are outside, you double time. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir!” So far, Rod could tell that life was not going to be complicated, just strict. It just seemed that he’d be standing at attention for the rest of his life.
“Now get your butts upstairs and fall into formation outside of your room. Before we start training you must put your room together. Dismissed!”
The basics stepped backwards and turned on their heels. Breaking ranks, they pressed their arms close to their sides and ran back to the dorm … but in their way was a gauntlet of screaming, red-faced, veins-bulging-from-their-heads, hair cropped so close to their scalps that the white untanned flesh stood out against stubble, white-gloved, trembling, and mad-as-hell officers that corrected their every move.
“Chin in, smacko! What are you doing, gaping around? Are you buying real estate? Double time in place. Knees up, up, up!”
Rod started running in place, his chin rammed so far into his chest that he had trouble breathing. He pressed his elbows tightly to his side.
The officer held a white-gloved hand three feet above the ground and screamed just inches from his face, “Come on, mister, hit my hand with your knees! You’re not trying unless you can touch my hand. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, sir!”
“I can’t hear you, basic! Let’s hear you sing the ‘Star Spangled Banner. ’”
“Yes, sir. Oh, say can you see …” Rod gasped for breath as he continued to run in place, trying to hit the officer’s hand which moved out of reach with every thrust of Rod’s knee. Finishing, he bellowed, “… and the home of the brave!” He pulled in a chest full of dry Colorado air, feeling pleased with himself that he had finished—
“Is that it? What’s the second verse?”
A chill of terror washed over him. “Sir, I do not know.”
“YOU DO NOT KNOW!” Captain Justice ran up and joined in the fray. Both officers screamed in his ears. “What’s the correct, response, mister?”
“No excuse, sir!”
“That’s right, you miserable excuse for a human being! Can’t you follow orders?”
“Yes, sir!”
“What are you, mister, some kind of high school hot dog, thinking this is Colorado Women’s College?”
“No, sir!”
“Then let’s hear the fourth stanza of the ‘Star Spangled Banner’! Sound off, mister!”
“Sir, no excuse, sir!”
The first officer moved away and joined in another yell-fest going on next to Rod. In the instant the other officer left, Rod could tell that it was a free-for-all, as if every officer within a thousand miles had donned white gloves and was preventing the new basic cadets from ever reaching their dorms.
Captain Justice looked incredulous. “What do you mean, no excuse, mister?”
Five responses, he thought. No way am I going to say anything else. “No excuse, sir!”
Justice’s face grew even redder. “You don’t know the fourth stanza?”
“No, sir!”
“Incredible! That is the most disgusting thing I have ever heard in my entire life. A member of the first United States Air Force Academy class not knowing the fourth stanza of the greatest song in the history of mankind! There are communists out there that know that stanza, and you’re telling me that you don’t?”
“Yes, sir!”
“Drop and give me twenty. You disgust me. Your whole class disgusts me.”
Rod felt as if his arms were about to
drop off as he pushed up from the concrete.
“Sound off, mister, or don’t you know how to count, either?”
“Yes, sir! Fifteen, sixteen—”
“You’re not counting for yourself, you stupid smack, you’re counting for me. The correct way to count is: One, sir. Two, sir. Three, sir. Understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then start over. Hit it!”
“Yes, sir. One, sir. Two, sir. Three, sir …” By the time Rod had finished, Justice was yelling at another basic. Rod momentarily thought about telling Captain Justice that he had finished, but he remembered his orders: five responses and don’t speak unless spoken to.
So he decided to pop up and make a play for the door.
Within seconds he was in the stairwell, heading for the second floor when someone screamed, “Halt!” The sound echoed against the hollow walls.
Rod froze, not daring to look around. Two other basics ahead of him stopped as well. Oh, great. Just when he thought he had slipped away unnoticed. He wondered if he was ever going to make it to his room.
A voice from above snarled down. “Climb the stairs one at a time! If you use two steps you might slip and fall, then it will take all day to clean your puny little brains off the cement. Go back down and do it again.”
“Yes, sir,” they said. Turning on their heels, they each executed a perfect about face and trotted down the stairs. Reaching the bottom they took the stairs again.
“Keep your hands off that railing! And climb the stairs at attention! Do it again!”
“Yes, sir!” Once again they negotiated their way down the stairs, only to turn and race back up, but this time with their chins rammed into their chest, their arms squeezed tightly to their side and looking straight ahead.
“What are you men doing under cover?” screamed the voice as they huffed to the top of the stairs.
