Battle Dress (30 page)

2115

It was like being at an old drive-in movie without the cars—the screen was about that big, set up near the wood line at the edge of the field. Or like an outdoor concert without a band—people everywhere, sitting on the grass with an excitement in the air that was almost electric.

“I don’t believe it,” Cero said. “A movie during Beast. The upperclassmen must be getting soft.”

“Soft?” Gabrielle shook her head. “Leave it to this place to provide entertainment, and what do they come up with? The Patton movie. I don’t call that soft, Cero. That’s hardcore indoctrination.”

“Third Squad!”

The voice behind us made us jump to our feet in a conditioned response and yell, “YES, SIR!” New cadets nearby stopped talking and eyed us nervously.

Cadet Black walked around to our front, shaking his head. “Glad to see your motivation level’s still high, Third Squad, but this is recreation time. Sit down, sit down.” He waved toward the ground, and as we resumed our positions on the grass, he sat with us. “So tell me.” He smiled. “You guys ready for a good dose of Old Blood and Guts?”

“YES, SIR!”

“Glad to hear it, Third Squad. General George S. Patton is a big hero of mine, ever since I saw the movie during
my
Beast. It’s kind of a tradition around here, to get you all fired up about being American soldiers. And George C. Scott, may he rest in peace, did a pretty decent job playing him, so enjoy.”

“YES, SIR!”

“Well,” he said, checking his watch, “I do have one order of business to take care of before this thing kicks off.” He looked at me. “Davis, Cadet Daily says you’re a swimmer. That right?”

“Well, sir, I . . .” I swallowed. “I’m not a swimmer, exactly. I worked as a lifeguard for a couple years, taught little kids how to swim and stuff, but I never swam competitively or anything, sir.”

Cadet Black nodded. “Just wanted to make sure you’re not gonna sink on me, Davis.” He leaned closer. “Okay, here’s the deal. I’m sure you’ve been hearing noises about the Iron Man Competition that’s going on tomorrow afternoon.”

Jason reached over Kit, sitting next to me, and jabbed my arm.

I ignored him. “Yes, sir.”

“Every company needs four individuals to represent them in the competition,” Cadet Black said. “And Hardcore’s entire chain of command—from the squad leaders on up to the Company Commander and First Sergeant—had a little powwow this evening and came up with a list of names. And yours, Davis”—he leaned closer—“was at the top of our list.”

Me? At the top of their list?
I looked down at my hands, not really seeing them.
Everyone was talking about me? All the squad leaders, platoon leaders, and platoon sergeants—even First Sergeant Stockel?
I looked up at Cadet Black, and all I could do was nod.

“Understand,” he went on, “this is totally voluntary.” He held up his hand. “It’s highly encouraged, mind you, but if you really don’t want to do it, we won’t hold it against you.” His lips twitched. “Too much.” He paused, watching me. “So what will it be, Davis—Go or No-Go?”

I didn’t hesitate. “Go, sir!”
My name was at the top of their list!

He grinned and slapped me across the back. “Didn’t doubt it for a second.”

I stopped myself from smiling up at him. I had to act cool. Not too excited. As if I’d expected it all along.

“Our Athletic Officer, Cadet Barrington, will be meeting with you sometime tomorrow morning to give you the details, but basically, what you’ll be doing is swimming out and back to this raft that’ll be in the middle of Lake Frederick. Then, as soon as you hit the beach, you’ve got to knock out fifty push-ups—”

Fifty push-ups?
I cringed inside.
Great. I’ve never done fifty push-ups at one time in my life!

“—and fifty sit-ups as fast as you can, and finish up by running a couple of miles around the lake. Piece of cake.”

“Yes, sir,” I said.

“I’ll be counting your push-ups and sit-ups, okay? But we’ll talk about all that tomorrow.”

“Yes, sir.”

Cadet Black stretched to his feet, and I stood with him. “We’re expecting big things out of Hardcore, Davis. We’ve got an awesome team. We’ve got this guy from Fourth Platoon, Ziegler—he’s a nationally ranked swimmer—and some water polo player from Second Platoon named Fritz. And then there’s Valente from First Platoon. You probably know him, Davis—he’s a recruited track guy.”

I shook my head. “No, sir.”

“Well, supposedly he can run the mile in 3:58 or something. But we”—and I thought I saw him wink at me then—“haven’t been able to try him out in the Black Group because he’s been on a no-running profile most of the summer.” He shrugged. “Looks like he’s got some recurring heel injury, and your coach doesn’t want to take any chances with it. Tomorrow will be the first time he’s run all summer.”

I nodded.
A 3:58 miler? A nationally ranked swimmer?
Suddenly I didn’t feel so excited anymore.
How could I be at the top of their list with those guys on it, too?

“Oh, yeah!” He slammed his fist into the palm of his other hand. “We are going to kick some serious butt, Davis!” He laughed, shaking his head. “The rules say that each company has to have at least one female on its team—”

At least one female?
I felt my heart collapse in on itself and sink into my stomach.

“—and well, in our case, Davis, that was clearly a no-brainer. For obvious reasons.” He slapped me across my back again. “Get some decent sleep tonight, Davis. After the movie, of course. We’ll need you nice and rested up for tomorrow.”

“Yes, sir,” I mumbled.

“Have a good one, Third Squad!” he said. And he was gone.

I sank back into the grass, feeling numb. And stupid.
At the top of their list. Yeah, top of their
female
list, he meant. I should’ve known—Hickman was right. Why . . .
how
could I have expected anything else?

Gabrielle nudged me. “Hey, Andi, what’s wrong? Bummed you won’t be lounging under the sun with me tomorrow?”

“No, Gab.” I sighed. I didn’t have the heart—or energy—to go into it now. “Just tired, I guess.”

“No, that’s not it,” Kit said. “It’s what Cadet Black said about needing at least one female on the Iron Man team. You think that’s why you got asked to do it, don’t you, Andi?”

I looked at him, not being able to read clearly what his face said in the dark. Was I that transparent? I always thought I’d been so good at hiding things at home.

“No way,” Gabrielle said, shaking her head. “Cadet Black said picking Andi was a no-brainer.” She leaned closer and peered into my face. “That
is
what’s bothering you! I don’t believe it.” She crossed her arms and huffed. “Andi, sometimes you are so . . . weird! So what if they needed a female on the team? What’s the big deal? I mean, what are you trying to prove, anyway? That you’re a guy or something? Well, guess what, Hon?” She reached behind me and snapped my bra. “You’re not!”

I glared at her as I adjusted my bra, then looked down at my hands. “Look, guys. It’s not that big a deal, okay? It’s just that . . . well, it would’ve been nice to be asked just because . . . I can do it, you know? Like the three other guys were asked ’cause they can do it? Everyone’s just going to think that the only reason I’m out there is because I’m a female, not because anybody seriously believes I can win the thing.”

“If that’s what you think, Andi, then you’re just going to have to prove them wrong,” Kit said, “and smoke everyone. You know, beat ’em at their own game.”

Beat ’em at their own game?
I hadn’t thought of it like that before. But . . . maybe I could.

“You’ve only been doing it all summer,” Gabrielle said.

Then I noticed the new cadets around me were turning their attention to the screen at the edge of the field. The image of an American flag filled the entire screen, almost glowing in the night. A buzz of conversation came over the sound system, and then a commanding voice boomed over the buzz, “ATTEN-
HUT
!” And all was quiet, over the sound system and in the field in front of the screen, except for the muffled click of footsteps, moving closer. A man in uniform rose up from the bottom of the screen as if he were climbing a flight of stairs into it. First the helmet appeared, black with four silver stars emblazoned across its front. Then the face, stern and unsmiling, looked at us out of a pair of narrowed eyes. Then the chest, covered with medals and sashes and braids, and gleaming black riding boots completed the picture. A trumpet fanfare announced his presence—a ramrod-straight, crisp, military figure superimposed over the flag.

“Be seated.” The figure on the screen paused for the sound of shifting chairs to cease. “Now, I want you to remember,” he continued in a gravelly voice, “that all this stuff you’ve heard about America not wanting to fight, wanting to stay out of the war, is a lot of
horse
dung!” The man slowly paced back and forth as he spoke, punctuating his words with a riding crop he held in his hand but never taking his eyes off us. “Americans traditionally
love
to fight. All
real
Americans
love
the sting of battle.”

“HU-AH!” cried the new cadets around me. I glanced at Kit beside me. He was clutching his hurt shoulder, but he was leaning forward, his eyes locked on the screen.

He’s really getting into this!
For some reason Kit’s intensity surprised me. I’d just been grateful to have something—anything—take my mind off the Iron Man Competition. But now I turned back to the screen, intrigued.

“When you were kids,” the soldier went on, “you all admired the champion marble shooter, the fastest runner, big league ball players, the toughest boxers. Americans
love
a winner and will not
tolerate
a loser! Americans play to win
all the time
! I wouldn’t give a hoot in Hell for a man who lost and laughed. That’s why Americans have
never
lost and
will never
lose a war. Because the very
thought
of losing is
hateful
to Americans.”

Kit leaned toward me, his eyes still on the screen. “That’s why,” he whispered, “you got picked for the Iron Man Competition, Andi. Not because they needed a female, and not because you were the best they could get. But because you’re
that
kind of person.” He nodded at the screen. “You’re a winner. And everybody knows it.”

“Shhh!” Gabrielle hissed at us. “Can’t you see I’m trying to watch a movie here?”

SUNDAY, 8 AUGUST 1430

The sun was bright and hot overhead, causing little waves of heat to shimmer over the surface of the lake. The air was soaked with heat, but more suffocating was watching the tense faces of my competitors as they prepared themselves for the race, bouncing and stretching on the strip of silty, rocky sand that bordered the water.

I stripped off my Gym Alpha as the King of Beast had instructed over the bullhorn, then began to warm up, wearing only my swimsuit. I stretched my quads and hamstrings, and I ran in place, all the while sneaking glances at my competition, thirty-six of us in all. Most of them were guys; I had expected that. I counted only nine females, including me—one from every company, and no more. One of them I recognized—the girl with the Asics I had seen at the Field House during track tryouts earlier in the summer. We hadn’t run in the same group that day, but I remembered watching her lope across the finish, easily nailing her mile time at 5:30 on the dot.

I shook out my arms and faced the water, trying to choke down my mounting nervousness.
Doesn’t mean she can swim. Most runners sink like rocks when they hit water. Plus she’s not a guy.
The guys were the ones I was really concerned about. Kit had clarified my mission last night. Beat ’em at their own game, he had said. And that was exactly what I’d set out to do—prove that I wasn’t out here just because I was a girl. I couldn’t worry about another girl beating me, too. I’d go crazy if I did.

I watched two upperclassmen swim out to the raft in the middle of the lake. The King of Beast had said they’d be there, watching us. “You may use any stroke or combination of strokes to get there,” he had said during his prerace briefing, “but you must touch the raft before returning to the shore. Anybody who fails to do so will be disqualified.”

Most of the guys around me looked like swimmers—stocky, big upper bodies, strong legs. It only made sense; they also had the kind of arms that could crank out push-ups forever.
But it doesn’t mean they can run.

I played my strategy over in my mind. I would get a decent start during the swim, struggle through the push-ups somehow, then make up time during the sit-ups and the run. Especially the run.

“All new cadets participating in the Iron Man Competition, fall in at the start line at this time!”

Cadet Black scooped up my running shoes and Gym Alpha from the sand at my feet. “I’ll be looking for you when you exit the water, Davis,” he said. “Go get ’em!” And he was gone before I could say, “Yes, sir.”

In a few seconds it’ll be all over.
Once it started, I knew my nervousness would leave me. My body would take over then, and whatever would happen would happen. I moved with the others to find a spot in the front rank between the two orange cones that marked the starting line.

I stared out at the water.
I’ll swim mostly crawl. It’s fastest.
I chewed on the inside of my lip.
I don’t know . . . the water looks pretty murky. And there’s going to be lots of people, too. Lots of splashing, lots of waves.
I let my breath out slowly.
Maybe switch off between breast stroke and crawl . . . probably more breast than crawl since I’ll need to see where I’m going.
Then it struck me. See where I’m going! A panicky feeling flared up in my gut.
I’ve got contacts in! If I lose them in the water . . .

Without contacts I couldn’t see past the tip of my nose. I’d never be able to find my way out of the water, let alone make the run.
And if I don’t make the run . . .