Cadet: The Academy (7 page)

They confirmed this with Dr. Perkins, who
speculated that the sedative he had used when he operated on the
cadet (his old favorite, chloral hydrate) was probably responsible
for the amnesia. “Will it come back?” He shrugged in response to a
question by Steph. “There’s no way to know, but it’s likely enough
that if she doesn’t remember in the next few days, she never
will.”

When they talked to her, Jodie was her old
self, cheerful and confident, if a little confused about how she
ended in the infirmary. Her two friends were greatly relieved, but
perplexed about what they should do. In the end, they told the
platoon the whole story, and they agreed as a group that they would
keep the story a secret from Jodie and the rest of the world
forever.

When Jodie rejoined the platoon a few days
later, she was surprised, but not displeased, to see that Sergeant
Powers was gone, replaced by Sergeant LeFevre, a huge black man
from Louisiana. She never got a very clear idea of what had put her
in the hospital, and after a while she made a joke of it, flexing
her biceps like a miniature lumberjack, boasting that she had
gotten into a fist fight with Sergeant Powers and had beaten him up
so badly that he ran away rather than face her again. Afterwards,
she would say of some difficult task accomplished that it was
“harder than beating up Sergeant Powers”.

The disgraced Powers had one other legacy
kept alive by Jodie Lawrence. Sergeant LeFevre had many names for
the cadets in his charge: “dumb pussies”, “dickless wonders” and
“little shitheads” were some of his favorites. But he never used
Sergeant Powers’ pet name for them, “cadet cunts”. The term was
kept in use at first only by Jodie, but later was adopted by the
rest of the First Platoon. When they chose a unit name, it was the
“First Platoon Cadet Cunts”, and they proudly marched under the
pennant designed by their leader which bore a stylized vagina, (the
letter “V’ bisected by a vertical line), accompanied by the letter
“C” on either side.

Chapter Five: Meet the General Staff

Cadet training resumed. It was something like
basic training squared with college-level courses added. Every
morning after breakfast, there was a half-hour of drill. After
that, the cadets were put through rigorous calisthenics, followed
by a timed one mile run. Cadets who came in under six minutes were
excused from having to run the next day. After the run, there was
an obstacle course that included a twelve-foot wall to climb and a
mud pit to be splashed through. Sergeant LeFevre’s philosophy was
“spare the rod, spoil the cadet”, and he did not want to risk any
spoiled cadets. Every morning, a half-dozen girls, or more, would
find themselves bent double, holding their ankles, with back of
their skinsuits open and their bare bottoms exposed to the autumn
breezes, awaiting correction for what the Sergeant judged as less
than full effort. Robin was only spanked twice in the first week,
which was less than any of her classmates except Jodie Lawrence who
seemed to positively relish the difficulty of the training. Robin
could not decide which part of the experience she disliked more:
the burning pain of the strokes of the crop or the humiliation of
being forced to ask for the punishment before and the obligatory
expression of thanks afterwards.

The classes in the afternoon were as
difficult, in their own way, as the physical training in the
morning. They were expected to absorb the curriculum of military
history, cartography, battlefield logistics, intelligence,
mathematics and more, immediately, and to remember everything.
Failure to correctly answer questions from the previous day’s work
resulted in the guilty cadet’s being bent over the instructor’s
desk and receiving strokes on her naked buttocks.

After one particularly bad day during the
second week of training, morale was at an all-time low. Every cadet
in the platoon had been beaten with an instructor’s baton at least
once that day, and some twice. The cadets lay prone on their beds
before lights-out in silent misery and resignation. Robin felt
tears roll down her cheek as she gently rubbed the rows of stripes
on her bottom, and thought about home. Suddenly she heard a
familiar voice call out “Buck up, girls!”

She raised her head and saw that the speaker
was Jodie Lawrence. She had been subjected to a particularly savage
beating by the military history professor in the afternoon and, as
a result, had the back of her pants open, the red lines
crisscrossing her perky bottom, which was smeared with white
first-aid cream.

“They can do whatever they want with our
bodies,” she went on when she saw that she had gotten their
attention, “but they can’t touch us in here…” she said, thumping
her chest, “…unless we let them. Let’s show the bastards that they
can’t grind us down. Fuck ’em! We’re the fighting cadet cunts!”

Robin stood up, laughed, and called, “You’re
right, Jodie! Fuck ’em!” and all the other cadets joined in,
calling out “Fuck ’em! Fuck the bastards!” until Sergeant LeFevre
emerged from his room to bellow at them to shut up.

Thereafter, the platoon’s morale rose every
day, as did their performance. Soon, it was unusual for the
Sergeant to have an excuse to discipline more than one or two
cadets during the morning session. Their academic performances
improved as well, after Jodie arranged a tutoring system. The
cadets strong in a particular subject would go over the material
with classmates who were struggling. Robin found herself giving
extra help to Kim Lee and Rahni Vishnan in cartography, and
receiving it from Kim in mathematics.

They were still subject to periodic surprise
visits from Captain Wagner, who generally managed to time his
appearances for when the cadets were bathing. He would put the
nude, dripping girls at attention and move among them, casually
fondling their breasts, asses or pussies. Robin seemed to be one
his favorite targets; he never missed an opportunity to either toy
with the teen’s responsive nipples with his instructor’s baton, or
to roll the little nubs in his fingers until they stiffened to
attention like their lovely owner.

“As you can see, cadet,” he hissed, as he
gently teased her nipples until Robin felt them swell erect under
his touch. “Your body will react to anyone who touches it, even a
man you hate.
It
doesn’t care.” She flushed with
embarrassment and anger, biting her lip to keep silent.

But even these unwelcome visits became
routine after a time, as Robin and her classmates adopted the
philosophy expressed by their unofficial leader, Jodie Lawrence.
The Army might have my body, she thought, as the Captain stroked
the curve of her buttock or slid his hand down her naked belly to
cup her mound, but they’ll never own
me
. That was the way
things stood until the fourth week, when the platoon was inspected
by the Chief of the General Staff himself, General Bernard Grant
Cafferson.

* * * * *

The first notice the cadets had of the visit
was when they were issued dress uniforms after breakfast. These
were identical to the fatigues, except that they were white, with
matching white-visored caps and belts. Each uniform had the cadet’s
name neatly stenciled on the left breast. After they changed into
the new skinsuits, they assembled in two lines outside the barracks
at parade rest.

They were soon joined by their
officer-instructors who, along with Colonel Miles and Captain
Wagner, formed a line at right angles to the platoon’s formation.
They were all in full dress uniforms, complete with impressive
arrays of service ribbons and medals.

A big staff car pulled up, with a flag
bearing a pentagon of five blue stars fluttering from the antenna.
Robin’s eyes widened. There was only one full General in the entire
country: General Cafferson. Her pulse quickened as she realized
that she was about to meet in person the man who ran the
country.

A Captain popped out of the car and hurried
around to open the door for the great man. The Chief of the General
Staff emerged, and Sergeant LeFevre bellowed “Atten-shun!” in his
loudest bull-roar.

He cadets stiffened like ramrods, snapping
off their smartest salutes, which the General returned just as
crisply. He was a thickset man of medium height, with bushy, gray
eyebrows and a square chin. His posture and the way he moved
somehow radiated power. He approached the officers first, and went
down the line, shaking each man’s hand. He seemed to know them all
personally, as he greeted them quietly by their first names. Robin
decided that the General had hand picked the instructors as well as
the cadets.

He approached the cadets, and moved slowly
down their lines looking each girl over carefully. He stopped
before Robin for a long moment, and she looked up into his eyes.
They were as cold and gray as ice; the eyes of a man whose orders
had caused terrible suffering and who would not hesitate to issue
such orders again. He would expect his commands to be obeyed, no
matter what. Robin shuddered invisibly under his gaze. Cafferson
nodded his head almost imperceptibly, and moved on.

He made a surprisingly brief speech to the
platoon, congratulating them on their progress and promising them
that he would be seeing more of them over the next few days. He
watched as the Sergeant put the platoon through drill, then saluted
and walked away, surrounded by the Academy officers.

The cadets were sent back to change into
their fatigues, and were rushed through an abbreviated version of
the morning exercises. After lunch, as they prepared to go to
class, Sergeant LeFevre told Robin to wait behind while her
classmates went off to the school.

“Get back in your dress whites and report to
the Commandant’s office immediately, Bransom” he told her. “The
General wants to interview you.”

Ten minutes later, Robin reported to the
rambling wooden building. Colonel Miles’ secretary directed her
upstairs to the Commandant’s private quarters. She hesitated, and
then knocked timidly on the door.

“Enter,” a deep voice said. She opened the
door to find Colonel Miles and General Cafferson seated on opposite
sides of a round wooden table, which was set with china teacups,
plates and utensils.

“Come in Bransom, and shut the door,” Colonel
Miles said. “We were just about to have some tea. Perhaps you
wouldn’t mind pouring for us. The teapot is over there,” he said
indicating a sideboard, on which sat a tall blue and white
teapot.”

“Yes, sir,” Robin automatically answered,
starting towards the sideboard.

“Oh, before you do,” Colonel Miles said,
bringing her to a halt, “just take off your uniform blouse, will
you?”

Robin froze, and then stuttered, “Uh, of c…
course, yes sir.” As she pulled the shirt over her head, she felt
hot blood rushing to her face. Would she never get used to the
humiliation? she wondered.

“Nice,” was Cafferson’s comment when he saw
her proud, firm globes exposed. “You were right about her, Lester.
She has the best pair of tits I’ve seen in a long time.”

The blush continued to spread from Robin’s
face down to the tops of her breasts, coloring them prettily as she
brought the teapot to the table and poured the steaming beverage
into their cups. When she had filled the cups, Robin stood in
silent shame, awaiting her next order.

“Come over here, next to me,” Cafferson
directed. When Robin stood by his chair, he said, “Put your hands
in the hip loops, cadet.” Robin complied, and the General quickly
tightened the fastenings to confine her hands at her sides. “These
belts are an outstanding idea, Lester. Very efficient.” He reached
up to place his hands on Robin’s breasts, his palms covering her
nipples.

“Will you be needing me any longer, Bernie?”
Colonel Miles asked, rising. “If not, I’ll leave Cadet Bransom to
take care of you.”

“Thank you for the use of your quarters,
Lester,” the General replied. “Bransom and I will be fine for the
next hour, won’t we, cadet?” he asked.

“Yes sir,” Robin responded nervously.
Objectively, she knew that the presence of the Commandant was no
protection for her, but she thought that the General would not feel
as free to use her as long as someone else was in the room. She
watched silently as Colonel Miles left the room without another
word.

The General did not appear to be in any
hurry. He rose from his chair and circled the motionless girl,
looking over her fresh body appreciatively.

“I’ve been monitoring your progress,
Bransom,” he said. “Every report from your instructors is good.” He
moved close behind her, and pressed his torso up against Robin’s
back so that she could feel the bulge in his trousers between the
smooth hillocks of her ass cheeks. “Everyone seems to think that
you’ll be a fine officer someday.” The General reached around her
body to cup her naked breasts in his big hands. He rolled the
nipples between his thumbs and fingers, and they quickly swelled to
life.

“Thank… thank you, sir,” Robin stuttered. She
had thought that she was used to this kind of handling. Captain
Wagner had fondled her breasts so many times in the showers or at
inspection over the last weeks that she hardly noticed the
indignity any longer. This was somehow different. The General was
going to do more than play with her tits or feel up her pussy, she
knew.

Robin heard a ripping sound as he opened the
fasteners in the front and rear of her pants, and felt the air on
her mound, ass, and legs as pulled the tights over her thighs down
to her slender ankles. He drew a sharp breath as he viewed her
delicious nude lower body.

The General’s hand descended on her smooth
haunch and slid slowly around its curve to cup its fullness from
beneath. Robin felt a pulse hammering in her throat, partly fear,
and partly… she was not sure. Arousal, perhaps?