Gray Girl (15 page)

“What the hell…are you talking about?”
 
Kristi asked.
 
“Sir?”

Trane turned to Jan. “I’m saying that you were exhausted from running
back and forth between Third and First Regiments, right?”
 

“Yes, Sir,” Jan admitted.

“And when they got you in the CQ room, you were scared shitless,
right?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Because they screamed and yelled in your face and accused you of doing
something you didn’t do, right?”

“Right, Sir.”

“Then the next morning, you were exhausted again, having only slept a
few hours…when you went to Jackson’s room at 0500 hours.

“Well, about 0515, but yes, Sir,” she agreed.

“And you were scared—scared shitless because he has a history of
hazing you—so in your exhausted, frightened state, you entered his
room.
 
Then your version of events
may not be considered so unreasonable if they can put themselves in your shoes
for a moment.
 
If you went to his
room, tired and scared, maybe they will see why things seemed very different to
you,” Cadet Trane argued.

“But Sir, I’d have to be delusional to have made such a differing
account from Jackson.
 
I wasn’t out
of my mind, Sir,” Jan insisted.

“I know,
Wishart
, I know.
 
I’m just trying to get them to consider
that there might be two versions of the same event.
 
Maybe all of it happened—what he
says happened and what you say happened.
 
That way, they can have an out.
 
Don’t you see?”
 

“Yes, Sir, I see.
 
I just
don’t know that it’s enough.” Jan thought a moment, “Sir,” she wasn’t sure how
to bring this up, “if I can convince Debra
Plowden
to
write a statement about what happened over Army/Navy weekend, would….”

“What?
 
Why?”
 
Trane looked confused.

“Sir, I may be able to raise enough doubt in their minds if they hear about
something that happened to her in our hotel room.
 
We all feel fairly certain that
Jackson….”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Sir, I know it sounds crazy, but I have a very good reason for this…do
you…”

“NO!” he shouted.

Jan flinched.
 
She had never
heard him sound so angry.
 

“That’s stupid,
Wishart
!
 
Whatever happened to
Plowden
has absolutely nothing to do with what’s gong on here.
 
If you try a ridiculous stunt like that,
they will find you guilty for sure.”
 

Jan felt like an idiot.
 
Of
course it was stupid.
 
“Sorry,
Sir.
 
I just thought …”

“Well don’t do anymore thinking like that!
 
It’s not helpful and not relevant to
your case.
 
Just focus on the events
of last weekend, not on something that may or may not have happened to someone
else months ago!”

“Yes, Sir.” A long pause ensued as Jan contemplated how she could use
Trane’s advice.
 
She had accused
Jackson of hitting her in the face during their altercation in his room Monday
morning which he flatly denied doing.
 
That’s why he brought the honor charges against her.
 
He also claimed that she threw a shoe at
him, which she readily admitted.
 
No
one is going to believe we are both telling the truth.

“Jackson’s a
friggin
’ asshole!”
 
Kristi said, plainly as always.

The roommates pinged back to lunch formation and fell in their squad
lines.
 
Dogety
seemed to ping straight over to Jan.

“Miss
Wishart
, how are things looking with
the Honor Board?
 
I know you cannot
give me specifics, but can you tell me if things are going well?” he asked.

“No, Sir.
 
Things will not
likely go well for me, unless someone validates my side of the story.”
 

“And you’re sure there are no other witnesses from Monday morning?
 
Anyone who heard you or saw you in Cadet
Jackson’s room?”
 
He almost seemed
to be hoping.

“Not that I know of, Sir.
 
I
didn’t see anyone else that morning.”
 

“But what about one of your roommates—Cadet McCarron or Cadet
Trane?
 
Did either of them see
anything that could substantiate your version?”
 

“No, Sir.
 
I told them what
happened later, but they didn’t notice anything unusual about me that morning.”
 

Dogety
lowered his voice, “Miss
Wishart
, you know I
want to help you, don’t you?”
 
This
was the first time Jan heard him admit anything like this.
 
His eyes held a sadness she had not seen
before.
 

“Sir, I don’t know that.”
 
She answered truthfully.

“Well, I do,” he looked straight into her eyes.
 
Then lowering his voice even more, he
added, “I’m trying to figure it out.”
 
He walked back to the front of the platoon.

After lunch, Jan raced back to her room to brush her teeth.
 
She found a folded piece of paper lying
on her bed.
 

Jan,

I
know you are not supposed to say anything but you have to tell me a little
more.
 
I might be able to help
..?
 
First, I
have to know what are the specific charges against you.
 
Can you just write them down?
  
That way you can honestly say that
you didn’t talk to anyone…

PLEASE,
don’t delay!!

SKIP

Jan quickly wrote a note and taped it to her
door.

SKIP,

I
am under strict orders not to talk about the Honor Board.
 
No one mentioned anything about writing
though.
 
Still, I trust that you
will destroy this note as soon as you read it.
 
Jackson says I opened his routing
envelope, took his notes and replaced them with another note.
 
He’s also charging that I lied about
what happened Monday morning. He flatly denies hitting me.
 
So, it’s likely that he will get me one
way or the other.
 

You’ve
been a good friend to me this year.

Jan

14

Q: What is the definition of leather?
 

A:
If the fresh skin of an animal, cleaned and divested of all hair, fat and other
extraneous matter, be immersed in a dilute solution of tannic acid, a chemical
combination ensues; the gelatinous tissue of the skin is converted into a
non-putrescible substance, impervious to and insoluble in water; this Sir, is
leather.

Heritage, Bugle Notes, 81, p. 242

Saturdays were parade days.
 
Even when the football team played away
games, the cadets still had to march for visiting dignitaries or reunion
weekends or just because it was Saturday.

Jan looped the white starched belt
around her waist and pulled tightly so that it held the bayonet firmly in place
over her right hip.
 
She lifted the
other white straps over her head and across her chest, securing them between
her breasts with the small brass shield.
 
She donned the patent leather, pluming hat, which never actually fit on
anyone’s head, and placed the chinstrap just under her bottom lip.
 
Whoever
thought this hat design was a good idea?
 
After sliding on the white gloves, she turned to Angel.

“Need help?”

“Check my breastplate, please.”
 
Jan adjusted Angel’s gold centerpiece,
making sure it canted forty-five degrees from vertical.
 

“How’s mine?”
 
Jan asked.

“Looks good,” Angel replied.
 
They both grabbed their M-14’s from the
wooden rack by the door, gave each other one last glance, then shot out of their
room to parade formation.

Free time supposedly began when the
parade ended.
 
So the roommates
frowned at each other when they heard two loud knocks on their door just after
they returned to their room.

Do
they really have to put a fist through the door every damn time?

“Enter, Sir!”
 
Jan and Angel yelled at once.

Cadet
Dogety
stood at the entrance to their room holding out a package.
 
“
Wishart
, this
needs to go to Cadet Jackson in Company B-1.
 
You don't mind delivering it for me, do
you?”

“No, Sir.”
 
As if she had any other options.
 
She couldn't say, “Sorry, I'm busy right
now.
 
Why don't you deliver it
yourself, Sir?”

“Good!”
 
He tossed the package at Jan.
 
He was close to six feet and probably
weighed less than one hundred sixty with not one ounce of fat.
 
His arms extended almost to his knees
when standing at attention.
 
Jan
noticed his disproportional body during Beast, which seemed like another
lifetime ago.
 

“I'm sure you'll have no problem finding
Cadet Jackson's room in First Regiment,”
Dogety
added
with a smirk before turning and walking down the hall.

Jan closed the door and turned to
Angel. “Shit.”
 
Angel didn’t like to
hear cussing, but Jan felt justified this time.
  
Going to First Regiment would be
difficult; going to Jackson’s room could be downright dangerous.
 
“Why doesn’t he get a male plebe to
deliver this?”
 

Dogety
and
Jackson both seemed to enjoy harassing plebes.
  
But Cadet
Dogety
never physically touched anyone without permission.
 
Jackson was a whole different
animal.
 
He gained a reputation in
Beast for harassing the new cadet women.
 
Jan had first hand experience with that.
 
He didn’t hide his verbal assaults
either.
 
“Move those fat cheeks, new
cadet,” Jan heard him say once to a classmate.
 
Another time, she saw him slap a new
cadet’s butt and say, “You better get that spare tire moving!”
 

“He’s disgusting,”
Jan
muttered to herself, recalling the time he took her for the late night
run.
 
But she also smiled,
remembering when she hit him with a piece of cornbread at Lake Frederick.
  

“Maybe he won’t be in the room when
you get there,” Angel said.
 

“Well, I will just have to cross that
river when I get to it or however the saying goes.”

“Okay, well, just worry about getting
in and out of First Regiment safely,” Angel said.
 
Plebes avoided other regimental areas if
at all possible because each one had its own rules.
 
No one wanted to “
spazz
-off”
in the wrong side of town.
 

A small tapping on the door indicated
a friendly visitor, another plebe most likely.
 
“Come in,” the two roommates said.
 

Drew entered the room. “I heard our
favorite Squad Leader’s voice at your door.
 
What did he want?”
 

“He gave me this package to deliver
to Jackson in B-1.”
 

“Oh.”
 
And then Drew seemed to realize her
double jeopardy, “Oh, shit!”

“Tell me about it,” Jan replied.
 
Drew once had to deliver something to Fourth
Regiment.
 
Although that trip went
smoothly, they heard rumors from other plebes.
 
Crossing over to another regiment felt
like crossing into enemy lines, sort of.
 
No one would die, no one would get wounded, and no one would be captured
as a POW.
  
But for a West
Point plebe, it still felt like walking into the lions’ den.

“I’ll go with you,” Drew said.

It’s
just like him to offer
.
 
Jan
knew Drew had her back more than anyone else.
 
He always seemed to be willing to
sacrifice his own safety for hers.
 
He’s going to be a great officer one
day.
 

“No thanks, Drew.
 
It’s going to be difficult enough for me
to find his room without
spazzing
off.
 
One lost plebe might go undetected.
 
Two confused looking plebes will
definitely stand out.”
 
Jan didn't
want to get anyone else in trouble for her sake.
 

“Why don’t I just go then?”
 
Drew asked.
 
“Jackson won’t mess with me.”
 

“Then they will give me shit for
passing off my duty to you.
 
No,
Drew,
Dogety
purposely wanted me to deliver
this.
 
He’s best friends with
Jackson, and if I don’t bring the package myself, I will never hear the bottom
of it.”
 

“End of it,” Drew said.

“Whatever.
 
You know what I mean.”
 

“Well, Jan, I know you can handle
this.
 
You’ve dealt with much worse
already,” Angel said.
 
And she was
right.
 
Jan, Angel, Drew and all
their classmates had survived Beast.
 
They were now solidly in plebe year at West Point.
 
They were managing the tremendous
demands of the “Fourth Class System” and they were going to survive this.
 
“I'll be praying for you,” Angel
added.
 
Jan didn’t know if Angel was
Baptist or Catholic or Mormon; she only knew she was extremely religious.
  
       

“Thanks, right now I just need a
dress-off.”
 
Jan turned her back to
Drew who helped execute a perfectly tight dress-off.

“Okay, how do I look?” Jan asked.

“
Maavelous
,
daaling
!!” he said.
 

“You got this, Jan,” Angel added.

“Well,
here goes!
”
 
She opened the door and stepped out into
the wild, wild jungle that was West Point.
 

Hugging the walls all the way down
the hall and moving at three times the normal walking speed, Jan made her way
to the stairwell.
 
Descending the
steps, she lifted her forearms, parallel to the floor.
 
She turned at every corner of the
stairwell until she came to the next set of steps.
 
She called it the “plebe shuffle.”

Exiting one set of double doors, she
pinged across Central Area, the large paved quadrangle separating the Second
and Third Regimental barracks.
 
She
passed through a sally port, one of many at West Point, which allowed access
through a building without going inside.
 
Then she entered the new and strange land.
 

First Regiment was divided into two
sections: New South and Old South.
 
The dilapidated barracks of Old South housed Companies A, B and C.
 
Companies D, E, F, G, H and I were
located in two facing buildings called
New
South.
 
Jan wondered how long these would be
called New South—since they were built in 1962, a year before she was
born.
 
And now that Old South was
being renovated, with scaffolding stretching across the entire front of the
u-shaped, gothic stone structure, Jan thought it should be called “New, Old
South.”

Crossing Old South area, Jan looked
for the entrance to B Company.
 
Each
leg of the U-shaped building had a set of double doors but nothing to indicate
which wing held which Company.
  
She chose quickly.
 
Better to act like you know what you’re
doing and be wrong than to act unsure and be right.
 
Jan learned this lesson early.
 
At West Point, appearing “squared away”
was more than half the battle.
 

A
and C companies are probably the end ones.
 
B should be in the middle.
 
She headed up the flight of stairs to the
third floor.
 
Best start there and work my way down.

 
As she squared the corner of the last
stairwell, an upperclassman screamed, “BEANHEAD, HALT!
 
What the hell are you doing, Smack?”

“Sir, may I make a statement?”

“It better be good!”

“Sir, I’m delivering this package to
Cadet Jackson in B-1.”

“So?
 
I’ll ask again, what the hell are you
doing,
Beanhead
?”

“Sir, I believe B-1 is on the third
floor of this building.”

“You aren’t from around here, are
you, Smack?”

“No, Sir.”

“Next time you come to this part of
the woods, you better get your shit together first.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Now get outta here.”

“Yes, Sir.”
 
Jan executed an about face and began
descending the stairs.
 

“What the hell are you doing now?”

“I’m leaving, Sir.”

“Not on my stairwell, you’re
not.
 
Get off my stairwell and go
find your own stairwell.”

“Yes, Sir.”
 
Jan ran back up to the third floor and
began pinging down the corridor.
 
Given that she had made it this far, she decided to look for “Jackson”
on the doors.
  
After two
complete rotations, she spotted the name.
 
She approached the door and knocked.
 

“Come in.”
 
Jan pushed open the door.

Every cadet room looked the
same.
 
A sink counter with laundry
bins below and a mirrored cabinet above stood just inside the door on one
wall.
 
Usually two beds flanked
either side of the room with two desks located just behind the beds facing the
door.
 
Cadet Jackson sat behind his
desk.
 
Before entering the room, she
said, “Sir, I have a package from Cadet
Dogety
for
you.”
 

“Bring it here.”
 
He lifted his left hand and waved his
fingers, motioning her to come toward him.
 
Jan walked the length of the room coming to Jackson's desk.
 
She set the package down and turned to
leave.
 
“Stand fast,
Wishart
.”

Jan faced him again about three feet
from his desk.
 
“How’s it going over
in H-3, Miss
Wishart
?”
 

“It’s going fine, Sir.”

“They’re probably way too easy on you
over there.
 
Here in B-1, things are
different for our
beanheads
, female
beanheads
in particular.”
 

Jackson stood up and walked to his
door, closing it.
 
Oh no, here we go
.
 
“Sir, I’m going to report you if you
even come near me.
 
I’m leaving now,
Sir.”
 
She headed toward the door.

Jackson folded his arms across his
chest and stood in her way, blocking the exit.
 
Jan narrowed her eyes and tightened her
lips in a line.
 
She looked straight
at Jackson and said, “Sir, if you don’t let me pass, I will scream, and then I
will kick you in the balls.”