Authors: Amy Efaw
I could tell that Gabrielle was trying hard not to smile as she held a tent peg in one hand and looped the rope around it with the other. “Mind pounding in the peg, Andi? I can’t do everything, you know.”
“No problem, Gab.” I grabbed an e-tool and started hammering.
“You hit my hands, girl, and you’re—”
“You’ve just got to trust me, Gab.”
“I do,” she mumbled.
When we were done, our tent looked perfect. I put my hands on my hips and smiled. “It really looks good. Huh, Gab? No sags. No wrinkles.”
Gabrielle bent over and rummaged around in her ruck. Then she stood up and held out two sticks of wilted Extra spearmint gum. “A piece?” She raised an eyebrow. “For peace?”
I laughed and looked over both shoulders to make sure no upperclassman was around. “Where in the world did you get that?”
She gave me a secret sort of smile. Then she shoved one of the pieces into my hand and whispered, “Just chew carefully.”
CHAPTER 11
THURSDAY, 5 AUGUST 0045
I have a fine incipient case of split personality,
The masculine lined up against the feminine.
This is no place for the feminine.
—DICKEY CHAPELLE, WOMAN WAR CORRESPONDENT (KILLED WHILE COVERING THE VIETNAM WAR)
S
IMULATED BOMBS SCREECHED through the air and white lights flashed, then hovered like spotlights over the woods we’d soon enter. We should have been snuggled inside our sleeping bags. But instead, we sat shivering on metal bleachers and watching the starless sky spit drizzle, the water beading on our ponchos and rolling off. With camouflaged faces and vacant stares, we looked like veteran troops as we waited out the minutes until it was Third Squad’s time to go out on our first night patrol.
Finally, Cadet Daily stood up. He tossed Cero a roll of green duct tape. “Pass that around, Zero. Tape everything metal, Third Squad—flashlights, M-16 straps, LCE suspenders—and anything else that makes noise. Including your mouths, if necessary.” He tossed a wad of olive-green cord to Ping. “That is what we call dummy cord, Third Squad, invented especially for knuckleheads like you. Go ahead, Combat. Help them tie their weapons to their bodies. Leave only about three feet of slack, max. I don’t want to spend the few hours of rack time we’ll have left tonight beating the bushes for an M-16 that was lost in the dark. Now get hot. We’re moving out in a few.”
After Cadet Daily had inspected our tape and tie jobs, he formed us into a single-file line with Kit in the front and Ping in the rear. “Remember, Third Squad,” Cadet Daily said, “this is a tactical patrol. As soon as we move out, noise and light discipline will be enforced. That means no talking and no flashlights. Tonight realism is the name of the game. You got that?”
“YES, SIR!”
“I’ll be on point, and Ping, you’ll bring up the rear. Remember—no crowding. Keep your intervals, about two paces between men.” He pointed at the two fluorescent squares on the back of Kit’s helmet. “Keep the ‘cat eyes’ on the back of the helmet in front of you in sight at all times, Third Squad, and you’ll be good to go. I won’t tolerate any weak excuses from anyone who wanders off. Understand?”
“YES, SIR!”
“Now, for all the noise out here. When you hear a whistle and seconds later an explosion, that’s ‘incoming’—you hit the dirt. When you hear a pop and seconds later you see bright light flooding an area, that’s an ‘illumination flare’—you freeze. This ain’t rocket science, Third Squad. Just use your heads. Stay alert, stay alive. That’s what it’s all about. Now let’s move out.”
We followed Cadet Daily into the woods, peering into the blackness, silent as snakes. The rain had softened the earth, muffling our movement. Even after my eyes adjusted to the dark, I could barely make out the shapes of the trees enclosing us. I held my weapon out in front and pointed it toward the trees, watching for any sudden movement. Years of running cross country had taught me to make split-second decisions about footing. But now, unable to see the ground, I chose each step carefully, feeling with the toes of my boots for rocks or tree roots—anything that could trip me up. And I watched the cat eyes, piercing the darkness from the back of Hickman’s Kevlar moving directly in front of me.
My imagination quickly took over. I was creeping through the jungles of Vietnam, or the forests of eastern Europe. The enemy was out there, waiting, watching. Maybe somewhere someone had a round chambered in his weapon that was destined to rip through my body, ending everything in a second. I felt my pulse speed up, but I wasn’t afraid. I concentrated on keeping my breathing quiet, my footsteps soundless. I was ready for anything.
A whistle screamed overhead.
Incoming!
The explosion crashed as we dove for the dirt. Then we silently got to our feet and moved on, only to hug the muddy ground again and again.
Just after we started down a long hill, a new shrieking sound came from behind me and shattered the silence. “My knee! My knee! Oh, my knee!”
Gabrielle!
Cadet Daily appeared instantly. “What’s going on?” he hissed in a voice that only barely passed for a whisper. He crouched beside Gabrielle, who was now a crumpled, moaning heap, rocking back and forth in the mud and clutching her knee. “Bryen?”
“Sir, I tripped. My knee . . .” She made a move to stand, but only ended up crying out again. “Something’s broken, sir. I just know it. It hurts so
bad!
”
Ping had slipped up the line and was kneeling beside Gabrielle, his hands already examining her knee. I stood beside them, wishing I could do something to help.
Poor Gab!
“Keep it down, Bryen.” Cadet Daily leaned closer to Gabrielle. “You’ve gotta suffer silently. Understand? You’re compromising our position.”
The rest of Third Squad pressed closer, trying to get a look at our first real casualty.
Ping tapped Cadet Daily on the shoulder and whispered into his ear. I strained my ears to hear Ping’s words over Gabrielle’s whimpering. “. . . knee’s intact . . . sir . . . nothing’s broken . . . badly bruised . . .”
Badly bruised?
I stared back at Gabrielle, confused.
That’s it?
Cadet Daily turned back to Gabrielle. “Listen to me, Bryen. You’ve gotta suck it up, understand? You are jeopardizing the safety of every member in this squad. In combat, soldiers are shot, and they don’t make a sound.”
“Yeah,” I heard Hickman whisper beside me. “And all she did was fall down. Give me a break.”
The darkness could hide the disgust on Hickman’s face, but not in his voice.
I chewed on my lip. I couldn’t completely disagree with him. Why couldn’t Gabrielle just stop blubbering? A wave of irritation surged up inside me.
Doesn’t she have any pride?
I stepped away from her and moved closer to Hickman, hoping the subtle gesture would distance me from Gabrielle in the eyes of the squad. I wanted to show them that I was disgusted by her unmilitary reaction, too.
Immediately, I felt guilty. Disloyal. Gabrielle was my roommate. My friend.
I heard a
pop
overhead, and instantly we were blanketed with white light. Nobody moved until the light melted into the dark.
“The enemy knows our location,” Cadet Daily said. “We’ve got to move.
Now.
”
In that instant I understood. Gabrielle had been wrong; pain or no pain, she should have been quiet, she should have kept it in. This was about something bigger than loyalty or friendship. This was about life and death.
I saw Ping help Gabrielle to her feet. “Just lean on me, Gab,” I heard him whisper. “You’ll be okay.”
But still . . . shouldn’t
I
have done something?
I moved aside to let them pass ahead of me, and as I followed behind Third Squad in the dark, one thought plagued me: Gabrielle was hurt, and I had deserted her.
0525
Sounds faded in and out around me, muffled and murky at first, as if I were floating in a pool of water just below its surface. Then, gradually, the sounds became louder, sharper—people talking, the snaps of tent flaps popping open, sleeping bags unzipping, equipment clinking. I slowly became aware of the hard ground under my body and the musty fabric of my sleeping bag. My body was warm, but my nose was cold. Something moved against me, then groaned.
I opened my eyes. Light filtered through the canvas of the tent that enclosed Gabrielle and me like two larvae in a canvas cocoon.
Morning already?
I rolled over and squinted at my watch—
5:27
—then closed my eyes again.
It was already morning when we went to bed last night.
My limbs felt heavy, tired, like they’d been injected with some kind of drug.
Got to get up . . . need to get dressed . . . before Daily . . . gets . . . here.
And I slipped back into the no-man’s-land between wakefulness and sleep.
“RISE AND SHINE, MAGGOTS! IT’S A GOOD MORNING TO DIE!”
The tent shook and my eyes snapped open.
Cadet Daily!
We both shot up into a seated position of attention, our legs still bound by our sleeping bags.
“I want a verbal confirmation that you’re conscious. Bryen! Davis! You up?”
“Yes, sir!”
“Good. You got exactly twenty-two minutes to police up yourselves and your area before Reveille. I was generous, Ladies—I gave you seven extra minutes of La La Land ’cause of our late night. Don’t make me regret it.”
“Yes, sir!”
“How’s that knee, Bryen?”
“Fine, sir.”
“I’ll check it before we move out to training.” He moved away, and I heard him repeat his morning greeting to Kit and Jason next door. “RISE AND SHINE, MAGGOTS. IT’S A GOOD MORNING TO DIE!”
A good morning to die?
And then, with a jolt in my gut, I remembered.
We’re getting gassed today!
We were going to practice what it felt like to die.
Gabrielle sank back into her sleeping bag and moaned. “Three and a half hours of sleep. They’d never think of letting us sleep in for once.”
“Hey, Cadet Daily gave us seven extra minutes, Gab.”
Gabrielle snorted and covered her head with her sleeping bag.
I fumbled with the zipper of my sleeping bag with shaky hands, swollen from lack of sleep. Then I untangled the sling of my M-16 from around my leg and laid the weapon, warm from my body, on the ground between Gabrielle and me.
Okay
—
I’ve got to find my glasses. No contacts allowed today—Cadet Daily said.
I started feeling around my side of the tent for my glasses.
All right—where are they?
“Come on, Gab.” I prodded the mound inside the sleeping bag beside me with my foot. “Get up.”
“Okay, okay! I’m moving.” She squirmed out of her sleeping bag and looked at me. “Your boyfriend drool on you last night?” she asked, pointing at my left thigh.
“What?” I leaned over to inspect it. My nose had just about touched my thigh before I saw what she was pointing at. “Oh . . .
this
?” I licked my thumb and tried rubbing the grimy streak off my thigh. “I guess I didn’t wipe off my M-16 good enough when we got back last night. It was really muddy out there, huh?”
Gabrielle didn’t answer.
I sensed she didn’t want to talk about last night. I could understand that; I wasn’t so sure last night had been one of my better moments, either. I worked quickly to fill the silence. “I’ll tell you what”—I nodded toward my M-16—“I’m really sick of sleeping with this thing.”
“No complaints, Andi. You know what Cadet Daily says: ‘It’s the only boyfriend you’ve got right now.’ ”
Every night that we’d been out here, Cadet Daily had reminded us to guard our weapons well. “You don’t have a girlfriend anymore,” he’d say. “’Cause Jody’s got her.” Then he’d smirk at Gabrielle and me. “And you ain’t got no boyfriend, either. So, Third Squad, when you go to bed tonight, cuddle your M-16 and consider yourselves lucky.”
The subject always bothered me. It made me feel both uncomfortable and inadequate. I didn’t want Cadet Daily thinking that I’d sleep with a boyfriend . . . even if I had one. And I didn’t like him broadcasting the fact that I was a female. I’d rather have him—and the rest of the squad—think of me as just another one of the guys.
I nodded, then pulled socks out of my ruck and wormed my feet into them. The tent was silent once again. Suffocatingly silent. I knew we’d have to talk about last night eventually. Last night wasn’t going to leave on its own. I took a deep breath and plunged right in. “So Gab, how’s your knee this morning . . . really?”
Gabrielle tugged at a string on her sleeping bag and shrugged.
“It looked bad last night.” I waited for her to say something.
She continued to groom her sleeping bag.
“Is it still swollen?”
“Does it
look
swollen?” she snapped back.
I’d said the wrong thing, and now I had to fix it. “I can’t tell, Gab. I took out my contacts last night, so
everything
looks swollen.” I laughed, hoping she’d laugh, too. But she didn’t. “Are you going to see the medic today? Or—”
“I’m not going on profile, if that’s what you’re getting at. So don’t get your hopes up, Super Troop.”
My hopes up? Super Troop?
I watched her bend her knee up, then down.
What did she mean by that?
Did she really think I was glad that she got hurt? Or was she insinuating something else? This wasn’t like Gabrielle; she always said exactly what was on her mind.
But . . . wasn’t she right? Wouldn’t the whole incident—Gabrielle’s accident and her yelling—actually end up benefiting me in a twisted sort of way? Didn’t it make me look that much better—more “hu-ah”—in comparison? And wasn’t that what I’d wanted all along? To have the guys think of me as one of them and not some wimpy female in disguise?