Gray Girl (9 page)

10

“Cadets
cultivate the habit of not offering excuses.
 
There is no place in the military
profession for an excuse for failure.
 
Extenuating circumstances may be explained and submitted, but, even if
accepted, such explanations are never considered excuses.”

The Fourth Class System, Bugle Notes, 81, p.72

The last week of Cadet Basic Training
finally arrived and began with a grueling 14-mile road (and off-road) march in
full gear to Lake Frederick.
 
The
new cadets and cadre wore the OD green, Army fatigues, helmets and Load Bearing
Equipment (LBE
) which
held the water canteen, bayonet,
compass and other necessary items.
 
Then the rucksack went over everything—holding socks, underwear,
personal hygiene items, sleeping bag, pup tent and various
field
training equipment.
 
They also wore
their
, now worn in, Army issued combat boots and carried
M-16 automatic rifles.

They had completed plenty of marches
in full gear, but none more than five miles.
 
This last march would be more than
double the length of any previous marches. “You WILL NOT fall behind on this
march,”
Dogety
told Jan a few days before.
 
In fact, he informed the entire squad
that no one would be allowed to quit the march to Lake Frederick.
 
For any reason.
 
Period.

He also warned them about “Bear Hill”
near the end of the march.
 
“It’s a
do-or-die hill,”
Dogety
told the entire squad.
 
“You will either make it to the top of
this hill or you will die trying.
 
Especially you,
Wishart
.”

“Yes, Sir.”
 
Jan could march with the best of
them.
 
As long as the formation
didn't break into a run, she knew she would make it.

“Everyone who ascends Bear Hill
successfully will be welcomed into the Corps of Cadets.
 
Those who don’t, well, they just aren’t
cut out for the Academy.”
 
Dogety
reiterated this sentiment on several occasions
before and during the march.
 

The first six miles went smoothly for
Jan.
 
They stopped every couple of
miles for a brief water break.
 
At
some of those water breaks, they were ordered to take off their combat boots
and change their socks.
 

At
the
 
seventh
mile, Jan began noticing
a pain in her left big toe.
 
She
didn’t mention it to anyone knowing that
Dogety
would
tell her to “suck it up” anyway.
 
Besides, a little blister could not, and would not, keep her from
marching.
 
However, by the tenth
mile, her toe began throbbing.
 
At
the next sock change, she took her boot and wet sock off to discover a massive
blister.
 
A soft liquid-filled lump
bulged on top of a larger, harder lump.

As she examined her toe,
Dogety
walked over and saw the bulbous growth.
 
“
Wishart
, why
didn't you say something?
 
That's
the biggest blister I've ever seen.”
 
He yelled for the medic.
 

“Sir, may I make a statement?”

“What is it,
Wishart
?”

“Sir, it's fine.
 
I can march just fine.”

“Yeah, well, that looks like it’s
infected.
 
It needs medical
attention, ASAP.”

“Sir, I don’t want to stop…”

“I know, I know,
Wishart
.
 
But you
gotta
do what you
gotta
do.
 
And that thing isn’t going away
on it’s own.”

Dogety
walked away as a young Army specialist assigned to Sixth Company came running
over.
 
He took one look at her
blister and said, “I
gotta
drain it.”

“How do you do that?”
 
Jan feared he might have to take her
somewhere which
would cause her to lose her place in the
squad.

“I'm going to lance it and push out
the puss.
 
Then I’ll clean and
bandage it and you should be good to go.”

“Can you do it fast?
 
I've
gotta
stay with my squad.”

He was fast and good.
 
He made a small cut with a tiny surgical
tool, and then he pushed on her toe with his fingers.
 
Jan had never seen anything so
disturbing in all her years.
 
The
bump exploded.
 
A gush of ooze came
shooting out of her toe.
 
She wasn't
sure it was still her toe or some alien creature.
 
He continued to squeeze until every last
drop of the evil fluid emptied.
 
Then he wiped it with an antiseptic pad and wrapped it with gauze and
tape.
 
He told her to have it looked
at again once she got to Lake Frederick.
 

“Will you come take a look at
it?”
 
Jan asked.
 
He smiled and said he'd try to find
her.
 
She decided there should be a
merit badge for any man who could push that kind of goop out of a body and not
throw up.

The line was back up and moving.
 
Jan returned to her spot in the middle
of the squad where
Dogety
had positioned her so that
the “front could pull and the back could push her,” if necessary.
 

Her toe felt amazingly better and she
marveled at what seemed to be a miracle cure.
 
The pain of the cut and the pushing on
the toe were nothing compared to how it felt when it held all that crap
inside.
 
Once released, the toe was
free to be a toe again—instead of a putrid vessel.
 
For some reason, she thought a long time
about that blister.
 
Once it was cut open and drained of the bad
shit, it immediately felt better.
 
And it works again without pain!

At mile thirteen they stopped for the
last water and sock change.
 
Dogety
came down the squad line and stopped in front of
Jan.
 
“
Wishart
,
we are about to ascend Bear Hill.”
 
He looked directly at her.
 
“You know what that means?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Well, just to be safe, I am going to
march right in front of you.
 
As I
have already said, I am not going to lose anyone to this hill, not even you,
Wishart
.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“If you start falling behind, you are
to grab onto my rucksack.
 
I will
carry your ass up that hill if I have to.”

“Yes, Sir.”
 
But Jan cursed him in her mind, saying
to herself,
“There’s no
freakin
’ way I’m going to
touch him.”

She soon discovered Bear Hill was
neither particularly high nor steep.
 
As they climbed upward, the pace picked up.
  
And then she understood why it was
called “Bear Hill.”
 
Not because of
its size but to see who could
bear
it.
 
About halfway up at this faster pace, to
her great dismay, she started breathing heavily and falling behind.
 
We’re
practically running this damn hill!
 
The squad mate behind her began stepping on her heels.
 
She realized this was not a good time to
die on her sword.
 
With much reservation
and humiliation, she grabbed
Dogety’s
rucksack.
 
As bad as that was, it was better than
failure.
 

Strangely enough,
Dogety
seemed pleased that she had taken him up on his offer.
 
While never dropping the pace, he turned
his head to the side and shouted, “That’s it,
Wishart
,
hang on.”

For one moment, halfway up Bear Hill,
he became her
Knight in
Drabby
Green
.
 
Yet, she detested him even more for it,
so she pretended he was that nice medic instead.
  

The whole squad made it to the top of
Bear Hill and Cadet
Dogety
was briefly proud of his
little charges.
 
They all marched to
Lake Frederick as one squad and began setting up their pup tents.
 
The field soon began looking like
something out of the Civil War with some eight hundred small tents all lined up
in rows.
 

“Look across the field,
Wishart
, at that deuce-and-a-half pulling up,”
Dogety
said, pointing to a truck carrying a dozen or so new
cadets.
 
Jan watched as they hobbled
out from the back of the vehicle.
 
“Do you see them,
Wishart
?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Those are the ones who didn’t make
the march—the weak, the lazy, the pathetic.
 
Aren’t you glad you’re not one of
them?”
 

“Yes, Sir.”
 
And she was.
 

Jan had not had a period since before
R-Day, which was
perfectly normal
and
perhaps the best thing to happen during Beast barracks.
 
But she broke out in a
rash covering her back, chest, legs and arms.
 
It had spread to her face by the time
they reached Lake Frederick.
 
Dogety
noticed the next morning.

“What the hell,
Wishart
?
 
You look like you have chicken pox.
 
What's going on?”

“No excuse, Sir.”

“Seriously, you put something on your
face or what?”

“No, Sir.”

“Well, what happened?
 
You look like you got some rare
disease.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“I ASKED WHAT
HAPPENED, WISHART?”

“I don't know, Sir.”

“It was probably something you ate.”

Day three into Lake Frederick,
Dogety
handed Jan a padded helmet attached to a goalie
mask.
 
“
Wishart
,
put this on!”
 
He tossed her a padded vest, like a
baseball catcher’s.
 
“This, too.”

“Sir, what is this for?”
 

“You’re first in the
Pugil
Boxing ring.”
 

What?
 
Pugil
Boxing?
 
Dogety
led his squad
to an open area with a ring of stacked sandbags.
  
The other squads from Second Platoon
were already seated on three quarters of the sandbag ring.
 
Fourth Squad filled in the remaining
quarter.
 
Dogety
motioned for Jan to step in the ring.

Jan stood in the center of the
makeshift ring, wondering what she was supposed to do.
 
Dogety
handed
her a long stick with padding on each end.
 
“Don’t embarrass me,
Wishart
!”
 
he
said before
stepping out of the ring.
 

Before Jan could contemplate the
situation any further, she heard a familiar, wild scream.
 
She twirled around just in time to see
Wright leaping over the sandbag wall between two seated new cadets.
 
She wore the same outfit as
Jan—padded helmet with mask, chest vest and the long padded stick.
 
Oh
shit!
 
Not Wright!

Wright immediately began pummeling
Jan with the
Pugil
Stick.
 

Cheering rose up from the circle of
new cadets—mostly yelling for Wright.
 
But one voice shouted, “C’mon
Wishart
!
 
You
can do it!”

Do
what?
 
Jan began to hit
back.
 
She took a few jabs at
Wright, who was clearly the Alpha dog in this fight.
 
Jan felt sick to her stomach.
 
Her mind raced back to the first time
she rode a roller coaster.
 
I just want it to be over!
 
Please let it
be
over!
  

Wright’s smile, beaming through the
facemask, belied her intent.
 
A left
jab, out of nowhere, knocked Jan off balance.
 
Then another on her right sent her
falling backwards.
 
She found her
footing and swung back, but Wright ducked and came up with another blow at
Jan.
 
The circle of new cadets
continued to cheer for Wright except for one voice shouting for Jan.
 
With jellied knees, she swung a few more
times, once hitting Wright in the arm.
 
Still, it wasn’t even close.
 
Wright pummeled until Jan fell down on both knees.
 
Wright was declared the victor and two
more new cadets were chosen to do battle in the
Pugil
Boxing war.