The Cadet (19 page)

“That’s right. I’m convinced the U.S. is poised to lead the world in aviation, maybe even in space, and I want to make an impact, make a mark in the world.” She looked at him intently. “What about yourself? Do you want to do anything else but fly?”

“I guess I want to be an aero engineer.”

“You guess? Is that all?”

Rod shrugged. “What’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing, if you were going to a normal college. But you’re not. You’re going to an incredibly unique place.” She leaned forward, revealing another amazing view of her cleavage. She was deeply tan and whatever perfume she was wearing made her smell wonderful. “Any aeronautical engineer can design a widget. And they’ll be paid for it, probably pretty well. Fewer people can actually design entire planes. But even then, how many people even know who designed the Gooney Bird?” She paused a beat and looked at him curiously. “Come on, flyboy, there are more Gooney Birds out there than any other aircraft in the world. Surely you know who designed it?”

Rod felt his face grow warm. “I don’t know.” And he thought doolie knowledge had taught him everything.

“How about the F-86? The F-100? That’s your top of the line fighter, isn’t it?”

Rod shook his head.

“The B-47? B-52?” She watched him, a smile growing at her lips.

Rod tried to think straight, but his eyes kept shifting to her fingers making small circles on the tabletop. Deliciously tight, small sensuous circles; he imagined her tracing her fingertips on his arm.…

“So how much of a difference do you think you can make by designing planes?”

“I guess not very much, unless you’re one of the Wright brothers.”

She took his hand, and her breath quickened. “That’s right. And that’s the point. Designing planes is just the start, a union card. To make a difference, to change things, you have to know everything there is about the airplane industry, and not just how to design a plane or sell them to the airlines. You have to know the industry inside out and anticipate what’s going to be the next big thing.”

“That’s why you know about the Academy.”

“I’ve followed it since I was in high school. You cadets in the class of ’59 are lucky; you’re getting all this attention, and you haven’t even earned it. It’s a great start, but what are you going to do with it? How are you going to change the world, cadet?”

Rod felt offended. “It hasn’t been easy. You don’t know anything about me.”

Barbara seemed taken back. She was quiet for a moment. “You’re right. But what I do know is that you’re talented, and you’re incredibly bright—you’d have to be if you’re in the first Academy class. It looks as though you’re athletic, you’re motivated, and you can make a difference, not just keep the status quo. You’ll be able to change things, if you don’t blow it. Change the world. My God, that’s exciting.”

She seemed out of breath, as if she had just run a race. Her ice-blue eyes bore into him, and she grasped the table so intensely that her hands shook. “Where can we go?”

“Now?”

“Yes, now.”

He looked for a waiter. “For what, coffee? Where?”

“Your room. Can we go?”

“I don’t have a coffeemaker in the room. But I suppose we can order room service.”

She paused. “Are you cadets really that naïve?”

O O O

Rod leaned his head back against the seat rest. He had the back seat of Mr. Delante’s car all to himself, but he couldn’t relax. Not after last night. It was simultaneously the best, the most intense, and yet the strangest experience he’d ever had.

Fred sat in front with his father, telling him how he had co-piloted an F-86 fighter at the last base they had visited. He hadn’t stopped talking since they got into the car.

Mr. Delante drove over the Bay Bridge and into the Oakland foothills. They whizzed past yucca and brown hills as they headed for Travis Air Force Base.

Fred twisted around to the back of his seat. “Hey, roomie. You’ve been quiet.”

“Just thinking. And I’m not too anxious to go back. Are you?”

Fred hit his hand with his fist. “Are you kidding? Of course I am!”

Rod smiled wanly. “Why?”

“Don’t you like people respecting us everywhere we go? Being a cadet is the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I can’t wait to be an upperclassman!” He paused and looked at Rod strangely. “What’s wrong with you?”

Rod hesitated. The memory of last night made him take in his breath. He said slowly, “What do we have to show for all this?”

“For all what?”

“For going on these trips. For being cadets.” Rod pushed up. They flashed by a fruit stand with an AVOCADOS sign set in the back of a pick-up truck. A woman in a white dress watched a small barefoot boy playing by the side of the road. A man in a t-shirt drank a bottle of beer and leaned against the truck, oblivious to the world.

“Uh?”

“How are we going to make a difference?” Rod said.

Fred laughed, using the same braying tone when they were trying to get one over on Captain Justice. “Make a difference? With what?”

“With our lives. With other’s lives. How will being a cadet change the world?”

Fred looked at him curiously. “What the hell do you mean?”

“We can set a high standard and make the Academy what we want it to be, and not just what the officers want. That will affect generations of leaders, perhaps our entire nation.”

Everyone was quiet in the car. Finally, Mr. Delante turned his head while driving. “You didn’t eat much at lunch today, Rod. Are you hung-over?”

“No, sir. I’m fine.” Rod’s memory of breakfast was waking up next to Barbara on the couch in his hotel room.…

They’d been fully dressed, as they had stayed awake until early morning just talking. But it was the best and most intense experience of his life, not only because of her incredibly stunning beauty, but because her entire focus had been on him. He hadn’t even made a pass at her. Her mesmerizing presence had overwhelmed his senses … and in the short twelve hours they’d been together it seemed that he had somehow gotten to know her much better than he had known any other person in his life.

She was incredibly intelligent and beautiful; he’d never met anyone like her. Most girls he knew were more concerned about the latest dance craze, or had their eye on getting married, or as Sandy, might have only liked him because he was a local celebrity, having been appointed to the first Academy class. But Barbara wanted more. What impressed him was that she knew more than he did about technology, politics, and most everything else.

Fred grinned. “Rod! That girl you met last night.” He leaned over the seat and punched Rod. “You sly dog! She got to you, didn’t she? Don’t let her trip you up. Now that we’re out of the fourth class system, girls are going to be more available than ever.”

“Yeah, right.”

“You don’t believe me? Take the pick of the litter, comrade. Spoils of war. Believe me. Letting people know you’re a USAFA cadet is like having a first class ticket to paradise. Forget that girl. What was her name?”

“Barbara,” he said slowly. The most wonderful name he’d ever heard …

“Forget her! I tell you, this Academy aura is for real. An E-ticket at Disneyland.”

“So I suppose you got lucky with Trish last night?” Rod said sardonically.

Fred laughed. He glanced over to his dad, who grinned as well.

Rod felt uneasy, knowing that if his father had been in the car, there was no way this conversation would be taking place. Although he was grateful for Mr. Delante taking him to dinner last night, he was well aware of the vast difference between his father and Mr. Delante … and Fred, as well.

No wonder his father had grown quiet whenever Mr. Delante’s name was mentioned. He and Delante were motivated by entirely different value systems. They were worlds apart in more than just money; their reference to women as chattel turned his stomach.

Fred whispered, “Are you kidding? Her other friends showed up. What a party!”

***

Chapter Seventeen

“Heartbreak Hotel”

August, 1956

Third class Year

United States Air Force Academy

Lowry Field, CO

At twenty years of age, the will reigns.…

—Ben Franklin, US scientist and statesman

Rod felt excited yet apprehensive as he stepped onto the Academy grounds. He glanced one more time at his new shoulder boards that displayed the Third class rank, a squiggle set inside an innocuous straight line at the end of the board. It was the straight line that changed the rank from being a Fourth class doolie, “slave” designation, into a Third class human. It felt great to have the distinction of finally being an upperclassman.

Yet, as he listened to the screams of the basic cadets as they were completing BCT, he felt that someone would yell at him to fall in and start running at attention.

Remembering to stay away from the main cadet area until BCT was over, Rod kept to the campus perimeter. He would slip into the dorm when the basics were at lunch. Lieutenant Ranch had cautioned him on not immediately correcting basics, and instead take the lead from the ATOs after he returned from his summer program.

It was going to be weird being on the giving end of Fourth class training instead of the receiving end.

Rod swung his duffle bag over his shoulder and trudged behind the first row of buildings. It was another incredibly clear Colorado day. He passed several enlisted band members as they prepared to play for the noon meal formation.

“Five minutes to first call,” echoed over the campus.

Rod rounded the corner and opened the stairwell door. A stream of basic cadets emerged from inside.

One by one they slammed against the wall, bumping into each other as they spotted Rod. “By your leave, sir!” They smacked against the building like dominoes.

Rod fought the urge to join them. He stammered. It was a standoff.

The basics shouted in unison, this time even louder. “By your leave, sir!”

“Uh, carry on.” He waved them on, embarrassed he didn’t sound more in control.

“Good morning, sir!”

“Good morning, sir!”

“Good morning, sir!”

One by one they greeted him as they sprinted out the door toward formation.

“Good morning, sir!”

Rod made it to the squadron area without running into any more basics. Looking around, he was astonished to see that the dorm area was much smaller than he remembered. But for the past year he had been forced to keep his eyes fixed straight ahead, so he didn’t really have a sense of perspective. The thought made him shiver.

He ran a hand over the CCQ desk sitting in front of the clock. How many times had he stood rigidly at attention, slammed up against the wall calling minutes?

“It looks like you miss this place.”

Rod twirled. Spotting silver bars, he snapped to attention. “Good afternoon, sir.”

Lieutenant Ranch laughed and held out a hand. “You’re an upperclassman, now, Rod. No need to snap to.”

Rod relaxed. He felt sheepish as he shook Lieutenant Ranch’s hand. “Sorry, sir. It’s hard to break an old habit.”

“Well, get used to it. The toughest part of your training starts today—learning how to lead.” Lieutenant Ranch motioned with his head. “Come on. Drop off your stuff and let’s talk before we eat.”

Rod hoisted his gear. “I wasn’t going to eat lunch, sir.”

“Aren’t you hungry? I must not have kicked you off enough tables last year.”

“I didn’t think I could go to Mitchell Hall until tonight. The OI said we’re supposed to stay away from the basic cadets.” The Operational Instruction was a detailed order of exactly what was expected of cadets during each transition period.

“And have you starve? We’ll eat on tables at the back, away from the basics.”

Rod found his nameplate outside a door, C3C SIMONE. Fred’s name was just above it. What looked to be a small flag protruded from the ends of the nameplates.

Rod swung down his duffle bag and inspected the plate. “What’s this, sir?” He popped up a tiny sign that read AUTHORIZED. He looked quizzically at Lieutenant Ranch.

“Part of becoming an upperclassman.” Folding his arms, Lieutenant Ranch leaned against the alcove wall.

“Excuse, me, sir?”

“You’ll have more freedom as an upperclassman, compared to when you were a doolie. We won’t keep track of you so strictly, but you’ll still only be authorized to be in certain areas. If you are not in your room, by flipping up that sign you’re saying that on your honor you are in an authorized place. Nice and easy.”

Rod frowned. There was something about this he didn’t like, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. “So you’ll use honor to make sure we’re following orders.”

Lieutenant Ranch’s face froze. “I don’t think so.”

“Sir, it sounds to me like our honor code will be used to enforce your regulations.”

“First off, this is a training environment, and we’re accountable for your health and welfare. Second, if you’re in an authorized place, then it won’t be a waste of your time, or ours, trying to ensure you’re safe, or where you’re supposed to be. We’re not using honor to enforce the regs; rather, you’re using your honor code to make life easier for everyone. We’re trusting you when you say you’re authorized.”

“Yes, sir.” Rod followed the logic, but for some reason it still made him uneasy.

Lieutenant Ranch opened the door. “Drop off your stuff. I’m getting hungry.”

Rod picked up his duffle bag and dragged it into the room. It smelled musty and a thin layer of dust was on the desk, the shelves. The room needed to be dusted and cleaned before he could completely unpack, but it felt good to be back in a familiar place. He hauled his bag to the closet and closed the door.

“I figured that we’d have trouble convincing some of your classmates that the authorized cards are in their best interest. But I never thought you would balk at using them,” Lieutenant Ranch said.

“I don’t know, sir. I understand your rationale, but it just doesn’t seem right.”

“Well, think about it. If it still bothers you tonight when we announce it at the squadron meeting, you can bring it up with your Honor Reps. And before I forget, you did so well at flickerball last fall in intramurals that I’ve appointed you to organize your squadron’s team. So start scanning the basics for talent when intramurals start next week.” He clasped Rod’s shoulder. “Come on. Let’s get across the quad before the basics are done with their meal. You don’t want to be caught going against that flow.”

O O O

The Wing returned that night, half of them irritated at having to start academics again, and the other half excited at the prospect of what the new academic year would bring. The hallways bustled with activity as the class of ’59 interacted with the class of ’60 for the first time.

And as before, Rod adapted.

The acceptance parade, marching to meals, academics, afternoon drill time, intramurals, and squadron activities all came back as second nature, but instead of being receivers of wrath, Rod and his classmates metamorphosed into givers.

That night a line of buzz-cut doolies double-timed outside Rod’s door, thumping out an even 120 beats a minute. Hoarse screaming mixed with the sound of bodies being hurled up against the wall.

Rod leaned over his desk and glanced at the clock. It was another five minutes until Ac Call—Academic Call to Quarters, the time set aside each night as a study period. Supposedly, training was not allowed during Ac Call; not allowed in the sense that if the doolies kept a low profile, then they wouldn’t be hassled and would be allowed to study.

Opening the top drawer in his desk, Rod noticed the change he’d stashed in the coin holder was gone. He frowned. That’s weird. He thought he’d carefully placed a handful of coins in the holder after returning from the Cadet Store yesterday.

He pulled the drawer all the way out and saw several coins scattered at the back. That had never happened before. He must have knocked the coin holder over when he’d shoved Barbara’s picture in the drawer while preparing for the inspection this morning.

He scooped up the money and started to put it back in place when Fred’s voice came from outside the room. “Hey, Rod, watch this!”

Rod closed the drawer and placed Barbara’s picture on the corner of the desk. He’d received it in the mail three days ago, along with the second letter she’d sent.

The photo had made him weak in the knees as it brought back an incredible rush of memories. He’d thought of Barbara often, and her image was almost too much to take, her long blond hair, the intense ice-blue eyes that seemed to bore into him. It was strange, since he hadn’t even kissed her.

It wasn’t like his experience with Sandy, when the first time they’d driven into the park she’d let him touch her breasts. For some reason it wasn’t the physical memory of Barbara that made him giddy; it was being around someone so focused on him—

“Rod, get out here!” Pushing back his chair, Rod walked to the door and poked his head outside the dorm room.

Wearing a wheel cap crushed so low over his eyes that he couldn’t see, a doolie staggered up and down the hall, bouncing off his double-timing classmates like a ball in a pinball game. “Excuse me, sir! Excuse me, gentlemen!” the doolie screamed. He changed direction every time he hit someone.

“Move it, Browne!” Fred yelled. He ran up and shouted into the doolie’s ear. “How does it feel not to have any peripheral vision?”

“No excuse, sir!” Browne stumbled away.

Fred hooked a thumb at the doolie and sauntered up to Rod. “Mr. Browne thinks he can gaze around the hallway. This little demonstration is showing his class what would happen if he depended on sound alone and not sight.” He turned his attention to the double-timing doolies. “Get those knees higher! You smacks make me sick!” Fred grinned at Rod and gave him a thumbs up.

Rod shook his head and ducked back in the room. Fred really seemed to be getting into the training. It wasn’t clear to Rod how not letting Browne see, and smashing into his classmates, would help him use his peripheral vision. Maybe Browne would be more careful about gazing around next time.

The sound of a bugle playing Ac Call drifted through the dorm.

Fred yelled, “Get back to your rooms and start studying, smacks!”

Feet pounding made the floor vibrate as the doolies ran for their rooms. It sounded like an army running for cover.

Fred burst into the room, grinning wildly. “Man, what a blast.” He was out of breath, as if it had been he who had been exercising instead of the doolies. He flopped down on his chair. “Hey, did you hear the buzz about the Suez!”

Rod glanced up from his studies. “Yeah, Egypt nationalized the canal and Israel invaded. Scary stuff.”

Fred sat forward in his chair. “It gets better. Great Britain and France threatened to join the fray, and the word’s going round that if the US gets involved, West Point and Annapolis will commission all their upperclassmen to swell up the officer ranks, just like they did in WWII. We could be second lieutenants going to war in a few weeks!”

“Fat chance.” Rod returned to his physics text.

Fred rocked back in his chair. “Man, between that and yelling at the doolies I love being an upperclassman!”

Rod was having a tough time trying to understand how to calculate the speed of a block sliding down an inclined plane, much less appreciating how that would help him fly a jet. He tried reading, but with Fred in the room he couldn’t concentrate; he slammed his book shut and twisted in his chair.

He studied Fred for a moment. “You make me wonder about Captain Justice.”

Fred blinked. “What?”

“Captain Justice. Remember, how we always suspected he was really having fun, even though he insisted it was harder on him than it was for us?” Rod nodded to the door, where they heard the sounds of doolies still scrambling around the corridor. “You’re getting caught up in this.”

Fred snorted. “Just doing my part.” He snatched up a towel.

“Maybe you should apply to be an AOC when you graduate.”

“Maybe you ought to start training the doolies.”

“I do. I just don’t go overboard. Try studying. Academics are rolling ahead.”

Fred stopped and looked at him in astonishment. Glancing at Rod’s desk, he spotted Barbara’s photo. His face melted into a grin. “Academics, or thinking about Miss San Francisco again?” He unfolded his towel and whipped it out, hitting Rod’s chair with a snap. “Remember what happened the last time you had a long distance relationship, roomie. They’ll all use you when you’re in town, then rip out your heart and stomp on it after you’ve gone. Be careful with that blonde bombshell.”

Rod felt his face turn warm. “We’ll see.”

Fred laughed. “That’s right, you’ll see. Just like before. I don’t want to have to mop up the blood when she stabs you in the heart.” He started for the door, then turned back. “Come to the cattle call this weekend and take advantage of the girls they’re shipping in. It will get your mind off of Leslie.”

“Barbara.”

Fred shrugged. “Whatever. Leslie must have been one of the chicks I was with that night.”

Rod watched him leave the room and just shook his head, bewildered.

O O O

“Hey,” Rod protested. “Watch the toes!”

Sly stepped back and dropped Rod’s hand. “If you’d move your feet when you were supposed to you hairy lunk, I wouldn’t have stepped on your feet.”

“I’m leading, not you,” Rod said. Strains of Perry Como crooning “Don’t Let the Stars Get in Your Eyes” echoed through the gym. “You’re supposed to move where I take you.”

“Hey, fellows,” Fred said over his shoulder as he and Jeff Goldstein glided past. They moved so fluidly they looked like dance instructors, the kind that would sign you up for a hundred years of dance lessons that you would never use. “How are you going to be the hit of the ball if you can’t get started?”

“Show off,” Rod muttered.

“Gentlemen, gentlemen!” Mrs. McComas clapped her hands. Standing daintily in the center of the gym, the Cadet Wing Hostess waited for the cadets to stop dancing. The airman at the record player leaned over and picked up the player arm.