As the clerks shuffled reams of papers and huge computer printouts, Cerro sipped coffee from a Styrofoam cup and read
USA
Today. Based on the headlines, Cerro decided, the day before had been a complete bore.
The top news story was about a series of four murders in New York City.
Cynical as ever, Cerro wondered why these particular murders, in a city where an average of six people a day were murdered, were different from any others. Besides, in Cerro’s mind, four dead people were almost negligible. After all, there had been days when Cerro would account for the loss of four men killed in a firefight simply by reporting, “Casualties light, continuing mission.” How odd civilians were, he thought.
It was not that Cerro was an intrinsically cruel person. On the contrary, most of the people he allowed to know him thought Hal Cerro was a nice guy. But that nice guy happened to be both a soldier and a realist. People, Cerro knew, die. It was a part of life. As a veteran, he had not only seen death up close and personal, he had participated in the process. In doing so, Cerro, like any soldier in combat, had faced the possibility of his own death. Death, therefore, held no mysteries for him. It was to him, instead, simply another fact of life. People eat, they breathe, and they die. In Cerro’s trained mind, it was that simple. Clear, simple, and cold. Besides, it was the only way he could. rationalize what he did in order to maintain his sanity.
From the doorway, the clicking of heels on the tile floor announced that a woman had entered the room. Glancing up from his paper, Cerro’s eyes tracked the female second lieutenant who had just entered the room as they would track a target. His mind, conditioned through years of training, began to assess the target.
He immediately established, based on the rank, the manner in which she carried herself, and her appearance, that the lieutenant was newly commissioned, putting her at twenty-two—at the most, twentythree—
years old. As she walked over to the desk where the clerks sat, Cerro judged her height to be five-eight, tops five-ten, even when the two-inch heels were taken into account. The lieutenant’s auburn hair was drawn up in a simple bun which was pinned tightly to the back of her head. Her face was set in a deadpan stare fixed on the clerk she was approaching, confirming Cerro’s belief that the lieutenant was reporting to her first unit. Despite the lack of expression, and dearth of makeup, the lieutenant’s face had potential. The lack of clearly visible cheekbones was more than offset by a well-molded nose, a soft chin, full lips, and big brown eyes.
At the desk, the lieutenant cleared her throat and informed the clerk that she was there to sign in. The clerk stopped what she was doing, looked up at the lieutenant, and cocked her head to the side. “We started at oh-eight hundred, ma’am. If you would please take a seat, we will be with you shortly.” Without waiting for an acknowledgment, the clerk went back to shuffling the papers on her desk. While this exchange transpired, Cerro utilized the time, and the fact that no one else was watching, to conduct a detailed terrain analysis. He decided that the lieutenant was five foot eight, weighed 150 pounds, probably wore a B
cup, maybe a C, had a waist measuring no more than 28 inches, and had a nice tush.
Cerro was still considering this last item when the lieutenant turned on her heel and walked over to the row of chairs where Cerro was seated.
With measured ease, Cerro looked back at his paper, taking a long sip on his coffee while he continued to track the lieutenant out of the corner of his eye. Once she was seated, Cerro turned his attention back to his paper. All thoughts of the female lieutenant were quickly relegated to a file in the back of his mind labeled “Lieutenant, Female.” That he had regarded the lieutenant in the same way he would a woman on the prowl at a singles bar never crossed his mind as he turned to the weather page.
As an old first sergeant had once told him, “Regardless how you package them, they’re still women.”
Promptly at 0800 hours, one of the clerks at the front of the room called out Cerro’s name and rank. Looking up from his paper, Cerro turned to the clerk. For a moment, he simply stared at her. “We’re open now, sir.”
Feigning surprise and excitement, Cerro carefully folded his paper, packing it away in his briefcase for later, then slowly rose and casually strolled over to the clerk. When he arrived at her desk, she announced she needed two copies of his orders and all amendments. Once she had them, the clerk referred to a computer printout. Finding Cerro’s name, she ran a finger across the appropriate line while she copied the information on a blank form.
Finished, she took the form, turned it so that Cerro could see it, and began to explain what he was to do next. “This confirms your assignment to Headquarters and Headquarters Company, 2nd Brigade, 16th Armored Division. You’ll start your inprocessing with finance in room …”
Cerro wasn’t paying attention to the clerk. He had tripped into a mental lock when the clerk had announced that he was assigned to a brigade’s headquarters and headquarters company. Simply put, that meant that he would be on the brigade staff. For the first time in his military career, Cerro would not be in a real troop unit. Instead of working with real soldiers and tromping about in the boonies, he would be living in a world ruled by a lieutenant colonel executive officer in search of his eagles, populated by high-speed, low-drag majors out to make their mark on the Army, and run by sergeants who were either too old to be in line units or had been thrown out of them. Such an assignment, to Cerro, was akin to being sentenced to a salt mine in Siberia. The old question, “Father, why have you forsaken me?” kept running through his mind as the clerk continued to give him instructions he ignored.
With his mind cluttered with visions of doom and damnation, Cerro didn’t notice the appearance of the female second lieutenant when she was called forward by the clerk seated next to the one mumbling instructions to him. The lieutenant was up out of her seat and at the front of the room in a flash when her name was called. As Cerro’s clerk had done, the clerk attending to the lieutenant asked for two copies of her orders and all amendments, then leafed through the great computer printout until he found the lieutenant’s name and automatically began to fill in an inprocessing form for her.
The clerk’s hand stopped, however, when he reached the column on the printout that listed the lieutenant’s unit of assignment. Running his finger back across the line, he first checked to make sure he hadn’t inadvertently dropped down a line while writing. Once he was sure the line on the printout was correct, he looked at the orders the lieutenant had handed him, checking that the name and social security number on the orders agreed with those on the printout. Only after he was satisfied that he had the correct entry did he look up at the lieutenant. “I’m sorry, ma’am. There must be a mistake here. According to the printout, you’re being assigned to A Company, 2nd Battalion, 13th Infantry.”
The lieutenant spoke for the first time. “Oh, there’s no mistake. I’m an infantry officer and that’s the unit I’ve been assigned to.”
The clerk looked at Kozak for a second before he responded. “Oh, so you’re one of them.”
As in the old E. F. Button commercial, everyone in the room momentarily stopped whatever he or she was doing, turned, and looked at the five-foot-eight female second lieutenant. Even Cerro, shaken from his thoughts of gloom and despair, turned and looked at the lieutenant next to him. For the first time, he carefully studied her profile. Every hair was in place, neatly combed back and secured in the tight little bun at the back of her head. Small gold ball earrings sat nestled in her soft white earlobe.
Her face, set in a firm, dispassionate stare, was flawless, if somewhat colorless. Cerro paused for a second, as if he was afraid of what he would see, before he allowed his eyes to drop down to confirm what the lieutenant had already announced. When he did, a sudden shudder ran through his body as his eyes locked onto the shiny brass symbol of the infantry secured to the lieutenant’s collar. It was her! The day had finally come. They had arrived.
The sudden and unwanted attention had caught Nancy Kozak by surprise.
She had hoped that all the advance publicity and media coverage would have softened the shock and allowed her to quietly slip through the initial processing without a scene. That hope, however, was shattered before she even got out of the starting blocks. The introduction of females into combat arms units was simply too emotional an issue to quietly slip by. “Well,” she thought, “so much the better.” Regaining her poise, Kozak bent forward slightly toward the clerk. “Yes, the orders and the printout are correct. I am Nancy L. Kozak, Second Lieutenant, Infantry, and, according to my sponsor and orders, I am to report to A Company, 2nd of the 13th Infantry.” And, as an afterthought, Kozak added, “That’s right, soldier. I’m one of them.”
It took a few more seconds for Kozak’s confident, almost defiant retort to register with the clerk. Blinking his eyes, the clerk apologized, blushing from embarrassment as he did so, then mumbled that he was just confirming that the printout was correct. For an awkward second, there was silence before he went back to filling out the form. Satisfied with herself, Kozak straightened up, then turned to face the captain standing next to her, who was staring at her. When their eyes met, she tilted her head to one side and arched her eyebrows slightly, giving a quizzical look.
The captain, an infantry officer with master parachutist wings and a collection of ribbons that was quite impressive, looked into her eyes for a moment, then down at the infantry brass on her collar, then back to her eyes. Though he said nothing, his actions and expressions spoke legions.
Only the intervention of the clerk filling out Cerro’s inprocessing form broke the stare-off between Kozak and Cerro. “Sir, if you take this, you start your processing at finance.” Without taking his eyes off Kozak, Cerro took the form from the clerk with his left hand while picking up his briefcase with his right. Even when he responded to the clerk with a barely audible and perfunctory “Thank you,” he was still staring at Kozak. Then, with an abruptness that almost startled her, he turned and fled out of the room.
When he was gone from sight, Kozak turned back to the clerk filling out her form. He too was staring at her again. Rather than feeling uncomfortable, Kozak found herself becoming angry. “Is there something else wrong, soldier, with my paperwork?”
The sharp question caused the soldier to blink. “No, ma’am.”
“Well then, let’s get on with it, soldier.”
With that little incident, Second Lieutenant Kozak passed from reaction to assertion.
The parking lot across from Building 108, Fort Hood, Texas 1035 hours, 28 June
It was more than the heat and his assignment to the division staff that was bothering Cerro as he approached his car. It was the female infantry lieutenant. As much as he wanted to ignore the fact that she was there, he could not. All morning, as he had inprocessed, she had always been right behind him as she inprocessed. It wasn’t the fact that they were now commissioning women in the combat arms that surprised Cerro. On the contrary, he, and most of the Army, had been following the debates, decisions, and processes involved in making all of that happen. The pros and cons of the issue, and what impact the final decision would have, had been the subject of many discussions wherever Cerro had gone. Though he had reconciled his mind to the fact that whatever happened was beyond him and he had no choice but to live with decisions made by the Department of the Army, it was still unsettling to see his first female infantry officer.
He was just beginning to convince himself that it was foolish to get so worked up over an issue that he had no control over when, suddenly, as if all of his dark thoughts had made his worst nightmare a reality, there she was, standing next to his car. Cerro stopped in midstride and paused, wondering what she was doing there and why she was following him.
Taking her black handbag from her shoulder, she began to rummage about in it, looking for something. Pulling out a set of keys, she turned to the car next to Cerro’s and began to open the door. She wasn’t following him, after all.
i,
Feeling like a fool, Cerro continued to walk over to his car. As his was backed in and the lieutenant had pulled hers in forward, the driver’s doors of both cars opened out together. As he approached from behind, Cerro watched the lieutenant bend over and unlock her door! She was beginning to open it when she saw him approaching. Turning to face him, the lieutenant came to attention, her right hand coming up like a crisp karate chop to salute Cerro.
Though he shouldn’t have been, Cerro was surprised by this. Taking another step before stopping, he casually returned the salute. As he did, he heard the sound of a small piece of metal hitting the pavement between them. Looking down, he saw a small clip roll on the ground. Automatically, Cerro assumed that one of the clips holding his brass, badges, and ribbons had fallen off. Breaking off the salute, he began to feel about his uniform under his lapels and jacket to confirm that it was his clip that had been lost.
Kozak had also heard the clip hit the ground. Seeing that Cerro had dropped his salute and was checking his uniform, she did likewise. For several seconds the two infantry officers stood there, facing each other without a word as they checked their uniforms. To a casual observer who had never served, their actions would have seemed strange, giving the appearance that they were checking themselves for bugs. To a soldier, it was part of life.
Though Cerro had started first, Kozak, with far fewer badges and ribbons, finished first. She held on to the post of the unit crest underneath the right shoulder loop of her green blouse, and a look of delight lit up her face as if she had found the prize. “Oh, I think it’s mine, sir.”
Cerro stopped searching his uniform and immediately turned his attention to the ground. Locating the offending clip between his feet, he squatted down and policed it up, holding it between two fingers like a dead bug. “Here you go, Lieutenant. One stray clip.”