Gray Girl Read online

  Mama mama can't you see, look at that Straggler next to me?

  Go on home to your Cadillac, stay with Jody and don’t come back.

  The words of this cadence felt like a gunshot to Jan’s spine. She could feel the bullet enter her back, move through her gut and rise up, burning in her throat. She swallowed the hot lead that tried to slip past her tongue.

  Jan dropped further behind the great mass of white shirts and black shorts which at a distance seemed gray. It hadn’t even been twenty-four hours since she kissed her parents goodbye. Maybe no one will notice if I sneak down to the river, follow it upstream and find a pay phone. “Dad, I'm sorry, I just can't do it. I can’t stay here anymore. Please come get me!”

  Her father had taken her three brothers to visit Annapolis and West Point, hoping one of them would get the service academy bug. He probably never expected their younger sister would be the one who applied and got in. Now she was questioning why she ever thought this was a good idea.

  Her contemplations about quitting were cut short when two Department of Physical Education (DPE) officers started running next to her, one on each side. These former graduates, really old cadre, “brought up the rear.” They made sure all the Stragglers made it back to The Plain.

  The two Army officers thwarted Jan’s plan to escape simply by jogging beside and coaching her: “Keep your arms still, new cadet;” “Take deep breaths, in your nose and out your mouth;” “Keep your eyes up, new cadet;” “Don't cross your arms in front of your body;” “Keep your upper body as still as possible;” “Feel the rhythm of the run;” “Pace yourself—keep cadence in your head, new cadet.”

  My first West Point class: Running 101.

  The Company had been dismissed when Jan returned to The Plain. She pinged to the barracks. Speed walking at four times the normal pace while keeping arms straight at the sides and body erect caused many shin splints in new cadets. Jan could already feel the effects of this unnatural gait upon her leg, buttocks and arm muscles.

  She entered the barracks, immediately turned right until she came to a wall, then turned left and pinged up the first set of stairs lifting her arms parallel to the ground. “Squaring off,” another plebe requirement, meant turning at every corner of the stairwells or rooms. She entered the hallway at the fourth floor, pinging along the wall to her room.

  “Miss, HALT!” She recognized Jackson’s voice and stopped immediately. He approached and stood only inches from her face. “I don’t tolerate Stragglers in my platoon.” She wished he had brushed his teeth. “If you fall out of another run, you will be on my remedial running program.” He leaned in closer, now only about one inch from her face. “Do you understand me, Miss Wishart?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “Good. You now have five minutes to shower, change and stand tall at my breakfast formation.” He lowered his voice, “I suggest you get your fat ass in gear.”

  “Yes, Sir.” At least I don’t have camel breath. She continued pinging toward her room.

  She was ten minutes late to formation. Fortunately, Cadet Jackson was hazing someone in the First Squad. But Dogety stood in front of the last man in the Fourth Squad line until Jan fell in next to him.

  “Hambin, what’s the menu for breakfast?” Dogety asked her squad mate while staring at Jan.

  “Sir, for breakfast we are having French toast with syrup, sausage links, home fries, hard boiled eggs, fresh fruit, orange juice and coffee.” New Cadet Hambin seemed the most squared away so far in Fourth Squad.

  Dogety stepped in front of Jan, looking her over from cap to shoes. “Wishart, look down at your gig line.”

  A gig line ran all the way down a cadet’s torso from neck to crotch. The buttoned edge of the shirt was supposed to line up with the outer edge of the belt buckle and the outer edge of the fly of the pants, creating one straight line from top to bottom.

  Jan dropped her head but didn’t see the problem. It looked fairly straight to her. She lifted her face back up.

  “Do you see what I’m talking about?” Dogety asked.

  “No, Sir.”

  “Wishart, your shirt is puffed out. It doesn’t lie flat.”

  “Yes, Sir.” It might have to do with boobs.

  “I want you to fix it,” he commanded.

  Right now?

  “Did you hear me, Wishart?”

  “Yes, Sir.” Jan began to tuck her olive drab (OD) fatigue shirt in her pants, more than it already was. She fiddled with it while Dogety remained facing her.

  Then Jackson walked over. “What’s going on here?”

  “Wishart is straightening her gig line,” Dogety explained. Jackson walked around to her backside.

  “Sam, have you seen this dress-off?” Jackson asked. “It looks like mashed potatoes.”

  Jan stared at Dogety while he responded, “I was getting to that, Cadet Jackson.” He turned his focus back to Jan, “Are you done, Miss Wishart?”

  “She can’t possibly be done. Her dress-off is non-existent,” Jackson barked. “Hambin and Wishart, left face!” They both turned simultaneously to the left. “Hambin, give your classmate a proper dress-off,” Jackson ordered.

  With Dogety now at her right side, Jackson at her left, and Hambin behind, she had only one route left open—forward. Jan unlatched her black, webbed belt and unzipped the olive drab fatigue pants. Then she slid the pants slightly down over her butt while Hambin grabbed each side of her shirt at her waistline, pulling it tight. He folded the extra shirt fabric back, holding it firmly in place, while she lifted her pants back up over his fingers. She re-zippered and re-buckled while Hambin carefully withdrew his hands. If done correctly, the shirt would lay completely flat across the back with only two hospital bed folds at the sides.

  “Okay, Cadet Jackson, I’ll take it from here.” Dogety sounded annoyed and his eyes tracked Jackson as he walked away. “Hambin and Wishart, right face,” he said quietly. The new cadets turned back to face him. “Hambin, from now on, you will report to Wishart’s room before every formation to give her a proper dress-off.”

  “Yes, Sir,” Hambin said.

  But Jan didn’t like it. “Sir, may I make a statement?”

  “What is it, Wishart?”

  “Sir, my roommate can give me dress-offs.”

  “Not good enough, Wishart. Your roommate is Third Squad scum.” Dogety nodded at Hambin. “Fourth Squad takes care of its own, right Hambin?”

  “Yes. Sir,” Hambin popped off.

  5

  Thursday, May 6 1982

  1930 hours

  The stenographer scowled as Jan walked to her seat in the windowless room. The two women sat in silence waiting for the males to arrive. Jan wondered how different her Honor Board would be with an all women jury. Can’t think about that. Just pray some of these guys will see the forest through the vines.

  Jan mixed up clichés all the time. She felt it showed she was a big picture person who didn’t get bogged down with all the details. Yet, she needed to focus on the details now in order to find a way out of this mess. The details might make or break my case. There, I got that one right.

  The men entered the room and took their seats. Conrad cleared his throat. “All right then, let’s pick up where we left off.” He looked to the witness chair. “Cadet Jackson, I want to remind you that you are still under oath. Now, tell us what transpired after you and Cadet Dogety confronted Cadet Wishart in the CQ office?”

  Jackson leaned forward in his chair. “She refused to admit any blame for the switcheroo. She told us she kept the routing envelope with her at all times between trips from Third to First Regiments. She used the latrine on two occasions and stopped in her room two times where she spoke to Cadets McCarron and Trane. But she was adamant that neither of those two touched the envelope.”

  “Did you feel that Cadet Wishart was being truthful at that time?” Conrad asked.

  “No, I thought she was lying. But I couldn’t prove it. I figured someone else probably kne
w something that could show Cadet Wishart was lying,” Jackson said, never looking at Jan. “So, we dismissed her and decided we would verify her story with Cadets McCarron and Trane later.”

  “Why did you think she was not being truthful at that point?” Cadet Gaskins, Second Regimental Honor Captain asked.

  “Because she was sweating, shaking, acting all nervous and stuff,” Jackson said.

  Cadet Tourney asked, “Do you think she could have been nervous for any other reason?”

  “No, not really. We have had many…uh…encounters with Cadet Wishart. She never acted like that before.”

  I just spent the last couple hours running back and forth between your rooms, I had no idea how the new note got in the envelope, and you had me alone in the goddamn CQ room!

  “Okay, what else did you tell Miss Wishart before you dismissed her?” Conrad asked, keeping on track.

  “I told her to report to my room at 0500 hours the next morning.”

  “Didn’t she report to your room enough already?” Cadet Leavitt asked.

  Jackson replied softly, “Yes, of course she did. But you have to understand. I figured she was lying about the envelope. I also felt she deserved some sort of punishment for messing with our correspondence.”

  Tourney spoke up again. “Wait a minute. You had already decided to do an informal honor investigation when you decided to add a punitive exercise?”

  “Yes. In hindsight, we should not have added this extra requirement. But I did tell her to report to my room at 0500 the next morning.”

  And that’s when the shit really hit the fan blades!

  “What exactly did you plan for Miss Wishart at that hour of the morning?” Conrad asked.

  “I was just going to have her spit shine my shoes. I figured she’d finish by 0530, giving her plenty of time to get back to her room and get ready for breakfast formation,” Jackson replied. “But Cadet Wishart arrived to my room late, about 0515.”

  “And then what happened?” Conrad again.

  “I chewed her out for being late and told her to take my shoes with her to spit shine and return them to me by 1600 hours. She acted extremely insubordinate to me at that point. She threw one of the shoes at me and called me a ‘f-ing asshole.’” Jackson paused before continuing. “I reprimanded her for disrespecting a superior officer, but she just rolled her eyes and generally blew me off. So then, I told her to get the hell out of my room and that I didn’t want to ever see her again in B-1.”

  “What time did she leave your room?” Gaskins asked.

  “She left no later than 0530.”

  Conrad asked, “Were there any witnesses to this encounter with Miss Wishart, Markus?”

  “No, my roommate moved to the regimental staff rooms at the beginning of this semester, so I have the room to myself. Unfortunately, no one else witnessed Miss Wishart’s insubordination.”

  “Was your door open while Cadet Wishart was there?” Tourney asked.

  “I believe Wishart left it open when she entered the room,” Jackson said matter-of-factly.

  Conrad went through his file of papers again, pulling out another clump. He removed a large paperclip and passed a stapled section to every cadet on the Honor Board. Major Hastings handed Jan two pages stapled together: Exhibit B.

  Jan read the honor Investigation form 202-10. After the usual information: name, date, location, time of alleged offense, there was one single succinct statement, “Write a summary of the alleged honor violation in the box below:”

  Cadet Wishart told several lies on May 2nd and 3rd to both Cadet Dogety and me. On the night of May 2nd, she denied having knowledge of how the contents changed in a routing envelope that was in her possession at all times. And on May 3rd, Cadet Wishart knowingly lied to Cadet Dogety about events that transpired in my room that morning. I request Cadet Wishart be investigated for Honor Charges in regards to both of these incidents.

  Respectfully submitted,

  Cadet Markus Jackson

  Company B-1

  Another attached sheet detailed Jackson’s allegations against Jan. The room quieted while everyone read the full report.

  After a few minutes Conrad said, “Let’s take a short break, use the latrine, get a coke, whatever. I need everyone back in their seats at 2130 hours. Cadet Wishart and Major Hastings, please stand fast.” Everyone stood up, even the stenographer, and left the room. Only Jan, Major Hastings and Conrad remained. “Miss Wishart, I have just realized that there has been a slight oversight. You may not have been informed, but you are allowed one cadet of your choice to be present during these proceedings. Like your JAG counselor, this cadet cannot speak during the Honor Board, but he or she may take notes and provide advice. Do you have someone in mind whom you would like to have as your supporting cadet?”

  Jan wondered why no one mentioned this before now. She silently hoped it might be worthy of a mistrial, if there was such a thing for cadet Honor Boards. She cleared her throat. “Sir, may I have ANY cadet?”

  “Yes, as long as they agree to it.”

  “Then I’d like to have Cadet Dogety.”

  “Oh, sorry, no, you cannot have witnesses or anyone who might testify during the Honor Board,” Conrad clarified.

  Damn. That rules out Kissy and Angel. I can’t very well call on SKIP because I have no idea who he is. Drew is not an option either. Her short list of friends was getting shorter all the time.

  “Sir, I would like to ask Cadet Trane then.”

  “Miss Wishart, I just said you cannot ask anyone who might testify and Cadet Trane is on the list,” Conrad said.

  “Sir, I don’t mean Cadet Angel Trane. I mean Cadet Bill Trane.”

  “Your Company Honor Representative?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “Well, that’s…unprecedented.” Conrad paused to think it over. “But because he was not involved in the events, other than the initial investigation, I suppose he can be allowed.” Jan figured he gave in easily to make up for the hard line he took earlier over Dogety’s non-statement.

  At 2130 hours, Conrad convened the Honor Board again announcing, “We are adjourning early tonight. Miss Wishart has not chosen a supporting cadet to participate in these proceedings. We will meet here again tomorrow morning at 0800 hours to give her time to ask someone of her choosing.”

  Did he just make it sound like it was my fault?

  “Remember the confidential nature of this Honor Board. No one is to say anything to anyone. Am I clear?” There were general nods from the panel of cadets. “Dismissed.”

  Jan turned to Major Hastings. “Any advice for me now, Sir?” she asked hoping he might prove helpful after all.

  “Nothing yet. Just try to look innocent and maybe a little vulnerable.”

  Oh Jaysus.

  6

  “The discipline which makes the soldiers of a free country reliable in battle is not to be gained by harsh or tyrannical treatment. On the contrary, such treatment is far more likely to destroy than to make an army. It is possible to impart instruction and to give commands in such manner and such a tone of voice to inspire in the soldier no feeling but an intense desire to obey, while the opposite manner and tone of voice cannot fail to excite strong resentment and a desire to disobey.”

  Schofield's Definition of Discipline, Bugle Notes, 81, p.51

  “ATTENTION TO ORDERS!” The booming voice commanded all cadets in the Mess Hall to stop eating. After several other announcements, the OZ-like voice said: “All female new cadets will report to Thayer Hall, Room 519, immediately following breakfast.”

  The new cadets filed out of the four wings of the Mess Hall through massive, oak doors. Ninety percent headed to their barracks to shine shoes, memorize “poop” (the term for everything new cadets were required to memorize), or do anything their Squad Leaders wanted. The women headed to Thayer Hall, Room 519.

  Jan took a seat in one of the middle rows of the large lecture room, safely not too close nor too far from the speaker.
A familiar face came up the steps. Her nametag read, “McCarron.” She chose the seat next to Jan.

  While the room filled with new cadet women, McCarron whispered, “three guesses—sex, birth control or hygiene—not necessarily in that order.” Jan smirked but hoped this meeting wasn’t about any of those things.

  A female officer, the first they had seen at West Point, entered the room. Extremely physically fit, Jan thought she could pass for a man in the right light. Captain Milliford started speaking, “It’s not uncommon for young women to stop menstruating at West Point.”

  “I knew it,” McCarron whispered.

  Captain Milliford continued, “We have found this to be true especially during Beast and often throughout plebe year. Most of you will stop menstruating for a few months. Some of you will not have a period for six months.”

  Fine with me! Jan figured this might be the one benefit of Beast.

  “Due to the physical and emotional stress of Cadet Basic Training and the Fourth Class System, it is perfectly normal to lose your period for the entire plebe year.”

  Can’t be gone too long for me! Jan hoped she’d be in the full year category.

  “So don’t be alarmed if you stop menstruating,” Captain Milliford continued, “It will return eventually.”

  Oh damn.

  The captain ended her talk saying, “The technical term for the cessation of the menstrual cycle is ‘Amenorrhea.’”

  They were dismissed. Jan stood and whispered to McCarron, “I think she meant to say ‘Amen-oh-yay-ah!’”

  McCarron giggled.

  The Second Platoon women: McCarron, Plowden, Wright and Jan, returned to the company area, but the rooms, hallways and latrines were empty. No Platoon Leader, no Platoon Sergeant and no Squad Leaders.

  “Did anyone hear where we were supposed to go after the lecture?” Plowden asked when they had gathered in Jan and Wright’s room. They hadn’t been told where to report.

  “Is this a girl scout meeting?” The four women popped to attention and turned toward the door. Cadet Trane, their Sixth Company Commander, stood in the hallway, smirking.