by Jesse Jordan
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Epilogue
Epilogue
For Love Or Country
A 52nd Novel
Jesse Jordan
Copyright © 2017 by Jesse Jordan
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
As always, first I’d like to thank my family, without whom I would never have had the courage to put fingers to keyboard and start writing.
Next, I’d like to thank my friends, editors, beta readers, and everyone else who helped me with this story. Their advice, while not always followed, helped me immensely. So like I say, any mistakes are mine, and any good ideas are yours.
Third, I’d like to dedicate this book to all of those who have served our country. In the last book on the 52nd, To Love and To Honor, I talked about one side of the Academy, but in my research, I discovered another side that was just as compelling to me. What happens to those who don’t make it, to those who don’t fit in? The thought first came to me as I talked with a friend who told me about her experiences. Her story of her roommate’s struggles didn’t leave my mind the entire time I was writing Honor, and so this book was born.
Of course, I recognize that there’s a lot of things here that aren’t realistic. As far as I know, no foreign intelligence agencies are infiltrating the Academy. And I’d also like to say that the vast, vast majority of cadets, officers, and other staff at the Academy are excellent leaders who do their best to uphold the Army values, including respect. But still, there are those who fall through the cracks, and this story is dedicated to them. To all you Century Club members, to all you misfits, to all of you Goats who never got a break in your four years at the Academy. To all the STAP Rangers, the losers, and to every person who ever had to lock themselves in a toilet stall in order to have the privacy to cry the way you needed to… this is for you.
As with Honor, I recognize that some of the things I’ve written are not totally factually correct about USMA or the Army. Sometimes, I simplified for the sake of clarity, sometimes I intentionally changed things for artistic license. Sometimes, I just flat out made mistakes. For those, I apologize, and beg the forgiveness of anyone who notices.
On a helpful note, there is still a good amount of Academy jargon thrown around by the characters in this book. Please, if you don’t understand, read Honor, or check online. It makes the story much deeper if you do.
Finally, for those of you who like the story, please take a moment to friend me on Facebook, or support me on Patreon.
Contents
Introduction
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Epilogue
To Love and to Honor
Ashley
Simon
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Epilogue
About the Author
Also by Jesse Jordan
Introduction
Everyone at West Point thinks I'm a loser. Stuck near the bottom of my class, I should hate this place. But I don't. Still, it's obvious what everyone thinks. The only redeeming quality I have is swimming.
Then I meet Ivan. Tall, mysterious, powerful... and sexier than any man I've ever met in my life. Watching him move in the boxing ring, I don't know whose knees are going to crumble first, mine or his next opponent's.
When we're together, the smoldering desire in his eyes makes me feel like I'm anything but the loser the Corps says I am. When I'm with Ivan, I feel powerful. Splash to his Smash.
But there's something about Ivan that worries me. What dark secrets is he hiding from me? And what will those secrets do to me when they're finally brought to light?
And if they're what I think they are, am I going to be forced to choose between the country I swore to defend, and the man that I might be falling in love with?
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Chapter 1
Christina
Hope. I know it's foolish, this simple little change isn't going to make that big a difference. Still, it's there in my chest, and I can't quite shake the feeling as I take the bus onto campus at West Point again. After two years in company A-4, where I went from being a hopeful Plebe to wondering if I even wanted to go to the Academy as a Yearling, I feel hope warming my chest again.
I suppose I was an idiot coming here straight out of high school. I'm young for my class, and the Academy is a place that demands a really mature mindset. So I've had a lot of problems fitting in here. It was the same in a lot of ways back home too. I never quite fit in with any one of the dozen or so cliques that populated Great Falls High School. Too jocky for the nerds, too nerdy for the jocks, too straight-laced for the goof offs, and with a sense of humor too strange for the straight laced.
I thought, coming here to West Point, that the Academy would be the place where I'd find people that I could understand, that I could connect with. After all, everyone here had good grades in high school, everyone here is some sort of athlete. I should have been able to fit in somewhere, right?
Apparently, that place wasn't company A-4, the Vanguard. I busted my butt for two years, but it seemed being willing to take the suck jobs that nobody else wanted didn't count for much when compared to my APFT score or my chemistry grades. It's not like I didn't work hard at both, but I'm just not built for the Army Physical Fitness Test. Pushups, no matter how hard I train for them, are not my forte. I worked on them every day second semester of my Yearling year, doing the exact training program that I was told to do... for a grand score of sixty five percent.
Add to that the fact that I'm one of those girls who just do not react well to the USMA diet, and I left the Vanguard feeling like hell. The jokes that I heard: battleship hips, chunky, blocky... nobody cared that when it came to intramural swimming I was the anchor on
every relay, that we took second in the brigade championships. If anything, it inspired more nicknames, including one that really hurt... Willy. As in, “Free Willy.” Being compared to a whale is not the sort of thing to help with your self esteem. I tried to let it just not bother me, but sometimes that's been pretty hard.
But now I'm not part of the Vanguard any more. My class was scrambled after two years, being reassigned randomly to new companies. I got moved nearly as far as I could, from A-4 all the way to I-1, the Ironside. Walking through Central Area from the bus stop towards Pershing Barracks, I admit, I'm hoping the new start will give me a chance to break free from the stress filled muck that was my first two years at the United States Military Academy.
I climb the steps of the old fashioned building and go to the I-1 company office. Inside, a Firstie named Carter is sitting at the CQ desk, a spot normally manned by a Yearling, but they're all out at Camp Buckner still for another few days, wrapping up their summer training. “Hi.”
Carter, I can see now that he's wearing the four bars on his uniform epaulets that says he's either the Company Commander this semester or higher, looks up from the paperback he's reading. “Oh, hi. What's up?”
“I'm Christina Logan, one of the new Cows. Checking in and at your service,” I answer, offering him my hand. “Just wanted to see the room assignments and what my job is.”
“Keith Carter, I'm the CO this semester,” he replies, picking up the clipboard and checking. “Let's see... Logan... ah, here you are. Okay, you're in the far wing, room 341. Ah... you're going to be the Plebe APFT sergeant, working with Jordan Quackenbush.”
“APFT sergeant?” I ask, trying not to let my frustration show. I wanted a leadership job, not a made up staff job. “But... why?”
Keith shrugs. “Don't know. If you want to ask Jordan or Major Franklin, they're both here today as well. Not sure where Jordan is, but the Major's in his office if you want.”
I shake my head, sighing. “No... I guess I'll go start setting up my room. Thanks.”
“No worries. Hey, later on Mel, our spirit officer for the semester, is setting up an electric barbecue for those of us who are back early. A little bit of a welcome to you new Cows and a way to kick off easy for everyone before the Yuks get here tomorrow and then the new Smacks. You coming?”
“Sure,” I say with a smile. Okay, so APFT Sergeant. That's not too bad, right? I mean, all I really need to do is run an APFT for the Plebes in October or so with a group of others to sign off on their scores. That's no big deal.
I go to the storage rooms and start carrying my stuff up to room 341. There's a lot to carry, but thankfully I can take my time, and I've got half of it set up when there's a knock on my door and I turn around to see another girl standing there. I'm immediately nervous, she's pretty. I mean like, not just 'cadet pretty,' but really pretty. Long jet-black hair hangs down the middle of her back in a quick braided ponytail, and she's got a lean body, the type that I wish I had. No problems with the Academy diet for this girl. “Hi. Are you my roomie?”
“No, I'm Jordan Quackenbush,” the girl replies, coming in. She looks me over, and I can see it already, she's not happy with what she sees. Maybe it's the messy hair, maybe it's my casual civvies are half messed up, but I think most of it is my general look. I've noticed of the jokes and comments about my body at the Academy, the cruelest seem to come from other female cadets, especially those built like Jordan. “I thought you were going to stop by my room, Keith sent me an email saying you checked in.”
“Sorry, I figured I'd get some stuff unpacked and then come over and talk once I changed into PTs,” I try to say casually, but I'm a little tired, and now I'm frustrated too. I'm not even in I-1 an hour yet, and I'm already on someone's bad side. “Would you like to talk now?”
“Yeah, I'm heading downstairs in a few minutes to do my workout, so I'll be busy later,” Jordan says, coming in and taking the unoccupied desk chair, where my roommate will eventually be. “So, Keith said you weren't happy about APFT Sergeant?”
I shrug and sit down in my desk chair, trying to be cool about the whole thing. Sure, come in my room, throw down some snarky comments, I'm fine by it. “I was just hoping for a leadership job, that's all.”
“It is a leadership job,” Jordan says, and I can hear it in her voice, the tone that makes me cringe. Add in the fact that she's pretty, but Jordan's a True Believer, the term me and my best (hell, only) friend at the Academy, Karli Franklin (no relation to the Major), came up with. “Why would you think it's not?”
I inwardly cringe at the aggressive tone she's using, and I know what she's going to say. “Sorry... it's just, we're only doing one APFT this semester. That's it.”
Jordan shakes her head, sighing loudly. “Logan, Logan....” she starts, using just my last name which I hate. I'm not a Plebe any more, I do have the right to be called by my first name. “We lead by example, by how we do on our APFT. Which is one of the reasons Major Franklin told me he assigned you the job. Apparently your APFT score isn't all that great?”
“It's not bad,” I protest, “I got two ten last time.”
“Two ten?” Jordan says incredulously. “That's pathetic.”
I know I should stand up for myself more, but I feel like hell hearing it. Seriously, it's not that bad, according to the specs. “It's not my best, I did get a two forty first semester last year. I strained a hip muscle before the last one, it slowed me down a lot the second mile of the run.”
Jordan shakes her head in disgust. “Jesus... whatever. I'll tell you now, if you score that low on your own APFT this semester, there's no way in hell I'm giving you higher than a C in your military grade. I've tabbed it every time since my Yearling year started, I expect you to at least get a two fifty.”
I can't argue, I've heard that line of thought before. The troops that we're going to lead are supposed to look up to us. There's lots of names for it, one the Academy likes is being 'technically and tactically proficient.' But, I've always wondered, isn't there room in that definition for guts and heart? It's not like I'm lazy.
Instead of protesting, I just nod, looking at my desk. “I understand. I'll try my best.”
“Oh, and one more thing,” Jordan says, standing up. “I don't want to hear about you getting tape tested. If you need to get some chunk off, you do it.”
That one really is below the belt. I'm a good fifteen pounds below the Army's maximum for my height. And hell, even if I did have to take a tape test, the last time I checked my body fat, I'm really healthy. I can't help it that I have wide shoulders and hips, it really is my bones. Still, I nod, saying nothing. Jordan looks at me for a moment then huffs and leaves my room without even saying goodbye, and I close my door. I promised myself I wouldn't cry, people around here mistake my tears of frustration for tears of sadness, and I promised, not on my first day in a new company... but it's really, really hard.
Instead of worrying about bringing more stuff up to my room, I decide to try and find some inner peace. I've got my footlocker up here along with the cardboard box that I put all my personal desk stuff in, and I find what I'm looking for quickly, my drawing pad and pencils.
It's my one indulgence around the Academy. In a world of gray granite, gray uniforms, and gray emotions, in my drawings I can create the colors that I need to see and feel in order to make it. I flip to an empty page in my book and start quickly with my sketch pencil, remembering the bird that I saw during summer training. The colors were amazing, white and blue and brown speckles on the chest....
As the head takes shape, and the wings stretch out, I feel myself there with the bird, lighter, flying up and away from this place. I'm so caught up that I barely hear the knock on my door, until it repeats itself. “Come in.”
The door opens, and Karli sticks her head in, smiling. We haven't seen each other in ten weeks, and I get up and give my friend a quick hug before letting go and she sits down in the chair on the other side of my room. She sees the sketch pad
on my desk and half stands, humming. “Damn, it's starting early this semester. You ran into a fucktard that quick?”
Karli's like me, she's fully cemented in the 'loser' category in our class. Unlike me, with few redeeming qualities in the Academy's eyes, Karli's one of those super-genius types. Seriously, she'd have a perfect grade point average if it weren't for her PE and military grades. Karli and DPE, the Department of Physical Education, have been in a devoted two year long war, she’s just not a good swimmer. Or gymnast. Or into combatitives.
Couple that with her inability to play the social game that makes up a lot of your 'military' grade, it pulls her down so much that her near perfect academics can't save her from being in the basement class rank wise. Still, I love her, she understands me. She also likes that I'm one of the few people who doesn't mind that she curses nearly constantly. She even thinks up new insults for people sometimes, but still, her normal speech is filled with enough f-bombs and more to leave a lot of people turned off.
“Why do you think I had a run-in with a jerk?” I ask, and Karli raises an eyebrow.