by Lyn Cote
“I don’t give a whoop who tripped who. Drop and start push-ups. Both of you!” she roared, spitting in Carly’s face again. “Now!”
Carly dropped and began performing push-ups. The girl beside her started doing the same. Carly felt her heart pounding, not from the physical exertion but over the unexpected attack by a stranger and being yelled at about it. What was this girl’s problem?
But Carly’s more pressing dilemma—how to keep the earrings—popped up, nagging more insistently. What could she do in the amnesty room to conceal the earrings on her person? If she could hide them, in three weeks when they were allowed to write letters, she could send them home.
Perhaps she could hook them to some part of her clothing. But she was still wearing her civilian clothes, which she would soon surrender for a military uniform and dog tags. But she wouldn’t be changing underthings, would she? No, because she’d been told what kind of underwear and how much to bring to basic. I’ll just hook them into the cleft in the front of my—
“Little Miss Show-Off,” the drill instructor barked above her.
Carly paused and looked up.
“You think you’re going to impress me?” the woman demanded.
Carly glanced over at the other girl, who lay gasping on the floor beside her. Suddenly Carly became aware that her arms were tired and she was a little winded. “I beg your pardon?”
The DI reached down and pulled her to her feet. “Get back in line.”
Carly stumbled slightly as the sergeant thrust her backward. The sergeant dragged Alex-somebody to her feet and shoved her behind Carly. “Any more trouble out of either of you, and you’ll regret it!”
Carly didn’t doubt her. She felt herself gasping for breath, not from the exertion but again from the shock. She’d never been manhandled or verbally abused like this in her whole life. Nate repeated in her mind, “Don’t take anything personally.” That hadn’t sounded difficult when he said it, but now tears were coiled right behind her eyes, ready to spring forth. She drew in breath slowly and let it out, gathering her composure. Breaking into tears wouldn’t bring any sympathy here.
Finally, Carly’s moment of decision arrived. She entered the amnesty room. Hiding herself by bending slightly forward and toward the wall behind her, she quickly took off her earrings and fastened them into the interior front of her bra. Mentally, she inventoried the rest of her belongings but couldn’t think of anything else she needed to leave behind. She walked swiftly from the room, doing her best to look innocent.
After the amnesty room, all the recruits were herded into two rooms, one for males and one for females. Inside the females’ room, Carly looked down at the folded camouflage uniform, called a basic drill uniform or BDU, she’d been handed. She shrugged out of her T-shirt and jeans and with an arm shielding the contraband earrings, she slipped on the new cotton uniform and put her dog tags around her neck. She was now not Carly Sinclair, but 89236108. Flipping her long ponytail out of her collar, she glanced across the room and glimpsed Lorelle Dawson, buttoning her shirt.
Just before Carly waved, she caught herself. She’d almost done it again, called attention to herself. Lorelle’s eyes connected with hers, and it was enough. According to the initial entry training or IET handbook, each recruit would be assigned to a platoon of fifty, which was part of a company four platoons strong. So Lorelle would be at least within the same company of two hundred. Probably not the same platoon—that would be too much to ask. Carly sighed. Carly had entered the base gate after nine o’clock that morning, just an hour before, but the day seemed long already.
“I know what you did with those earrings, rich witch.” Alex-somebody had slipped up beside Carly.
Carly gave her a sideways glance. Her self-appointed adversary was tall, thin, olive-skinned, reasonably pretty, but really young-looking. Carly bet that the girl was just guessing about her earrings, playing mind games for some weird and unknown reason. Carly turned her back and hefted her heavy khaki-green duffel of possessions. She took her place at the door, ready to march to the next station. Alexa or whatever her name was stuck close as a burr. Carly felt like telling the girl to get a life. What was with her?
Late in the evening of the second day at the reception hall, Carly and her platoon finally finished all the shots, physical exams, forms that had to be filled out exactly right, and the military haircuts. Carly hadn’t slept much in the cramped quarters in a nearby reception barracks. She needed a shower and a good night’s rest, but she had no way of knowing whether she would be allowed either of the two luxuries. The army was making her completely dependent on those in command and methodically stripping her down to the bare minimums of life.
Again, she fingered the tight short braid at the back of her neck. Earlier, under cover of the buzzing clippers, the military barber had whispered that he loved long hair on a woman and that he hated to cut hers. Then with one click of his scissors, he’d cut away nearly a lifetime of growth. But he’d left her hair long enough to pull into a tight braid that just cleared her collar.
The other female recruits had come out with short bobs similar to what her great-grandmother Chloe still wore. Their male counterparts came out bald, looking like newly hatched chicks. With a surreptitious but warm glance, Carly had silently thanked the barber who’d left her a vestige of what made her feel like herself. Now she let her hand fall. She didn’t want any of the DIs that hovered to note that some of her hair, something of herself, had been left to her.
Then they were processed and ready to officially start training. Carly’s platoon DI shouted and all fifty recruits jumped to their feet and lined up to leave the reception hall. Just before Carly left, she glanced back quickly to say a silent good-bye to Lorelle. Their gazes met and then Carly was outside in the muggy darkness. If the base were a normal place in the universe, she would assume the recruits would be transported to their permanent barracks for a good night’s sleep. But only two days in the army had taught her to assume nothing.
Their drill instructor began shouting rapid orders. Carly tried to catch them all but gave up, deciding just to watch and mimic the other recruits. The shouting overwhelmed her senses, and she couldn’t process the words. DIs evidently had only one volume; their consistent decibel level was close to that of a heavy metal concert.
The DI started shouting numbers. One by one, recruits grabbed their heavy duffels and sprinted to what looked like a cattle car and jumped inside. Carly strained to hear her number called. She’d memorized her dog tags and fingered them now as if reading them in Braille. The DI called her number next. Hoisting the weighty duffel onto her shoulder, she charged the few feet and jumped up inside the vehicle. She sat down beside a petite blond recruit who reminded Carly of Dolly Parton. “Dolly” gave her a quick nervous grin in the low light.
One by one, the other recruits crowded inside. Soon everyone was sitting thigh to thigh, and still more squeezed in. Carly began feeling claustrophobic and breathing became a struggle. She hugged her duffel to her and tried to ignore the press of hot bodies all around her. She closed her eyes and forced herself to breathe in and out, slowly and evenly.
Of all things, she despised feeling out of control, of being overwhelmed by something. It brought back the panic left over from her childhood, from those two days when she’d been taken from home and mother. Carly fought the tide of breathless fear. What have I gotten myself into?
Kitty’s voice played in her mind, telling her how homesick she’d been in 1915 when she left Maryland to go to Columbia University. Aunt Kitty had told Carly this to prepare her for her first time away from home, but Carly doubted that Columbia University was anything like boot camp. Still, Carly made her mind picture Kitty, Chloe, and Bette, the images of those strong women helping her to resist giving way into the claustrophobia.
Finally, they were packed three-deep and Carly turned her head sideways and stuck her nose up against one of the holes in the side of the cattle car. The vehicle lurched to a star
t and Carly was bumped about by the movement of the vehicle and crushed by the swaying of the bodies inside. She clung to the metal behind her and tried to think of other things, other places. Anything but the bodies pressing against her, smothering her.
At last, the vehicle lurched to a stop, throwing them against each other and back and forth. Angry German shepherds barked and lunged against the sides of the cattle car. The DIs began shouting unintelligible threats and orders. The tailgate was thrown open and the first few of the fifty in Carly’s platoon literally fell from the vehicle. Black-shirted military police restrained the dogs that surged toward the recruits who were scrambling up off the ground. Following orders, the new soldiers left their duffels behind and started grouping into the tight formation they’d all been taught.
When it was finally her turn, Carly leaped from the back. As she hit the ground, a ferocious German shepherd with teeth bared leaped at her face, barking as if it were going to tear out her throat. Its hot breath and spit made her jerk her head back and she bumped into the recruit who’d leaped out after her. It was “Dolly” who caught her by her shoulders and steadied her so she didn’t stumble. The DI screeched at them. Carly rushed forward and took her place in the tight formation.
On and off for two days, Carly felt her heart pounding like a war drum. She felt weak, as if she were a thin rubber band that had been stretched too far too often about to snap. Again and again, tears lurked just behind her eyes as she stared straight da>, blocking out the noise and the queasy feeling in her stomach.
As of that night, it was no longer a question: had she made a mistake by enlisting? It was now a certainty. She had made a very bad decision. I’m stuck. For four years, no less. I got what I wanted. And now I don’t want it.
Suddenly the yelling ended and Carly snapped back to the scene. The dogs were sniffing the duffels. When one paused by any of the duffels, the MP dumped everything out and let the dog sniff it again. Carly couldn’t believe that they actually thought someone was trying to bring drugs onto the base. Who would be that crazy?
Evidently, this was just another of the gestapo tactics that the army used to break platoon members down individually so they would form a team. Nate had warned her that indoctrination was the whole idea of boot camp. And right now Carly sensed she was near a breaking point. Her hands knotted into fists at her sides. Please, God, don’t let the dog pause at my duffel. Please. Her tension tightened inside her like a wire being twisted again and again.
Finally the MPs led the dogs away. Carly felt the tautness leave her spine. Three of her compatriots followed orders and in the dim light, scrambled to gather up their possessions and stuff them back into their bags. Then with their duffels shoulder high, they all began running to the barracks. At the entrance of the barracks, the DI pointed which way the recruits, in pairs of “battle buddies,” were supposed to go—left into one side of a barracks or right into the other. Carly groaned when Alex was paired with her as her “battle buddy.”
After all of them were standing beside bunks, the DI stood in the hallway between the two halves and ordered them to unpack, make their bunks, and get into them. They had five minutes, and the DI stood there gazing down at her wristwatch.
Carly gave Alex-somebody a dirty look. Battle buddies—they had to be kidding. This girl was a total nutcase. Why should I be surprised to get her as my buddy? Everything else that could go wrong has. Carly stuffed her possessions into the nearest locker, snapped shut the lock, then quickly made her bed.
“Lights out!” And the room went dark. Carly lay down and realized then that she hadn’t even shed her clothing. She was too tired. After untying her shoes, she laid her head on the lumpy pillow and closed her eyes. No one made a sound. A kind of stunned, exhausted silence held sway over them all. What could any of them say? Let me out of here?
Carly felt the soothing fingers of sleep unknotting her tension, claiming her. With her last bit of energy, she unfastened the diamond earrings from her bra. She felt through the sheet that her mattress was the old kind with buttons in it. She slipped one out and slid the earrings into the mattress stuffing and then put the button back in place. With her fingers, she counted the buttons from top and side edge so she’d remember which one concealed her contraband. Her last conscious thought was, Who would look for something under there?
At seven o’clock the next morning, in the nearly silent mess hall, Carly looked down at the full tray of food and cup of murky coffee that had been handed her in the food line. Her touchy stomach clenched and warned her not to eat anything. Too little sleep, too much anxiety, too much noise, too much everything—except privacy, time to think, and basic human respect—had taken its toll.
“There will be no talking!” a DI yelled. “And you will not be allowed to leave the mess until you have eaten everything on your plate.”
Everything? Carly felt her mouth drop open. I never eat breakfast. The petite blonde who’d helped her stay on her feet the previous night sat across from her. “Dolly” gave her a commiserating look. In return, Carly sent her a trace of a smile. But unfortunately the girl, Alex-somebody, who hated her, sat right beside her. It must have been on purpose. What was with her? And how could Carly avoid her, especially since they were “buddies”?
“Start eating now!” a DI yelled. “You have fifteen minutes.”
Carly picked up her fork and wished she were anywhere but there. Tentatively she forked up a bite of runny scrambled egg and hash browns. She put it in her mouth and chewed. Her stomach gave her another warning. Would she be sick? What would they do to her if she were?
She tightened her resolve and began forcing food in, forkful by forkful. The only sounds in the room where two hundred people ate breakfast were flatware touching plates and coffee cups being put down on the Formica tabletop. With one eye on the clock over the door, Carly worked her way through the plate of food. The clock hand ticked around toward the quarter-hour and the sergeant shouted, “One minute. Finish now!” Unfortunately, she was standing right behind Carly. The DI was so close that Carly could hear her breathing.
Carly looked down, gathering her courage to force down the last of breakfast. Without warning, Alex-somebody spat onto the remaining few bites left on Carly’s plate. Carly gasped with surprise.
“Clean up those plates now!”
Carly stared at her plate in shock, horror. Then, her fork in midair, she turned to Alex-somebody and stared in disbelief.
“What’s wrong with this table?” roared the DI right at Carly’s shoulder. “Why is this table just sitting here when everyone else is ready to go?”
Carly looked around and realized she wasn’t the only one who’d seen what Alex-whoever had done. Horrified faces looked back at her.
“Eat!” The sergeant shouted into her ear. “Scrape that plate clean, recruit!”
Carly stared down at the last two bites of food. Should she say something? In the normal universe, she would know what to do. But here, anything might happen if she told the truth. Carly closed her eyes and scooped the remainder of the food into her mouth. A shudder of pure disgust went through her like a wild jet of green slime. She gagged and gasped for breath.
“Attention! Outside! Into tight formation!”
Carly staggered to her feet and along with the rest of the company, she deposited her tray on the kitchen counter on her way out the door. Outside, the summer sun was already beating down. At the bottom of the short flight of steps, the combination of the bright sunlight and her revulsion hit her. Carly doubled over and vomited. She vomited until everything that she’d just eaten poured out onto the ground at her feet. Cold sweat dotted her forehead. Finally, her stomach was empty. She tried to straighten, but weakness made her lightheaded; she slid to kneel on the ground.
“What in the heck did you do that for?” her DI yelled into her ear.
Carly couldn’t even look at her. The world was still kind of undulating beneath her. And the sour taste in her mouth threatened to push
her into the dry heaves.
“Someone spit onto her plate, and she ate it anyway.”
Carly opened her eyes and saw that the blond recruit with a bashful face had spoken.
“What did you say, recruit?” The DI switched her wrath to “Dolly.”
“Someone spit onto her plate, and she ate it anyway,” the blonde repeated.
“You expect me to believe that?” the DI demanded.
The blonde recruit shrugged.
The DI turned back to Carly. “Did someone spit onto your plate?”
Carly didn’t know whether to say yes or no. Again, all the rules of conduct had changed. In the reception hall, she’d been punished when Alex-somebody had tried to trip her. What would the sergeant do to her about this?
“I asked you a question, you piece of garbage!” the DI yelled an inch from Carly’s face.
Carly nodded but refused to look up at her. Caught between conflicting impulses, she stared at the ground away from the reeking contents of her stomach.
“Miss Stick-My-Nose-into-Other-People’s-Business, drop and give me twenty!” the DI ordered.
Carly watched in shock as the sergeant punished the blonde for telling the truth. What would the DI have done if Carly had pointed an accusing finger at Alex-somebody?
The DI dragged Carly up by her collar. “Get into formation! In the army, you may have to do something worse than eat someone else’s spit! Don’t you dare faint on me or I’ll drop the whole platoon!”
Feeling drained and desperate, Carly walked as if moving through Jell-O to her place in formation. She reached deep down inside herself and dragged up strength and will. Over and over, she silently chanted, You can do this. You will not faint.
The blonde finished her push-ups and was ordered back into formation.
The DI glared at all of them. “Now whoever spit into 89236108’s food, step forward.”
Silence. No one moved. Carly found she could barely breathe. Waves of nausea still buffeted her.
“I said, whoever spit into 89236108’s food, step forward!”