January Dawn

by Cody Lennon

  “That was some mighty fine shooting I saw there boys,” came a booming voice from behind us. It was General Gammon. He was wearing plain gray fatigues and a cap. Nothing about him indicated he was a general besides the black stars on his hat. He made his way through the crowd shaking hands.

  Gammon was a very intimidating man. He was tall and barrel-chested and had a personality that matched his legendary status. Everything he said was always carefully thought out and spoken with pure emotion.

  He had a reputation for being one of the harshest men in the army. He held himself to high expectations and expected as much from his soldiers. Some of the finest divisions in the C.S. Army can be attributed to his go-get-it mentality. He led by example from the front and soldiers loved him for it. He even did PT with us one morning and led us in a couple old school cadence rhymes.

  “Drill Sergeant Elroy, tell me I’m not too late,” he said.

  “Too late for what, sir?”

  “I’ve been stuck in my office all morning with an itchy trigger finger. I was hoping I could get a little range time with some of your men. Huh, how about it, men?” He said, clasping a few of the recruits by the shoulder. The creases on his leathery face deepened when he grinned.

  “I think we could arrange that, General,” Elroy said, picking up his clipboard and running his finger down the paper. “Best-on-best competition. Teague. Redman. Carrigan…and Tennpenny.”

  Me?

  First Platoon went into an uproar as the four of us took our positions on the firing line alongside the General.

  Gammon rolled up his sleeves and said, “How about we spice things up a bit?” He signaled for the range officers, who ran down the range to change the targets. They replaced the bland black and white silhouette targets with a red, white and blue caricature of Uncle Sam. The grisly old caricature wore a star studded hat with a blue coat and he was pointing his finger at all of us. “There that’s much better.”

  Elroy blew the whistle and we opened fire. The contest lasted no longer than two minutes. The panel of range officers surveyed the results through their binoculars and recorded their findings.

  “Teague. Twenty-seven. Redman. Twenty-seven. Carrigan. Twenty-nine. Tennpenny. Twenty-eight. General Gammon. Twenty-four.”

  “I demand a recount, Drill Sergeant Elroy,” Gammon said with a hearty laugh. “I’m sure I was beat fair and square. I’m getting old and I can’t shoot as well as I once did.” The General walked down the line shaking hands with his competitors and smiling over his celebrity status.

  I took the chance to go over and talk with Alex Redman in the lane next to me.

  Here goes nothing. “Hey, nice shooting,” I said.

  “Thanks, you too.” I could tell by the look on his face that he was confused as to why I was talking to him. In the barracks it was considered social suicide to talk to him. I didn’t care.

  “Where did you learn to shoot?” I asked him.

  “My father taught me. You?”

  I shook my head. “This was my first day.”

  “Really?”

  “Alex Redman, how are you son?” The General asked as he approached.

  “I’m doing well sir,” Alex said, shaking the man’s hand.

  “Good, good. It’s nice to see you in uniform finally.” The General looked Alex up and down and then turned to offer me his hand, “Tennpenny, is it?”

  “Yes sir,” I said, shaking his hand firmly, like Mr. Jeffries taught me. The General’s grip was crushing.

  “Remarkable shooting, son. Both of you.”

  “Thank you, sir,” We said together.

  “How’s your old man doing?” He said to Alex.

  “He’s doing fine, sir.”

  “Spending all of his retirement money is he?” Gammon laughed.

  “Yes sir, he’s been fixing up our old barn.”

  “Your father is a good man. Next time you talk to him, you tell that old coot that I’d love to have a word with him.” The General spoke frankly with Alex. He was the only one I’d heard speak highly of Silas Redman. I’m sure Alex appreciated it.

  “Will do, sir.”

  “Good man.” General Gammon prodded through the crowd with his eyes. “You see that boy over there? The one standing off to the side with his arms crossed.” I followed to where he was pointing. “That’s my son. He doesn’t know jack squat about shooting. If you two could give him a few pointers and get him to at least pass his qualifications, I’d be mighty thankful.”

  I recognized the recruit, but I never knew he was related to the General. I’m sure everyone else knew, but I was always the last to learn about these types of things.

  “Private Gammon,” he yelled at the recruit. The kid reacted sullenly, quietly sulking his way over as the General motioned for him to come over. Not exactly the way one responds to a high ranking officer, especially one that’s your own father.

  He had the same square facial structure as his father, but his body was a little more slender and less bulky. He kept his mouth in a perpetual frown. In the barracks, he was a willful recluse, going the extra mile to avoid interaction with people, even more so than me.

  “James, this is Private Redman and Private Tennpenny. They’re going to help get you where you need to be so you can pass the qualifications.” With the two of them standing next to each other the resemblance was striking. “You three get acquainted. I have to go mingle some more.”

  Before walking away, he said, “If you boys need anything at all, you come directly to me, understand?”

  “Yes sir,” we said collectively as he disappeared into the crowd. I noticed that Gammon Junior didn’t respond.

  “You can forget about whatever my father asked you to do for me. I don’t need any help,” Gammon Junior said, before storming off. So much for that.

  “You lucky bastard. Where did you learn to shoot like that, Tennpenny?” Beauregard asked inquisitively. He and Hayes and Carrigan and Shannon swarmed around me. They had been waiting on the fringes of our conversation, waiting for the General to move on.

  I watched as Alex faded away, a look of pure loneliness on his face. The others didn’t even acknowledge him. He shot extremely well. The least they could do is acknowledge that.

  “I don’t rightly know. I’ve never shot a weapon before this week.”

  “Never shot a weapon before this week? You lying sack of dog turds. I bet you were some world class hunter back in civilian life. You come up in here all humble and quiet and shit, trying not to embarrass us all with how amazing you are at everything.” Hayes’ humor was one of a kind. Sometimes though, I think he was being serious, but it came across as humorous to the rest of us.

  “That was some good shooting there, Tex,” Carrigan said, throwing her arm around my shoulders.

  “You didn’t do so bad yourself. You got twenty nine.”

  “What did General Gammon say to you?” Shannon asked.

  “And why did Gammon Junior storm away all prissy?” Beauregard asked.

  I didn’t even have time to answer.

  “Oh, little Gammon’s probably upset because everybody here loves his daddy and nobody loves him,” Hayes said.

  “Hayes!” Carrigan said with a slap upside his head.

  “What? It’s true. The boy is a loner. He doesn’t talk to anybody.”

  “Tennpenny doesn’t talk to anybody either,” Beauregard said.

  “Yeah, but Colton’s cool. Colton’s like a cat. You know those unfriendly cats that some people like to have. The one’s that you talk to when nobody else is home, but you can’t tell if it’s listening to you or not, because it’s too busy staring out the window at nothing. And then maybe once or twice a day it will meow at you, asking for food. That’s Colton. Junior over there is just plain weird. He wants to be by himself. He doesn’t even talk to his bunk mate for Pete’s sake.”

  I’m like a cat?

  “That’s because he doesn’t have a bunk mate. The guy stabbed himself in the
hand the first night so they’d kick him out,” Shannon said.

  “What if we got Redman to move out of our end of the block and be bunk mate’s with Junior. That way we can be rid of him and then those two can sit around and talk about each other’s daddy issues. It’s a win-win.” Hayes was joking. I think.

  “Give it a rest, Hayes.”

  Elroy and the other instructors ordered us to form up. We rushed over to join the formation. It was evening chow time.

  Chapter 5

  February 14

  The mock firing of automatic rifles overhead rattled my nerves as I crawled forward through the cold and gummy mud. The thick, clayish sludge stuck to my arms in clumps and oozed through my fingers as I gripped at the moist earth. I couldn’t lift myself out of the gooey mess if I tried. The taut strips of barbed wire overhead saw to that.

  With my body pressed as flat as possible, I slinked onward, bringing my leg up to my side and pushing off of it to slide forward, and then the other leg, push and slide.

  Move faster Colton, I told myself. I was moving way too slow.

  Part of First Platoon was already through the mud and heading on to the next obstacle. I was somewhere in the middle of the pack.

  “Ah! Crap, I’m hooked,” I heard Gammon Junior say ahead of me. The barbed wire had latched on to the back of his pant leg and he couldn’t reach back far enough to set himself free.

  I crawled up next to him, inching as close I could, avoiding the sharp prongs. I grabbed ahold of the wire and wrenched it loose from his pants.

  “Thanks,” he said, looking back to see who it was that had helped him. I didn’t say anything and kept crawling forward. I had to get to the front. That’s where Teague would be.

  This was the last day to score for the LAE, and surprisingly I was in the running to get the promotion. I found out early that morning at breakfast chow. After waiting in line for another mouthwatering meal, I made my way through the cafeteria to my usual table where I sat with Carrigan and Shannon and the others.

  This time however, I stopped and turned around, taking a seat at a table two rows down, where Alex Redman was sitting. He looked shocked when I set my tray down in front of him and sat down.

  I don’t know why I decided to sit with him. He had something about him that intrigued me. He had more to prove than anyone and he seemed to go about it with the best attitude possible, considering the circumstances. On the outside, he seemed to take everything in stride, which gave him an aura of infectious confidence, but as somebody who has held in a lot of emotion over the years I know when somebody is battling their own thoughts on the inside. He was struggling, and I think I was the only one to see that.

  I don’t know, still a part of me thought maybe I sat down at the table to prove a point, if not only to gain his acceptance. You said I’d wash out by the end of the week. It’s been two weeks and I’m still here.

  I went about my morning like any other day and ate my breakfast. He didn’t say anything to me and I didn’t say anything to him. The rest of the platoon shot us queer looks and I could hear hushed whispering across the room, but I didn’t care. To hell with social suicide. I had no status to lose to begin with.

  Drill Sergeant Elroy entered the room. The whole platoon stood erect out of their seats and snapped to attention.

  “As you were gentlemen. I have a few announcements to make, so listen up.” We settled back into our seats, a noisy clattering of aluminum chairs. “Today is the last day to score for the LAE. The standings are as follows. In the lead, we have Private Teague.”

  The mess hall roared with cheers. Teague smugly smiled and flexed his biceps.

  When the celebratory raucous went on a little too long, Elroy quieted them down with a scowl. “In second, we have Private Redman.”

  Silence. Alex acted as if he hadn’t heard Elroy announce his second place status. He continued staring down at his plate, casually swirling his spoon in a bowl of granola.

  “Third place, we have Private Scott.” More cheering, a little less than before.

  “Fourth place, Private Tennpenny.” Hayes, Carrigan, Shannon, and Beauregard let up a howl in my honor, beating and drumming on the table.

  “And fifth is Private Calloway.”

  Hearing that I was in fourth place elated me. Early that week I had been half way down the list. My shooting scores must have really ramped up my overall score. It was then that I decided that since I was so close to the lead I’d go for it and try my best on the obstacle course.

  I reached the end of the mud pit and lurched to my feet, shaking the heavy muck from my clothes. My friends were already half way through the next obstacle.

  “Let’s go, Tennpenny,” Shannon said.

  I’m coming, I’m coming.

  It was a dual obstacle. The first obstacle was a twenty foot vertical climb on a free swinging cargo net. I grabbed ahold of the vertical ropes and placed my feet on the horizontal. It was easy in theory, but when you have four other recruits climbing and the whole cargo net is swaying and pitching in every direction it got a little difficult.

  Despite the hindrance, I made it to the top quickly and started my descent down the second obstacle, which was an over-under reverse climb. The obstacle sloped downward at an angle and had a series of horizontal logs spaced out a few feet apart. You had to climb over one log and then go under the next, repeating the process until you reached the bottom.

  I passed several recruits going down as I slithered my way through the rungs with no difficulty, besides my one slip up when I lost my grip half way down and almost fell off the structure completely. Good thing I didn’t, or I would have had to complete the entire obstacle over again and that would have eliminated any chance of me winning. I had to get to the front.

  The beginning of the race was more team based obstacles that could only be completed by the cooperation and effective communication of the entire class. It was a test of our collective minds and bodies. The first obstacle was a ten foot wall and we all had to get over it using nothing but ourselves and a little ingenuity. We lifted two guys up to the top. They straddled the wall with their legs and helped hoist recruits up one by one as we lifted them up from the ground.

  After a mile of teambuilding exercises, the course narrowed to test individual endurance. There was everything from rope climbs, rope swings and monkey bars, to vaulting, island hopping, and high steps. Halfway through the eight mile course, I was already exhausted. My mouth and throat were dry and my heart beat violently in my chest.

  I came up to the next obstacle, a giant, forty-five foot ladder called the confidence climb. I charged up without hesitation. Each rung of the ladder was separated by five feet of open air. It required a lot of nimble dexterity and mental preparedness. Once you reach the top, you swing your leg over and climb down the other side.

  As I was going up Carrigan was opposite of me, climbing down.

  “Tennpenny, you have to hurry up. Teague’s in the lead. You can’t let him win,” she said as we passed each other.

  I hurried to the top and down again on the other side. When I reached the bottom, I mustered whatever leftover strength I had and hightailed it, sprinting forward as fast as I could.

  As we neared the end of the course, I passed Carrigan, Calloway, and Scott. Only Teague and Redman were left in front of me.

  Only then did I began to have second thoughts about winning the race. I didn’t even want to be platoon leader. The promotion did sound nice though. I guess it was more proving to myself that I could actually accomplish something. Mr. Stephens told me my whole life that I would never amount to anything. I had always been a slave and nothing more. For once, I had the opportunity to achieve something I could be proud of. So, I ran.

  There was half a mile left and Teague and Redman were fifty feet ahead of me, running neck and neck with their fists clenched and their arms swinging and their legs working feverishly to move faster.

  “You’re going to lose, Teague,” I heard A
lex say.

  “Not today,” Teague said. The brute stuck his arm out and shoved Redman in an attempt to knock him off his feet. Alex lost his balance but quickly caught up to him again.

  Closing in, I could see them fighting back and forth, their arms entangled in a pushing match. Teague suddenly ended the dual when he stepped his left leg in front of Alex, tripping him and sending him tumbling to the ground.

  Alex rolled over sideways a few times before coming to a stop. He grunted in pain as he held his right knee. I slowed to a stop by his side to check on him.

  He waved me forward. “No! Go! We can’t let him win.”

  I hesitated, not wanting to leave him there injured.

  “Go, now dammit!” He said through gritted teeth.

  I continued my pursuit. The finish line was close. It was only a quarter mile away. The drill instructors were there waiting. They disappeared from view as I made my way down a slope into a patch of trees. At the bottom was a creek. Four upright poles, substituting as stepping stones, jutted out of the slow moving current in a zigzag pattern.

  Teague mounted the first one, but slipped on the second, crashing into the creek with a mighty splash. He cussed and got back to his feet.

  I ignored the steps all together, sloshed through the shallow creek and caught up with Teague. He was breathing heavily and so was I. We both were at the end of our endurance, but neither of us would give up.

  We ran up the sandy incline matching each other’s pace step for step.

  When I pushed ahead of him, he grabbed my shirt and pulled me back. I couldn’t believe it. He was scared to lose and he would stop at nothing to win that promotion.

  I wouldn’t let him win. I pushed through the soreness of my muscles and surged forward.

  Teague struck my side with a hefty blow from his elbow. I grunted in pain, but kept running.

  “Know when to quit,” he said between breaths.

  What happened next occurred in a blink of an eye. As I brought my right leg forward, Teague slammed his foot down on top of mine, abruptly stopping my forward motion and forcing my full body weight onto my hyperextended leg. The unexpected attack left me writhing in pain.