The four attempted to pick Jo up in the fireman’s carry that they had recently learned. She tried to brush them off, arguing, “I can walk, I just—”
“Private Archer,” Rains said, her calm voice cutting through the squabble, “your squad members would greatly benefit from practicing this technique.”
And that’s as close to please as you’re ever going to get from an officer, thought Bett, as she nodded at Archer in support.
“Oh, hell, all right.” Archer submitted. As the four lifted her, she amended, “I mean, yes, Sergeant.”
Rains straightened. “I’ll check on you soon, Archer.” As the group passed through the door, Rains turned and surveyed the remainder of her group. Her eyes stopped on Bett. “What happened here, squad leader?”
“We were talking about ballet, and she was just being silly,” Bett explained. “She was imitating a dance move and landed badly.”
“Ballet?” Rains questioned, and looked around to see the others nodding in agreement. “Why—?” She turned back to Bett with a stern expression. “Private Smythe, when the other members of your squad return, bring them to the parade ground, on the double.”
For the first time, Bett understood the wisdom of not looking your commander in the eye. She thinks this is my fault, and maybe it is. She snapped to attention. “Yes, Sergeant.”
By the time the squad reached the grounds, other groups were already competing. Sergeant Rains was nowhere to be seen, but Sergeant Webber conducted their races. Knowing how much Archer had been looking forward to participating in the event, Bett ran harder than she ever had. They ran in groups of five, and much to her surprise, she defeated everyone in her group, and then defeated the winners of the other squads within her platoon.
There was to be a break before the final interplatoon competition began, and Bett sat on the ground, exhausted. This may be it, Archer. Maria had brought her some water and Phyllis supplied a damp towel that she had covering her head. Bett hadn’t really been listening to the girls’ excited conversation, but she noticed when things got quiet.
“I guess Your Highness thinks she’s pretty fast, huh?” said a vaguely familiar voice.
Bett pulled the towel back from her head to see Sergeant Moore standing beside her. Bett didn’t have the energy to think of a witty response, so she just pulled the towel back over her.
“On your feet, Private,” Moore ordered brusquely.
Bett considered this order and what would happen if she just sat there instead. With a patient clearing of her throat, she stood, pulled the towel off, and straightened.
Moore looked around Bett’s squad members who were also standing at attention. “The rest of you birds, beat it.”
Everyone hesitated, obviously reluctant to leave Bett alone with Sergeant Moore. Bett felt a warm appreciation for their loyalty.
Moore’s face reddened as she glanced around. “Dismissed, Privates.”
The group drifted away, although only as far as the next platoon group, keeping their eyes on their friend Bett and Sergeant Moore. Moore stood with her back to them. “I’ve got something for you, Private,” she said in a strange tone. She reached into her pocket and then hesitated. “Where’s Rains? I thought she’d be here giving you a rubdown or something.”
Bett resented almost everything about this comment, but the mention of her sergeant’s name kept her calm. “I believe she’s seeing to an injured squad member at the moment.”
Moore’s eyes scanned the infirmary in the distance. “Oh yeah, here she comes now. Good. Then I’ll go ahead and give you this.” She handed Bett a telegram.
Bett wondered about the timing of this delivery. Was it even a real telegram or was it just a ploy to shake her concentration? She took it without looking and put it in her pocket. “Thank you, Sergeant.”
“Shouldn’t you read it now?” Moore asked.
“Are you giving me an order, Sergeant?” Bett responded.
Hostility flared on Moore’s face. Then, checking the distance that Rains had yet to come, she tried for a more moderate attitude. “Why no, Private. It’s not an order. I just thought you’d want to look at it right away. You know, so your mind wouldn’t be elsewhere. I would think you’d want to make sure that everyone in your family is okay before you do a silly thing like run a race.”
Just as I thought, Bett assured herself, it’s a trick to make me lose. “Thank you, Sergeant Moore,” she replied, straightening again.
Moore waited. Bett continued standing at attention. Moore realized she had been dismissed and gave up the evenhanded tone. “You’re not gonna win anyway, you know,” she snarled. “Have you checked your competition? The girl from my platoon is almost as tall as Rains and fast as the wind.”
As if Moore’s words had summoned her, Bett saw that Rains had reached the parade grounds, accompanied by Jo, who was wearing a cumbersome-looking knee brace and a big smile. Moore snorted and walked away.
“Way to go, Queenie!” Archer congratulated her. “You’re just lucky I wasn’t there to knock you off in the first round,” she added as Bett met her with a hug.
“I’m so sorry, Jo. And I’m afraid this is the last gasp for me.” Bett smiled at her. “I know you could take on all comers, but I believe I’m done. Unless you have some secret advice to help me win.”
“You want to win for Archer and for your squad,” Sergeant Rains said, glancing briefly at Moore’s withdrawing form, “and that is good.” Her voice deepened with intensity as she added, “But this race you must run for yourself. Not just with your legs, but with your heart. Do that, and I know you will win.” She put her hands on Bett’s shoulders and squeezed.
Their eyes met for a second and Bett smiled. She knew what Rains was reminding her of. Or was it something more? I really want to win for you, Rains, she wanted to say. The rest of the squad was gathering back around her. Bett felt strangely energized. Rains gave her a nod and stepped back from the group.
“I will be one of the judges in this race, so I will be at the finish line. Webber will start you. Good luck, Private Smythe.”
When she was out of earshot, Jo spoke up. “You know, Sarge really is okay. She sat there the whole time they were examining me, just kinda humming a weird little song.” She lowered her voice. “I guess it was some kind of Indian thing, but it helped me calm down, just hearing it.”
“So are you going to be all right?” Phyllis asked.
“Oh yeah. It’s just a sprain so I’ll need a couple of days with this getup. I get out of exercise too, for a week, and then I have to check back with the doc.” She turned to Bett. “Rains asked me to tell her what happened again. I told her it wasn’t your fault, that I just ain’t no ballet dancer.”
Everyone laughed. Bett looked around at her friends—her family, Rains would say—feeling the ties between them deepen. A whistle sounded and a voice called, “Runners to the line.”
Archer touched Bett’s shoulder and said quickly, “When I was little and we raced in school, I used to imagine something I really wanted at the finish line, like a bicycle or a doll. And I would tell myself if I could get there first, I would get it. Maybe you could try that.”
Maybe I could, Bett thought, looking toward a tall form at the finish line.
*
At the presentation of the winners’ medals, Bett’s gold was awarded to her by the base commander as the squad cheered loudly. Sizing her up as she hung the ribbon around her neck, “Private…Smythe, isn’t it?” Colonel Issacson asked, clearly knowing who she was.
“Yes, ma’am,” Bett saluted, realizing too late that by winning, she had again strayed from remaining incognito.
“Well congratulations, Private,” Issacson continued. “I’m sure you’ve made your squad and Sergeant Rains very proud.”
Bett tried to sneak a quick glance at Rains, who was standing in her usual place at the head of the squad, but the late afternoon sun was in her eyes. Thinking back on Archer’s advice, Bett was not completely
sure what her sergeant’s reaction would be if she knew Bett’s true motivation, or if the sergeant suspected that the best part of winning for Bett had been how Rains had stepped forward to catch her as she almost fell while hurling herself across the finish line. Rains had let them spin around once to slow Bett’s speed, whispering, “Well done, Bett,” and Bett’s arms had gone tightly around Rains’s neck as she answered, “I did it for you.” To the colonel, she only smiled and said, “Yes, ma’am.”
After she was dismissed from the reviewing stand, Bett walked directly to Archer and hung the medal around her neck. The girls started to cheer, but Rains immediately called them to attention and led them in saluting Bett as she walked back to her place among the group. Archer was blushing but kept looking at the medal with an expression of wonder. When Bett got to her space, she glanced back at the reviewing stand and saw Colonel Issacson frowning at Sergeant Rains. Does she suspect that Rains told me about her race? Am I giving away too much about our time together? Bett wondered, but the deed was done. When they were dismissed, the cheers started again.
Bett was almost too tired to go to dinner after her hot shower, but her squad members convinced her that she would feel better after she ate. It was true, even though she was frequently interrupted during the meal by congratulations from well-wishers. The area around her table was so busy she couldn’t even see over to where Rains was always sitting. For once, she felt fairly confident that Rains would come through the barracks later, so she didn’t worry about it.
As she got ready for bed, she was replaying the day one more time in her mind when she remembered the telegram. Not wanting to alarm the others, she quietly retrieved it from the pocket of her dirty exercise clothes, placing it in the pocket of her robe before starting toward the door of the barracks.
“Where are you off to, speedy?” a drowsy voice asked.
“Is that my new name?” Bett smiled at Jo’s sleepy form, still wearing the medal over her pajamas. “Well, I like it better than Queenie. I’m still a bit keyed up, Jo. Thought I might get some air before I”—she adjusted her accent to pure American—“hit the sack.”
“Don’t be late for bed check,” Jo cautioned with a yawn. “You know the Sarge will be here to tuck us in pretty soon.”
“I’ll just be a moment,” Bett assured her and stepped through the door. In the light of the barracks porch, Bett could just make out the choppy letters of the telegram: Kent Prep bombed. Casualties unknown. More to come.
It was signed by William Prosser, Emma’s brother.
*
Rains looked at the medal hanging around Archer’s neck. I’m proud of you, Smythe, she thought, deciding that this would be all right to say personally when Smythe returned. Rains assumed she was in the bathroom. After making her way through the barracks and waiting another five minutes with no sign of Smythe, Rains checked the restroom. Not a sound. Rains moved quickly back to the empty bed.
“Archer!” She gently shook her awake.
“Sarge?” She seemed a little blurry from the pain pill the doctor had given her for her knee.
“Yes. Where’s Smythe, Archer?”
“She’s not here?”
“No. She’s not in her bed or anywhere else in the barracks. When did you last see her, Private?” Rains demanded, as Archer yawned and her eyes closed again.
“Um, I dunno, just before lights out, I think. Something about too excited to sleep…and getting some…air.” In less than five seconds, Archer had drifted off again.
Rains scanned the room again, as if Smythe might suddenly materialize. When she looked back, Archer was snoring softly. She began her search methodically, first around the outside of the barracks, and then expanding it to the buildings between there and the mess hall. She’d taken one of the camp’s emergency flashlights and shined it wherever she thought it wouldn’t be noticed. Twice, she called out Smythe’s name softly. Finally, she walked out toward the parade grounds and stood quietly, listening. Breathing in the night air, she turned toward the race course, where the makeshift finish line had been. Something…a faint sound, a rustling…and a familiar scent?
Rains turned off the light and walked quietly, letting the soft sounds guide her. Smythe was sitting against a barrel that had marked one boundary of the race, with her head buried in her arms.
“Private, what are—” Rains began heatedly but stopped when Bett lifted her tearstained face. Rains was so undone by her devastated expression that she dropped to her knees. “What is it, Bett?” she asked, her fingers touching Bett’s hand very lightly.
In response, Bett handed her a crumpled telegram, but there wasn’t enough light for Rains to read it, and she didn’t want to give their position away with her flashlight. Rains slipped down beside her and sat, cross-legged. “Can you just tell me?”
Bett took in a ragged breath. “Bloody Nazis,” she managed to say, breathing in a sob. Rains squeezed gently. Bett didn’t seem to notice. She wiped her nose on her shoulder, repeating more strongly, “Bloody Nazis. They hit Kent Prep, my boarding school, with one of their rockets. An all-girls school. What kind of military target is that, I ask you?” She shook her head, and her face twisted with sorrow as she started to cry again.
Turning to face her, Rains slipped her arms around Bett’s heaving shoulders. Bett gave in willingly until her face rested on Rains’s chest. Above the occasional catch of her breaths, Bett could hear a low humming sound and she felt them rocking together, ever so slightly. She felt the evening breeze, cool on her tears. She felt the vibration from Rains’s throat, the soft sounds completely foreign to her but still soothing somehow. Her crying slowed. She felt the solidness of Rains’s arms holding her, the very soft touch of Rains’s hand resting in her hair, moving ever so slightly. Then the sadness pushed its way through again. She allowed herself another thought of Emma, of the wide stairways and dark-paneled classrooms, of girls’ laughter and those damned plaques. Could it really all be gone? Tears started again as she felt such profound loss. Kent Prep had been her home for all those years. This dreadful war. How much longer can it go on? How many more lives will it cost? Finally, she breathed two deep shuddering breaths, and leaned back to raise her head. Rains released her at once. The humming stopped.
Straightening, Bett sought to compose herself. “I’m sorry, but I simply couldn’t stay at the barracks. I couldn’t seem to stop crying and I didn’t want to upset everyone else. In fact, I’d rather not tell anyone, at least until I know something more.”
Rains nodded, her eyes sad. Bett wondered if concealed grief was something else she completely understood. “What else did the telegram say?”
“Casualties unknown.” Bett looked hopefully into Rains’s face. “My—my best friend from school, Emma, she works there now in administration. Her brother sent the telegram. Perhaps there was some warning. They may have evacuated.” She felt her lip begin to tremble again.
Rains reached into a pocket and offered her a handkerchief. Bett uttered a choked laugh in spite of herself as she took it.
“Oh God, you really are gallant, aren’t you?” Bett asked, wiping her eyes.
Rains looked away. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Chivalrous.” Rains shook her head. “Brave, heroic.”
Rains grunted and stood quickly. “You must be the brave one now. We need to get you back to the barracks. It’s late and you need some sleep. There is nothing more to do with your grief tonight.” She held out her hand and Bett took it and held on even after she was on her feet.
“I want to thank you, Sergeant,” she said almost shyly. “You’ve been most kind. I know I don’t deserve your compassion, but I very much appreciate it.” Not quite ready to look into Rains’s face, she eyed the tear-dampened cloth of her jacket. “Oh, I hope I haven’t ruined your uniform.” She began trying to dry it with the handkerchief. Rains grabbed her arm abruptly and Bett realized she had been rubbing against her sergeant’s breast.
“Let’s walk,
” Rains said thickly. She still had hold of Bett’s wrist, so there was little choice. They walked silently, Rains’s long stride hurrying Bett along. After a few steps, Rains’s grip had softened, and Bett managed to slide her hand into the sergeant’s large, warm palm. “Could you slow down a bit?” she asked softly. Rains’s long stride faltered for a moment and as Bett drew even, the sergeant was looking at her with an expression that was almost pained. “It’s all right,” Bett added, daring to give Rains’s hand a soft squeeze. “I’m just not quite up to military haste tonight.” The sergeant turned away without comment but slowed her usual quick pace to an easy stroll.
Letting Rains lead them, Bett closed her eyes for a few seconds, but images of familiar buildings exploding amidst fire, smoke, and screams came toward her again, as from a distance, and she trembled. Rains pulled her closer, cradling Bett’s hand with both of hers, the length of their arms touching, matching her walk to Bett’s exactly so their bodies moved together. Bett felt the comfort that was being offered and she took it gratefully, leaning her head against Rains’s side and feeling absolutely no resistance. She let the warmth and sweetness of contact with this good woman fill her, let the depth and kindness of Rains’s heart drive the horror of war away…at least for this moment. She sighed and Rains squeezed gently, as if she knew what Bett had chosen and approved. For a few sweet moments that was all there was, until she felt Rains lift her slightly and she realized they had stepped onto the sidewalk and were turning toward the barracks. Breathing in, Bett felt eased and strengthened, and she had just raised her head when a Jeep rolled down the street and turned toward them.
Basic Training of the Heart Page 19