Girl Takes The Oath

by Jacques Antoine

  “Caspar wanted to test drive a car offered for sale by a private party down there, sir.”

  “Tell us, to the best of your knowledge, what caused the accident.”

  “I believe the brakes failed, sir, causing Caspar to lose control of the vehicle in a turn.”

  The members of the review board conferred for a moment in lowered voices, occasionally glancing at Bauer. They’d heard all the facts several times earlier in the course of the inquiry. The purpose of today’s deposition was primarily to get all parties on record with their version of events, and to give each of them one last opportunity to recant. He had tried his best to answer their questions with a patina of military professionalism, in the hopes that it would discourage anyone from looking beneath the surface details of the story he had cooked up with his friends.

  The whole affair had cost him dearly within his own company, since he’d been made to look a fool, and had lost much of Trowbridge’s respect and goodwill. Caspar and Martens could be relied on to stick to the story, but there was no very good opinion of those two in the company. Their friendship would hardly compensate for the loss of Trowbridge’s. And, to top it off, they’d had to come up with a few thousand dollars to buy a car and wreck it, all so they could create a police report. At least Kathy had stuck by him, though things had cooled a bit between them. She’d come around, though—he was sure of that much.

  “Your testimony concludes this phase of the inquiry,” Captain Crichton announced. “You will be informed if we decide to investigate the incident further, or refer the matter to NCIS. I trust you are aware that injuries sustained as a result of reckless or criminal behavior are grounds for dismissal, even if no other charges are brought against you.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And that in such an eventuality you would still owe the Navy four years of service as an enlisted man.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Also, that perjury in any of your statements to this board would be sufficient to deem you unfit to serve as an officer, with similar consequences.”

  Yes, sir.”

  Although he figured Crichton’s final admonitions were pro forma, they shook Bauer more than he expected. In his mind, Tenno was somehow responsible for his troubles, and the thought of being busted down to an enlisted man was rendered unspeakably more hideous by the possibility, however unlikely, that he might one day have to take orders from her.

  “Well?” Trowbridge asked, once he and Bauer had exited the building.

  “It looks like they’re gonna accept our version of events.”

  “Version of events,” Trowbridge snorted. “That makes it sound so tidy, not at all like the bald-faced lie it is.”

  “You gonna support me or not?”

  “I’ll do what I said. As long as nobody asks me, I’ll keep quiet. But I will not lie for you. Are we clear on that?”

  “Yeah, whatever,” Bauer muttered. The entire story had been concocted to suit Trowbridge’s delicate conscience. Of course, the alternative was hardly more palatable. To accuse her of attacking them without provocation lacked credibility, and even if anyone believed it, he’d end up looking worse than he already did. He felt it now even more bitterly than before, just how badly he’d been outmaneuvered by that infernal girl.

  “God, I hate that bitch,” he growled as they approached Bancroft Hall.

  “She let you off easy, dumbass. If you can’t see that, there’s no hope for you.”

  “Oh, shut up, will you?”

  “You know, I ought to do just that… leave you to stew in your own juices. I don’t know what set you against her, but it’s not doing you any good. You know this is gonna have an effect on your ranking in Military Order of Merit, and in OOM, right?”

  “And I have her to thank for that, too.”

  “Her? Why not you? You’re the one who picked a fight you couldn’t win. You created the conditions for your own defeat. And sure, maybe she roughed you guys up a bit, but you deserved much worse, and she easily could have done it, too. What if she’d kicked through your knee? That alone could have been the end for you at the Academy. And even if you’d hobbled through an extra year, you’d have been stuck behind a desk your whole career. As it is, there’s nothing to exclude you from any of the active billets. You should thank her for that.”

  In one of the deeper folds of his cerebellum, Bauer knew his friend was right. But allowing that thought to work its way to the surface of his mind required more humility than he possessed.

  “You talk like she’s some sort of saint.”

  “All I know is what I saw, and the only reason you’re still relatively in one piece is because she wanted it that way.” Trowbridge glowered at his friend for a moment before continuing. “And I’m sure it’s no accident that Caspar and Martens came off so much worse. I mean she smashed Caspar’s nose all across his face, and Martens doesn’t look any better. Now those guys are as ugly as they are stupid.”

  “What, so now she’s like the Mikado, making the punishment fit the crime?” Bauer said, with a smile, reminded of the good offices of a friend in restoring one’s good humor. Things had been so much simpler in their plebe year, when the two of them competed for bit parts in a musical production. Not much else troubled them, other than the usual harassments inflicted by the 3/Cs. But with each passing year, their responsibilities had grown and eventually began to crowd out his pleasures. He didn’t exactly know how Tenno figured in this process, but some part of him wanted to blame her for it.

  Lt. Commander Gangalal, the Company Commander, frowned at him as they took their seats in King Hall. Laid out in a T pattern, with curved beams supporting the arched roof along the length of each of the three radiating legs of the galley, the hall could accommodate the entire brigade, though Firsties weren’t required to eat there everyday, and the ones who could afford it only made the minimum number of appearances. After the latest debacle, Bauer resigned himself to eating more of his meals here, and took a seat next to Trowbridge. And his friend was probably right, the relief he felt at seeing Caspar and Martens sitting at another table highlighted the fact for him. When the 2/Cs asked about his injuries, even their solicitude oppressed him. Every further lie he told only created another opportunity to be caught out, or strapped him that much more tightly into the straitjacket of his tale.

  “It was all kind of a blur,” he said to one of them.

  “The mind blocks out great traumas,” Trowbridge said, coming to his aid after an uncomfortable silence, but with a ruthless grin just for his benefit. “It may take months, or even years, before remembers what happened.”

  “The doc said to give it a week, for the shoulder, I mean.”

  “I guess you’re not gonna be able to go to the tournament, then,” Trowbridge added.

  The reminder grated on him, since he’d been training extra hard for the trip down to Quantico and the Leatherneck Brawl. And the fact that, despite his best efforts, Tenno had thrown him around like a ragdoll only added to his misery. Was she really that much better than him? The howling this thought occasioned inside him drowned out that more anxious and circumspect voice, the one that knew she could charge him with attempted sexual assault whenever she chose. A few years earlier, a “she said/he said” inquiry would likely have ended in his favor. But the climate in the Academy had shifted of late, with the result that assault complaints seemed to be stickier now. And, of course, he had no confidence Trowbridge would have his back in such a circumstance—he’d already said as much, and maybe he really meant it.

  Back to top

  Chapter Nine

  Party in the Boathouse

  Emily could hear the voices through the door, one raspy, tomboyish, the other sweeter, bird-like, giddy.

  “Did you talk her out of the uniform?” the raspy voice asked.

  “She put up quite a fight, but it’s gonna be civvies tonight.”

  “And your jeans, they fit her?”

  “Don’t remind me,” the s
weet voice chirped. “And she’ll need your shoes.”

  “It’s like the girl’s got no clothes, other than uniforms, a pair of khaki pants, and those tunic-and-pants outfits she brought back from Nepal, or wherever.”

  “And where on earth did she get this Moto-jacket? Has she ever worn it?”

  “Not that I’ve seen. And don’t forget those running suits of hers that leave like nothing to the imagination.”

  “Hey, I’m right here, guys,” Emily shouted through the door. “It’s not like I can’t hear everything.”

  “What are you doing in there, anyway,” Stacie called through the bathroom door, “a black glove inspection?”

  “Hold your horses. Here I am.”

  Emily peered around the half-open door at her friends. With a squawk and a squeal, she let Stacie pull her into the room.

  “Whoa, CJ, I see what you mean about the jeans.”

  “I may have to burn them tomorrow to expunge the sight from my memory.”

  “What are you guys going on about? They fit okay.”

  “Okay?” Stacie roared. “You look good, girl.”

  “Whatever. Let’s just go, and make the most of this liberty,” Emily said.

  “Did you talk to Dave?” Stacie asked. “I mean, does he have to sign us in or something?”

  “Yeah,” CJ said. “Whatever it is, he’s taken care of it. Security’s kind of lax over there.”

  “Practically non-existent, you mean,” Emily snorted.

  A few short minutes later they sashayed out through Gate Two, and turned down King George Street. Emily glanced behind for the reassuring presence of her DSS “minders” in their dark sedan, and suppressed an urge to tease them, not wanting to draw her friends’ attention to them. The hedge along College Avenue looked a bit threadbare this time of year, and the lawns seemed more than a little put upon by the lingering Indian Summer.

  “Is that where the tree used to be?” Stacie asked.

  “Yeah,” CJ said. “It finally died a few years back.”

  “What tree is this?” Emily asked.

  “The last Liberty Tree,” CJ said, but Emily stared at her blankly. “There used to be a bunch of ’em throughout the colonies, you know, to commemorate the original tree in Boston where the first protests against the British happened.”

  “I thought history was your thing, Em,” Stacie said.

  “Maybe I’ve been paying too much attention to the rest of the world.”

  Emily tried to laugh it off. What did this little bit of trivia really matter? But it highlighted an anxiety she’d felt ever since the incident with Bauer, a question she kept asking in quiet moments. She knew how to lead, and for whatever reason people seemed to follow. Whether she fit the mold of an officer… that she didn’t know the answer to.

  After all, where did her loyalties really lie? Each time she asked herself this, she would work her way out from the concrete to the abstract: they lay with her family, and they were all nearby, relatively speaking. And they lay with her friends, her high school friends—Wendy and Melanie, and Wayne and Danny… oh yeah, and Billy, too—but also with her roommates, Stacie and CJ, as well as Zaki and McDonough. She felt a powerful attachment to her company, and to the Brigade, and she would put her life on the line for any of these loyalties. And her country finished off the list—as diffuse an object as it always proved to be whenever she explicitly turned her mind to it, she knew she would fight for it, too.

  As she thought over this calendar of associations, it occurred to her that she’d skipped over the Fleet. Perhaps it shouldn’t have surprised her… an impersonal institution, her experience with such entities taught her to be distrustful. And what of the Crown Princess? The moment Kano hinted to her of a danger, her heart had immediately committed itself to little Toshi and her mother. Could she be an officer in the US Navy and respond to Princess Masako’s call?

  “Hey, Em,” CJ clucked. “It’s over here. The window on the right.”

  “Wake up, dreamy,” Stacie called out, while CJ tapped on the screen frame.

  “Why aren’t we going in by the front door?” Emily finally asked, once she noticed her friends standing in the shrubbery fringing the bottom floor of a red brick building.

  “It’s hinged, see?” CJ said to Stacie. “Just like Dave said.”

  “I guess this is his back door,” Stacie chuckled.

  A moment later the window slid up, and Dave peered out at them.

  “You guys came,” he said, as he unhooked the screen and let it swing out.

  “Don’t look so surprised,” CJ said.

  He reached a hand down and helped the girls over the windowsill. The room itself was long and narrow, a closet at one end, a desk, a bed, and a bookcase. And, of course, books and papers on every surface and all over the floor. The high ceiling and the tall window gave the room a twilight effect—even though it faced east, the room felt as bright as the dusk outside, with no light on.

  “Now, this is how I picture a student’s room,” Emily said.

  “Messy,” Stacie said, with a laugh.

  “Sorry about that,” Dave said.

  “Yeah, but everything in here is about studying,” CJ offered.

  “I guess you guys have to keep your rooms real neat and tidy.”

  “Yeah, but it’s more than that,” Emily said, dreamily. “I mean, our room is neat enough, but it’s about other things, you know, uniforms, guns, all the accoutrements of discipline and loyalty.” She winced a tiny bit with that last word, and hoped no one noticed.

  Walking across campus, Dave tried to engage her in conversation, but she made a show of contemplating the architecture of the buildings around the quad. Finally, CJ pulled him aside and whispered just loud enough for her to hear and for him to think she hadn’t.

  “She’s taken.”

  “Another midshipman? I just figured since she came with you guys, there wasn’t anyone.”

  “He’s not a mid.”

  “He’s a SEAL officer,” Stacie added for effect, and Dave stumbled, feet confused for a moment.

  “So you’re saying he’s too tough for me to compete with,” he mumbled.

  “That’s not what I mean. She’s the tough one.”

  Dave shook his head, and ran a hand through his hair.

  “Is that the gym?” Emily asked, as they walked across the first of the broad lawns leading out to the back campus.

  “Yeah,” he replied. “It was renovated a couple years ago.”

  “Can we look inside?” Stacie asked

  “Sure,” he said. “Why not?”

  “It doesn’t look like it’s open, and it is a Friday night,” CJ said.

  “Even if it isn’t, we can probably climb in. The brickwork has lots of handholds, and some of the second floor windows are usually open.”

  “Why don’t we save it for another time,” Emily said. “I hear music. Is that the party?” She nodded to an old wood-shingle structure at the far end of another lawn.

  The darkness had already settled by the time they were close enough to feel the booming of the bass, and the moon wouldn’t rise much before dawn. On the floor below the party, the main room housed all the boats, mainly rowing skulls and canoes, a few sailboards, and a couple of single-masted boats easily managed by one person. Upstairs, a cover band thumped out a dance tune with a question from the motor city—“Do you love me?” a sweet soprano sang out—and the festivities shifted into high gear.

  Since it was built into the hillside, the second floor of the boathouse was at ground level and could accommodate at least a hundred revelers, and a balcony overlooking a small quay projecting out into the creek could hold a dozen or more. Young people, students, danced or lounged about inside and out, light from the windows clearing a space in the dark lawn on one side. The backdoor led directly from the upper lawn onto the dance floor.

  “Perfect,” CJ said with a little shriek, as she tossed her jacket under a nearby bench and pulled her friends i
n. “This is exactly what we’ve been needing.”

  And she was right. A solid hour or two of dancing produced the requisite catharsis… dancing with Dave, with his friends, whose names none of them would remember, and when they got tired, with Stacie and Emily. Flushed and overheated, the balcony beckoned to Emily.

  “You’re Dave’s friend, from the Academy, right?” a young man asked.

  “Were we dancing earlier?”

  “That’s my recollection. I’m Chelly, by the way,” he said. “I mean, in case you forgot. It’s short for Michel.”

  “Emily.”

  “So you’re like an officer, or something?”

  “Or something,” she replied, on the verge of abandoning a conversation that promised little in the way of satisfaction. Until, that is, she noticed the two Asian girls from the lecture lingering inside the balcony door, observing the dance floor, one whispering in the other’s ear. “Do you know those two?”

  “Oh, yeah. Ruochen and I were in all the same classes last year. She’s great.”

  “And the other one?”

  “I don’t really know her. She’s a freshman.”

  “She’s beautiful.”

  “Well… yeah.”

  “They look like they’re pretty close.”

  “Yeah. It’s a little odd, like Ruochen has no time for any of her old friends. If she’s not holed up in her room, Diao Chan is practically glued to her.”

  “Sounds like she’s found a new friend,” Emily said, with less conviction than she expected to feel.

  “I guess, but she doesn’t have the old gleam in her eye anymore… you know, she used to be such a cheerful, mischievous person.”

  Chelly’s tale brought back memories of Melanie and Amanda from high school, childhood best friends, who didn’t have room for anyone else... until Emily came along. Amanda never forgave her for intruding in their little world, and things got quite ugly in the end. “It’s a relief to be on the outside of this little drama,” she thought. “Maybe I ought to call Melanie tomorrow.”

  Red-faced revelers burst out onto the balcony, making quiet conversation impossible, and a glance through the window revealed CJ and Stacie fanning themselves on a bench against the far wall of the room. Instead of fighting her way across the crowd, she threw one leg over the railing, scooted along to where the building met the upper lawn at the top of the slope and hopped over to the grass, and then walked around to the other side of the building.