“Sapper School?” he’d said. “Really?”
“I think I can do it,” replied Hannah.
“I know you can do it,” he’d said. “I just don’t see why you’d want to. Those guys will hurt you on purpose, just to prove a point.”
“No they won’t. And even if they did, should that stop me from trying? Why do you want to get a Ranger tab?” Hannah had added defiantly. “It’s the same thing.”
Tim leaned back in his chair, sighed, and put his glasses back on his face. Ranger School was the Army’s most intense, brutal training. It was a rite of passage, a symbol of capability, an immediate indicator that an officer could be trusted, and the most direct path to the Special Forces, which had been Tim’s dream since childhood. Sapper School wasn’t nearly that extreme, but it held a similar cachet, and when Hannah arrived in Fort Bragg to lead her first platoon, she wanted her soldiers to know that she was a serious leader, serious about the Army. If anyone could understand that, she knew Tim would.
“Well then I guess we have to get you ready, Rocky,” Tim had said, looking around the deck of the ship. “They got any stairs we can run around here?”
True to form, they’d spent their last few weeks together preparing. They went on long, fast runs through the hills of Santorini. He held her feet while she did sit-ups in the ship’s fitness center. At night, they’d drink an entire bottle of Italian wine before walking back to their room, where Tim would undress his wife slowly and lay her down against the bed. He’d made her work hard, but he’d rewarded her for it, too.
In the three years since they’d gone dancing at Cullum Hall, Tim Nesmith had completely transformed her life, and she his. The entire corps of cadets was shocked to learn that they’d paired off—Tim was known for his wild escapades on the skydiving team, while Hannah’s nickname was Miss Congeniality. At school, she and Tim would stay up late, having long conversations about religion and God and family. They’d dream about their future.
“Is that what you want?” he’d asked early on in their dating relationship, after Hannah had described her grandparents. “To grow up and be like Barbara? House. Kids. Ranch.”
“I don’t know,” Hannah had said. “It’s not a bad life.”
“But what about a career? Do you want to work or stay at home?”
“Do I have to have an answer right this second?”
“No, of course not. You can change your mind a million times. I just wonder what you picture. That’s all.”
At the time, Hannah didn’t exactly have a vision of what she wanted. She imagined getting married. Having children. But she’d been successful at West Point, far more successful than she’d even expected. At the time, her junior year, she’d ranked in the top one hundred of their class, even higher than Tim. Uncertain, she’d shrugged. “What do you picture?”
“My parents have such a traditional marriage,” Tim had said. “Mom stayed home. Dad worked. She packs his lunch, even to this day. And at night, she fixes his dinner plate, like he’s a child. I don’t think I could do that. I don’t want some wife that just sees herself as my servant or something. I want an equal. A teammate.”
From that point forward, that’s how they’d built their relationship. As a team. They always supported one another, always encouraged one another. In the summer, when West Point offered them different assignments or schools, they went, without talking about the distance. It wasn’t always easy. They’d broken up for an entire semester junior year, after Tim had admitted to kissing another girl while he was at Air Assault School. That all felt so silly now. So long ago. His accident had brought them back together, and now, Hannah couldn’t imagine a life without him.
A lesser man might have told Hannah to slow down—to choose a low-key Army career that could more easily follow his path. But Tim told her to live out loud. To take on the challenge of Sapper School. To chase greatness while they still had the chance.
“We’re going to be married for our entire lives,” he’d said to her when they parted ways after the cruise. He kissed her forehead. “These few months apart are nothing in the scheme of things. I know it’s going to be hard. I know this isn’t normal. But we’re stronger together. And I’d rather have you and be apart than not get to call you my wife.”
Just before Grad Week at West Point, Dani had jotted down the dates like a mathematician on a scrap piece of paper. Two weeks on the cruise. Then Hannah would spend a month at Sapper School, while Tim went to Ranger School. Three months at Officer Basic Courses in different states—Hannah to become an engineer, Tim to join the infantry. After that, they’d take turns at the National Training Center with their units. Then back-to-back deployments, twelve months if they were lucky, fifteen months if they were like everyone else. Staring at the list, Hannah had felt the onset of vertigo.
“Hannah,” Dani had said. “Do you realize that you guys will have, like, five weekends together . . . in the next two years? No.” She’d tapped on the paper quickly, as though arriving at the correct answer to some equation. “Four. Four weekends!”
Hannah knew. Tim knew, too. But as if ignoring the calendar would make the days pass more swiftly, they’d never spoken of it. So far, any time Hannah had ever taken a step of faith, God had provided her the strength to get through it. Fingering the cross necklace she wore, Hannah said a prayer and shook off all the uncertainty she’d felt moments ago, when Moretti adjusted her nose.
She could do this. If she could survive four years at West Point—if she and Tim were going to survive the next two years apart—then she could survive a little hand-to-hand combat.
At least she hoped she could.
“I’LL GIVE YOU one more go. But after that, we’ve got to call it. Understood?”
“Yes, sir,” she said to Moretti. “Just give me a second.”
Stepping outside, Hannah placed one finger against her right nostril and blew air through the left. A rocket of blood and mucus flew to the ground. She did the same for the other nostril, and then wiped the rest of the blood on her shirttail, exposing a strong, toned stomach. It wasn’t very ladylike, but at this point, Hannah didn’t care. She didn’t care whether or not these men thought she should be here. She just wanted to achieve the clinch with Private Stanton and get the hell out of this place.
“All right then.” Moretti turned to the men waiting in the gymnasium once Hannah had returned. “Set it up, Stanton. She’s coming back for more. Don’t let him make you his bitch, Nesmith. Get in low and punch up.”
Hannah knew what she had to do. This was her last chance to prove she was worth the investment the Army had already made. That four years at West Point were not in vain. That everything she’d already survived wasn’t a fluke, and everything she was about to face she was capable of overcoming. That Tim wouldn’t have to worry about her in Afghanistan, and that nothing could hold her back from coming home to him. Stanton’s face blurred into nothingness. The walls of the gymnasium fell away and she focused on his chest. Then Hannah lurched forward, one last time.
THREE DAYS LATER, Hannah sat among three rows of men, all of whom were wearing desert-colored fatigues. A general delivered a speech. Someone projected a video onto a large screen with clips from their weeks of training overdubbed by heavy metal music. The video elicited plenty of oohs and ahhs from family and friends who’d made the trek to Missouri for the ceremony. But when Hannah’s parents, Bill and Lynn Speer, had asked if she wanted them to fly up for the graduation, Hannah had insisted they save their time and money. In the Army, goodbyes were far more important than congratulations.
These days, when Hannah mentioned going to the field or breaking her nose in hand-to-hand combat, her mother barely flinched. Injuries, deployment, weaponry—it was as if she were talking about what she was making for dinner. Hannah looked around the room and had a depressing thought. All these parents would have to say goodbye soon enough. Then they’d know what all this was really about.
“Second Lieutenant Hannah Ne
smith!”
Master Sergeant Moretti called her to the podium, where he reached out, shook her hand, and then saluted her.
The Army was organized into two distinct hierarchies. Officers, like Hannah, held college degrees, and could climb in the ranks from second lieutenant all the way to general. Soldiers, like most of Hannah’s cohort at Sapper School, could enlist right out of high school and hoped to advance from the Army’s lowest rank, private, to sergeant, first sergeant, or, like Moretti, master sergeant status. Because Moretti was a noncommissioned officer, it didn’t matter that he had been in the Army for nearly as long as Hannah had been alive. Simply because she held a college degree—simply because she was an officer—she outranked him. For the weeks of Sapper School, Moretti had been her instructor, but now that was over, and protocol pushed Hannah immediately back into her rightful position as his superior. After his salute, she returned the gesture.
The small green patch in his hand looked like something her mother could have sewn onto her Girl Scout uniform when she was a kid, only this one was lined with rough Velcro. Hannah turned to the side and stood at attention.
“Sappers lead the way,” Moretti said proudly. He attached the tab to the fuzzy patch on Hannah’s left uniform sleeve. Then he saluted her again. Hannah saluted back.
“Sappers lead the way.”
WHEN THE CEREMONY ended, Hannah lingered by the table of refreshments and twirled her wedding ring around her finger. She smiled and shook hands as people passed and introduced themselves, but on the inside, she felt like she’d swallowed poison. She tried to tell herself she shouldn’t feel depressed. She’d just accomplished something incredible! Only nine other women in the history of the universe had graduated from Sapper School! Certainly they hadn’t felt this crummy afterward. Hannah shook her head and took a swig of weak lemonade. Was it that she was alone? Or was it that having the patch didn’t make her feel any more ready for what was ahead?
“You know, the Army doesn’t love you back,” Wendy Bennett had said to Hannah one night at her house.
It must have been Firstie year—around the time that Hannah was trying to decide which branch of the Army to choose. She’d been on a run around campus when she found herself surrounded by the trees and redbrick homes in Lusk Area. The Bennett’s house was lit up, and despite her sweaty appearance, she decided to drop in to say hello. Maybe deep down, she’d known she needed a cup of coffee and some advice more than she’d needed the run.
“You and Tim are both really ambitious,” Wendy had said knowingly. “But the Army will take everything you have to give. Uncle Sam rarely says thanks.”
Just then, Hannah felt a tap on her shoulder. When she turned around, it took her a moment to place Private Stanton. He smiled so wide and so kindly that he hardly looked like the same menacing force that just three days ago had broken her nose. He stood next to a stout woman with dark braided hair and a large bosom.
“Ma,” Private Stanton said, “this is the one I told you about. Lieutenant Nesmith.”
Hannah smiled. The woman opened her arms wide, then squeezed Hannah in a tight embrace against her ample chest. Hannah couldn’t help but feel relieved to have the human contact. Stanton’s mother smelled earthy and fresh, and Hannah breathed her in greedily. The scent of cocoa butter reminded her of Dani, and made her suddenly homesick, not for a place, but for her people.
“Daniel tells me you’re goin’ to Fort Bragg, too,” the woman said. She gripped a silver cross in her well-manicured hand—much larger and more intricate than the one hidden beneath Hannah’s uniform collar. “I just thank God someone’s gonna be lookin’ after my son.”
Hannah stared at Stanton with wide eyes. Even though Hannah was combat trained, the Army had regulations against women leading combat platoons. Hannah would not be looking after him at Fort Bragg. She was headed to a headquarters unit, tasked with building combat outposts, not living or fighting in them.
“Please tell me your mother doesn’t think I’m your platoon leader?”
“That’s exactly what she thinks because that’s exactly what he told me.” Stanton’s mother reared her head back. “You wanna explain, Dan?”
Private Stanton passed his mother a cup of lemonade. “No, Ma. I said I wished she was my platoon leader. You ought to get your ears checked.”
Hannah was shocked. The fact that Private Stanton wanted her as his platoon leader spoke volumes about his respect for her—but then she laughed. “He’s only saying that because he feels bad for breaking my nose. Let me guess. He didn’t tell you that either.”
“No, he told me that.” The woman nodded, eyebrows raised. “I hear he messed you up good.”
AS SHE WALKED out of the Army building, past a flapping American flag and into the dusk, Hannah pulled her cell phone out of her pocket. Indulging her sadness, she dialed Tim’s number, knowing that because he was still at Ranger School, he wouldn’t answer. But the sound of his voice on his outgoing voicemail message would be enough to soothe her loneliness. The phone rang once. Twice. And then she heard his voice.
“Hannah?”
“Wait.” Hannah stopped in the middle of the parking lot, stunned that he’d answered. “Tim?!”
“Yes!” he laughed. “It’s me! How are you? God, I miss you.”
“I miss you too!”
“Am I talking to a Sapper?”
“You are! I’m literally walking out of the graduation ceremony right now. I did it!”
“I knew you would,” he said with pride. “You deserve it.”
“But I didn’t expect for you to answer,” she said. “What’s going on? Did you finish?”
A sigh resounded across the miles, touching them both with its audible breeze.
“I recycled,” Tim admitted. He’d been cut from the training, offered a chance to try again.
Hannah’s eyes closed; she felt the pain in his voice. “Oh, babe, I’m so sorry.”
“I’ll start again in a week.”
Hannah felt her heart sink. More time apart.
“I only have one more phase to pass,” he continued. “The mountain phase. I think I can do it. I was just so sleep deprived and hungry, I just lost my cool. You should see me. I look like a skeleton.”
“I wish I were there to nurse you back to health.”
“Soon enough.”
“I don’t want to hang up,” Hannah said as she approached her rental car. It was stuffed with her gear, ready for her drive to the airport.
“Then don’t,” Tim said.
With that, Hannah pulled out of the parking lot with a smile on her face, a phone on her ear, and the assurance that everything would be okay. Every risk had its reward, and hers was Tim’s deep, smooth voice over the phone. Sure, their marriage wasn’t traditional, but they were a team. Stronger together, even if they were apart.
“Tell me everything,” he said. “You kicked ass, I assume.”
“Well, I’ll start with this. A private broke my nose.”
From: Hannah Nesmith
Subject: Update from Sapper School
Date: August 30, 2004 12:03:15 PM GMT +01:00
To: Dani McNalley
Check out this picture, ladies. You’re looking at America’s tenth-EVER female Sapper. Not bad for a day’s work. (Actually more like a month, but who’s counting?)
Tim is still at Fort Benning at Ranger School. We’re hoping he’ll finish up before too long, so we can finally have a minute together. Looks like Christmas will be our best bet. Seriously, our life gives new meaning to “ships passing in the night.” To be honest, this is far harder than I ever expected. When I get back to Bragg, I’m going to need some serious hang time with my people.
Dani, can you come to Bragg to see us? Avery—hope your new job won’t keep you too busy to hang when I get back!!
Can’t wait to be home.
Hannah
13
Summer 2004 // New York, New York
Don’t forget your swag bag!”
A man standing at the ballroom entrance offered a neon green tote to the woman standing in front of him. The banner above the door read, Service Academy Career Conference, and his name tag said, Hello. My name is BRAD! in dark marker.
“There’s a lot of great stuff in there,” he said, tipping a shock of white hair toward the ballroom of potential employers. He extended the bag a few inches closer.
Dani took the bag reluctantly. The truth was, she didn’t want any “swag.” The thought of being at a career fair had humiliated her enough before BRAD! had entered the picture. Since graduating in June, she’d collected three flimsy bags from three separate career fairs, sixteen brand-emblazoned pens, several empty promises, and not a single paycheck. Every swag bag was a rude reminder that she was broke, living with her parents, and on the verge of coaching middle school basketball, just to get health insurance. Couldn’t BRAD! see that?
People back in Ohio kept saying inane things to try to draw a silver lining around her disappointment. “Everything happens for a reason,” they promised her.
“When God closes a door, he opens a window!”
But that line of thinking wasn’t logical, let alone biblical. Who was to say the room only had one door? And how did you know it was even a room? What if the room you were supposedly stuck in was really just a prison of your own making? Dani wasn’t about to sit around waiting for some theoretical window to open in her life. She was going to pick up a hammer and make her own way out.
“What company?” BRAD! asked.
“E & G,” answered Dani. “I’m supposed to meet Jim Webb.”
He laughed. “No, I mean at West Point. What company were you in at West Point?”
Beyond the Point Page 16