by Amy Efaw
Hickman snorted. “Blue Blood Bryen doesn’t like MREs. What a surprise.” He spat on the ground. “Since they’re designed to sustain soldiers in combat.”
Gabrielle took a swig of water from her canteen. “And your point, exactly, Hick”—she paused to emphasize the first syllable—“man?”
But Hickman didn’t get a chance to expound; Cadet Daily was back. “Sorry to cut it short, Third Squad, but your feast is over.”
We grabbed our gear and followed Cadet Daily down the dirt road to the first obstacle. Behind the first aluminum wall a huge upperclassman in a yellow T-shirt and BDU pants greeted us. “Welcome to the LRC,” he said. “I’m Cadet Sabo, and I will be the safety observer for this obstacle.” He extended his sun-browned, muscled arm toward a wooden wall about twelve feet high and eight feet wide that slanted away from us and was set in the middle of a sawdust pit. Except for the red areas running down its outside edges and along its bottom third, the wall was painted gray. A rope attached to the top of the wall dangled halfway down.
Gabrielle pulled my sleeve. “That’s the guy from bayonet training,” she whispered. “He’s hotter close up than from far away. Cadet Sabo—he’s no Monet.”
I frowned at her. What is she talking about? And why is she talking?
“You know, Andi, some guys are—‘Monets.’ They look better from a distance.”
“Do you ladies have something you’d like to share?” The upperclassman, Cadet Sabo, glowered at us. “Expertise on the LRC, perhaps?” The rest of Third Squad turned to look at us. “Maybe you’d like to take this block of instruction?”
“No, sir!”
I glanced at Cadet Daily, leaning against the corrugated aluminum. The most prominent part of his body was his red face, turning redder.
Cadet Sabo nodded. “Then I suggest you keep your mind on the task at hand. As I was . . .”
I glared at Gabrielle. Thanks a lot! The last thing I wanted right now was to bring attention to myself. That was about the quickest way to becoming the leader first—annoy the guy in charge.
“. . . this is the scenario. You’ve been taking heavy fire from enemy snipers in your area of operations and have requested close-air support. Your mission is to get your squad and supplies safely across this river, represented by this sawdust pit here.” Cadet Sabo waved his hand toward the pit filled with coarse sawdust behind him. “In an estimated thirteen minutes those air strikes are gonna come fast and furious, pummeling this riverbank. That gives you a maximum of thirteen minutes to be safely on the other side of the river. Now, this river has an immediate thirty-five-foot dropoff from its banks. In addition the enemy has laid a narrow minefield along the edge of the water”—Cadet Sabo pointed to the red-painted piping that encircled the pit—“as you can see here.” Making a big deal of stepping over the red piping, he walked through the sawdust until he reached the gray slanted wall and leaned against it. “You must use this partially constructed bridge to cross the river. However, be advised: The bridge is also booby-trapped.” He ran his hand down the outside edge of the wall. “Anything painted red is mined. That means whatever touches red blows up. If a person touches it, he dies. If your equipment hits it, it’s lost. And if anything—equipment or personnel—falls into the water,” he said, stomping back to us through the sawdust, “it sinks. Plain and simple. Only I walk on water, people. Now, direct your attention to the partition behind you.”
A wooden crate, rope, and plastic barrel were stacked against the corrugated aluminum. “Those are your supplies: an ammo box, a twenty-six-foot rope, and a fuel barrel. They must make it across the river with you. You may use any or all of this equipment to assist you in breaching the obstacle. But hint: Something that looks helpful may be a distractor in disguise. Now, direct your beady eyes back on me.”
He waited for us to turn around before he continued, “Finally, one of you will be the leader for this obstacle. But remember—this is a team effort. Team members are encouraged to participate in the decision-making process. Any questions?”
Nobody moved.
“Like I said,” Cadet Sabo continued, “you’ll have a maximum of thirteen minutes to breach my obstacle. So far, Bravo Company’s Second Squad, First Platoon, holds the record.” He folded his arms across his chest. “Seven minutes and twenty-six seconds.”
I heard a few of my squadmates whistle under their breath.
Cadet Sabo nodded. “That’s right, people. Bravo Company kicked some serious butt. Their time will be hard to top. But you’ve still got H Company’s squad competition. Your times for all the obstacles are going to be averaged when you complete the LRC. And the squad with the best composite score will win the company’s squad competition.” Cadet Sabo looked at his watch. “Incidentally, that squad from Bravo Company I told you about? They also won Bravo Company’s squad competition. They smoked everyone.”
“Yeah,” I heard Hickman mumble behind me, “and I bet they didn’t have any females in their squad.”
I looked at him. He was staring at Cadet Sabo, the expression on his face blank, like he hadn’t said anything at all. But standing beside Hickman was Bonanno. I caught his eye, and he quickly shifted focus to the ground.
He thinks it, too. Well, I just was going to have to prove them wrong.
“Okay,” Cadet Sabo said. “If you’ve got no questions for me, stack arms over there.” He pointed to the edge of the woods. “Your squad leader and I will keep an eye on them. Move out!”
We unslung our M-16s and scrambled for the trees. With the butts on the ground and barrels in the air, we balanced our M-16s, one against the other, until the clump of weapons stood on its own, looking like a miniature tepee. When we had returned to the edge of the sawdust pit, Cadet Sabo said, “After Cadet Daily picks the leader, I’ll start the clock.”
I kept my eyes on Cadet Daily’s boots as he paced back and forth, eyeing each of us. The voice in my mind was in sync with his steps: Don’t pick me! Don’t pick me! Don’t pick me!
“All right,” he finally said. “Combat, show ’em how it’s done.”
Ping! I closed my eyes, relieved. Thank God!
“Yes, sir!” Ping yelled.
“Remember,” Cadet Sabo said. “Thirteen minutes. Or less.” He and Cadet Daily went to stand beside our weapons. “Starting . . . now!”
Ping started the timer on his watch and clapped his hands together. “Okay, guys. Let’s do it. First thing . . . McGill, I need you to do a quick recon. Climb up the wall and tell me what you see. And don’t forget the mines.” He pointed at the red piping bordering the pit. About four feet of sawdust lay between the piping and the base of the obstacle.
“Not a problem,” Jason said, jogging over to the aluminum partition behind us. “You’re looking at an expert jumper here.”
Ping laughed. “Whatever you want to believe about yourself, McGill. Okay, Cero. Grab a couple guys and drag the supplies”—he waved toward the partition—“over to the edge of the pit.”
Cero nodded at Kit and Bonanno, standing near him. “Mind giving me a hand, guys?”
I watched the flurry of activity explode around me, amazed. I knew Ping would be good, but I didn’t think he’d be that good. He didn’t even have to stop and think. While I just stood here trying to process all the information, Ping already had a plan and was rattling off orders. And everybody followed them, just like that. No questions asked.
Jason had his back to the partition now, sizing up the obstacle. After he took a few deep breaths, he sprinted toward it. Clearing the sawdust gap with one huge leap, he planted one foot in the center of the wall, grasped the rope, and pulled himself up, hand over hand, until he reached the top.
“Okay,” he called down to us over his shoulder. “Here’s the deal—we’ve got another wall, mirroring this one. The two walls kinda form an A. But with a gap between the walls that we’ve gotta cross of about . . . oh . . . four and a half, maybe five feet or so.”
“That’s about as wide as
I am tall,” Gabrielle whispered to me, her eyes large.
I nodded—a little impatiently, I realized. But I couldn’t reassure her right then; I didn’t want to miss a single detail about the obstacle.
“Any mines up there with you?” Ping asked.
“Nope.”
“Then move across the gap and tell me what you see.”
Jason reached for the other wall, then disappeared from sight.
“Hey, Ping!” Cero yelled from the partition behind us. “Check this out.” In his arms he held the flat crate that Cadet Sabo had called an ammo box. “This thing’s heavy. Like forty pounds heavy. It’s filled with rocks or something.”
“So’s this,” Bonanno said, tipping the fuel barrel. “I’d say it weighs eighty pounds, easy.”
Ping turned around, a frown of concentration on his face.
“Okay,” Jason yelled from the other side, “this wall looks exactly like the one you’re looking at—minefield at the bottom and all. Except there’s no rope.”
“Move it, Third Squad!” Cadet Daily yelled from the sidelines. “Time’s a-tickin’!”
Ping wiped his forehead with the back of his hand and, nodding at Cero, said, “Look, just get that stuff moved, okay? We’ll get this figured out.”
Jason grunted as he pulled himself back across the gap between the walls. “And you got to clear like three or four feet of sawdust, I mean water, to get all the way over to the other side. And the edge of the pit is mined.” He nodded at us. “Just like on that side.”
Ping let his breath out slowly.
“One more thing,” Jason said, swinging his leg over the top of the wall to straddle it. “I don’t know if it’s important or what, but there’s this board lying on the ground over on that other side.”
“A board?” Ping squinted up at Jason. “How long?”
Jason shrugged. “About ten feet, maybe? It looks like a plank. You know, the kind pirates walked.”
“It’s twelve feet long, people,” Cadet Sabo yelled from where he stood beside our weapons. “And the answer to your next question is ‘yes.’ If you find a useful purpose for it, go for it.”
Ping nodded. “Thank you, sir.” Then he looked up at Jason. “Good job, man. Just hang tight.” He slowly turned back to us, removing his Kevlar to scratch the top of his head.
As I watched him think, I wondered what he’d come up with. A bunch of facts about the obstacle milled around in my mind, but that was all. I had no idea where I’d start.
But it didn’t take Ping long. “Okay, guys,” he said, “this is what’s gonna happen. We’re going to pass this stuff up the wall. Cero, Bogus, you’re our tallest men, so you’re going to be doing most of the passing. One of you, go up there with McGill,” he said, replacing his helmet. “And the other, stay down here.” He paused to snap his chin strap. “I know the reach will be tough, but we’ve got to make it happen, guys.”
“What are we gonna do with the stuff?” Jason yelled from the top of the wall. “You know, once it’s up here? I mean, we’re talking zero storage space up here.”
Hickman shrugged. “That’s a no-brainer. Just toss the stuff off the top.”
No-brainer, huh? And I wasn’t even able to come up with that! How would I function when my turn came around to be leader?
“Can’t do that, people!” Cadet Sabo yelled. “You’ve got very sensitive items there.”
Hickman and Cero looked at each other and swore.
“No need to get illiterate, guys,” Kit said. “We’ll just put a couple of guys on the far side, too.”
Ping nodded. “Then two on top, and two on this side. We’ve got three guys tall enough to make the reach—”
“You can count me out of that job,” Gabrielle said, and laughed.
Everyone looked at her vaguely, then turned away.
Gabrielle scooted closer to me and whispered, “These guys are wired a little too tight.”
I shrugged. I thought of myself. Better than not being wired at all.
“Then that’s it,” Ping said. “McGill and Bonanno, take the far side.”
“I’m on my way,” Jason yelled, and started climbing back across the gap.
“Me, too,” Bonanno said.
“Then Cero and Hickman, you take the top. That’ll leave Bogus and me to the lift the stuff from this side. We’ll pass it up, then down, like an assembly line. Okay? Let’s hit it!”
Gabrielle and I looked at each other. Everybody had a job but us.
“And I suppose Andi and I will just stand here,” Gabrielle said, “cheering you guys on.”
Kit smiled. “I’m sure you’re a very good cheerleader, Gab.”
Gabrielle crossed her arms and turned away from him.
“But you’ll be helping Ping and me with the lifting,” Kit continued. “Socrates said, ‘Know thyself.’ And I know I’ll need all the help I can get.”
When everyone was in position, Ping said, “We’ll start with the ammo box. It’ll be our test run. Kind of like a warm-up.”
Kit nodded. “You’re calling the shots, Boss Man. I just work here.” He squinted up at Cero. “Okay, Big Guy. Let’s get those biceps burning.” He lifted the ammo box over his head and leaned toward the wall. “Keep an eye on my feet, guys. Don’t let me get too close to the piping. I’d hate to finish the obstacle sitting on the sidelines.”
Cero moved partway down the wall, rappel fashion. Then, hanging on to the rope with one hand, he stretched the other toward the box.
“Not even close,” Ping said. “Come on, Bogus! You’ve got to angle it toward Cero more.”
I couldn’t just stand here, watching. “Is there something I can do?” I asked.
Ping shook his head, waving me away. “Just wait one, Andi. Okay?”
I stepped back, chagrined. I got the message—I was in the way.
Ping looked up the wall. “Hey, Cero. Face Bogus, if you can. I think it’ll give you a couple more inches.”
Cero nodded, and holding the hand with the rope behind his back, he twisted around to face the box.
Kit slowly tipped the box forward, his arms shaking. “Give me . . . some support . . . here? Ping? Somebody! This . . . this thing’s . . . slipping!”
I stepped forward. “I’ll—”
But Ping was already there. “I’m all over it, Bogus.” He stooped in front of Kit and, reaching upward, partially supported the weight of the box. “Okay. Forward now . . . a little more . . . more . . .”
Gabrielle and I hovered around them, wanting to help but not knowing how. I hated feeling useless like this.
Several inches still remained between the box and Cero’s flexed fingers.
“Doggone it!” Kit yelled, letting the box slide to the ground. He paced back and forth, rubbing his right shoulder with his left hand. “Sorry, guys. We don’t have the reach. Guess I’m just not tall enough.”
“What if I get up on your shoulders?” Ping asked. “And I hand it up to Cero?”
“I don’t know . . . yeah.” Kit shrugged. “That might do it.”
Ping looked at Gabrielle and me. “Then you guys can lift the ammo box up to me?”
I looked at the ammo box, then at Gabrielle. “Sure. We can handle that.”
“Yeah.” Gabrielle tugged at a red curl that had escaped the confinement of her Kevlar. “Sure.”
Ping climbed on Kit’s shoulders. I dragged the heavy ammo box over to Gabrielle, and even lifting it together we struggled to boost it up to Ping. Ping and Kit grunted and gasped until finally Cero yelled, “Got it!” And with one hand, Cero passed it up to Hickman.
“Good job, guys!” Ping slid off Kit. “But I think you’re going to have serious problems getting that thing down the other side.”
Cero nodded. “You ain’t kidding. There’s no rope on the other wall to help us out.”
We all watched Ping turn from the obstacle. I saw him studying the fuel barrel and rope that still needed to get over.
Maybe that
rope? Is he thinking about using that rope somehow? Like tying it to the top of the wall on the other side or something? Maybe I should say something about it! I could feel my adrenaline pumping. I could be useful. I finally had something to contribute! I took a deep breath and . . .
“But we’ve got that board . . .” I heard Ping saying to himself. He looked back up to the top of the wall. “I’ve got an idea. Listen. Have McGill and Bonanno take that board they’ve got over there and prop it up against the wall and over the sawdust. Then you guys slide the ammo box down to them. But watch the mines.”
I’d been wrong. At least I hadn’t opened my mouth; that was something to be grateful for. What was my problem? Why couldn’t I think?
Cero gave Ping a thumbs-up. “Sounds good to me.” Then Hickman and Cero disappeared with the ammo box across the gap between the walls, out of sight.
Ping turned to us. “One down.” He walked over to the barrel, then circled around it. “This is gonna be the killer.” He stepped over the rope coiled on the ground beside the barrel. “I don’t know—one guy lifting this thing?” He shook his head. “I can’t see it happening. Not with that reach. And we’re going to run into the same height problem that we had with the ammo box.” He glanced at Gabrielle and me before turning back to the barrel.
I bet he’s thinking about Gab and me. That we’ll never be able to lift that barrel up to him. And I knew that if that was what he was thinking, he’d be absolutely right. We’d had enough trouble with the ammo box. The thought made me feel even more useless.
Ping bent over and picked one end of the rope off the ground. “Anyone remember how long they said this rope is?”
“Twenty-six feet,” I answered without thinking. Hey, that helped! Was he thinking of using the rope now?
“Okay, then this is what we’re gonna do, guys. It’ll be a stretch”—he grinned—“but we’re going to risk it. We’re going to wrap the rope around the barrel, secure it with a sturdy knot, and then toss the free end up to Hickman and Cero. Then we’ll boost, lift, swing—whatever it takes to get the barrel high enough so those guys can pull it up and over the mines with the rope.” He handed me the end of the rope. “Sound like a plan, guys?”