Bad Luck Cadet (7 page)

I didn’t drive back to Small Town that
weekend. My husband was away on a business trip and it was easier
to stay on campus and relax.

I took a trip to the drugstore on Saturday to
get some cream for my head. It itched like crazy. I was getting
used to what I looked like in the mirror but if I had scratched
like this when I’d had hair everyone would have thought I had lice.
I bought a couple of scarves as well and experimented with no luck.
I couldn’t scratch with the scarf on and even with the lotion my
fingernails needed access to my scalp.

I ate dinner in the cafeteria Sunday evening
with a few fellow cadets. We watched as Class 96 marched in with
the same looks on their faces that we’d had on ours that first
day.

It sucked to be them.

Chapter 12 Small Acts of Defiance

Week six began with us sporting our new polo
shirts and the sounds of Class 96 being yelled at by their
Sergeant. It was nice to breathe without a tie around our necks and
Sgt. Dickens lowered his voice and tried to pretend we were human.
Inspection went smoothly. We were only given twenty pushups and not
a single hill run. Our Sergeant wanted us to appear superior and
leave 'the hill' for Class 96. It wouldn’t last, but that week we
suffered very few punishments.

We took our weekly academic test Monday
morning. Nine cadets did not pass. After the retake test the
following day, all passed but two. Cadet Rodriguez barely scrapped
through. Out of the original thirty-five cadets, we were now down
to twenty-nine.

I was lucky the academic training came easy
for me. The physical and defensive tactics training did not. I had
never been last at anything in my life. During my childhood, I was
athletic and competitive. At the academy, though much stronger than
when I started, I felt like a loser.

Wednesday morning we were marched to our dorm
rooms before class for a surprise room inspection. We were made to
stand outside our room, with the door open. We could not enter the
room before inspection began.

This was not our first room inspection, and
Donna and I were finally at a point where we felt confident in
having our dorm ready for inspection each morning. We had learned
through prior error that all shirts in our closet had to be facing
in the same direction (buttons east), all shoes pointing outward
and beds made to pass a military quarter bounce.

For every room gig (mistake), our entire class
was lined up in formation and made to do ten pushups. We’d had as
many as fourteen gigs in one inspection. If you do the math it
means one hundred and forty pushups. We learned very fast to fix
the problems.

Donna and I were lucky at this point because
our room contained just the two of us. It made it easier to keep
things organized, or so we thought.

When we arrived at the dorms, I opened our
door and realized the radio was blaring. I looked at Donna, who had
panic written all over her face. She said quietly that she had left
the radio on. We had a dilemma.

The rules of dorm inspection were simple; open
your door, do not enter the room and stand at ease outside the
door. Either our Sergeant or an Advisor would arrive and begin the
inspection. The first Cadet seeing one of them come around the
corner would yell, “Staff on deck,” and we would immediately come
to attention.

As we stood outside the room listening to the
music, our panic increased steadily. I thought Donna was going to
pass out.

I looked around and couldn’t see our Sergeant
or any class advisors. I ran inside the room and shut the radio
off. As I turned around to head back out, I heard those fateful
words, “Staff on deck.” There was nothing I could do but step out
of the room and face the music, literally.

Sgt. Dickens was staring at our room and
watched me come out and get into position. I think I might have
been the only cadet in his history of him being Class Sergeant that
defied him. His face was red and he looked like he was ready to
explode.

I was already in trouble and suffering a
moment of rebellion. I stared him straight in the eye. Yes I
remembered, “Stare through me not at me.” I’d had enough. Hill
runs, push ups, papers to write, even after an easy week, it just
never ended. I went into the “fight or flight,” mode. My decision
was made and it was time to fight.

I stood my ground looking into Sergeant
Dickens’ eyes. I did not have long to wait for the explosion to
happen.

“Cadet Ivy, what the hell are you doing? Do
you know the rules, are you stupid?”

Now how do you answer that question? Was I
stupid? I didn’t think so; I thought I was helping a friend. I
understood the rules but had made the choice to break them. Did
this mean I wasn’t good officer material? Again I didn’t think
so.

My response was simple and answered his
questions, “I entered our room to turn off the radio, yes I know
the rules, no I’m not stupid.” Humble I was not.

Sgt. Dickens’ face reddened even
further.

“Cadet Ivy you will leave the dorms and go
wait outside my office immediately.” He said in a soft
voice.

This was even scarier than if he had yelled. I
turned and left the area heading to his office.

He kept me waiting for an hour. It was hard
not knowing what was happening back at the dorms. The longer I
waited the more stupid I realized I was. It must be an age thing.
Middle age was not meant to be a subservient time in your life. It
is a take charge and be a leader time. Sgt. Dickens was
approximately thirty-two. He didn’t understand. Or maybe I
didn’t.

I also had another problem with my age. I
needed to pee frequently. It had been over two hours and like an
idiot I hadn't made a detour on the way to his office. I was
regretting it with every minute that went by. I knew if I went to
the restroom now, he would return as soon as I was out of
sight.

I waited. When he arrived, it was hard to come
to attention. Before he was there I could at least jump around a
little bit.

Sgt. Dickens never even invited me into his
domain. I was chastised in the hallway. The following one sided
conversation took place. I did manage a, “Yes sir,” here and
there.

“Cadet Ivy, you’ve surpassed none of my
expectations (that was eloquent). You can’t follow orders, you
can’t keep up physically with the rest of the class and you have
authority issues. I will have a ten page memo on, “Why it’s
important to follow orders,” on my desk tomorrow morning and you
will run ten hills after class today. Now go back to the classroom
and stay out of my face.”

That was it. Ten hill runs and a ten page
paper. I detoured to the restroom and then entered the classroom. A
few cadets gave me smiles. I’m sure they wondered why I was still
in the academy.

It was a long day and an even longer night.
Donna ran the hills with me and we made up a cadence along the
way.

“Sergeant Dickens is a pill. Made me go and
run the hill. At the top I slipped and fell. May Sergeant Dickens
go to hell.”

Not so original but it passed the time. Class
96 was running their hills while Donna and I were doing ours. They
laughed the entire time and we were rather pleased with
ourselves.

My rebellion continued as I sat down to write
my paper. I remembered the hell Donna went through so I made mine
more subtle.

I started my paper with, “Following rules is
important. When I had my first child the doctor told me not to
push. I didn’t listen. This was a bad time not to be following
rules. I split wide open and the baby popped out. Another time to
follow rules is when you are reading the directions on a cake box.
My cakes kept falling in the middle and it took three disasters to
understand that there are directions for high altitude on the side
of the box. I had to learn that an asterisk under the directions
was a rule to follow.”

And on it went. I actually had fun and Donna
laughed while shining my boots. She thought I was crazy but we both
enjoyed our small acts of defiance. I told her I would take the
retaliation if it came.

My last thought as sleep overtook me was one
of satisfaction.

Chapter 13 Gun Fights and Car
Chases

We had been told several weeks before that our
defensive tactics gun fight was coming. This seemed to be a
highlight for the instructors. We didn’t know what to expect and I
was already exhausted. Thursday morning turned out to be the
day.

We were each paired up with someone of similar
body size. This left Donna and I as a pair. She was in better shape
and I felt it an unfair match. At the same time, the odds that I
would ever have a fight on the street, for my gun, with someone my
size was extremely slim.

We had been shown police video of officers in
fights with angry speeders, drunks and assorted bad guys over their
guns. It is a deadly serious scenario. You have thirty pounds of
equipment including vest, gun, Taser, pepper spray, and baton. Each
one of these is potentially deadly in the wrong hands. And each one
weighs against you in the fight.

Our training exercise began with the cadets
forming a circle around two fighters to keep them on the mat. If
the fighters got too close to the mat’s edge they were none to
gently pushed back on. The only rule was “There are no rules.” We
were given no mouth or head protection, since we would have none on
the street. The fights were brutal and the blood on the mat cleaned
off between each match.

One “blue gun” is placed at the center of the
mat. Both fighters lay down prone, facing each other. First one
fighter takes a grip on the gun with one hand and then the second
fighter does the same. Then the first fighter places their other
hand on the gun followed by the second fighter. Once all four hands
are on the gun, a whistle blows and the fight begins.

When it was our turn, Donna and I did as
instructed. The guys had been waiting for this and cat calls and
friendly cheering ensued. I had been watching the other fighters
closely. It seemed a lucky elbow in the nose ended the fight
sooner. A head butt did too, but was devastating to the
recipient.

As soon as the whistle blew I pulled my face
out of the way. Donna and I were wrestling on the floor with
everything we had. I was determined to get my feet underneath me. I
had figured out if I had the leverage, to pull away while she was
on the ground, I could win.

We continued wrestling and our legs and elbows
were doing each other damage. The adrenaline was keeping us from
feeling the majority of the pain. Donna got in a good hit to my
chest with her knee and it knocked the wind out of me. I had
suffered the feeling several times in my life and knew not to
panic. The air would be back before I passed out. The strike
enabled her to get her legs beneath her and pull up using the mat
to stabilize her legs and establish a backwards momentum to
possibly win.

This was it, do or die. I swung my body around
on the mat and planted my legs on either side of her chest. Before
she could kick me in the groin I shoved with everything I had while
holding on to the gun for dear life. My chest expanded at the same
time. Donna was shoved to the outer rim of the mat with no gun in
her hands.

I had won. I rolled over on my side trying to
get more air in and trying to get my arms and legs underneath me.
It would have been easier if I released the gun, but I had won it
and I wasn't letting go.

Our fight lasted four minutes. It was the
longest four minutes of my life. The guys were cheering like crazy.
What is it about a girl fight that gets them going?

When everyone’s match was finished, we were
divided into two groups; the winners in one and the losers in the
other. The winning group was congratulating each other and I was
getting a lot of back slaps. I don’t think any of them thought I
could beat Donna.

We didn’t expect what happened
next.

The losers were given a punishment. They had
to write a letter to their families telling them why they died that
day. The letter had to be turned in the following morning to our
squad leaders.

Up until this point we had been taught we
never die. When we put our uniforms on to head out for duty, our
number one goal was to return to our families. Staring at the other
group and thinking about what those letters would be like was
devastating. You could see the defeat on their faces.

We silently left the gym.

Later that afternoon, we noticed some unusual
activity in the hallway, outside our classroom door. The leader
from squad six and our class leader, Cadet Clark, were called to
Sgt. Dickens’ office. About twenty minutes later Cadet Clark came
back into the room and collected the squad leader’s personal items.
We never saw the squad leader again and a new one was chosen for
squad six.

The rumor would later circulate that the
unfortunate cadet was caught lying on his police application, and
when his background was closely examined, the lie came out. He
would never again be eligible to apply as a police officer in the
state of Arizona. We were now down to twenty-eight
cadets.