Cadet: The Academy

Cadet:

The Academy

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2011 Commander James Bondage

Published by Strict Publishing
International

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The United States military has long accepted
its role as subordinate to the civilian government. When it was
ordered to make unwanted changes, such as admitting women into the
various service academies, the military establishment resisted, but
finally gave way to the elected officials set over it by the
Constitution. It did not necessarily have to happen that way

We know from modern scientific theory that
there are an infinite number of alternate worlds, and therefore, of
alternate Americas where history took a different course from the
one we know. Some of the alternates must be so strange as to be
unrecognizable, while others so similar as to be almost identical.
This story is set in a United States where the military gained the
upper hand early in the history of the Republic, and reduced the
civilian government to a mere a tool of the generals. In this
America, women were introduced into the armed services at the
insistence of the Chief of the General Staff just so that they
could be cruelly misused.

Chapter One: Welcome to the Real Army

Private Robin Bransom stepped down from the
bus in which she had been riding for the better part of two days,
took a deep breath and stretched her shoulders and legs to get the
kinks out. Robin was five foot four and weighed one hundred and ten
pounds soaking wet. Her long copper-red hair was confined in a
French braid, and it contrasted sharply with her big sky-blue eyes,
while complementing the freckles sprinkled lightly on her upturned
nose. There seemed to be the hint of a smile perpetually hovering
at the corners of her lips. Her stomach was flat and her waist
narrow, matching well the small, proud breasts and firm buttocks,
which not even the unflattering gray-green uniform she wore could
hide.

Robin took a long look around at her new home
as she dropped her heavy duffle bag to the ground. What she saw was
not encouraging. The setting sun threw long shadows on the dusty
field where she stood. She, along with the other women now
scrambling down the steps from the bus, were on a flat dirt field
that stretched at least a hundred yards away from her on either
side. There was a running track, and some exercise equipment off in
the distance to her right. Directly in front was a shabby-looking
two-story wooden building from which gray paint was peeling. A sign
on the front of the building read “Office of Cadet Commandant”.
Further away, behind the Commandant’s office, were rows of long,
low wooden structures, also badly in need of paint. These, Robin
guessed, were the barracks for the new cadets, the first class of
women chosen by the Army to receive officer training. Surrounding
the entire Academy was a forbidding, twenty-foot high stone wall.
It was not a very cheerful place, nor very impressive. Still, it
was the Academy, and she was one of the chosen few. Her heart
swelled with pride as it did every time she thought about the great
honor that her selection for this first class had been. She could
still hardly believe it. She thought back to three days earlier,
when she learned that she had been chosen.

* * * * *

“Private Bransom,” Drill Sergeant Torrens
barked, towering over Robin as she sat, Indian style, on the
linoleum floor of her barracks, polishing her boots. “I need to
have a word with you. My office, now.”

She dropped the boot and the polishing rag
she had been holding, and sprang to her feet, nervously trying to
remember which infraction of the many boot rules she had committed.
She followed the Sergeant into his private quarters, and stood at
attention before him, waiting.

“At ease, Private,” he said, motioning.
“You’re not in any shit. This is
good
news.” He picked up a
sheaf of papers. “You have been picked, along with only twenty-nine
others from the whole Army for the first class of cadets at the new
Academy for female officers at High Point. Congratulations,” he
said, extending a hand.

Robin was so surprised that she did not even
return the offered handshake.

“There must be some mistake, sir,” she
protested. “I’m only eighteen, just out of high school. I’m not
qualified to be an officer.” Then, something else occurred to her:
“I didn’t even apply for officer training, Sergeant.”

The big man’s face creased in an expression
she could not identify at first. After a second or two, she
realized it was what served the Drill Sergeant for a smile.

“There’s no mistake, Bransom,” he reassured
her. “You were chosen based on your initial testing when you joined
up, and your performance. That was how they picked all the
candidates. The brass thinks you are hot stuff, little girl. You
should be proud.”

And, just like that, she
was
proud.
Her father was a career Army man who had retired with the rank of
Major. Robin knew that he wished his wife had given him a son to
follow in his footsteps, but Rachel Bransom had died delivering
Robin’s younger sister Merry, so there were only the two girls.
That was why she seized the chance to sign up as soon as she had
finished high school. She had assumed that she would rise no higher
than non-com throughout her term, as there were no female officers,
but now she had a chance to make her father’s dream of a second
generation of commissioned officers from the Bransom family come
true. She pictured herself walking into the house in a dress
uniform, an
officer’s
uniform, coming to attention, saluting
her father, and saying “Lieutenant Bransom, reporting for duty,
sir.”

“Yes, sir, thank you sir!” Robin almost
shouted, snapping to attention, and tearing off her smartest
salute.

“You won’t have to salute me any more,
Bransom,” Sergeant Torrens chuckled. “Pretty soon, I’ll have to
salute
you
. Get packing. You have an early bus to catch
tomorrow, Private. Dismissed.” He returned her salute, and sat down
at his desk to complete the paperwork for her transfer.

* * * * *

The familiar sound of a Drill Sergeant’s
bellow brought her instantly back to the present.

“Attention!” she heard a voice roar somewhere
off to her right. She did not turn her head to see who was doing
the yelling, but stiffened immediately to attention, her eyes
rigidly fixed forward. “I said ‘attention’, God damn it!” The man
was clearly displeased by the way the cadets responded to his
order. “Isn’t there
one
of you ignorant cows that knows how
to stand at attention? Shoulders back, chest out, chin up, you dumb
cunts! I’m talking to
you
!” he screamed. The speaker’s voice
sounded as if it was coming from only a few inches away, directly
behind Robin. She did not know if he was talking to her, but she
forced her shoulders back until the blades were touching, thrust
her chest out as far as she could, and drew herself up to her full,
not particularly impressive, height.

She took a chance by shifting her eyeballs to
her left when she heard the sound of the Sergeant (it
had
to
be a Sergeant) moving away from her, and was rewarded by the sight
of the man himself appearing from behind the line of new cadets, to
push his way out from between two of the stiffly erect women.

The Sergeant was short, only a few of inches
taller than Robin, but he was built like a refrigerator. His upper
arms looked like bundles of writhing pythons. He did not appear to
have a neck, his head seeming to rest directly on the wedges of
muscle that rose from his shoulders to his head. His forearms
looked as though they had been stolen from a certain cartoon sailor
who was very fond of spinach. His waist was narrow, his belly a
rippling six- or possibly eight-pack. His thighs bulged beneath his
trousers. He gripped a leather swagger stick in his hairy hand. He
was the scariest-looking man Robin had ever seen. He stood back,
inspecting the line of women, his dark troll-like face wearing a
hideous scowl. She sensed that he was about to focus his wrath on
one unfortunate cadet to provide an example for the rest. Robin
prayed silently that she would not be the one.

He started walking towards Robin, and she
snapped her eyes front, telling herself repeatedly
he’s not
looking at me,
he’s not looking at me,
as he drew
nearer. He stopped in front of the short Oriental girl at Robin’s
immediate left hand. Robin had met and spoken to her briefly on the
bus trip. She was a shy 18-year old from San Francisco named Kim
Lee. She had delicate features, with large, dark, almond eyes,
straight black hair, and a slender, graceful body. She seemed to be
a gentle soul. Robin suspected that she might be too gentle for the
Army.

The Sergeant moved closer to Kim, bending
down until his mouth was an inch from the trembling girl’s nose.
“Is that how you learned to stand at attention, maggot?” he
shrieked, his teeth threatening to bite her pert nose clean off.
“Are you going flying today, cadet?” he asked sarcastically. Robin
had heard this question before. It meant that the recruit’s elbows
were too far from her body. She prayed that the little Oriental
would pick up the hint.

“No Sergeant.” Robin could barely hear the
almost inaudible tones of the terrified girl. “I’m not going
flying.”

Without any warning, the Sergeant’s fist shot
out and sank into Kim’s midsection, and she made an explosive
whooshing
sound as the air was driven from her body. The
force of his blow actually lifted Kim from her feet, and she sailed
several feet backwards to thump heavily on the ground, and
immediately curled into a ball, making hoarse retching noises.
“Then you are one stupid cadet cunt,” the Sergeant pronounced,
surveying her, hands on hips. “See? You
were
going flying
after all.”

He stepped close to the prone figure and
seized her long hair in his fist. Then he dragged the girl, still
curled in fetal position, out in front of the line of women.
“Cadets, I want you all to watch what is going to happen to your
classmate here,” he said, standing over Kim while she shuddered
trying to draw air into her lungs.

The Sergeant went down on his right knee and
pulled the raggedly gasping Oriental girl over his left thigh,
handling her like a cotton-stuffed doll. He unhooked her belt and
ripped open her pants from the front, breaking the zipper and
sending the button flying. Then he yanked her gray uniform trousers
down around her ankles, exposing her gray Army issue underwear. He
took the underpants by the elastic waistband and gave a tremendous
pull, which momentarily lifted the unfortunate girl’s lower body
into the air before the material ripped free from her waist,
dropping her back across his leg. In another moment she lay bent
over the Sergeant’s powerful thigh, her smooth bottom and soft
thighs exposed to the rapidly cooling evening air. The Sergeant
took Kim’s right arm, and bent it behind her back in an arm lock,
and she yelped weakly in pain as he raised her elbow higher and
higher, forcing her to elevate her naked buttocks to prevent having
her arm broken or shoulder dislocated. Robin could see the exposed
lips of Kim’s sex in the fading daylight.

As the cadets looked on in shock, the
Sergeant began to beat the helpless cadet with his swagger stick,
each vicious blow leaving a swelling dark bar on her shapely ass
and thighs. The girl did not protest or attempt to escape, perhaps
sensing the futility of either one. She made soft grunting sounds
or quietly exclaimed “Oh!” from time to time as the beating went
on. Her head and feet jerked involuntarily with each stroke. Robin
lost count at twenty, but the punishment went on for a long time
after that. Finally, the Sergeant stood up, releasing the nearly
unconscious to Kim slide from his leg and land face down on the
ground.

“Kiddie camp is over, girls,” he said,
brushing dirt off his knee. “Welcome to the real Army. My name is
Sergeant Powers, and you cadet cunts will be seeing me in your
nightmares.”

He pointed at Robin and the cadet next to
her. “You and you,” he said. “Take this worthless sack of shit to
the infirmary. When you’re done, report to ‘B’ Barracks.” He
indicated a building in the distance. “The rest of you cunts pick
up your gear and fall in. Two of you pick up their gear, and take
it along. Hup, two, three, four! ” The Sergeant marched off with
their classmates, bellowing out the count.