Rites of Passage (4 page)

“Corporals, to me.”

I sigh, glad that Drill Sergeant Stamm's chosen this exact second to show up on deck. Matthews veers away, falling in line in front of Drill. While they're talking, Quinn slips out on the wall next to me.

“What took you so long?” I whisper.

“I had to dig my KB out from the trash can.”

I hide a smile. Knowledge Books are the bane of our existence here. A little book packed with information we have to read and memorize in our downtime—like we actually have any. Out in front of the mess hall, waiting for PT to start, or whenever the cadre want to see how tired we are. It's filled with everything a good recruit at the DMA should know: our Cadet Creed, dates, important people, uniforms, Standard Operating Procedures. We spend a lot of time ordered to stand with our arms held out, the book in front of our faces, memorizing and hoping we're not called on to spout off information we're too tired to really take in anyway.

Before I can say anything in response, though, Matthews is back, standing in front of me, Quinn, and the other two females—Short and Cross. The fifth one never showed. “Drill Sergeant Stamm wants to see you at the end of the hall,” he says, disgust in his voice. “Hurry up or we'll miss our obstacle course time. We've got three extra miles to run because of you four this morning.”

I keep the snide comments to myself—the hardest part about Hell Week so far. “Corporal Matthews, yes, Corporal Matthews!” We sound off and run to the end of the hallway. No walking for us.

When Drill sees us come, he holds a hand up. “Just a second, Worms. Let the rest of the company clear out.” He stands tall, his light blue eyes bright and alert. His blond hair is shaved to military regulations and, while there's no stubble on his face, there is a little nick near his ear. He's been a presence on deck every second of every day, but the corporals do most of the instruction. They've taught us how to march, how to hold a rifle, how to salute. This is the first time the females of Alpha Company have been in front of Drill and I'm hoping it's not because we screwed up somehow.

Quinn digs an elbow into my ribs and I force my eyes back where they're supposed to be—looking straight ahead at the cinderblock wall in front of me instead of on Drill. Once the thundering of twenty boys running down stairs recedes, he finally turns to us.

“At ease, Worms.”

I slide my legs shoulder-width apart and hold my hands at the small of my back, daring to glance at Quinn. Her lips twitch in a smile. She must think I was checking Drill out. Crap. I'm never going to live that down.

“You've made it nearly four days and I'm proud of you. I just wanted to tell you that, personally. We've already lost four recruits, not to mention the female who didn't show. The other companies are about on par. You've lasted longer than others and you should take pride in that.”

When he takes a deep breath, I resist the urge to fidget. His voice isn't hard and commanding like it was when we met him. He's talking like we're people and it's hard not to worry—the compliments are too good to be true.

“But if you thought these last few days were hard, you ain't seen nothin' yet.” His jaw works back and forth and worry lines appear on his forehead. “I'm not going to lie. It's going to be a hard year for you four. I just wanted to take a sec before the Corps comes back to make sure you know a few things. First, you'll each be assigned a faculty mentor. Someone outside the Corps itself you can go to if you have questions or concerns. Questions?”

“Drill Sergeant Stamm, who are the mentors for these recruits, Drill Sergeant Stamm?” It's Short, the rugby wannabe, who asks the question. Talking in third person is second nature to us now. It's just another way for them to break us down, make us more Worm-like. Anytime we refer to ourselves as “I” or “me” we have to do push-ups. After the first day of a thousand, none of us make that mistake anymore.

“Yours is Professor Armind. Cross has Professor Williams, Quinn has the commandant, and McKenna's mentor is Reverend Cook. They are the most highly regarded faculty members. You're in good hands. You'll meet with them on Sunday for the first time and you may go to them whenever you need to. No one can stop you.” He meets each of our eyes when he says this. “The second thing I want to make sure you all understand is the chain of command. Do any of you know what it is?”

“Drill Sergeant Stamm, this recruit does, Drill Sergeant Stamm,” I say.

“Care to explain?” He smiles, more proud than impressed. It's one of the things I like about him. He never thinks we can't do anything. He expects us to push ourselves, to prove ourselves. He won't allow us to slack.

“Drill Sergeant Stamm, the chain of command means there is an order a recruit has to follow if the recruit wants to report something. This recruit would report the problem or incident to Corporal Matthews first, then to the drill sergeant if the solution isn't acceptable. Then on up the chain until getting to the cadet colonel, and the commandant himself.”

He nods, then turns, meeting each of our gazes again as he speaks. “But I want you four to understand something. There are people who don't want you here—a lot of them. None of us are sure if the chain will hold up this year. We've been told to report any concerns you four have, but unless it's reported to me, I can't do anything about it.”

I snort. “Like that'll ever happen.” There's no way Matthews would ever take our complaints anywhere. He wants us out more than anyone, it seems.

Drill studies me for a second, his head tilted a little to the side.

With his eyes on me, I shift first to my left foot, then to my right, heat burning my face. “Drill Sergeant, this recruit—”

“I told you you're at ease, McKenna.” He finally looks away, waving my concern aside. Matthews would have made me eat dirt or something equally disgusting for being so informal with him. But not Drill. It'd be easy to think he's on our side. And dangerous, too. “I've told your cadre that if you have concerns they are to report, with you, directly to me. If you feel uncomfortable speaking with your corporals, however, I am giving you orders to jump the chain. Is that understood?”

When his gaze stops on mine again, I'm suddenly more interested in my shoes and if I've tied them right. “Drill Sergeant Stamm, yes, Drill Sergeant Stamm.”

“One last item, then we'll catch up with the company. The DMA has not had to deal with dating within its ranks before, but other military schools have come before us and we're going by their example. I want to be clear about my expectations in regards to relationships with other members of the Corps. This year, dating within the Corps is off-limits to you. That means there will be no fraternization above your rank—that's a rule in the military and we will follow that here as well. You are not allowed to date your recruit brothers, either. If you choose to go to dances, you will go alone or with boys from outside the DMA. Is that understood?”

I can't meet Drill's eyes because if there's anyone I'd be interested in, it'd be him. Maybe it's the way he expects things of me. Maybe it's the kindness he's showing right now. Or maybe it's just because he's off-limits.

“Drill Sergeant Stamm, yes, Drill Sergeant Stamm!” the four of us reply in unison.

“Remember: you can come to me whenever you have a concern or a problem. I mean it.” He sounds so much older than seventeen. The responsibility in his voice is more than I've ever heard Jonathan have, and he's in charge of the whole Corps. “Now, we'd better catch up to the rest of the company. Recruits! Attention!”

I snap into position, my hands pressed tight against the legs of my sweatpants.

“Fall out!”

We run down the stairs as fast as we can, even though there's no way we'll beat Drill out onto the parade ground. He gets to walk out the front door on the second floor. We've got to go down one more flight of stairs to the basement, out the back of the barracks, and up the stairs at the side. Allowing Worms to use the front door of anything if there's a harder way to do it? Not likely.

By the time we get outside and fall into line on the PG, Drill's standing calmly, chatting to a guy I've seen around all week. He's definitely not a shining example of what a fit DMA cadet should look like. He's got a potbelly that stretches his PT shirt across his stomach and stubble has turned his jawline almost black.

“You joining Ranger PT this year, Huff?”

The heavier cadet laughs at Drill, a real belly-shaking laugh that makes me smile. “Do I look like I'm in line to be an Army Ranger? You, your corporal, and those two other cadets are the only ones insane enough to do that crap. I'll stick with my remedial PT and enjoy every second of it, thank you very much. Now,” Huff says, looking at us, “don't you have a run to lead these Worms on?”

“Whatever you say, Huff. I'll get you in shape one of these days.”

“Keep dreaming, Stamm!”

“All right, recruits, let's go.” Drill takes off running, his pace fast, and he doesn't look back once. Cross—Model Recruit—and I take the lead. We've finished first in every run we've done as a company. Even still, we always run back and make sure the other girls finish strong. We've got to stick together or we're goners.

 

After our five-mile loop, we end up behind the barracks, on top of another hill on campus. The rest of the company waits for us. They're still breathing hard, though, so I know we're not too far behind, even after our chat with Drill.

I stop beside Kelly and bend over, my hands on my thighs, trying to catch my breath. I'm dripping with sweat. Even at 0630, it's already hot and humid.

“About time you got here, McKenna. What took so long?” Matthews asks even though he knows the answer.

I snap to attention. “Corporal Matthews, this recruit was in a meeting with Drill Sergeant Stamm and then—”

“Drop it, McKenna,” Matthews says, and then turns to the rest of the company. “Alpha, listen up. Every year, each company competes against the others in a tradition that started with the founding of the school. Alpha Company has won the distinction of being the Company of the Year six years running.”

He doesn't sound too happy about it. I wonder what his original company was last year.

“The obstacle course is part of the huge Worm Challenge at the end of the year that you will have to prove yourselves on if you have any hope of winning the competition. Other factors in the decision are room inspections, daily uniform inspections, Weekend Warrior competitions, various other Corps activities throughout the year, and your ability to motivate your upperclass Alpha and the commandant.”

Corporal Julius, in charge of first platoon, picks it up. “Now, last year Charlie Company only lost by three points,” he says, high-fiving Matthews as he goes. They must have been Worms together. “They're out for blood this year. So if you all have any hope of winning”—Julius lets his eyes slide over me and the other girls—“which I doubt, considering your company makeup, now's the time to start trying.”

Designed to prepare us for combat situations later in life, the DMA obstacle course has twelve stations. We have to jump, crawl, balance, pull, and duck our way through each obstacle at a run to beat the course time.

The corporals show us how to maneuver each station to get the maximum points allowed. It's an individual test, but our totals are added together for a company score at the end, too.

“Any volunteers to go first?” Matthews asks when we're done with the introduction. He's staring straight at me and I take a small step back, trying to blend in with my recruit buddies.

Kelly, beside me, raises his hand. Matthews glances at a man standing at the edge of the course—during training we're never without an adult to watch over us. The man nods and Matthews scowls. “Fine, Kelly. Show them how it's done. You've got two minutes.” Matthews barely gives him time to get into place before starting the stopwatch. “Go.”

The company runs at the edge of the field, watching Kelly as he breezes through each of the obstacles. It takes him four minutes, thirty seconds, but he gets it done. Even Matthews has little he can say to critique him. For his first time through, completing all the obstacles, he did really well. I bet Drill's friend Huff, who's been here for years, still can't do it.

“You're up.” Matthews is next to me, his breath hot on my ear. “Show them how the McKenna family gets things done.”

I take a step away, heart pounding. “Corporal Matthews, yes, Corporal Matthews.” My voice isn't strong and I hate that.

I walk over and stand at the starting line. The first obstacle is an eight-foot-tall wall I have to jump up and over. The company moves over to stand near me. But Matthews doesn't tell me to go.

“All right, Alpha. The best time for this obstacle course is one minute, fifty-three seconds. It's something I'm expecting at least one of you to beat by the end of the year. But it's not going to be McKenna. Girls are slow. They're weak. They're scared. The best thing you can do is get them to give up before classes start. Then we can all go on with our merry lives.”

I glance at Drill. His arms are folded across his chest, a scowl on his face, but he doesn't call Matthews off; he's been saying the same thing all week.

“So, show us how good you females are, McKenna.” Julius laughs and crosses his arms, standing next to Matthews. “Go!” he yells when Matthews starts the clock.

Twelve steps and I'm at the wall. I jump, planting a foot halfway up, using the momentum to hook my elbows over the top, and then swing a leg over. I let myself fall to the ground and sprint to the stepping-stones—big wooden blocks spaced far enough apart that I've got to jump from one to another.

After that, it's over-unders—six metal bars that I have to alternately hoist myself above and crawl beneath. My chest burns, needing oxygen. The tunnel is easy and I drop to the ground, pulling myself through with my elbows.