The Cadet (26 page)

Chapter Twenty-Five

“Love Letters in the Sand”

June, 1957

Beginning of Second Class Year

19,000 feet over California

O tiger’s heart wrap’d in a woman’s hide!

—William Shakespeare,
Henry VI
, part III

Rod lounged back in the sprawling C-97 aircraft, feeling as though he were the luckiest cadet alive. Finals were over, and having finished marching his tours, he had three weeks of leave ahead of him before he attended the Army’s parachute school in Georgia.

Earlier that day he’d caught a hop at Lowry on a Military Air Transport Service space-available flight to Travis, with the sole purpose of seeing Barbara at her dorm.

He’d made the decision to surprise her just last night. Captain Ranch had told the new Second classmen about the free military flights that flew out of Lowry AFB, and on a whim, Rod had decided to forgo spending his short summer vacation at his new home in Colorado Springs and instead deadheaded on the first flight out to California.

The last time Barbara had written she said she was attending summer school. Rod had been disappointed that she didn’t have time to visit, but he understood that her first priority was graduating with honors. With his own intense schedule he didn’t dwell on not seeing her; but when the space-available opportunity came up for him to fly to California for free, Rod couldn’t pass it up.

He changed out of his cadet uniform when they landed at Travis and caught the blue shuttle bus that made the daily run to the Alameda Naval base. On the way he gazed out the window at row after row of bushes that lined the road, all covered in brilliant red, yellow, and blue flowers. The smell of warm summer air spilled into the bus. The trip brought back memories of when Fred’s father had driven them back to Travis after staying in San Francisco, and of that magical night he’d spent with Barbara.

Arriving at the sprawling Navy Base, he hitched a ride into town and impatiently waited at the shiny new bus station until he caught a Greyhound bus to Palo Alto.

The Stanford Terrace hotel was exactly one mile from Barbara’s dormitory. He dropped off his bag in the room, and after scrutinizing a map, hiked across campus. He could barely believe that only this morning he had checked out of his squadron area.

Now, less than 24 hours after hearing about the space-available flight, Rod was about to see Barbara for the first time in a year. Boy, would she be surprised!

His hands grew slick with sweat as he hurried for the dorm, anticipating the moment. The memory of her was so vivid he couldn’t believe it had nearly been a year since he’d seen her. He was filled with so much energy he could barely contain it.

On the way he passed buildings with red-tiled roofs, towering palm trees, and flower-lined bike paths. Students strolled aimlessly throughout the campus; one couple stepped inside a clearing hidden by a high, thick row of green shrubs planted along the path, for a private tête-à-tête. It seemed like a mystical world, secluded from reality.

He slowed as he started to overtake a young, slim, blonde woman who was walking past an older, bearded man along the path—and suddenly, his knees grew weak when he realized it was her. Barbara. He felt giddy at the sight.

It seemed almost too good to be true. He thought he’d have to wait until later in the evening to perhaps meet her in the lobby, or see her when she returned from studying. And now, here she was in front of him, walking to her dorm.

He stopped and focused on the way she tossed her long, blond hair; the way she moved her slender legs; her soft, swaying motion … then he realized that she wasn’t overtaking the bearded man at all, but that she was walking next to him.

The man was impeccably dressed in a white suit. Rod couldn’t see his face, but he was older than Barbara, perhaps a professor, and they walked together much closer than Rod would have thought appropriate for just being friends.

They stopped by a statue of a winged sprite that spurted water from its mouth into a pond. Rod stepped to the side and watched. Laughing, the man steered Barbara off the path. She giggled, and ran a hand up the side of his face. Even from this distance, Rod could see her ice-blue eyes. She pulled his head near and kissed him deeply.

Rod balled his fists, feeling his breath quicken. His heart pounded wildly.

They continued to kiss, oblivious to the people walking around them. The kiss went on and on, and Rod felt a sour feeling grow at the bottom of his stomach, a tight knot that wouldn’t go away. He felt short of breath, flushed, and at a loss of what to do.

After a moment the man looked quickly around. Rod turned his head, not wanting the man to see that he was spying. Thinking no one was watching, the man pulled Barbara by the hand way from the path and disappeared into the thick bushes.

A moment passed.

Rod stepped close. From behind the leaves he heard a gasp. Branches rustled. Shoes scuffled and muffled grunts came from the brush; he heard struggling, crescendoing voices. Barbara screamed, and he heard a sharp slap.

There was no time to think. Barbara was in trouble and she needed help.

Thorny vines tore at his face as Rod crashed into the deep bramble. Ignoring the pain, he shoved the branches aside, wildly looking for her. The bushes were thick and almost impenetrable.

He broke into a small clearing and saw the bearded man shoving Barbara up against a palm tree, groping her while kissing her neck. She struggled, trying to push his hand away.

A red rage filled Rod’s head. Without thinking, he leaped forward and pulled the man off Barbara. He yelled as he started pummeling the old man with his fists. He hit him over and over, beating him in fury, the same, wild fury he felt against those who took advantage of others, people like Captain Whitney, Fred Delante … or, or his father …

“Rod, for God’s sake, stop! Stop it!”

He felt Barbara’s hands pulling at him; he stepped back and groggily looked at Barbara.

Tears ran down her face, but her ice-blue eyes flashed. “Look at what you’ve done!”

Rod bleared down. The bearded man lay immobile, his face bloodied.

Rod took a shaky step. “Barbara—”

“What the hell are you’re doing!” she said. “Why are you here?”

“I, I—”

“You attacked him!”

“Barbara—” He was confused as to why she was not grateful for saving her.

She knelt to stroke the man’s face. “Alan was walking me back to the dorm. We had a date.”

“A date?” Rod said, stunned. “You’re seeing someone else? But I thought—”

Barbara looked up and stared, incredulous. “You thought what! That I shouldn’t date anyone else?”

There was a long silence.

Rod straightened. Of course she could date other men. Why would he expect such a beautiful young woman not to see anyone else, especially since they had only been together once, and a year ago at that. They weren’t engaged; they weren’t even going steady. He had more common sense than that. But why had he assumed that she wasn’t seeing anyone? He didn’t know.

Rod couldn’t look her in the eye. “He … he was attacking you.”

A moment passed as she dabbed blood from the man’s nose with a tissue. “Attacking me?” She straightened and swept the hair from her eyes. “I’ve been in situations far worse than this; I know how to handle myself. And besides, sometimes I like my men to be aggressive.”

Rod stiffened, remembering how they had only talked that night they’d met.

“You just can’t crash into my life.” Barbara said coldly. “Especially if you can’t control your temper.”

Rod felt stunned, his heart yammered. It was clear his surprise had failed. “You’re right. I just can’t crash into your life. Excuse, me,” he said and strode off. Barbara’s world was much too complex, and he needed to get away.

***

Chapter Twenty-Six

“Too Much”

July, 1957

US Army Airborne Training School

Fort Benning, GA

The attempt and not the deed, Confounds us.

—William Shakespeare,
Macbeth
, II:2

Three weeks later, Army Jump School seemed like a piece of cake compared to his experience at Stanford.

Plus, living and training at high altitude had its advantages at sea level, especially since cadets were in great shape anyway. The summer was already half over and the cadets were participating in one of their three-week summer training sessions.

They fared well at the Airborne training school, and soared past the physical fitness tests with record scores. Morning runs, sit-ups, pull-ups, leg-lifts, squat-thrusts, and even wind sprints in the hot Georgia humidity took their toll, but after downing salt pills and swigging gallons of water the cadets popped back up and amazed even their grizzled enlisted Army instructors.

It was the perfect place for Rod to put the memory of Barbara behind him.

The three-week summer course was designed to give the cadets an appreciation for Army parachute school. The course was shortened from its usual four weeks, as the cadets more than demonstrated their ability to keep up physically.

But what no one counted on was that despite the cadet’s arduous environment back at the Academy, their family-style meals, the converted barracks at Lowry, and the professional demeanor of the officers, it was a rude awakening when they were exposed to the stark life of a lowly Army trainee. They quickly realized how good they’d had it.

It was the middle of the night and Rod was deep asleep when the overhead light blinked on.

A voice yelled, “What the hell is this quarter doing on your chest of drawers?”

Rod stumbled out of bed. Sly struggled out of the top bunk as Rod groggily glanced at the clock on the dresser. It was 2:35 a.m.

An Army second lieutenant dressed in khaki uniform and mirror spit-shined boots stood with his hands on his hips in the middle of the room; Rod and Sly popped to attention. The lieutenant picked up the quarter off the dresser and held it high in the air. “Whose money is this?”

Rod stuck out his fist. “Mine, sir.”

“Don’t you know I could have snuck in your room and stolen this money? Where’s your sense of security, cadet?”

“Sir, I do not know,” Rod said, astonished that anyone would care about a quarter.

“Neither do I.” The lieutenant slammed the quarter on the furniture. “Secure this. I’d better not catch you slacking off anymore, you hear me?”

“Yes, sir,” Rod and Sly said in unison.

“You cadets come down here with an attitude problem, thinking you can blow us out of the water. Well, you haven’t even jumped out of a plane yet, you damn legs. You’re nothing but a bunch of arrogant college boys.” They’d learned that “legs” was a derogatory term used to describe poor SOBs who had never jumped out of a perfectly good airplane.

The lieutenant’s voice drifted from the hallway. “If I catch you again, you’ll be serving fireguard the rest of your life! Now secure your personal items, legs.”

Sly shot a glance at Rod, unimpressed at the officer’s attempt to demean them. They waited until they could hear the officer open another sleeping cadet’s room, then they bent over in laughter.

“I could have stolen this,” Sly mimicked. “Go ahead and take it, GI—it would have been worth it to not be woken up.” He swept the quarter into his drawer and climbed to the top bunk. “Geez, these guys have a chip on their shoulders.”

“I served fireguard last week,” Rod said. “Two hours of trying to stay awake, watching for fire in the hallway. What a waste of time.” He flicked off the light and found his way to the lower bunk. “Whoever would have thought that I would miss the Academy?”

“Yeah,” Sly said, turning in his bed. “At least they treat you like adults.”

Rod thought back to some of the idiotic stuff the AOCs had ordered them to do, such as the disparate uniform formations during BCT and the 120 hours of marching back and forth he had done as punishment. “I’m not sure about that. Maybe we don’t know any better and we’re growing used to it.”

“Yeah,” Sly’s voice was slurred. “Good night.”

Rod lay awake for some time, thinking about what he had just said. Maybe things weren’t all that different between the Army and the Air Force—maybe it was just that they had gotten used to their own system, and it was just as bad as the Army’s but they didn’t know it. He snorted and pulled his sheet up. No way.

O O O

Dressed in a uniform of khakis, jump boots, and a combat helmet, the Airborne Chaplain stood in front of the cadets. Rod and his classmates sat on a green wooden bleacher, dressed in identical gear. The week of learning PLFs—parachute landing falls—getting in shape, training to jump and count, then check their chutes, was about to come to a head. Their first jump was scheduled in twenty minutes.

Songs blared from speakers set behind them: “Ain’t Gonna Jump No More”; “My Girl, She Done Run Off with a Leg”; “Say Hi to that Big Chute in the Sky.” The Airborne Chaplain led them in a prayer, then looked solemnly around.

“Men, brevet Airborne Rangers, I have one last, important lesson for you. After you jump and you look up into that big blue airborne sky, what should you see?”

“Your chute, Airborne Chaplain!” they yelled in unison.

“And what do you do if you don’t see it?”

“Pull the emergency chute, Airborne Chaplain!”

“And what do you do if you don’t see the emergency chute?”

No one spoke. A low murmuring ran across the bleachers, as if they had just realized that there was only one backup parachute.

“Just what I thought,” the Airborne Chaplain said grimly. “Thank God Almighty I could give you this one last piece of advice.” He leaped to attention and slapped his hands on his hips. “Men, if your emergency chute fails, put your hands on your hips and cross your legs, like this.” He wrapped his right leg in front of his left, then kept silent.

No one spoke. The silence grew deafening.

Two minutes passed and the tension mounted. The cadets exchanged glances. Sly squirmed in his seat, unable to keep it in.

Finally, Sly blurted out, “Airborne Chaplain! Why do you assume that position?”

“So we can screw you out of the ground like a corkscrew, son.”

***