Hatcher looked out the window. The OD was charging across the yard through the snow toward the dormitory.
‘Oh shit!’ Hatcher said.
He put the chair back and rushed around the room, straightening it up, stacking up papers and arranging them on the corner of the desk. He threw the clothes in the closet and closed the door.
‘What d’you think you’re doin’, maggot?’ Cody demanded.
‘The OD’s on his way over here,’ Hatcher said. ‘If he catches you drunk in your room, you’re gone, sir.’
‘S’be it,’ Cody replied drunkenly. ‘Teach ‘em all.’
‘All who, sir?’
‘Mm’ your own business.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Hatcher heard the front door of the dorm open and close.
‘He’s on his way up here,’ Hatcher said in a panic.
‘Who’re we talkin ‘bout?’
‘The fucking OD, sir.’
‘Up the OD’s —‘ Hatcher grabbed Cody and steered him toward the bathroom. ‘What the hell’re --‘
Hatcher shoved him in the bathroom and turned on the shower. He went back in the room and pulled the door shut. Then he went to Cody’s closet and got out a pair of shoes and a shoeshine kit. He could hear the officer of the day approaching the room. He started frantically shining the shoes as the OD pounded on the door.
‘Mr. Cody?’
Hatcher opened the door.
‘What’re you doing in here, maggot?’ the OD demanded, staring at Hatcher.
Hatcher held up a shoe and a rag.
‘Doing Mr Cody’s shoes, sir.’
‘Where’s Cody?’ the OD demanded, brushing past Hatcher and entering the room. From behind him, Hatcher looked down at the foot of the bed. A. capped bottle of vodka was sitting on the floor. Hatcher moved as cautiously as he could to the foot of the bed and dropped the shoe, waiting until it hit the floor and at the same moment kicking the bottle under the bed.
The OD whirled and Hatcher popped to attention. ‘Sorry, sir,’ he stammered. ‘I dropped the shoe.’
At that moment the door opened and Cody’s dripping head peered around its edge. He had a towel wrapped around his shoulders.
‘What’s going on?’ he asked sternly.
‘Sounded like a riot in here, Cody,’ the OD answered.
‘The radio,’ Cody said. ‘I turned it off. Get back on those shoes, maggot.’ He slammed the bathroom door shut.
‘Yes, sir!’
The OD stalked out of the room. ‘Just keep it down,’ he said as he left.
Cody came out of the bathroom. The towel was still wrapped around his shoulders and his hair was dripping wet. Water had splashed on his tunic. He walked into the room and looked around, got down on his hands and knees and reached under the bed to get the bottle of vodka. He sat on the floor, leaning on the bed, uncapped the bottle and started to laugh.
‘That was very quick thinkin’, maggot, very resourceful, indeed. Have a drink.’
‘I don’t think—’
‘S’down and have a damn drink, maggot,’ Cody said with a flourish and held the bottle toward him. Hatcher sat beside him on the floor, took a swig, and shuddered.
‘You’re a real case, maggot,’ Cody said, almost sneering. ‘I been watching you. You got a funny kinda attitude. What d’you call that, street ethics?’
‘I suppose so.’
‘You suppose so,
‘Sir.’
‘Right.’ He took another swig and handed the bottle back to Hatcher. ‘M’old man’s a soldier’s soldier, maggot. E’body loves Buff’lo Bill Cody.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Well, shit,’ Cody said with a vague wave of his arm. He stared down at the vodka bottle. ‘Think I’ll ever make adm’ral, maggot?’
Hatcher took another swallow of vodka and handed it back to Cody. ‘Is that what you want to be, sir?’
‘Isn’t that what this’s all about? This is the U.S. Naval Academy, maggot. We’re all suppos’ t’be admirals before we retire, didn’t y’know that. Isn’t that why you’re here? You jus’ tryin’ to get recest — respect — respectable?’ He
