“Head up, chin down. Make a forty-five with those feet!”
Catie made minor adjustments, wondering how the instructor was finding fault with her stance.
“Remember, you’ll make mistakes, and if you don’t, they’ll call a few out anyway,” she remembered her Uncle Blake telling her.
Finally, the instructor moved on. It took five minutes before they had dressed everyone in the square to their satisfaction.
“At-ease! Now, those of you who were late getting down here, give me twenty push-ups!” the sergeant major ordered.
About half the group dropped to the ground and started to do push-ups.
“Start over, count them off!”
“One . . . two . . .”
“The rest of you, eyes forward unless you want to join them!”
“Plebe Jones, get down and join them. And since Jones wants to join in, we need to start over. Jones, count them off!”
“One . . . two . . .”
Catie suppressed the urge to smile. “Smiling will get you in more trouble than anything. The instructors are not amused when you’re amused,” Liz had warned her.
“nineteen . . . twenty.”
“Alright, now that some of us are warmed up, let’s warm the rest of us up. One lap around the grounds.” The Academy dorms occupied a quad, so that meant 1600 meters.
Catie set off, adjusting her pace, so she was just behind the lead pack of Plebes. A few of the Plebes had torn off at a fast pace, far outpacing the main group. During the run, various NCOs yelled at the Plebes about their running style, mainly demanding that they keep their eyes forward as they ran.
As Catie rounded the last corner, she could see and hear the sergeant major yelling at the group that had led the way. “Is that what you think of your fellow Plebes! Just leave them behind? Well, I think you need to go and make sure they all make it. Move it!” He sent them on another lap. Catie was hoping he didn’t think her group had been too fast.
“No such luck,” Catie thought as the sergeant major yelled out. “While we’re waiting on the rest of your platoon to finish, we have time for some calisthenics!”
“Let’s see some push-ups! Give me twenty.”
“One,” an enterprising Plebe started the count. “Two . . . three . . .”
Another group of runners arrived to hear, “You are just in time to join us! Everyone, give me twenty crunches!”
“One . . . two . . .”
“Fifteen minutes, that is shameful!” the sergeant major yelled. “You have to be able to make that run in twelve minutes, ten minutes for the men. Fifteen minutes is pathetic. I do not allow pathetic Plebes to graduate. Do you hear me!”
“Yes, Sergeant Major,” rang out with a few ‘Yes, sirs’ mixed in.
“Do not call me sir. Do I look like an officer to you? It is, ‘Yes, Sergeant Major!’”
“Yes, Sergeant Major!”
“Now, you have ten minutes to get to your room, shower, and change into your day uniform, and make it to the mess hall! Move!”
◆ ◆ ◆
Joanie arrived at their room just after Catie.
“Joanie, lay out your uniform while I shower.” Catie put her shipsuit into the laundry hamper.
“You’d better not take too long!” Joanie whined.
“Two minutes, max!” Catie slammed the door to their bathroom.
Two and a half minutes later, Catie emerged wearing a robe. “Your turn. Don’t waste time.”
“I won’t. I do not want to be late.”
Catie put on her uniform. It was a simple two-piece suit. Slacks, a white blouse, and a blue jacket to match the slacks. A belt with a brass buckle, no insignia, just a name badge. She was putting on her shoes when Joanie came out.
“Did you wash your hair?” Joanie asked.
“Yes.”
“How did you get it dry?”
“I used the hairdryer.”
“Where is it?”
Catie showed Joanie the hairdryer.
“I’ve never seen one like that; how does it work?”
“You pull it from the wall, put it over your head, make sure all your hair is inside, and these earmuff things are on your ears. Then you turn it on; your hair’s dry in thirty seconds.”
“How can it work that fast, will it ruin my hair?” Joanie asked as she switched it on.
“No,” Catie mouthed as Joanie waited the thirty seconds.
“That is amazing,” Joanie said as she pulled the bag off of her head. “How does it work?”
“It takes the air pressure down to a few ounces. Air comes in here in the front and is pulled out in the back. With the low pressure, the water just evaporates off your hair.”
“Thanks, should I put my hair up like yours?”
“Definitely. Just put it in a ponytail then wrap it up like this,” Catie explained as she mimicked the moves. “It’s supposed to be above your collar and tight to your head so that you could slip a helmet over your head.”
“How do you know about that and about the hairdryer?”
“I lived on Delphi Station for a few months. Someone up there showed me,” Catie lied. It was a white lie, she did live on Delphi station, and someone, ADI, had told her how to use the hairdryer.
Catie helped Joanie get into her uniform, and then they left their room, walking quickly toward the exit.
“Hair, up,” Catie suggested to one of the women they passed.
“How?”
Catie made motions over her head, showing how to tie the bun as she hurried on.
“Gawd, I thought I was going to die,” a pair in front of Catie and Joanie said.
“I know. I don’t know how I’m going to run that thing in twelve minutes,” the other girl said.
The Plebes bunched up at the entrance to the mess hall as they narrowed down to file in.
“No talking,” Catie suggested quietly.
The suggestion trickled back, and the talking quieted down. It also trickled forward, but not fast enough.
“What do we have here? A bunch of Chatty Cathies!” the sergeant major yelled. “Move to the side!” he segmented off the line at where he felt the chatter had been going on. Those Plebes moved to the side and stood watching the
