Johansson pushed Lenz’s head down and aside, then wiped blood from his chin. “Motherfucker…!” he muttered, then punched Lenz once, hard, on the back of his neck, and the younger boy went down. The flight leader turned, knelt on Lenz’s back, and raised a fist. “I’m gonna waste you, you piece of…!”
Suddenly he felt a boot strike his chest, and he stumbled back off the young cadet. Unhurt but confused, he looked around to find where the blow had come from…and he found Katelyn VanWie standing between him and Lenz, jumping slightly from foot to foot, her hands raised defensively…her hands, those hands, showing just four fingers on each hand. “Hey!” he shouted, getting to his feet. “You butt out, freak!”
“It’s over,” Katelyn said. “I apologize for Doug, and it won’t happen again.”
“I’m gonna kick his ass!” Johansson said. He took one of the other flight leaders by the arm and pushed him toward Katelyn. “Keep the freak away from me while I teach this a-hole not to mess with Bravo Flight.”
It was obvious the second cadet, a younger kid named Swanson, didn’t want to have anything to do with this, but he put up his hands and stood in front of Katelyn, determined to keep her away from his flight leader until the squadron commander came back. As he approached Katelyn, though, all he could look at was those hands and the weirdness of what looked like a finger in place of her thumbs…
…and he didn’t see her left leg sweep out and trip him. Swanson landed hard on his back and decided he was going to stay right there — he’d had enough of the girl with the ET fingers already…
“What is going on over here?” Captain Harlow thundered from several yards away.
“Group, ten-hut!” Katelyn shouted. She snapped to attention but kept her eyes on the flight leader, making sure he didn’t make a move toward her.
“I said, what’s going on here?” Harlow shouted again. “VanWie, did I see you just trip that cadet?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Why?”
“Cadets Swanson and Johansson wanted a demonstration of muay thai, sir.”
“‘Muay thai?’ What’s that?”
“Kickboxing, sir.”
“Is that true, Swanson?”
The second cadet had just gotten to his feet, trying to get to attention while rubbing the back of his head. “Uh, I…yes, sir…I mean…”
“Johansson, what’s going on here?” Harlow demanded. He noticed the dust and dirt on Lenz’s uniform and the cut on Johansson’s chin — the only person here not dirty or bloody was VanWie, by far the smallest kid in this group. “Well?”
“We’re just…playing around, sir,” Johansson said. “We were demoing some martial arts moves.”
“I thought I told you guys to police this area and get ready to move out,” Harlow said. “I only see Delta out there. Now get busy.” The cadets saluted and ran off. “VanWie.” Katelyn trotted back and stood at attention. “Okay, Lieutenant, tell me what really happened.”
“It’s just like Lieutenant Johansson said, sir.”
“You don’t think I saw what happened, Lieutenant? Do you think I’m blind? Cadet Lenz attacked and struck Johansson, he defended himself and was preparing to hit back, you stepped in and kicked him, then stepped in between him and Lenz and knocked over Swanson. That makes you and Lenz the instigators and liable for disciplinary action. Now do you mind telling me what happened?”
“It was a misunderstanding, sir, that’s all.”
“A ‘misunderstanding?’ Explain.”
“Cadet Lenz misunderstood a comment made and overreacted. It was a failure in leadership on my part, so I’m responsible. If there’s any disciplinary action, it should be directed at myself.”
“I’ll be the judge of that, Lieutenant. What comment was made?” Katelyn remained silent. “I asked you a question, Lieutenant.”
“I’d rather not say, sir.”
Harlow stepped back, crossed his arms, and took a breath. This was not the first time he’d heard about such comments, but it was the first time he’d ever seen VanWie react to it.
React, hell…Katelyn kicked his ass. Johansson easily had twenty-five pounds on her, and she made it look easy. As much as Johansson probably deserved it, the use of physical force instead of ignoring or reporting such comments was a dangerous change that had to be nipped in the bud right away.
“Lieutenant…Katelyn, listen: I strongly advise you not to resort to violence to solve problems, even if a friend or colleague is in danger,” Harlow said. “Striking a fellow officer is not permitted, and you could face some serious repercussions no matter what the circumstances are; but more importantly, violence in the heat of emotion is the most dangerous and non-productive kind. It makes you weaker, not stronger. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’m saying this as your friend, Katelyn, not just your CO,” Harlow went on. “You’ve obviously got some martial arts skills, which I didn’t know you had. Nothing wrong with that, as long as it’s used for self-defense — otherwise, you should be smart, avoid confrontation, and notify the proper authorities first before things get out of hand, whether it’s myself, a teacher, your parents, or the police, if you’re in a situation where your friends or family are getting hurt.” Harlow could see Katelyn’s eyes briefly turn away when he mentioned her parents, but they quickly returned to his. “If you start acting like the enforcer, you turn into nothing but a bully. Am I making myself clear?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Was Johansson’s comments about your hands, Katelyn?”
He could see her eyebrows droop a bit under the brim of her fatigue cap, but she replied, “I’d rather not say, sir.”
“You know that hypoplastic thumb is one of the most common congenital birth defects of the limbs, don’t you?” Harlow asked. Katelyn had received special permission from the Air Force to join the Civil Air Patrol because she was born with bilateral hypoplastic thumb — missing thumbs from both hands. At the age of one year she had pollicization surgery to position her index fingers in place of her missing thumbs, so she only had four fingers on each hand. But the results were excellent: despite her handicap, Katelyn was an accomplished student, pianist, typist, outdoorsperson, marksman — and apparently a martial artist, especially with her feet, which made perfect sense for someone with deformed hands. There was no skill or challenge in the Civil Air Patrol that she couldn’t master.
But her greatest skill wasn’t what she could do with only four fingers on each hand, but in the realm of leadership. Perhaps because most others expected less of the diminutive red-haired girl with the “ET hands,” she inspired others by her actions and distinguished herself as a natural-born leader. Her “Red Dog Delta” flight was consistently tops in required exams, dress and appearance, and field exercise performance in the squadron, and she often beat out flights all across the state that had far more physically capable members.
Yet she never stayed in the spotlight for very long, was annoyingly camera-shy, and had no other hobbies or interests outside her little northern Minnesota school other than Civil Air Patrol. She was a standout performer — especially so in an organization composed mostly of boys — but preferred not to stand out at all. It was the same with her parents: older, rather formal, bankers or some sort of financial consultants, always well-dressed but modestly so, not particularly demonstrative or affectionate. Like Katelyn, the parents looked as if they liked a challenge and craved a little action but preferred to be quiet and stay out of the spotlight.
“I did a little checking on the subject when you joined the squadron,” Harlow went on. “Although double hypoplastic thumb is rare, the condition is…”
“May I go back and supervise my flight, sir?” Katelyn interjected.
Harlow kicked himself for his insensitive babbling and nodded. “Just remember what we talked about, okay, Katelyn? Don’t try to be the hero. Being a good leader doesn’t mean kicking butt.”
“Yes, sir. May I go, sir?”
Harlow wasn’t sure how much he had said sunk in, but his clumsy way of trying to act empathetic toward her and her affliction probably ruined any chance he had of reaching her today. “Of course, Lieutenant. Carry on.”
“Thank you, sir,” she responded immediately, then saluted and headed off toward the clearing.
Katelyn had taken just a few steps when Harlow heard the beat of helicopter rotors approaching. He was a former Army finance officer and didn’t know very much about helicopters before joining the Civil Air Patrol, but he did know that wasn’t a Chinook — besides, it was arriving too early for their scheduled pickup, and it was in the
