Chapter 20: Motivation
Faced with a new squad leader who leads by fear and intimidation, one cadet's darkest secret will be revealed.
True to her word, Ariah gave her father a smart salute when she found him and the rest of her family. Her arms throbbed from the vaccinations and she discovered there were tears trickling down her face when she tried to say goodbye. She turned to her dad and hugged him tightly.
“Just remember, ‘I can!’” he reminded her. “You can do it! I love you, honey, and your mother is so very proud of you. I know it in my heart.” Choking up slightly, he looked down at his daughter’s face, her porcelain complexion turning red from the tears. “I’m proud of you too. I love you, and you can come home anytime you want. Call us and I’ll come get you. I promise.”
They hugged each other tightly as he stroked his daughter’s short hair for a moment. Ariah pulled away reluctantly, unable to speak for fear of breaking down. She wiped her face, turned to wave at her family one last time, and purposefully strode into Cochrane Hall.
Once her eyes had adjusted to the dim lights of the corridor, Ariah realized that she had no idea where she was. She could not even identify any of the room numbers as she half-jogged, ‘chopping’ as the Academy called it, down the middle of the corridor with her eyes locked forward ‘in the boat’ as required of a plebe.
Ahead, a few other plebes were running along too, but there was no one to offer assistance. Unbeknownst to them, Cochrane Hall encompassed over four miles of corridors and passageways. It was the largest single dormitory at any university on the continent.
‘I’m going to have to look at door sometime, or I’ll run all night,’ she thought, almost panicking. She glanced at a door out of the corner of her eye. ‘There, 41-something. What does that mean? My room is 3142. How do I get there?’
She ran on aimlessly, feeling more and more helpless as she went. She ran through a passageway that seemed like a glass-encased covered bridge and then glanced at another door. ‘2-1? Damn it! How did I get here? I must have passed 3-1, but I couldn’t have!’ Spinning on her heel, she turned and retraced her steps through the bridge-like passageway.
“Plebe, halt!” A deep voice rumbled through the hall. Sarah kept running. ‘Please, dear god,’ she thought, ‘don’t let it be me.’
“Plebe,” the voice bellowed again. “Halt!” This time there was no mistaking the command. She stopped, her heart pounding and turned to face the firstie.
“What’s your alpha code?” he demanded.
“802863,” she gasped, “sir.”
“What’s your squadron, flight and squad?” He was yelling directly in her face now.
Ariah tried not to shrink back from the verbal barrage. “Training Squadron 47, Alpha Flight, Second squad, sir,” she answered back, her back ramrod-straight and her eyes locked dead ahead. ‘Please,’ she prayed, ‘don’t ask me anything else. That’s all I know.’
Satisfied, he backed off and became calm. “Where’re you headed?”
“Room 3142, sir.”
“You’re on the wrong side of Cochrane,” he began. “You’re not really supposed to use this passageway because of the commandant’s offices, but go ahead and cut across here.” He pointed her toward two pairs of closed double doors. “Just walk across the carpeted area and then cross the Rotunda to the First Wing’s side of the Hall. Section 3-1 is over there.”
Ariah took off, silently thanking him. In a moment she was running across a patterned marble floor with a broad staircase rising to her right and immense bronze doors on her left, the Rotunda. Ahead, she recognized Vanessa Macgruder – one of her suitemates – ahead of her. Obviously lost as well, Ariah fought the urge to call out to the other plebe and quickened her pace to catch up with Macgruder.
“Plebes, halt!” Someone from an office to the left stepped out as they obeyed the order. “Haven’t you been told not to chop in front of the Main Office?”
“No sir,” the pair of cadets called out in unison, fear evident in their voices.
“Well, I’m telling you,” he paused, and then sighed. “Where are you headed?”
“Three-one-four-two, sir,” Ariah replied.
“You’re almost there. Take a left at the next shaft.”
The pair looked confused, “Shaft, sir?” Vanessa asked.
“Uh…passageway.”
“Oh, yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” Ariah said, gratefully.
The officer’s eyes turned cold. “Don’t thank me, plebe,” he answered with disgust.
They walked away, breathing hard, turned at the next hallway, or shaft, and resumed their chopping. They found their rooms a few seconds later and sagged against the cold walls of the corridor. Emotionally and physically exhausted, tears began to well up in Ariah’s eyes.
‘Give me a break,’ Vanessa thought, disgusted. ‘I’ve got a wimp for a suitemate!’ “Stop it right now!” she snapped. “That’s exactly what they want us to do, cry and carry on. They think we can’t handle the pressure, but we’re going to.” Ariah stared at her, stunned by the blonde’s forcefulness.
“Look,” Vanessa said, letting out a long sigh before she continued more gently. “Dry your eyes. There’s probably much worse to come.”
* * *
The squad marched to their table in the wardroom and stowed their covers on the built-in shelf underneath their chairs. Dinner that evening was “Surf and Turf,” a true delicacy, but Carmichael was not very hungry. The Academy and its ceaseless myriad of rules and regulations had become all too real. Already, the walls of Cochrane Hall, painted in a calming institutional eggshell –white were beginning to feel remarkably similar to the dull gray walls of his old prison cell.
He sat at attention, eyes in the boat, at a table with his nine other squad mates, including Seth McClusky, Ariah, and Samantha von Ortman. Four firsties sat at the table as well, including their squad leader, Sebastian Nolte. The dark-haired son of an Admiral, Nolte and his three compatriots had been yelling constantly since entering the hall after the Induction Ceremony, leaving their voices raspy and the plebes’ nerves on end.
A wardroom steward delivered the meal to the table on a large gray metal tray. He held it above Seth and Ariah’s heads as Nolte bellowed at them. “Take the food from the server and get it on the table! Now!” The plebes turned around in their chairs and began lifting the dishes off the tray. They set them in the middle of the table while Nolte roared at Carmichael. “Get the shovels in that chow and get it down here! Fast! Let’s get a move on, people. What’s the problem, here?”
For a moment, J.J. was petrified, frozen by the verbal barrage coming from the end of the table. Nolte was mean, according to the scuttlebutt around the academy. Thus far, Carmichael had to admit, the rumors seemed completely true. Other rumors had pinned the cold-eyed squad leader as an expert in saving his own ass and brown-nosing his superiors.
During Nolte’s plebe year, one upperclassman had whispered earlier, his father had gotten Nolte’s squad and company commander reassigned after giving the cadet a grade of ‘unsatisfactory’ on a fitness report. Now, straining his wounded vocal cords to bark at his squad, Nolte’s Adam’s apple protruded from his long neck like a mogul on a ski slope.
“Listen up, people!” Nolte continued, his voice dripping with disdain. “No plebes eat until all upperclassmen have been served. The sooner you get us the food, the sooner you will eat. I want that stuff off those trays and on my plate ASAP, is that understood?”
“Yes sir,” the plebes answered in unison like whipped puppies. Satisfied, Nolte leaned back in his chair, a privilege not allowed to the plebes who had to remain sitting ramrod straight.
“So, Miss Richards,” continued Nolte, his voice lowering to a more normal volume. “Tell me, were you in your boyfriend’s podunk before you came to the Academy?” The other upperclassmen snickered.
Ariah dropped her fork, looking confused and shocked. “Excuse me, sir?”
“Are you hard of hearing, Cadet Richards? I asked if you were in your boyfriend’s Podunk before coming to the Academy.”
‘What the hell was a Podunk?’ Richards asked herself. The comment implied sexual content. 'Was Nolte trying to be funny, or was he trying to rattle the squad again?' She wanted to show him she could play along as well as anyone, but she was too scared to think of a witty retort. Instinct kicked in, and remembering one of the five basic responses they had been taught, she simply replied, “I’ll find out, sir.”
Nolte eyed her carefully before turning his attention to Samantha. “How about you, Mr. McClusky, were you in your girlfriend’s Podunk last night?”
Without missing a beat, the Bostonian played along.
“Hell, yes sir,” he replied enthusiastically. “I wore it out!” The upperclassmen lost their composure and broke out in laughter.
“—and you, Cadet von Ortman?” Nolte queried as he took another bite of his steak.
“No, sir. But, he was in mine,” Samantha responded completely unrattled. Nolte almost choked on a piece of steak as the upperclassmen burst into laughter again.
“A Podunk is a hometown,” Nolte said between coughs as the other upperclassmen struggled to regain their composure. “Check you Recruit Guides.”
Clearly, Carmichael thought, the upperclassmen must have wanted to see how the squad would react to a seemingly personal question. He knew with a certainty that this was only the first of many similar tests of their personal limits. It seemed Seth and Samantha could obviously play along, but Ariah appeared naïve. Several other members of the squad had also appeared uncomfortable with Nolte’s line of questioning as well.
The fact that at some point Nolte would force him to divulge some detail of his private life gnawed at him. The last thing he wanted was for the other cadets to learn how he gotten here.
Fear rendered Carmichael’s appetite non-existent. What was the line they were supposed to use to ask to be excused? He couldn’t remember. Request permission to something. To be excused? To push off? To shove off! That was it, he thought gratefully.
“Sir,” he said, “request permission to shove off?” Carmichael cautiously leaned over his plate and looked over at Cadet Nolte. Nolte’s expression froze mid-chew.
“Mister Carmichael,” he said icily. “Did you stick your arm out so I could call on you? You don’t just blurt out whatever you feel like saying without receiving permission first. You wait until you are called on. In addition, you are to request permission from the senior man at the table, who in this case, happens to be Cadet Vernon, the company executive officer. Is that understood?”
“Yes sir,” he responded loudly, feigning strength in his voice and praying to get out of the wardroom without further confrontation. He stuck out his arm with a balled fist at its end and looked at the executive officer.
“Keep your eyes in the boat, Mister Carmichael, until you are called upon,” Nolte shouted. Carmichael snapped his head forward.
“Now, what is it, Mister Carmichael,” Nolte asked clearly enjoying the plebe’s suffering.
“Request permission to shove off, sir.”
Nolte cast a quick glance at the company XO, who nodded. “Yeah, go on! Get out of here!”
Carmichael pushed his chair back, stood up and nervously retrieved his cover from the platform beneath his chair. As he turned to leave the wardroom, Nolte ordered him to halt. J.J. froze.
“Mister Carmichael, what is the menu for the morning meal?” The plebes had been given menus for the rest of the week and been told not to leave one meal without knowing the menu for the next. He honestly thought they wouldn’t expect them to know the menus tonight, but this tyrant did. He read it, but had not committed it to memory. Slowly, he turned to face the squad leader.
“I, I’ll find out, sir.” He said trying not to cringe at the onslaught that was sure to follow.
“What?!” Nolte exploded. “Don’t you know you are supposed to know the next meal before leaving the table?” The upperclassmen stood up and leaned over the table, his balled fists straddling his plate.
“Yes sir,” Carmichael answered quietly, staring at the floor.
“Ahh,” Nolte chided, his dark eyes bored in on Carmichael’s face. “Let’s get something straight right here, right now, Mister Carmichael. I don’t like you here. I don’t like convicted criminals in my school.” Carmichael’s eyes narrowed as he focused on Nolte’s face.
“Oh, that’s right plebe, I’ve read your personnel record. You very presence here is a disgrace to the Academy, so I’m going to be on your ass every waking minute. Don’t let me catch you not knowing anything again, or I’ll burn you bad.”
Carmichael felt the eyes of everyone at the table fixate on him as he bit back the urge to shout back at him. “Oh, don’t worry though plebe,” Nolte continued. “If my plan works, you’re gonna be long gone before I graduate. Is that clear enough for you?”
Marvelous, J.J. thought. How am I supposed to answer that? “Yes, sir,” he finally said, his voice trembling with anger. Nolte cast him a shark-like grin and turned to face the rest of the dumbfounded plebes.
“Does anyone want to help Mister Carmichael out?” No one raised their hands. Nolte looked around at all of them, but the plebes averted their eyes. “None of you know the menu for morning meal?” Still, no answer came. “I don’t believe this! My own squad. Well, it appears you are off the hook for now, Carmichael, since none of your classmates know it either. Now get out of my sight, plebe!”
Deeply shaken by Nolte’s words, Carmichael left the wardroom briskly, understanding the squad leader’s potential to make his life even more absolutely miserable than it already had become. Nolte’s words echoed repeatedly through his mind as he marched down the empty corridor to his room.
“I don’t like convicted criminals in my school …” Anger coursed though his veins. “If my plan works, you’re gonna be long gone before I graduate.”
He had known he would encounter opposition based on his past, Nagumo had warned him as much. He just hadn’t expected it to emerge quite so soon. Now, the entire squad and likely the entire academy knew about his secret. Furious, he slammed his fist against the door to his quarters, the sound of flesh on metal echoed through the abandoned passageway.
“You’re wrong, Mr. Nolte,” he whispered to himself. “Nobody is going to run me out of this place, especially you. I’ll be here long after you graduate, and I’m going to make you eat those words.”
“In fact,” he added as a sneer crossed his lips, “I’ll personally shove ‘em right down your throat.”
(No, seriously, I'm just teasing you a bit, it didn't pull me out of the story at all and you described the weather perfectly, it was very vivid.)
Definitely gives a sense of the momentousness of the occasion and the ambivalence some of them feel.
