BDU, she’d been handed. She shrugged
out of her T-shirt and jeans and with an arm shielding the contraband earrings, she slipped on the new cotton uniform and
put her dog tags around her neck. She was now not Carly Sinclair, but 89236108. Flipping her long ponytail out of her collar,
she glanced across the room and glimpsed Lorelle Dawson, buttoning her shirt.
Just before Carly waved, she caught herself. She’d almost done it again, called attention to herself. Lorelle’s eyes connected
with hers, and it was enough. According to the initial entry training or IET handbook, each recruit would be assigned to a
platoon of fifty, which was part of a company four platoons strong. So Lorelle would be at least within the same company of
two hundred. Probably not the same platoon—that would be too much to ask. Carly sighed. Carly had entered the base gate after
nine o’clock that morning, just an hour before, but the day seemed long already.
“I know what you did with those earrings, rich witch.” Alex-somebody had slipped up beside Carly.
Carly gave her a sideways glance. Her self-appointed adversary was tall, thin, olive-skinned, reasonably pretty, but really
young-looking. Carly bet that the girl was just guessing about her earrings, playing mind games for some weird and unknown
reason. Carly turned her back and hefted her heavy khaki-green duffel of possessions. She took her place at the door, ready
to march to the next station. Alexa or whatever her name was stuck close as a burr. Carly felt like telling the girl to get
a life. What was with her?
Late in the evening of the second day at the reception hall, Carly and her platoon finally finished all the shots, physical
exams, forms that had to be filled out exactly right, and the military haircuts. Carly hadn’t slept much in the cramped quarters
in a nearby reception barracks. She needed a shower and a good night’s rest, but she had no way of knowing whether she would
be allowed either of the two luxuries. The army was making her completely dependent on those in command and methodically stripping
her down to the bare minimums of life.
Again, she fingered the tight short braid at the back of her neck. Earlier, under cover of the buzzing clippers, the military
barber had whispered that he loved long hair on a woman and that he hated to cut hers. Then with one click of his scissors,
he’d cut away nearly a lifetime of growth. But he’d left her hair long enough to pull into a tight braid that just cleared
her collar.
The other female recruits had come out with short bobs similar to what her great-grandmother Chloe still wore. Their male
counterparts came out bald, looking like newly hatched chicks. With a surreptitious but warm glance, Carly had silently thanked
the barber who’d left her a vestige of what made her feel like herself. Now she let her hand fall. She didn’t want any of
the DIs that hovered to note that some of her hair, something of herself, had been left to her.
Then they were processed and ready to officially start training. Carly’s platoon DI shouted and all fifty recruits jumped
to their feet and lined up to leave the reception hall. Just before Carly left, she glanced back quickly to say a silent good-bye
to Lorelle. Their gazes met and then Carly was outside in the muggy darkness. If the base were a normal place in the universe,
she would assume the recruits would be transported to their permanent barracks for a good night’s sleep. But only two days
in the army had taught her to assume nothing.
Their drill instructor began shouting rapid orders. Carly tried to catch them all but gave up, deciding just to watch and
mimic the other recruits. The shouting overwhelmed her senses, and she couldn’t process the words. DIs evidently had only
one volume; their consistent decibel level was close to that of a heavy metal concert.
The DI started shouting numbers. One by one, recruits grabbed
out of her T-shirt and jeans and with an arm shielding the contraband earrings, she slipped on the new cotton uniform and
put her dog tags around her neck. She was now not Carly Sinclair, but 89236108. Flipping her long ponytail out of her collar,
she glanced across the room and glimpsed Lorelle Dawson, buttoning her shirt.
Just before Carly waved, she caught herself. She’d almost done it again, called attention to herself. Lorelle’s eyes connected
with hers, and it was enough. According to the initial entry training or IET handbook, each recruit would be assigned to a
platoon of fifty, which was part of a company four platoons strong. So Lorelle would be at least within the same company of
two hundred. Probably not the same platoon—that would be too much to ask. Carly sighed. Carly had entered the base gate after
nine o’clock that morning, just an hour before, but the day seemed long already.
“I know what you did with those earrings, rich witch.” Alex-somebody had slipped up beside Carly.
Carly gave her a sideways glance. Her self-appointed adversary was tall, thin, olive-skinned, reasonably pretty, but really
young-looking. Carly bet that the girl was just guessing about her earrings, playing mind games for some weird and unknown
reason. Carly turned her back and hefted her heavy khaki-green duffel of possessions. She took her place at the door, ready
to march to the next station. Alexa or whatever her name was stuck close as a burr. Carly felt like telling the girl to get
a life. What was with her?
Late in the evening of the second day at the reception hall, Carly and her platoon finally finished all the shots, physical
exams, forms that had to be filled out exactly right, and the military haircuts. Carly hadn’t slept much in the cramped quarters
in a nearby reception barracks. She needed a shower and a good night’s rest, but she had no way of knowing whether she would
be allowed either of the two luxuries. The army was making her completely dependent on those in command and methodically stripping
her down to the bare minimums of life.
Again, she fingered the tight short braid at the back of her neck. Earlier, under cover of the buzzing clippers, the military
barber had whispered that he loved long hair on a woman and that he hated to cut hers. Then with one click of his scissors,
he’d cut away nearly a lifetime of growth. But he’d left her hair long enough to pull into a tight braid that just cleared
her collar.
The other female recruits had come out with short bobs similar to what her great-grandmother Chloe still wore. Their male
counterparts came out bald, looking like newly hatched chicks. With a surreptitious but warm glance, Carly had silently thanked
the barber who’d left her a vestige of what made her feel like herself. Now she let her hand fall. She didn’t want any of
the DIs that hovered to note that some of her hair, something of herself, had been left to her.
Then they were processed and ready to officially start training. Carly’s platoon DI shouted and all fifty recruits jumped
to their feet and lined up to leave the reception hall. Just before Carly left, she glanced back quickly to say a silent good-bye
to Lorelle. Their gazes met and then Carly was outside in the muggy darkness. If the base were a normal place in the universe,
she would assume the recruits would be transported to their permanent barracks for a good night’s sleep. But only two days
in the army had taught her to assume nothing.
Their drill instructor began shouting rapid orders. Carly tried to catch them all but gave up, deciding just to watch and
mimic the other recruits. The shouting overwhelmed her senses, and she couldn’t process the words. DIs evidently had only
one volume; their consistent decibel level was close to that of a heavy metal concert.
The DI started shouting numbers. One by one, recruits grabbed
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