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Jan’s
plan to escape simply by jogging beside and coaching her:   “Keep your arms still, new cadet;”   “Take deep breaths, in your nose and out
your mouth;”   “Keep your eyes up,
new cadet;” “Don't cross your arms in front of your body;”   “Keep your upper body as still as
possible;”   “Feel the rhythm of the
run;”   “Pace yourself—keep cadence
in your head, new cadet.”  
    My
first West Point class: Running 101.

 
    The Company had been dismissed when
Jan returned to The Plain.   She
pinged to the barracks.   Speed
walking at four times the normal pace while keeping arms straight at the sides
and body erect caused many shin splints in new cadets.   Jan could already feel the effects of
this unnatural gait upon her leg, buttocks and arm muscles.
    She entered the barracks, immediately
turned right until she came to a wall, then turned
left and pinged up the first set of stairs lifting her arms parallel to the
ground. “Squaring off,” another plebe requirement, meant turning at every corner
of the stairwells or rooms.   She
entered the hallway at the fourth floor, pinging along the wall to her room.
    “Miss, HALT!”   She recognized Jackson’s voice and
stopped immediately.   He approached
and stood only inches from her face.   “I don’t tolerate Stragglers in my platoon.”   She wished he had brushed his
teeth.   “If you fall out of another
run, you will be on my remedial running program.”   He leaned in closer, now only about one
inch from her face.   “Do you
understand me, Miss Wishart ?”  
    “Yes, Sir.”  
    “Good.   You now have five minutes to shower,
change and stand tall at my breakfast formation.”   He lowered his voice, “I suggest you get your fat ass in gear.”
    “Yes, Sir.”   At
least I don’t have camel breath.   She
continued pinging toward her room.  

 
    She was ten minutes late to
formation.   Fortunately, Cadet
Jackson was hazing someone in the First Squad.   But Dogety stood in front of the last man in the Fourth Squad line until Jan fell in next
to him.  
    “ Hambin ,
what’s the menu for breakfast?”   Dogety asked her squad mate while staring at Jan.
    “Sir, for breakfast we are having
French toast with syrup, sausage links, home fries, hard boiled eggs, fresh
fruit, orange juice and coffee.”   New Cadet Hambin seemed the most squared away
so far in Fourth Squad.
    Dogety stepped in front of Jan, looking her over from cap to shoes.   “ Wishart , look
down at your gig line.”  
    A gig line ran all the way down a
cadet’s torso from neck to crotch.   The buttoned edge of the shirt was supposed to line up with the outer
edge of the belt buckle and the outer edge of the fly of the pants, creating
one straight line from top to bottom.
    Jan dropped her head but didn’t see
the problem.   It looked fairly
straight to her.   She lifted her
face back up.            
    “Do you see what I’m talking
about?”   Dogety asked.
    “No, Sir.”
    “ Wishart ,
your shirt is puffed out.   It
doesn’t lie flat.”
    “Yes, Sir.”   It
might have to do with boobs.
    “I want you to fix it,” he
commanded.  
    Right
now?  
    “Did you hear me, Wishart ?”
    “Yes, Sir.”   Jan began to tuck her olive drab (OD)
fatigue shirt in her pants, more than it already was.   She fiddled with it while Dogety remained facing her.  
    Then Jackson walked over. “What’s
going on here?”  
    “ Wishart is
straightening her gig line,” Dogety explained.   Jackson walked around to her backside.
    “Sam, have you seen this
dress-off?”   Jackson asked.   “It looks like mashed potatoes.”
    Jan stared at Dogety while he responded, “I was getting to that, Cadet Jackson.”   He turned his focus back to Jan, “Are
you done, Miss Wishart ?”  
    “She can’t possibly be done.   Her dress-off is non-existent,” Jackson
barked.   “ Hambin and Wishart , left face!” They both