Area Bird: Duty Doesn't Always Follow the Rules: Gray Girl Series, #2

By Susan I. Spieth

2020 Top Shelf Book Award Finalist!

5-star Readers' Favorite Review!

2015 KINDLE BOOK AWARD semi-finalist!

 

Change is coming to West Point!

 

One drives off a cliff. An alarming number of others resign. Something at the military academy is causing the unusually high attrition of women cadets. Jan Wishart aims to find out before she's the next statistic at West Point. Her second year at the formerly all male citadel should be the fun year. But when one friend shows signs of abuse and another friend suddenly resigns, Jan's coming of age year becomes anything but enjoyable. The culture of hazing and harassment must be addressed, but it's almost impossible to get results through the chain of command. In a closed academy environment, sometimes the best way to call attention to an issue is to leak it the press.

In order to fulfill her duty, Jan must break with tradition and the longstanding culture of the United States Military Academy. Yet not everything is as it seems. Once again Jan's worldview is about to be upended by the secrets of West Point.

 

The Gray Girl Series depicts authentic experiences of the early years when the United States Military Academy first admitted women cadets. Jan Wishart is both heroine and troublemaker. She and her friends sometimes create their own dilemmas but mostly solve the larger issues they face while at West Point in the early 1980's. Gray Girl is an ERIC HOFFER FIRST HORIZON WINNER and e-book fiction WINNER. Both Gray Girl and Area Bird are KINDLE BOOK AWARD semi-finalists. Area Bird has a 5-star review and is a SILVER AWARD WINNER from Readers' Favorite Book Award Contest. Witch Heart is a GOLD AWARD WINNER from Literary Titan Book Review and also earned a 5-star review and Honorable Mention from the Readers' Favorite Book Award Contest. Fall Out made the 2020 ERIC HOFFER GRAND PRIZE short list and First Runner-up for e-book fiction. It's also a 2020 finalist in the AMERICAN BOOK FEST, military fiction.
Susan I. Spieth is a 1985 graduate of the U.S. Military Academy and the author of the awarded Gray Girl Series. More information can be found at: SusanISpieth dot com (this platform will not allow actual website addresses)

• Language: English
• Publisher: Susan I. Spieth
• Release date: Jan 30, 2015
• ISBN: 9781386473220

Book preview

ONE

FREEDOM CAN REQUIRE that need to fight and die, but Amelia’s pristine freedom was her simple love to fly, from Boston down to St. John’s, then up and across to Shannon town. God love the little lassie, ‘cause she held the hammer down. (from A.E. by Cornelius F. Ives, 1976)

APRIL 3, 1983, 0530 hours

She almost didn’t see the car go over the cliff.  If it hadn’t been for the seat belt buckle pressing into her right butt cheek, she would have missed the flying automobile altogether.  The protruding safety feature, however, caused a literal pain in the ass.  She rotated her body, knocking her boyfriend off the back seat.  Fortunately, he landed on the hump in the middle of the floorboard, which prevented him from becoming completely stuck in the small space between the front and back seats.  With his face mushed up against the red vinyl, he asked, Um, what did I do to deserve that?

She sat upright rubbing her sore backside.  Sorry, she said, didn’t mean to wake you.

Oh, waking wasn’t the problem.  It was the excruciating fall after that.

You poor baby, she teased.

The sun began peeking over the horizon and a beam of light streamed through the windshield illuminating her face.  They had spent the night in his car, parked at the small scenic overlook at the apex of Storm King Highway.  They would have preferred a hotel, but everything from Highland Falls to Newburgh had been booked solid due to Plebe-Parent Weekend.  It was also the last day of spring leave for the upperclassmen.

Why don’t you join me down here in the ditch?  It’s kind of cozy.

No, thanks, I’ve already had one thing poking me this morning...

That’s when it happened.

They heard a revving engine followed by screaming wheels.  Jan turned her head toward the commotion just in time to see a flash of red whizz by.  In hindsight, she would remember the car seemed to glide by their parked car before soaring, in slow motion, up and over the low stone wall.  The screeching abruptly stopped as the vehicle disappeared from sight. 

Did you just see that? she screamed.

I saw something—what was it?

It was a car!  I think it was a red sports car!

He jumped up, sitting beside her on the back seat.  No!  Can’t be.

She opened the back door.  They scrambled out of his 1965 Mustang and raced to the front of the car.  They stood beside the stone wall, now with a gaping hole separating the scenic overlook from the dramatic drop-off. 

Several hundred feet below, smoldering on its side, with wheels still spinning, the red 1982 Chevy Camaro appeared to be resting.  Jan thought the car seemed relieved somehow.

Jesus, her boyfriend whispered.

Oh, my God! she replied just as the sun came fully over the horizon.  Then she remembered that it was Easter Sunday.

TWO

YEARLING, N.: A MEMBER of the Third Class; Also, Yuk. (A Glossary of Cadet Slang, Bugle Notes, 1981, p.294)

AUGUST 15, 1982, 1030 hours

Damn bells.

Mandatory chapel ended in the early 1970s, however the Cadet Chapel bells still awoke cadets on the only day they could sleep in.  The incessant ringing every Sunday morning continued to haze Jan Wishart long after plebe year.  Only now, in New South Barracks, she was even closer to the huge, annoying alarm clock.

How hard would it be to take a sledgehammer to those things?  Thoughts of sabotage circled her brain until she awoke enough to realize that the bells were the least of her worries.

She and her thousand or so classmates had recently returned to West Point at the start of Re-Orgy week.  Jan felt somewhat relieved that it was pronounced with a hard g as in great as opposed to a soft g as in general.  Short for re-organizational, it was the week before classes started when the entire Corps of Cadets returned from summer training and settled into their new rooms and companies.  The freshmen, called plebes at West Point, got their full dose of hazing for the first time during Re-Orgy week.   

Jan and her classmates were yearlings now, or sophomores to everyone who lived in the real world.  They just finished the best summer of their lives at Camp Buckner.  It was the best summer they would have as cadets but certainly not the best summer they might have attending the University of Michigan or Ohio State or Boston College.  

That was okay though.  They had signed up for this stuff.  They could still resign anytime until the first day of classes cow (junior) year and not have any commitment to the military.  Jan planned to use every bit of that time before making a definitive decision about staying.  If she showed up to the first class next year, however, she would be required to serve five years in the Army after graduation. 

That’s assuming she survived until then.  Since last year, Jan tried not to assume anything anymore. 

Jan, you awake?  Kristi McCarron poked her head in the door.

I am now, thanks to the bells.

Great, get dressed so we can grab brunch at the mess hall.  Kristi walked into the room and sat in Jan’s desk chair.  

Jan would have preferred to skip brunch.  As upperclassmen, they could always go to Tony’s Pizza in the cellar of Building One in Central Area or to Grant Hall for another version of pizza, or burgers.  They could even make the longer walk to Ike Hall for still another kind of pizza, burgers or even hotdogs.  It seemed that all the meal choices at West Point involved huge portions of Y-chromosome food—pizza, burgers, dogs, chips, nachos, brats and beer.  At least the mess hall offered additional choices like steaks, French fries, potatoes, peanut butter, eggs, bacon, sausage, pancakes, creamed chipped beef on toast and bread of every variety by the pound.  The only version of salad Jan ever saw involved shredded iceberg lettuce on a large platter soaked in Italian dressing.  Fresh fruit was practically nonexistent, although occasionally they could find a banana or an apple, usually offered at breakfast. 

Well, wouldn’t want to miss brunch, Jan groaned as she stood up.

All yearlings had been assigned to new companies at the start of the academic year.  It was a way of giving them a fresh start after the hardest year of their lives.  It certainly helped in Jan and Kristi’s case, given that they had been involved in the death of a firstie (senior cadet) last year.  Even though First Regiment was considered the harshest of the four, Jan welcomed the move to Company G-1.

Kristi’s room was located upstairs in Company H-1.  Jan felt grateful that they were not in the same company again.  To overcome their past, she felt it was best for them to be separated.  This way they could both start over, fresh, with new company mates and hopefully, in time, new friends. 

Still, being only one floor apart and having shared a harrowing experience last year, they continued to be an inseparable duo.

The dicks have struck again, Kristi announced.

Jan walked over to her closet.  What this time?

Kristi sighed.  Someone peed in my shoes.

Are you kidding me?  Jan slid a thin gray polyester bathrobe over her t-shirt and underwear.  What’s wrong with these people?

This was Kristi’s second incident since the end of Buckner.  On the first day back from summer, she discovered a dead snake on her bed when she returned from dinner.

Jan slipped on a pair of flip-flops, grabbed a towel and a bra.  Remember, the superintendent said we should expect these kinds of things.

I guess I had expected the silent treatment or maybe even a few ugly comments.  I didn’t expect dead snakes and piss in my shoes.

It’s probably not going to last, Kissy.  Just ‘keep cool and carry on,’ as they say.

It’s ‘keep calm and carry on,’ Kristi said. 

Right, whatever. Jan turned to grab the doorknob.  Be right back, she said as she headed to the women’s latrine down the hall.

Kristi looked at Jan’s roommate’s bed.  You want to come with us, Myrna? she asked the lump under the Gray Girl.

Nah, I’m going to go back to sleep.  Myrna, a cow, or junior cadet, had shared a room with the other two female cows in G-1 all last year.  They didn’t have to do that again if one of them roomed with a yearling.  Myrna must have drawn the short straw.  Or she chose it. 

Myrna was about five feet two inches tall and all muscle.  She kept her hair unusually short, shorter than what the regulation required for women’s haircuts.  With her man-style hair and her body type, she could easily be mistaken for a male cadet. 

Jan retuned from the latrine to find Kristi lying on her bed, feet up, hands interlocked behind her head, resting on Jan’s pillow.  Please, Kissy, make yourself at home, Jan said sarcastically.

Oh, thanks, that’s what I did, Kristi said without the slightest reservation.

Sometimes Jan felt irritated when Kristi seemed to assume their friendship was indestructible, almost as if Jan would accept her no matter what she said or did.  Jan didn’t plan on abandoning her friend, of course, but she wished Kristi would sometimes act like she would.  Okay, let’s go, I’m starving.  

They entered the mess hall at 1155 hours just as a waiter started to close the massive oak doors. 

Just made it, Jan said.

A minute later and we would have been screwed over, Kristi said.

They made their way to one of the four hundred tables that filled the three wings of the cavernous, cathedral-style mess hall.  Jan still felt awe and admiration every time she entered Washington Hall.  As plebes, they weren’t allowed to look around and take in its grandeur.  Now, as she walked to the last open table set up for brunch, she observed the high cross-beamed ceilings, the fifty state flags, and the magnificent mural covering the entire south wall.  The painting depicts the weapons of warfare used in twenty decisive battles.  The artist, Mr. T. Loftin Johnson, covered almost 2,500 square feet when he finished his masterpiece in 1936.

This space, more than any other at West Point, gave Jan the feeling that she was truly a member of the Long Gray Line.  In the mess hall, Jan felt like she belonged, as if the ghosts of West Point were pleased to see her walk through their hallowed ground.  Washington Hall always seemed to welcome her and she gave a silent word of gratitude for its embrace. 

Sunday brunch was the only meal with open seating and the two women sat at a table with five plebes, two more yearlings and a cow table commander.  The bottom end plebe began filling the plastic cups with ice.  The one on the left end shouted, sir, the dessert for brunch today is chocolate eclairs, would anyone not care for chocolate eclairs, sir?  Plebes usually got a break from having to cut dessert on Sundays, a gift from the wait staff. 

The plebe on the right end shouted, sir, the drink for brunch today is iced tea.  Would anyone not care for iced tea, sir?  No one objected, so the fourth-class cadets began filling the plastic cups with the brown liquid and passing them up the table.  The table commander was Steve Meyer, Jan’s squad leader from first semester last year in H-3.  Mary Stenigen, the yearling to his right, had been in their neighboring company G-3.  There was a familiar, flirtatious manner between them.

They appear to know each other a little too well.

Jan saw Steve’s hand touch Mary’s when she handed him the glass of ice tea.  Jan and Kristi exchanged pleasantries with Steve and Mary while passing the big plates of food.  This time it was pancakes, sausages, hash browns and canned peaches in a bowl.  The meal seemed to take a downward turn with the last item and Jan wished the cooks would just put out bananas, oranges or apples instead of the canned stuff.  As she thought about making a formal request for fresh fruit, she noticed Mary’s hand graze over Steve’s while passing the hash browns. 

They are a couple!  They must have been fraternizing last year.  I never noticed.

Hey Jan, what happened to Angel Trane? Mary blurted the question.

What do you mean?  Jan hadn’t heard anything about Angel, her roommate all last year in H-3. 

Didn’t you hear she quit? 

What?  No, I didn’t hear that.  Jan stabbed a pancake with her fork, thinking Mary had been misinformed.  Are you sure? 

Come to think of it, Jan had not seen Angel since the summer at Camp Buckner.  She assumed that was due to being in different companies and having different schedules. 

Yes, she quit just before the end of Buckner.  Mary seemed to enjoy dispensing this information.  She just disappeared one day and never came back.

Are you kidding?  Angel never mentioned wanting to quit and I am pretty sure she would have told me if she did.  Jan still didn’t believe it. 

It’s true.  Have you talked to her at all since the summer?  Mary asked.

No. Jan felt bad about that.  But Angel is always so squared away.  She’s one of the few cadets who actually loves it here, a real Gray Hog.

I know!  That’s why it’s so surprising.  And no one seems to know why she left.  Or no one’s telling anyway, Mary replied.

I just can’t believe Angel would quit.  Jan wondered why her former roommate had never mentioned wanting to leave.  They had been together all plebe year, the most stressful time at West Point, when they relied on each other for everything.  Every day from mid-August until the end of May, Jan and Angel prepared their room for inspections, shined shoes, memorized Poop, dressed each other for formations, celebrated milestones, and encouraged each other when the upperclassmen were bearing down on them.  They did all of this and more, SO much more, together.

So how could she leave without telling me?

They had come from different worlds.  Angel, a petite black girl from Queens, was the first in her family to go to college.  When her family visited, they rode a bus to Highland Falls and then walked the mile and a half to the barracks area.  Angel sometimes seemed relieved to be at West Point, almost as if it rescued her from being somewhere worse.  Jan knew Angel’s family had been evicted from their home once.

Or was it twice? 

On the other hand, Jan came from a middle-class family in an all-white New Hampshire town.  The Wishart family drove one of the two family cars to visit Jan at West Point.  And while Angel seemed to enjoy cadet life, Jan hated it.

If I could, I’d go to any other college in a New Orleans minute.

Despite their differences, Jan and Angel had shared an awful lot together—emphasis on awful—as plebe year tended to be pretty miserable. 

Why didn’t she say anything to me?  Did Angel think I wouldn’t understand?  

Jan ate the rest of her brunch in silence watching Steve and Mary flirt and wondering about Angel.

What else did I miss last year?

THREE

BUT AN OFFICER ON DUTY knows no one—to be partial is to dishonor both himself and the object of his ill-advised favor. (from Worth’s Battalion Orders)

AUGUST 25, 1982, 1150 hours

SIR, THERE ARE TEN MINUTES UNTIL LUNCH FORMATION.  THE MENU FOR LUNCH IS:  CHICKEN HOAGIES, POTATO CHIPS, CARROT STICKS AND LEMONADE.  THE UNIFORM FOR LUNCH IS AS FOR CLASS!  TEN MINUTES, SIR! 

The plebe minute caller stood shouting under the clock in the hallway as Jan returned to her room following morning classes.  After calling the ten-minute bell, the plebe returned to his room to wait five minutes.  All other fourth classmen were already outside at formation where the upperclassmen inspected and tested them on their plebe poop or required knowledge.  Jan wasn’t in a hurry to haze the plebes.  There were plenty of others who could do that. 

As she placed her books in height order on the bookshelf above her desk, she thought about how she could contact Angel. 

I never even got her address.  No phone number either.  

Jan felt bad for not acquiring this information, yet cadets didn’t usually exchange home addresses and phone numbers—why would they ever need that?

Jan smiled as she recalled when Angel invited her to a Cultural Affairs Seminar (CAS) meeting last year.  It’s about hair and skin care, Angel had said.  Jan had nothing better to do that night and she figured she could use a few beauty tips. 

They left their room, pinged along the walls and squared every corner until they exited the building and crossed Central Area.  They continued to ping until they reached the staircase leading into a vertical rock wall behind the mess hall.  After climbing a hundred or so steps, they arrived at the Cadet Chapel.  Then they descended a flight of stairs to the basement room where the CAS members were gathering.

As soon as Jan rounded the corner into the room, she realized she should have asked a few more questions about CAS.  Apparently, it was a club for black cadets. 

How did I miss that? 

The room was filled with various shades of brown complexions.  Jan’s was the only pale face, and she felt it tingle, turning bright red while she looked very intently at the snack table in the back of the room.  She actually thought that if she didn’t look at anyone, maybe they wouldn’t notice her, either.

Yet Leslie Wright, Jan’s Cadet Basic Training roommate, was also in attendance.  Leslie shouted from across the room, Wishart, the powdered donuts are for you. 

Everyone erupted in laughter making Jan feel much better.

The plebe returned to the hallway clock to call the five-minute bell as Jan walked out her door toward Leslie’s room.

The three other yearling women in G-1—Leslie Wright, Lisa Techtton and Esther Gonsalez—shared a two-person room.  Jan entered without knocking,  Leslie, did you know Angel quit after Buckner?

Good thing I wasn’t naked, Wishart, Leslie said while sitting on her bed, bent over and tying her shoelaces.  Esther and Lisa had already left for formation.

You wouldn’t be naked this close to formation, Jan argued.  Did you know about Angel?

The point is, you are supposed to knock first, Wishart.  Leslie didn’t look up from her task.

Okay, Leslie, sorry I didn’t knock.  Now can you tell me about Angel, please?

I don’t know anything about it, Leslie said.

Why would she quit?  Angel was practically Miss West Point.  Her family was so proud of her, she never got any demerits, she got decent grades, she was doing fine.  Jan could not think of one reason why Angel would just up and quit.  Have you heard anything about what happened?

Why would I hear anything?  You know her better than I do. 

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