Fall Out: Courage Always Stands its Ground: Gray Girl Series, #4

By Susan I. Spieth

2020 ERIC HOFFER GRAND PRIZE short list and 1st Runner up e-book fiction

2020 AMERICAN FICTION AWARDS finalist!

Silver Award Readers' Choice Book Contest!

 

She's in over her head this time...

She wears a saber, a red sash and the infamous "crass mass of brass and glass," the United States Military Academy ring. The Army/Navy Game, the 100th Night celebrations, spring leave, and the highest of all cadet days, graduation, await Jan Wishart's final year at West Point. It should be the best one in her notable cadet experience. But graduation and commissioning as a Second Lieutenant in the U.S. Army may never happen for Jan. Instead, she might be sent to the Consolidated Brig, for female military convicts.

Her friendship with Dimitri Petrov, a diplomat's son and a rising star in the Soviet Army, may derail everything she's fought so hard to achieve. When their relationship takes a dark turn, Jan becomes embroiled in something that will test her stamina, her faith and her friendships, as never before. But like honor, duty and leadership, courage always stands its ground.

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: Sep 2, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393544142

Book preview

ONE

SPRING, 2018

Philadelphia, PA

SLEEP

There was a time when I could fall asleep anywhere: curled up on my footlocker, standing in the shower, folded inside my closet and even on the toilet. Sleep came easily back then, without fanfare, without melatonin, without Tylenol PM, even without wine. Sleep seemed like a dear friend who guarded the door to the men’s latrine while I snuck inside because the women’s line was too long. She allowed my escape to a peaceful place and resupplied my energy when I needed it so desperately. Even during my cow year, when a masked creep and nightmares kept waking me in the middle of the night, I could still fall asleep in about two seconds. I wish I could have those nights again, when sleep came quickly and easily. I took it for granted, never realizing that there would be a day when sleep would elude me.

But that’s the only part I miss about those days. I don’t miss anything else. And generally, I don’t like going back there. I have attended a few reunions, which are always accompanied by a feeling of dread. My heart begins racing as I approach the Bear Mountain Bridge and the slight sense of nausea doesn’t leave until I’m well outside the gates. Even now after over thirty years, there’s still something mysterious and foreboding about the place that always make me feel unwelcome, and sometimes undeserving.

The Place is my mortal enemy.

Yet she is also my pride and joy.

I’m talking about West Point. My classmates and I began R-Day, the first day for every new cadet, on July 1, 1981. It was only a few years after women had been admitted. The first class with women had graduated in 1980. Given what I experienced and what I have heard over the years from the other women in my class, I cannot fathom what those earlier women went through. Yet, for as much as West Point took from me, she also gave me many gifts. That’s why I have to write about her. She is both a blessing and a curse. I will always be grateful for the lessons, the friendships, and the many unique experiences that West Point gave me. But I cannot forget the pain, the sorrow and the ugliness of it all either.

My classmates throw a women’s reunion every couple of years, never at West Point. I think we all prefer it that way. All women who started with us are invited, whether they graduated or not. The first one in 2013 was also the first time many of us shared our stories with each other. Turns out, we were all laser focused on our own survival that we rarely paid much attention to anyone else back at West Point. Which explains why so many of my classmates had only a vague memory of my many public tribulations. This self-absorption also explains why the upper-class women seemed to keep their distance from the less experienced ones. Concentrating on our own daily sustenance was the number one priority.

But with the benefit of time and distance, we have been able to process these experiences and find a measure of healing. Healing may be too strong of a word. For many of us, it’s more like a truce of sorts. We’ve come to terms with what happened, what we did, and what we failed to do. It seems that most of the women suffered in one way or another—even the smart ones, the fast ones, and the skinny ones—which killed my theory that they were also the favored ones.

Probably one of the most surprising discoveries, however, was learning that there were quite a few of my classmates who loved being cadets. They thrived there. They actually remember those years with fondness and an ever-growing admiration. I had to figure out why and how anyone could have liked West Point while a cadet. I mean, we can all understand nostalgia. But, actually enjoying life as a cadet? That would require some explanation.

What I found for the most part is the women who thrived the most were the ones from unhappy homes. One woman shared with me that she had abusive parents and that nothing at West Point seemed worse than going home. That’s why she loved it there. She was free from her miserable family. And apparently, West Point was a sort of refuge for her. Other women had various shades of this story—their home was not safe or kind or happy—and that’s why they felt better being at West Point.

Which makes sense. It occurred to me that if my family had been more dysfunctional, I might have done better as a cadet. Although I’m not sure I’d want that trade-off.

There are a few of my classmates who didn’t fall into the unhappy family category who truly just enjoyed their time as cadets. These are ones who came from a military family, went to the Prep School, had older brothers or sisters who went to West Point, or were incredibly physically fit. These are the ones who had a leg up from the beginning. They knew what they were getting into and they were good at meeting most of the demands. And these women, who garnered praise instead of ridicule, seem to have been made from a different cloth.

Of course, my theory of why some were happy cadets is fraught with inconsistencies. My dear friend Kristi McCarron’s biological father was a West Pointer who died in Vietnam, and her stepfather became the US Ambassador to West Germany. These two backgrounds should have combined for a solid cadet experience. Yet Kristi and I shared the same miseries for the first two and a half years.

My other friend, Pamela Pearson, had been raised in foster homes until a lesbian couple adopted her at the age of thirteen. The only two people to show her genuine love and affection died in a car crash when she was a senior in high school, ending the only stable family life she had ever known. Her hard-knock life should have translated to a good West Point experience. Yet, she admits to being sad, angry, and depressed most of her cadet years.

Leslie Wright, my Beast roommate and company mate in G-1, was probably the strongest woman I’ve ever known. She aced all her physical fitness tests and could even lead the cadences when running in formation. Many of the men couldn’t even do what Leslie could do. Yet she confided to me later that she felt like she couldn’t breathe as a cadet. She struggled under a constant fear of failure.

So, it seems an unhappy home life or being extremely fit or prepared didn’t always equal enjoyment at West Point. It only partially explains why some women liked being cadets. Overall, however, it’s safe to say that most of us spent our college years suffering in silence. I, for one, still resent that I lost, or I gave up (I’m not sure which) what should have been the best years of my life. And now, some thirty years on, I’m still trying to reconcile what happened and how much it cost.

Since I can’t get to sleep much these days, I find myself going back again and again in my mind. As hard as it is to think on those long-ago times, I’m discovering that when I relive some of those events, I’m finally able to put them to bed, so to speak. It’s a strange phenomenon—by feeling the anger, the sadness, the fear, and the utter exhilaration again, I find that my anxiety subsides just a little bit. I’m hopeful that if I can make enough sense of what happened, by ordering my private thoughts around that last year especially, I hope to discover the secret to sleeping again.

Who knows? It may not work. It may be futile and useless. But it’s worth a try. Because I’d really love to be able to fall asleep like I did back then.

TWO

MAY, 1984

West Point, NY

Lord knows it’s a miracle I’m still here. I’ve just finished cow year at West Point and I’m officially now a first-class cadet, commonly called firstie, with only one more year to go. I’m not exaggerating when I say it’s miraculous that I’ve made it this far. In plebe year, my best friend Kristi McCarron and I were responsible for the death of a firstie. Actually, we were defending ourselves from a predator, a man who had raped at least two other women. But still, because he was popular and close to graduation, the event didn’t exactly endear us to the rest of The Corps of Cadets. The horrible incident did one good thing however—it saved me from the judgment of an Honor Trial and allowed me to remain as a cadet at West Point.

Yearling year was not any better. The New York Times ran a series of articles about the treatment of women at West Point, with help from myself and other subversives in The Corps. Then, one of our friends drove a car over a cliff right in front of my eyes. Literally, I saw the car sail off the edge and drop. My closest friends and I believed her boyfriend’s abuse led her to commit suicide, and we helped get that story published as well. As a result, another firstie fell from grace because of our actions. 

We had been right about the abuse, but we were so wrong about the perpetrator. We didn’t know our mistake until the damage had been done and it seemed nothing could change it.

Then, a fatal accident in Airborne School and a second Honor Trial defined much of my cow year. The all-male cadet jury exonerated me, but not without exacting a huge cost. Kristi, my best friend since plebe year, rescued me again. If that wasn’t enough drama, a masked nighttime stalker finally caught me alone and almost killed me. Once again, my friends came to my rescue and literally saved my life.

Three years, three deaths, two Honor Trials and one best friend kicked out. My track record is obviously not great. So my goal for firstie year is to stay under the radar. I plan to put one Etonic sneaker in front of the other until graduation. I don’t care what rank I achieve, I don’t care if I barely pass, and I don’t even care if we lose every Team Handball match. I just want to get through this year and graduate. May 22, 1985 can’t come fast enough for me. I know my remaining three friends feel the same.

Pamela Pearson was Kristi’s roommate in Company H-1, but she’s become my dear friend now too. She grew up in Texas, bouncing from one foster home to another. When her two moms adopted her, it seemed she had found her forever family. They, along with a high school counselor, had encouraged her to apply to West Point. Sadly, both of her moms died before she graduated high school.

Leslie Wright was my Beast roommate, and she scared me almost all plebe year. Unlike me, she seems to be good at everything, like running, the Indoor Obstacle Course and academics. She has a hard exterior that has been difficult to penetrate. She rarely talks about her home life, her feelings, or her beliefs. However, since saving my life, I have decided that her toughness is what I love the most about her.

Then there’s Rick Davidson, who has also been a friend since plebe year. He wrote silly, anonymous letters to me that first year, which served to shore up my emotional state. He also did something meant to help me out of a tricky situation, but he caused a lot of trouble for me instead. I didn’t like him at first. Like Leslie, he’s good at everything and seemed to be a know-it-all. But we became company mates in yearling year and, you could say since then, he’s grown on me.

I’m very grateful for these three faithful friends: Pamela, Leslie, and Rick. Like Duty, Honor, Country, they are my last and only lines of defense at the military academy.

WE LEFT WEST POINT only a half hour ago, on our way to a car dealership in New Jersey. Rick is driving his brand-new Ford pickup and I’m riding shotgun. We are going to Tom’s Ford Toyota to acquire my very first car. Only firsties are allowed to have cars on Post. It’s a rite of passage for most cadets at the end of cow year to purchase a new car. It’s a way of congratulating ourselves for having made it this far.

Sometime last year, Rick and I started seeing each other. I’m not sure what it’s called, exactly. I mean, dating doesn’t sound right. No one actually dates at West Point. He’s probably my boyfriend but I really don’t want to call him that either. It just sounds so civilian-ish. I think seeing each other is probably the best way to describe it. We are romantic, yes. I guess you could call us a couple. We haven’t exactly put a label on it, so I’m just guessing we’re exclusive. It’s not like he has a ton of choices here and I don’t really either, given my reputation. So, I guess it’s safe to say we’re a couple, seeing each other. Or something like that.

I’m a little amazed he hasn’t backed out though. Since he’s prior service and actually good at everything at the military academy, he’s got a real shot at achieving a high-ranking position this year—Battalion Commander or better. Me? I’ll be lucky to get the party sergeant role for my company. I’m not exactly a model cadet. My grades are decent enough though; I’ve even made the Dean’s List since first semester last year. I’m an average cadet fitness-wise. I pass all my PT tests in the B range, but I’m not a standout by any means. I do stand out in one area, however: trouble. I’ve already walked over a hundred hours on the Area, which makes me a century woman. And I am probably the most notorious Area Bird, given the scandals I’ve been involved in every year.

So, considering the disparity in our records and reputation, I’m always a little surprised that Rick still wants to hang around me. After all that’s happened, he still seems to want to see me.

Which proves he’s slightly crazy.

Yes. We definitely deserve brand new cars for all our troubles. I just wish my new car could also bring a new start. I’m really hoping, actually I’m praying, that firstie year will finally be the payback year—when I can actually relax and enjoy some of this West Point experience. Of course, just using those three words in the same sentence—relax, enjoy, West Point—is a bit of an oxymoron.

About halfway to the dealership, I finally have the energy to tell Rick what happened just before we left Post.

I have Violet’s diary again.

Rick doesn’t seem to understand. Wait, what?

Kristi took it from Myrna’s car and left it in my suitcase for me to find. She must have retrieved it while I was in the hospital, just before she had to leave, I say.

Are you sure, did you see it?

Yes, it’s right here. I pull it out from my purse, which is really a large olive-drab (OD) green messenger bag. She taped it to the inside of my suitcase. I’m not about to let it out of my sight again.

Rick grips the steering wheel with both hands. Do you think that’s a good idea? Bringing it with you? It could get lost or even left somewhere.

Like I said, it’s staying in my sight until I can personally hand it off to Major Quiddy at JAG. Major Quiddy has become a trusted and invaluable asset for me ever since plebe year. He’s right up there with Coach Hasuko, our first Team Handball coach, in my book. I don’t trust leaving it anywhere else. I also plan to make copies and keep at least one in a secure location.

Violet’s diary was the key piece of evidence needed to right a wrong—an injustice in which both Rick and I were complicit. We testified against Joey Lishiski at the end of yearling year, which resulted in his expulsion for honor. We only did what we thought was right, at the time. When I discovered the diary, after everything had taken place and which proved Joey’s innocence, I ran to the latrine and threw up. That’s how sick I felt upon learning of our terrible mistake. The diary disappeared in that short time when I left my room. Myrna Watkins, my avowed enemy, had stolen it. Kristi McCarron, my dearest friend, had stolen it back, within the last week or so before she had to leave for good. It was her way of doing what had to be done but couldn’t be done by me or any other cadet, for that matter.

The Honor Code forbids stealing, even if it is simply taking back what belongs to you anyway. So with nothing left to lose, Kristi did it for us.

That’s just the kind of person she is. Since plebe year, she’s always had my back. I’m not sure why. I certainly don’t feel like I deserve a friend like her. She’s been fiercely loyal to me—even when it meant her own downfall. I’ll never understand her. But she’s won a friend for life in me. That’s the way I see it. I will be forever grateful that our paths collided on R-Day, our first day at West Point. And I want to do whatever I can to make sure her sacrifice was worth the cost. No, she didn’t give her life for mine, like in combat or anything. But she did give up her hopes and dreams for my sake. She put my welfare ahead of hers. And I think that’s a very rare gift. So I want to be sure to do right by her.

Rick lets out a sigh. What will happen next? I mean, let’s say JAG validates what’s in the diary, they still can’t change what happened, right?

Well, obviously, Joey can’t be commissioned now. Specialist Four Lishiski had been injured at Airborne School and medically discharged from the Army. We heard that he returned to his hometown in upstate New York and was bartending or DJing or something like that. It seemed like such a shame. A little over a year ago he was about to graduate from West Point and begin a career as an officer in the U.S. Army. Instead, we rallied against him using the knowledge we had at the time, which caused his fall from grace. Guilty of an honor violation after yearling year meant he had to enlist in the Army for two years to pay back his education—even without getting the diploma. At the time, we felt that he got what he deserved.

We were wrong. We were all so damn wrong.

I sigh also. Well, nothing can reverse the past. What’s done is done. But they can overturn the honor violation and award his diploma retroactively. It won’t make everything all right, but it will right the wrong as much as possible.

Hmmmm. Rick purses his lips as he concentrates on driving.

What? I ask.

Just thinking, he says.

About what?

Just wondering, that’s all.

Well, wonder out loud so I can hear it, I say.

I just, well...I just wonder if Joey gives two shits about anything now. I mean, the guy’s had everything taken away from him: his girlfriend, his honor, his career, and now his mobility is even limited. I wonder what he’s thinking right now, knowing he had been innocent all along.

I look out the window. I hate admitting that I’m responsible for this mess. But it’s true. My fuck up has brought down a good man. I know Rick, Pamela, and Kristi feel the same. Maybe that’s why Kristi was so willing to take the fall for me. Maybe she didn’t want to be responsible for bringing down another innocent person.

I turn my head back toward Rick. I don’t know what else we can do. I always feel so guilty about what happened to him.

Without hesitation, he replies, Yeah, I feel guilty about it too.

Well, that’s why I’m not letting this diary out of my sight. And I want to personally deliver the news to Joey when we exonerate his name.   

I look back out the window. It’s all we can do now.

RICK AND I HUG GOODBYE. He’s on his way to visit friends in Virginia and South Carolina for the three weeks of summer leave. I get in my brand-new Toyota Corolla and drive back to West Point.

It has that new car smell. The floor mats are still in their plastic bags. The paperwork and the owner’s manual are in a manila folder on the passenger seat. The temporary license tag is taped to the back window. It’s a stick shift.

I love driving my new baby. It reminds me of being in high school, when I was a big fish in a little pond. My best friend taught me how to drive a manual shift, and those lessons still remain as some of the funniest memories of my life. For a moment, as I drive back to Post, I feel as though the past three years have been worth something.