Come to Poppa

By Janet James

When Jeanette Bleakley accepts an invitation to join an all-male Corps of Cadets at Virginia Tech in 1973, she doesn't realize that her career in Air Force Intelligence will lead to a real-world operation called Guardian Angel that rescues dozens of girls kidnapped from Central America who are turned into sex slaves across the US. Follow Jeanette's adventures as she survives the challenges of a military rat system, a survival school with its own POW camp, and a real-world deployment as the Joint Task Force executes its mission with the code words "Come to Poppa." During this adventure of historical fiction, Jeanette has her own faith adventure as she grows spiritually and meets the recently beatified Fr. Stanley Rother, a martyr for his faith. Readers who wish to get involved in fighting human trafficking will join forces with the book's extensive nonprofit resource list to fight this terrible crime.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Covenant Books, Inc.
• Release date: Jun 7, 2018
• ISBN: 9781640039537

Book preview

9781640039537_cover.jpg

Come to Poppa

Janet James

ISBN 978-1-64003-952-0 (Paperback)

ISBN 978-1-64003-953-7 (Digital)

Copyright © 2018 Janet James

All rights reserved

First Edition

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods without the prior written permission of the publisher. For permission requests, solicit the publisher via the address below.

Covenant Books, Inc.

11661 Hwy 707

Murrells Inlet, SC 29576

www.covenantbooks.com

Chapter 1

The Letter

The old Ford LTD sedan was packed and ready to go. I had never driven outside of the Maryland, Virginia–DC corridor, but if I wanted to make it to the intelligence training program at Lowry Air Force Base (AFB) in Colorado, I’d better hit the road. The military orders addressed to Jeanette Rose Bleakley had a report no later than July 31, 1977, so there was no time to get too sentimental. Luckily it was a weekend so the usual madhouse on the Beltway would not be an issue.

What a crazy four years it had been—1973 to 1977.

In June 1973, the letter had come in the mail, a letter that would change my life forever. The Vietnam War was winding down, and military numbers were dwindling. I had always been a go-getter, the best discus thrower at Annandale High School, a skilled lifeguard, varsity field hockey, varsity softball, and varsity track-and-field, and a 3.8 grade point average left little time for much else. The hard work paid off: an early admission to Virginia Tech and now this interesting letter from the Commandant of Cadets and the United States Air Force Reserve Officer Training Corps (ROTC). I opened the letter tentatively. It was the last thing I was expecting to see, a personal invitation from Brigadier General Earl C. Acuff asking me to join the first group of women allowed to join the ranks of the Virginia Tech Corps of Cadets since its inception in 1872. As part of the program, the cadet could opt to participate in either Air Force or Army ROTC and receive a commission as a second lieutenant upon graduation. This was definitely unchartered territory. No one in my immediate family had ever served. Women hadn’t been allowed into service academies or traditional military institutions ever. This was a big deal. Better yet, a person could experience the cadet corps for two years without a military commitment. To sweeten the deal, the Air Force offered a stipend of one hundred dollars a month to defray the cost of uniforms and books. Plus, there was a guaranteed job at graduation and the opportunity to see the world. Back in the early seventies, career counseling was nonexistent. There was no internet or personal computers. As far as I knew, someone who wanted to be a French major were pretty much destined to be a high school French teacher. Not that there was anything wrong with that, but it just didn’t feel quite right. There didn’t seem to be that many options out there for a single woman. The physical challenges and competitive nature of the cadet corps appealed to my underdog spirit. I remember before reading that letter, I had just put away my Bible after reading my favorite verse from Jerimiah 29:11, For I know the plans I have for you, says the LORD, plans for welfare and not for evil, to give you a future and a hope. The thought of being a pioneer for God sealed the deal.

I really didn’t know what I was getting into. The problem was neither did the cadet corps. Imagine twenty-five women entering an all-male bastion with a rat system meant to instill discipline into the incoming freshman cadets. The problem was, there were no women leaders who had successfully passed the hazing. Women cadets were at the mercy of senior male cadet leadership who themselves were on unchartered territory. So off I went. Poor Dad made the long drive down I-81 to Blacksburg, Virginia. Born and raised in Arlington, Virginia, Robert Bleakley Jr. had paid his dues. His father from Clifton Forge, Virginia, had grown up on 132 Alleghany Street down in the heart of the Alleghany mountains. His father had been a lawyer, and his grandfather and great-grandfather had been lawyers. His fate was sealed. Going to law school at Washington and Lee University just down the road from Clifton Forge was expected. Alice Sue wasn’t going to let her son stray too far from home. He would stop by there for a visit with his mother, Alice Sue, and father on his way back to the Annandale rat race.

It was now the day after Labor Day. As we exited I-81 at the Blacksburg turnoff, the cool hint of an autumn breeze kicked in as we found ourselves on Main Street and decided to stop off at the Hokie House. (Hokie was another nickname for a student from VPI. The name was invented during a contest in 1896 to create a cheer for the land grant institution.) We sat on the stools in the front counter, and a gal named Dolly took our order. Soon she returned with two plates brimming with the famous Hokie Burger served on Texas toast with big steak fries sprinkled with kosher salt. Apparently, Dolly had been an institution at the Hokie House. Both cook and occasional waitress during the busy season, Dad and I both enjoyed our juicy burgers and friendly service, but we needed to get going. We found Monteith Hall on the upper quad part of the campus. It was an old dormitory built in 1949. Before I arrived in 1973, it had just been renovated for the first time three years earlier.

Here we are, Jeanette!

We found a parking place and made our way to the front door. A sign said Welcome, Cadets with instructions for ROTC students and cadets to report to an imposing historic brick building called Lane Hall for cadet in-processing and room assignments. We followed the well-worn sidewalk.

I’m getting a little nervous, Dad.

Unfortunately, Dad couldn’t really reassure me because he was looking a little concerned himself. We walked past an impressive flagpole toward an imposing historical brick building from another century known as Lane Hall. It was an imposing looking building, and outside a muscled, uniformed cadet in a gray starched uniform greeted us and gestured us inside. We signed in, and then someone wearing an Air Force uniform I would later learn was an Air Force technical sergeant called out, Cadet Jeanette Bleakley.

His gray eyes were wise and quickly looked me over. He must have been OK with what he saw—a tall and lean young woman with short brown hair and red highlights. We shook hands, and his deep clear voice announced, My name is Tech Sergeant Ruffin. I’m the noncommissioned officer in charge of our ROTC Detachment 875. Welcome aboard! Cadet Bleakley, is this your father?

Dad stepped up and said, Bob Bleakley. Nice to meet you.

"Today the corps side going to issue your cadet uniform and room assignment and roommate. But first, we’re going to have you fill out your mandatory paperwork that must be completed before you can begin classes. This is necessary for processing your monthly Air Force ROTC stipend. We will have a mandatory orientation meeting on Monday at 1900 hours. We use a 24-hour clock around here. So that’s 7:00 p.m. From now on, you need to figure it out, no more help. TSgt Ruffin sounded stern, but behind the deep booming voice was a lifer but with the heart of a teddy bear. Ruff, as we would later call him, had given the better part of his life to the Air Force. Following his last tour to Vietnam, or just Nam, as he liked to say, he’d been given this cushy job at an ROTC detachment. He was originally from West Virginia, and this assignment gave him a chance to be near his aging parents and set down some roots for a few years.

He had me sit down on an uncomfortable wooden chair while I filled out the mandatory government paperwork. It was a good thing Dad was there. He was able to help me with some of the trivial details I never would have known, like his work number as an emergency backup. It took nearly an hour to complete everything, but when we had finished, I had my aerospace studies textbook and a meeting set to learn more about what I had signed up for. Next, we went over to the cadet corps side of Lane Hall. This area was much more hectic as freshmen cadets were going through an in-processing line stopping at each table. I was the only woman around. The tables were manned by male cadets.

The cadet at the first table had a short crew cut and dark glasses. Cadet Bleakley, here is your Virginia Polytechnic Institute and State University [VPI&SU] Handbook. Commit its contents to memory. You will be required to know its contents. Failure to do so will result in demerits. If you accumulate more than one hundred demerits in a week, you will have guard duty for the weekend.

As I moved down the line, the news got grimmer. Cadet Bleakley, this is the Corps of Cadets Handbook. It describes the rat system and our rules and regulations. You need to commit this to memory. Failure to adhere to the rules as a freshman rat will result in demerits. Too many demerits will result in guard duty. I didn’t know yet what guard duty was, but I was sure it was something I didn’t want any part of, not that I could help it.

The next table was uniform issue. Size?

I’m between a 6 and an 8.

Well, you need to pick one, Cadet Bleakley.

Eight.

Eight what?

Eight, sir.

Shoe size?

"Six and a half, sir!"

Next table was dormitory assignment and roommate. OK, Cadet Bleakley, you’ve been assigned to room 117 and your roommate is Bella Boozer from Louisa, Virginia. As I started to say, Oh, that sounds interesting, I could sense from the steely stare that this was no place for humor. This key unlocks both your room and the laundry area.

At the next table, I signed for a card for the dining hall that covered all my meals. Moving down the line, next I received a calendar for September with the mandatory formation and drill schedule. Each morning we would rise at 0600 hours and prepare our rooms for room inspection. We would shower and get our uniforms prepared for morning formation at 0700 with the raising of the colors and a catchy tune I would learn to love—reveille. Following the morning formation, we would march to the dining hall. Every evening there was a mandatory formation at 1700 hours, where the flag was lowered and the bugler played retreat. Evening retreat was required unless you were part of a collegiate sports team or had a late class. Following that formation, cadets would march to the dining hall. What I didn’t know yet but was soon to find out was that during meals, freshmen weren’t allowed to talk and had to eat at attention while answering all sorts of trivia from that booklet on VPI&SU. This was going to be tough. As the oldest, I called the shots at home. I didn’t particularly like being told what to do. I liked to tell people what I was going to do and how I would tackle the challenge. The last thing I wanted was for some male or female cadet telling me what to do. There was trouble brewing already, and I didn’t need a crystal ball to figure that out.

Meanwhile, while I was getting an increasingly large stack of stuff to sort out, Dad was over in the corner chatting it up with a group of parents who had likely taken the long trek with their sons. Still no female cadets in sight, I finally completed the in-processing line with my cadet uniforms, my ROTC textbook, and at least an inch of cadet corps materials to pour through. Dad and I walked eagerly to Monteith Hall, more than ready to get me unpacked and settled in. We found room 117 open. Bella Boozer, a petite, soft-spoken girl from Louisa, Virginia, was already there and unpacking.

Hi! You must be Jeanette. This must be your father. Nice to meet you, Mr. Bleakley.

Hi, Bella!

I’m so glad to see another female cadet. How long have you been here?

Oh, about three hours. It’s an easy drive from Louisa.

Bella had a light Southern accent from the Southern part of the state that matched her soft-spoken yet intelligent demeanor. She’d already been studying the cadet corps manual, and I could tell that she would be a huge help in my transition as a cadet.

She followed, I hope you don’t mind, but I took the bottom bunk. I’m so short I have a hard time climbing up.

That’s great, Bella! I’m so tall it’s much easier for me to have that open area on top.

Dad looked relieved that he didn’t have to be caught in the middle of a catfight like I had on a regular basis with my younger sister, Pam, at home. Pam and I were exact opposites, and not a day went by when she didn’t manage to say or do something annoying. Dad and I excused ourselves and went to the car to begin carrying in the large suitcase and boxes for the dorm room. I wasn’t aware of restrictions on the inside of the room. I just knew that whatever I brought, I needed to keep it clean and organized or I’d get dinged on the room inspections. Before we knew it, everything was unloaded and it was time to get unpacked and settled. Dad was trying to look cheerful, but I knew he was having a hard time leaving. I told Bella I was going to walk him out. He was a man of few words, but his eyes were full of love and worry as he hugged me and wished me well. It had to be hard. He’d been an only child and I was his oldest. He’d never done this before. My only relief was on his way up I-81, he’d only have a ninety-mile trip before he could be visiting his parents’ beautiful old Victorian home in Clifton Forge. The next day he always had the option of going home via W&L University in Lexington, Virginia. Either way, the opportunity provided him with a much-needed break and one that would ease at least a little of the emotional malaise that would surely set in after sending his oldest and closest daughter off to college.

With a big sigh, I headed back down to