Table of Contents
For my brother, Gary, a warrior in every sense of the word
In memory of
CHAD FULLER
CHIEF
CHRIS
ROBERT OLSON
EVAN ONEILL
ADAM THOMAS
AND
LUCAS WHITE
If you can fill the unforgiving minute With sixty seconds worth of distance run, Yours is the Earth and everything thats in it, Andwhich is moreyoull be a Man, my son!
RUDYARD KIPLING, If
I
Student
To someone who has never experienced danger, the idea is attractive rather than alarming.... Before you lies that golden prize, victory, the fruit that quenches the thirst of ambition. Can that be so difficult?
No, and it will seem even less difficult than it is.
CARL VON CLAUSEWITZ
Reception Day
In case of Sudden and Temporary Immersion, the Important Thing is to keep the Head Above Water.
A. A. MILNE, Winnie-the-Pooh
GET OFF MY BUS! SCREAMED THE CADET IN CHARGE. Youre not moving fast enough. Move it. Move it. Move it! We stampeded from the bus like a startled herd of wildebeest, clutching our small gym bags with white-knuckled grips. As we poured into the hot July sunlight, chiseled senior cadet cadre aligned our crooked ranks.
Left, face.
Forty eighteen-year-olds turned at different speeds toward another white-starched cadet cadre. We must have looked ridiculousa ragtag collection of shorts, untucked T-shirts, and long hair.
Drop your bags.
They landed on the pavement with a thud.
You will now begin the administrative portion of your processing. Follow all instructions both quickly and quietly. During this process you will pass water fountains. You are authorized and encouraged to use them. Do you understand?
I nodded my head with the others.
Pick up your bags.
JULY I, I996, WAS STAMPED on my military record like a wines vintagemy date of initial entry into military service. As my high school classmates alternated between summer jobs, afternoons at the beach, and summer reading lists, I headed off to West Point, New York. R-Day, short for Reception Day, was the first day of a six-week period of basic training. There was absolutely nothing hospitable about this first day of military indoctrination, beginning with an exercise in severing family bonds. After standing in a straggling line of twelve hundred would-be freshmen and their parents, I was herded into the basketball arena with another thirty cadet candidates. I had ninety seconds to say good-bye to my parents.
After obeying my first military order, I marched up the stairs and through a set of double doors. Even before the door shut behind me, it became clear what my first year at West Point was going to be like.
What are you looking at, candidate? shouted a five-foot-five cadet. The volume of his voice was inconsistent with his height.
Nothing.
Arent you going to call me sir?
Sir, yes, sir.
Are you at the Naval Academy?
Sir, no, sir.
Then stop making sir sandwiches, candidate. Its yes, sir or no, sir. He lowered his voice to a vicious whisper. Whats your name, candidate?
Craig, sir.
Is that your first name? His eyes widened.
Yes, sir.
Do you think I care what your first name is? Do you think I want to be your friend?
No, sir.
Just get out of my hallway. Move over to that table and fill out your tag.
Yes, sir.
I hurried over and wrote my last name in big bold letters. The tag had a dozen boxes to check off as we were processed from civilians into military recruits. I hung it around my neck as instructed and boarded the school bus. I sat down on the plastic seat but was too cowed by my scolding to strike up any conversation. What am I doing here?
STEP UP TO MY line. Do not step on my line. Do not step over my line. Step up to my line. A cadet glared at me under the black brim of a white service cap and swung his hand in front of his face, signaling that I should advance precisely to the line of demarcation pasted on the pavement in green tape. This was the first lesson in literal obedience.
He was the Cadet in the Red Sashthe first cadre member I needed to report to in order to join my company. I stood before him in a ludicrous uniform of newly issued cadet gym shorts, knee-high black socks, and Oxford low-quarter dress shoes. My head had been shorn of its five-inch locks, revealing a topography of old scars and virgin white scalp.
Re-port, he bellowed at me from a distance of eighteen inches.
New Cadet Mullaney reports to the... the...
Are you stuttering while you report? His hot breath dried the sweat on my face.
Yes, sir.
Did I give you permission to stutter?
No, sir.
I began again: New Cadet Mullaney...
Stop. What did you do wrong? My newly bald scalp burned under the midday sun.
Sir, I dont know.
I dont know. I dont know, he repeated. Is I dont know one of your four responses?
No, sir.
What are your four responses? he asked, testing whether I remembered another cadets instructions on answering questions.
Yes, sir. No, sir. No excuse, sir. Sir, I do not understand.
Thats right, New Cadet. Why did you stutter? Did you not have sufficient time to practice?
I forgot, sir. I could almost see smoke billow out of his ears.
I forgot is not one of your four responses. Try again.
No excuse, sir, I responded correctly. I must have replied No excuse, sir a thousand times that first year, hammering into my head an acknowledgment of personal responsibility that eventually became second nature.
Try again, New Cadet.
Sir, New Cadet
Arent you going to ask to make a correction?
Yes, sir. Sir, may I make a correction?
Yes.
Sir, New Cadet Mullaney reports to the Cadet in the Red Sash for the first time as ordered.
Are you going to salute when you report?
Yes, sir. Sir, may I make a correction?31
Make it.
I raised my fingertips to my eyebrow as I saluted and repeated my report.
New Cadet, that is the sorriest salute I have seen today. I couldnt believe how many mistakes I was making. I am better than this, I told myself.
The red-sashed, barrel-chested cadet manipulated my arm into a better approximation of a West Point salute: fingers closed and extended in a straight line to my elbow, arm parallel to the ground, palm canted toward my eyes.
Move out, New Cadet. I havent got all day.
A line extended behind me, other sheep waiting for the slaughter. I picked up my laundry bag of new clothing items, ran up six flights of stairs, and walked briskly down the hall toward the room indicated on my tag. Inside the room were a coat closet, several dresser drawers, three bare desks and bookshelves, and three mattresses on metal frames. Other than the wooden gun rack, it could have been a dorm room anywhere. The linoleum floor, dull and drab, smelled of Lysol. For that matter, everything in the barracks smelled of Lysol. Outside the window a green parade field stretched to a copse of trees and a steep drop to the Hudson River, a half mile across. It wouldnt be such a long swim, I thought. Before I could introduce myself to my roommates, two knocks at the door preceded the entrance of a cadre member.
