Streamline (40 page)

As his superior stepped threateningly close, Leo braced himself.

It was all he could do to keep his chin up.

“What were you thinking?” Sour screamed in his ear. “You
never
touch a detailer!” He prowled Leo’s personal space. He’d just cocked his arm back when a firm voice called from the doorway.

“Whiskey!” Nevington entered the room. She looked down at little beads strewn on the floor and undoubtedly noticed the smear of blood on Sour’s face. “What the
hell’s
going on here?” Sour took a step back. “This plebe just punched me!”

“He
what?
Midshipman Scott, did you just assault my squad leader?”

Leo’s cheeks flamed. “Yes, ma’am.”

She turned to Whiskey. “And you’re going to solve the problem by punching him back, you boat goat?” Sour paused, and Leo said, “I deserve to be punished, ma’am.” She spun to face him, eyes flaring. “Oh, you deserve a boatload of punishment right now, and you’ll get it. But you’re not taking Sour down with you.”

She took a deep breath, and her gaze landed on Benito. “Clean this mess up, chow hound.”

Benito kneeled to scoop up the damaged beads.

Nevington turned to Leo. “Lt. Keaton ordered me to report any significant disciplinary problems to her. I’d say this qualifies. Section Leader Sour, hold the deck while I accompany Midshipman Scott to her office.”

He nodded.

“Grab your cover, Mr. Scott.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Still in a daze, Leo reached for his hat. His heart pounded as he walked out the door and followed her through the maze of Mother B. It appeared he’d royally screwed the pooch, and he wasn’t looking forward to the aftermath.

They arrived at the anteroom of the company officers’ offices, and Las Vegas paused. “You don’t say a word unless one of us asks you a direct question. You got it, Mr. Scott?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She exhaled before knocking. “Here we go. Let’s see what kind of mood the ice queen’s in this afternoon.”

“Enter!” called a crisp voice.

Nevington and Leo marched into the office, both turning to face Lt. Darnell Keaton exactly in unison.

She rose from her chair and returned their salutes. Despite his circumstances, she was one of the prettiest women Leo had ever seen.

She’d pulled her ash blond hair back into a neat bun, and her blue eyes shone in the afternoon sunlight streaming through the window.

She had full lips, and her tan uniform hugged her lean figure.

“Company Commander Viva Nevington and Midshipman Fourth Class Leo Scott requesting your assistance with a disciplinary matter, ma’am,” Nevington said.

Leo trembled as his superior’s eyes mowed him down.
You can
do this
. Would this be his last day in uniform?

“What happened, Ms. Nevington?” Lt. Keaton asked.

“Midshipman Scott assaulted Squad Leader Sour, ma’am.” Her eyebrows shot up. “Assaulted?”

“He punched Mr. Sour in the face, ma’am.” Her eyes glinted with anger. “Is this the same Midshipman Scott I’ve been reading about in your reports, Ms. Nevington — the plebe acing every academic and physical fitness test you’ve thrown at him?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“The same plebe you’ve been bragging about?” Nevington winced. “Yes, ma’am.”

The lieutenant turned her frosty stare back to Leo. “Talk, Mr. Scott.”

Leo had no idea what she wanted him to say. “No excuse, ma’am.”

“We will
not
tolerate sailors punching their superiors, Mr. Scott.

Tell me one reason not to give you your walking papers this minute.”

“Ma’am, I-I love it here, and I want to stay. I don’t know what came over me…It was a huge mistake, and I’m so sorry, ma’am. Please, please let me stay. I won’t let you down again, ma’am.” She folded her arms across her chest. “What do you think about this, Ms. Nevington?”

“Midshipman Scott’s done an excellent job, and Second Company would hate to lose him. However, striking a superior is an egregious offense, and I understand if you have to separate him. I guess I’d like to know why he lost his cool, ma’am.”

“I don’t care what led to the assault.” The lieutenant’s voice suddenly shook, and she reached for the corner of her desk.

Leo wanted to steady her elbow, but he didn’t dare break his stance.

“There’s
no
excuse for that kind of aggression.” She stood stock still, seeming to forget to blink. A full minute passed, and Leo didn’t know what to do.

Finally Nevington spoke up. “Lt. Keaton? Ma’am?” The lieutenant sucked in a breath then shook her head, as if to clear it. “You said you wanted to stay at the Academy, Midshipman Scott,” she said. “I’m not convinced of your intentions. You need to think long and hard if you truly want to be part of the Navy, and I’ll give you the opportunity to do just that. Company Commander Nevington and her staff will oversee your punishment. You will march for twenty-four hours straight at T-court, beginning immediately.

You’ll also attend anger management counseling with one of our psychologists.”

Turning to the company commander, the lieutenant asked, “Any questions?”

Nevington appeared taken aback. “I have one question, ma’am.

Are we allowed to administer water during the punishment?”

“Of course, Ms. Nevington. No food, though. I want Mr. Scott to be hungry. I want him hungry to serve…hungry for training. I don’t want a sailor who attacks the very man designated to train him.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“It hasn’t been a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Scott,” she said. “Plebes do
not
want to get to know their company officers.

It took you less than three weeks to find your way to my office, and it better be three years before I see you again. Is that clear?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Dismissed.”

They exchanged salutes, and the midshipmen exited.

Leo followed Nevington’s verbal commands to the small arms storage unit, where he checked out his M-16. They then proceeded to T-court, the area right outside Bancroft. Leo held his rifle at an angle in front of him, shoulders back and eyes forward.

His company commander bit her lip. “Scott, what’d you do to piss her off? She seems to hate you.”

Leo squinted in the afternoon sun. “Ma’am?”

“Short of separating you from the Navy, that’s the worst punishment I’ve ever seen.”

Wait, it was just marching, right? Twenty-four hours was a long time, but he thought he could make it. The mandated counseling actually sounded much worse.

“No matter how bad it gets, I want you to keep going,” she said.

“I meant what I said back there. I want you part of Second Company.

Find the strength to get through this, okay?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Beads of perspiration already dotted his forehead.

She glanced at her watch. “It’s fourteen thirty-seven hours. You may begin.”

Leo took his first step in a slow, measured cadence: the first step of thousands to come.

Why in the world had he thought twenty-four hours of marching would be easy?

Sure, the first six hours had breezed by, his mind wandering through happy Audrey memories and interrupted by detailers offering him water every hour or so.

Knowing he’d be lucky to get a bathroom break, he’d carefully limited his intake. He was probably sweating off most of it anyway.

He’d been hungry from the first moment of the march, and once evening chow had come and gone, the needy growls of his stomach echoed in his ears.

But around 2100, darkness settled into both T-court and Leo’s spirit. It was deathly quiet as he made his way around the perimeter of the cement area. His arms ached from holding the rifle, and his heart ached with loneliness and self-reproach.

He hoped Audrey would forgive him for the destruction of her precious gift. Leo ground his teeth every time he replayed the sound of Whiskey’s heel crushing their symbolized future together.

Knowing Audrey, she’d probably be more upset about his violence and subsequent punishment. Bracelets could be replaced — trust from his commanders could not. Audrey could buy him another gift, but she couldn’t buy him an escape from the prison of the internalized CS. Leo now knew his father’s aggression continued to haunt him, even though he was hundreds of miles away.

Around midnight, after ten hours of marching, blisters began to form. He’d only
thought
he was miserable before. His right foot was slightly longer than his left, so his right heel chafed on the back on his shoe, causing him to wince with every step. After he adjusted his gait, his left big toe soon smarted.

For a while, every step was sheer torture. Then around 0300 he supposed he’d bludgeoned the nerve endings sufficiently into submis-sion, and his feet turned blessedly numb.

At 0500 T-court came alive with plebes gathering for PT. Leo dared not break his thousand-yard stare, but he was sure his Second Company
compadres
were getting a good look at him marching.

It seemed Las Vegas and two of her squad leaders were rotating shifts for watching him and giving him water, but so far he hadn’t seen Whiskey. He dreaded their eventual meeting and was curious how MUFFIN was faring.

Leo plodded along, zoned out as the sun broke over the horizon.

Second Company headed back from the PT field to begin the running portion of PT, and he could see the group jogging toward him.

They passed him on the left.

He heard a familiar, urgent voice whisper
“¡Cóge!”
and looked over to see something whiz toward him. Leo caught the small plastic package and pocketed it as Benito winked at him, jogging past.

When Leo marched around the far corner of T-court, he reached into his pocket. He was elated to find a packet of energy gel. He squeezed the sweet goo down his throat.

The pounding high-noon sun illuminated the red cement in an undulating haze. His sweaty uniform clung to his body, and his march was almost a stumble at this point. Only two and one half more hours, but it seemed like a lifetime.
Just keep swimming
. He felt so exhausted he was close to tears.

“Keep marching,” Company Commander Nevington said, suddenly fal ing into step next to him. “Don’t look, but Lt. Keaton’s watching you.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Leo tried to straighten his back and retract his aching shoulders. He grasped the water bottle she held out for him and took a swig.

“You don’t look so good,” she said.

Her brilliant white uniform was clean and neat, and she seemed rested and full of energy. Jealousy stabbed him in the eye.

“No, ma’am.” Leo stuck to one of four acceptable responses for plebes.

“I thought you said you wanted to be here.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Remember that, then. Not much longer now.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She broke off, and Leo trudged forward.

The longer this punishment lasted, the more the images of his father flooded Leo’s mind. He remembered happier times, when CS had embraced him after record-setting swims. Though always slightly afraid and in awe of his father, in those moments, enveloped in his strong arms, Leo felt safety and acceptance like none other. Father and son would huddle together, carefully analyzing Leo’s stroke rate and technique, while his mother looked on.

As the minutes ticked by, Leo also recalled the whippings and later the beatings. Because he strived so hard to please his father, he’d been physically punished probably fewer than fifteen times. But each of those frightening episodes was etched into his memory and branded into his flesh.

When finally the marching was over, Leo stood at attention on T-court, facing his company commander. They’d just returned from the small arms storage unit, where he’d handed over his rifle with a huge sigh of relief. He never wanted to see or hold the damn thing again. He’d hoped Las Vegas would let him go sleep, but there was no such luck. His shoulders drooped as she ordered him back outside.

“Have you learned your lesson, Midshipman Scott?” she asked, eyes stern.

“Yes, ma’am.” He barely had the energy to speak.

“Good. I’ve been a big supporter of yours, but if you lay a hand on one of my staff again, I’ll be the first to deep six your butt.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She waited a beat. “I did a little research on you while you were marching.”

Fear shot through him.

“I talked to Whiskey about your altercation,” she continued.

“Then I did some checking around. It seems your father, Commander James Scott, was disciplined for child abuse three months ago. Around that same time, you were admitted to the hospital for major surgery.” Startled, Leo willed himself to stay silent.

“You’re wondering how I found this out, huh? You’re not the only one with an overbearing Navy father, Mr. Scott. Captain Dr. Ray Nevington’s stationed in Afghanistan right now, and he helped me do some investigative work. Your father’s suspension’s a matter of public record, but a physician also has access to Tri-Care insurance records. My father found the insurance claim from the Naval Hospital in your name.”

The deep hopelessness and the knowledge that he’d ever escape his father’s influence once again struck him. Now his company commander knew his disgraceful history.