“What's that?” I ask, taking out my beret and putting it on.
“Captain Bradley doesn’t like West Pointers. He's got a beef against you guys. He won't say shit about it in public, but the last two USMA Lieutenants we got through the company, he rode them hard. Watch yourself, sir.”
I must be making an impression if he’s going to tell me that already. “Roger that, Sergeant. Keep my legs together and make sure I ask for a kiss as well.”
He laughs. “Something like that. See you tomorrow morning, sir.” He gives me a salute, and I return it, heading for my car. At least I've got the start of half of my equation. My platoon and my platoon sergeant are giving me a clear shot. Now let's see if I can get my commanding officer on my side as well.
I find Captain Bradley at his desk. I knock on the jamb of his door, and he looks up from his computer, where he's typing something or the other. “Sir?”
“How were the pugil sticks?” he asks, pointing to a chair. “You're not bleeding, so I take it you showed yourself well?”
“Got Hardy to tap out,” I tell him, rubbing my left arm. “Real life, I'd have a busted arm, but I played the game a little bit. Got in his head enough to ride it out.”
“Good deal. Hardy's a big guy. I've seen him with the stick before. They gave you a tough test,” Bradley replies, tapping away hunt and peck style at his laptop. If that's the way he types all the time, he's gotta take forever to get stuff done.
I nod. “Is there anything you'd like me to do around the company? If not, I was going to hit up the fitness center and see if I can get rid of some of this flab.”
“Nope, it's all good. I've got your cell number in the meantime. See you tomorrow for the company meeting before PT.”
“Hooah, sir. See you tomorrow.”
I'm at the door when Captain Bradley calls my name. “Lieutenant Simpson?”
“Yes, sir?”
“I'm sure by now, one of your NCOs has filled you in a bit on my history. I go through Ring Knockers like some commanders go through toilet paper,” Bradley says, half smirking. “You want to know why?”
“It'd be helpful, sir. I'd like a fair shot.”
Bradley nods. “Well, life isn't always fair, Lieutenant. But, I like to think I am. Your predecessors got hammered because they couldn't follow the rules. Some commanders let their platoon leaders play around, like officers are supposed to be some sort of rebel. And you Pointers, I guess after being hamstrung and bubble wrapped for four years even before the stress of Ranger School, you feel the need to live it up like real college kids do. Some commanders understand and give you some free reign. I feel differently. I think we're here to set the example. If you do that, you'll find that you'll do fine with me.”
“Understood, sir. I'll give you my best effort.”
“I fully expect it. And after today . . . good start. Welcome to Delta Company.”
“Good to be here, sir.”
Chapter 10
Lindsey
The three chevrons feel strange on my uniform, heavy with more than just the blackened brass. They carry with them the weight of responsibility as well, and while I'm not at all like the girl I used to be, it's still strange.
“Congratulations, Sergeant Morgan,” Lieutenant Colonel Seward, my battalion commander, says, shaking my hand. “It's going to be tough losing you.”
“It's been a good couple of years, sir,” I tell him, feeling the Army Commendation Medal resting on my chest, where he just pinned that after pinning on my new rank. “I'm going to miss Fort Lewis.”
“Well, we're going to miss you, and your son as well,” Seward says, looking over to the side, where Lance is standing with Lieutenant Sims. “He's become quite the unit mascot.”
“Thank you, sir,” I reply, smiling when Seward waves Lance over and I get to pick up my son. There's a round of applause, and I hug Lance tightly, for a moment not a soldier but just Mommy. “Hey, big boy. Did Mommy do okay?”
“You did great, Mommy,” Lance says in his little boy's voice, his hazel eyes sparkling. “Can we go now?”
Colonel Seward hears his comment and laughs. “Lance, give your mom about an hour to sign some papers, and I think we can get her on leave. You have big plans or something?”
Lance nods, holding onto my neck. “We get to go see Grandma and Grandpa!”
“I think it's in the regs somewhere,” Seward says, leaning in and whispering to Lance, “the Army's not allowed to keep a little boy from his grandparents on leave. So we'll get the papers done quickly.”
Lance sighs melodramatically. He's got a lot of character to him. He's at that perfect age where he's still got a lot of his baby cuteness but is also old enough that he’s pretty verbal as well. “I don’t like paperwork.”