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The Cadet Candidate entered the Commandant's office. He was short and solidly built, and his muscles bulged against both his shirt and the legs of his trousers. He walked aggressively, and then stopped and froze. He stiffened and held a salute, waiting to be released. This was the protocol at the academy. He was neither intimidated, nor did he challenge the Commandant's authority.
"At ease," the Commandant said, returning the salute. He pointed toward a chair in front of his desk.
"Sit there, Candidate Matthews," he said, crisply.
The Candidate sat ramrod straight. The Commandant stared at Matthews, and let the seconds count off.
"State your business, Mr. Matthews," he finally said, noting no weakening in the Candidate's posture.
"The Candidate wishes to apply for discharge from Jackson Military Academy, sir!" Matthews said.
The Commandant opened a manila folder on his desk, and withdrew a stack of papers.
"You have recently accumulated a number of disciplinary violations," the Commandant said. "You have neither admitted nor contested them."
"That is correct, sir," the Candidate replied.
In the academy's byzantine structure of rules, disciplinary violations ran the gamut, from inadequately shined shoes, boots, and brass, all the way up to showing disrespect to superior cadets. Those accused were entitled to contest any accusations, but the academy's informal practice held that cadets accused of violations should normally bear the burden of even baseless accusations. Punishment would strengthen them, even if it was unfair. Prior to, and even since the violations had increased, Matthews had maintained outstanding ratings from peers and instructors.
"Is the program too hard for you, then, Mr. Matthews?" the Commandant asked, knowing the answer to come.
"No sir!" the Candidate answered.
"You object to the academy's nature?" the Commandant asked, wondering if this otherwise outstanding Candidate had a pacifist or artistic streak buried beneath an otherwise hard military bearing. It had happened before.
"No sir!" the Candidate answered.
"You lack confidence in your ability to meet our standards?" the Commandant asked, coldly.
"No sir!" the Candidate answered.
"I see that you are considerably shorter than our other cadets and Candidates," the Commandant said to the Candidate. "Five feet, seven inches tall. Are you intimidated or worried?"
"No sir!" the Candidate said.
"I wouldn't think so," the Commandant replied, a slight smile creeping along his face. "Not with that nose of yours."
The Candidate allowed a fleeting grin. He had broken his nose in a brawl in his senior year in high school. Two of his opponents had wound up in the hospital, and another sacrificed a few teeth.
"Sir, may the Candidate speak freely and confidentially?" Matthews asked, in a tone that, while in keeping with rank protocol, was still more of a statement than a question. The Commandant sensed that something had offended this Candidate deeply enough for him to sacrifice his dream.
"Speak freely, Mr. Matthews," the Commandant replied. "As for confidentiality, I will decide. I am not here to protect anyone's pointless whining."
Matthews hesitated. The Commandant could see the Candidate wondering whether or not to trust him.
"You may speak freely, Mr. Matthews," the Commandant repeated. "State your reason for wanting to be discharged."
"Alright sir, I will do that," Matthews answered. Speaking freely was not precisely defined, but most Candidates told to speak freely did not lapse into the first person. That Matthews used "I" told the Commandant that this young Man was both confident and angry.
"None of the violations in the past two months have been true," Matthews said. "I committed none of them. All of them were fabricated, sir."
"Yet you contested none of them," the Commandant replied.
"That is correct, sir," Matthews replied.
"So you want to leave because your anger over these so-called fabrications has finally gotten to you?" the Commandant asked.
"No sir, that's not it at all," the Candidate said. "Punishment drills don't rattle me. I can deal with whatever gets thrown at me. It goes much further than that, sir."
"Tell me, then, Mr. Matthews," the Commandant said.
"It's not easy to do that, sir," Matthews said.
"Yet here you are," the Commandant replied, his tone softening a bit. "You have a story to tell, so tell it, son."
The Candidate hesitated again, visibly uncomfortable.
"It's not the violations, or even the fabrications, sir," he said. "It's why they were fabricated, sir."
The Commandant looked at the Candidate's paperwork again. All of the last two months' worth of violations had been recorded by Cadet Sgt. James Yarrow, a member of the Discipline Corps.
"Go on, Mr. Matthews," the Commandant said.
The Candidate drew a deep breath.
"Sir, soon after I arrived here, a cadet began threatening me," he said.
"Threats are part of the training," the Commandant replied.
"Threats to fuck me, sir?" the Candidate replied.
"As long as it's not carried out, yes," the Commandant replied. "That goes with the territory."
"Sir, the cadet in question tried to carry it out," Matthews replied.
The Commandant paused.
"Was this the same cadet who has been writing you up?" the Commandant asked.
"Yes sir," the Candidate replied.
"Yet you never came forward?" the Commandant said.
"I didn't think he would try to carry it out, sir," Matthews said.
"And did he carry it out, Mr. Matthews?" the Commandant asked.
"When it looked like he might try, I told him I would kill him if he pushed any farther, sir," the Candidate replied.
"Did the cadet penetrate you?" the Commandant asked.
"No sir!" the Candidate replied, in a voice that shook the room. "No sir! I would have killed the motherfucker with my bare hands, sir!"
The Commandant nodded. Whatever else this Candidate might lie about, he wouldn't get screwed.
"And that's when the writeups began?" he asked.
"No sir, it wasn't then," Matthews replied. "After I told him I would kill him if he tried to fuck me, the cadet backed off. I thought it was over with, sir."
"But then something else happened?" the Commandant said.
"Yes sir," Matthews said. "I was on punishment march, and the cadet told me that if I didn't suck his dick he'd start writing me up and he'd spread the word I was queer and get me washed out."
"And you still didn't come forward?" the Commandant said.
"Sir, I was marching punishment drills and we were approaching mid-term exams," Matthews said. "I wasn't sure anyone would believe me anyway, so I wanted some more time."
"And then?" the Commandant asked.
"Nothing at first, sir," Matthews said. "But I started getting written up. And then he and two other sergeants came to me while on punishment drill and told me I'd have to suck all three of their dicks or I'd wash out. And this week they told me they'd set me up for an honor violation if I didn't do it."
"Three Cadet Sergeants did this?" the Commandant asked, in a low, icy tone.
"Yes sir," Matthews said. "Yes sir."
"And you still refused?" the Commandant said.
"Goddamned right, sir," the Candidate replied. "I told all of them to keep the hell away from me, or else."
"So why are you here now?" the Commandant asked. "Are you afraid of getting washed out of here, so you thought you'd leave before you could be separated?"
"I don't care if I'm washed out, sir. I will not accept leadership from those cadets, sir," Matthews said. "And if the Jackson Military Academy has that kind of leadership, I do not want to be here. Accept my request for separation, or wash me out. I don't care. But I will not take orders from the likes of them. I'd rather sweep floors for a living, sir!"
The Commandant held up his hand, signaling the Candidate to stop talking.
"Hold on, Mr. Matthews," he said. "Just hold on. I will deal with your request, but you need to calm down. I'm not one bit happier than you are about this."
"Yes sir," the Candidate replied. "Sorry, sir. I got wound up."
"I can see that," the Commandant said. "I don't blame you, but don't jump off the cliff just yet."
"Okay, sir," Matthews said. "Sorry, sir."
At that point, the Commandant punched a button on the Intercom on his desk and spoke into it.
"Carolyn, please send Cadet Sergeants Wilson and Randall in here," he said.
"Right away, colonel," she answered.
"Are these the other two sergeants who threatened you?" the Commandant asked.
"Yes sir," Matthews replied, glowering at them coldly. "They told me I'd have to get on my knees and suck dick if I wanted to stay here, sir. No fucking way, sir! No fucking way!"
Again, the Commandant held up his hand, signaling his desire that Matthews pause. He turned to the two sergeants.
"Cadet Sergeants, would you agree with me that you've witnessed the sort of courage and honor we want at Jackson Military Academy, and among the ranks of our Corps?"
"Yes sir!" the two captains answered, one after the other.
"Let me explain, Mr. Matthews," he said to the cadet, whose face registered shock.
"Three months ago, these cadet sergeants came to me and reported that Cadet Sgt. Yarrow had approached them with a plan to blackmail you into giving up your Manhood," the Commandant said. "While casual threats of penetration are part of the program, Mr. Yarrow's scheme went beyond that. I told these two cadets to go along with Mr. Yarrow's scheme only to the extent of the threats and the writeups, but to never allow him to be alone with you and to never permit any force to be used against you."
"What the hell, sir?" Matthews answered. "This was all some kind of goddamned joke, sir?"
"Not in the least," the Commandant said. "This was a matter of weeding out dishonor. If you choose to stay here, you will be a Cadet Sergeant and part of the Discipline Corps, effective immediately. You will be on the short list to join the Corps of Conquest in your third year if you develop as expected. You are the kind we want here."
"Cadet Sgt. Yarrow, I've reviewed your submissions, and have been seriously considering your request to become a Cadet Captain," the Commandant said.
"Thank you, sir!" the cadet replied, standing with pride.
The Commandant paused to regard the cadet. Like all of Jackson Military's cadets, Clifton Yarrow was in prime physical condition. He stood three and a quarter inches shy of six feet, his smallish frame holding 145 pounds of lean muscle and not much else. His military bearing was impeccable; he carried himself with a confident swagger, exuding a charisma that attracted many while intimidating others. His face was untroubled, with a perpetual hint of a smirk that conveyed an arrogance born of lifelong privilege.
His father, a two-star general, had commanded a desk and a telephone throughout World War II, and had transmitted a sense of entitlement to his son. The family's lineage went all the way back to the founding of Jackson Military Academy. Yarrow's great-great-great grandfather had fought Indians side by side with Andrew Jackson, before splitting off with with other southerners to lead Confederate troops, where he established a reputation for tactical brilliance. The Man's son had been one of the academy's early commandants, and was regarded very highly. After that, the line had slowly weakened.
Still, the Commandant had made Yarrow a Cadet Sergeant after his first year. It wasn't out of respect, as Yarrow believed.
"Sit," the Commandant beckoned, and the cadet sat down. "As I am sure you know, we don't make Cadet Captains out of just anyone. Before I can approve any change in your status, you will need to spend a period of time with a couple of Tops to see what you're made of. You are familiar with Cadet Captain Thomas. He and Cadet Captain Tinley will oversee you for a 10-day period. Presuming you agree, that is."
"Of course, sir!" the cadet replied in an Arkansas drawl that was too easy for the Commandant's taste. "I will take whatever they all dish out, sir!"
The Commandant smiled and punched a button on the intercom.
"Carolyn, send Cadet Captains Thomas and Tinley in here, please," he said.
"Right away, sir," the voice answered.
The Commandant turned to the proud Cadet Sergeant sitting in front of him.
"I'm sure you will take what they give you, Sgt. Yarrow," he said.
The Tops entered the room, and walked over toward the Commandant's desk, and stood on each side of Yarrow's chair.
"You will be spending the next 10 days with Sgt. Yarrow, as we discussed earlier," the Commandant said. "Show him what our Tops are made of, and what he's made of, Men!"
"Absolutely, sir!" Tinley said, drawing himself up to his full height.
"Yes sir," Thomas added. The other cadet was slightly taller than Tinley, and even more muscular.
"You start now," the Commandant said. "I will see the three of you back here a week from Monday at 1300. Dismissed."
"Yes sir," Tinley replied, followed by Thomas.
"Thank you, sir!" the Cadet Sergeant said, standing up.
"Okay, Cliff, let's get movin' along," Tinley said to Yarrow, who was surprised by the friendly tone. He had expected something like the Hell Week when Candidates first came to the Academy, but this seemed more like a gathering of old friends.
The three of them left together, and strolled through the campus at a relaxed pace. It was a warm spring day. There were puddles of standing water scattered about, the remnants of three days of stormy weather.
"So what now, Tops?" Yarrow asked, striding with easy and taking the confident tone matching that of his new comrades.
"There's a different section of this place," Thomas said. "Starts six miles from here. Over the hills and through the woods. Us and a Trainee. The whole idea is to show you what's up about them."
"So now I find out the big secret behind those pukes, huh?" Yarrow replied. "The Trainees who can never be mentioned."
"Yep, that's the whole idea, buddy," Tinley said. "It's a lot more involved than you think."
The Tops walked at a leisurely pace, explaining the Trainees and why they were at the Academy.
"Everybody thinks it's to show the Candidates what happens if they break the rules, but that's really not the point," Thomas said. "The Trainees are here to give Tops experience with conquest. They are the closest thing we'll see to a conquered enemy. Trainees aren't even Men, they're property, and we do whatever the hell we want with them. Total authority."
"Total?" Yarrow asked. "Anything y'all want?"
"Well, okay, we're not allowed to kill them unless we really want to," Tinley said, with a casual chuckle.
"Can't cut their nuts off either. Not without permission," Thomas said, laughing. "Commandant doesn't like it if we leave any marks above the collar either."
"So we beat on 'em a lot?" Yarrow asked, eagerly. "As long as there's no marks?"
"No marks above the collar," Tinley replied. "Maybe a bruise or two or three or 20 elsewhere, but you learn how to leave no marks at all."
"Can I ask y'all guys something?" Yarrow said. "I've always wondered."
"Shoot, buddy," Thomas replied. "Whaddya wanna know? No secrets here."
"I know the Trainees are volunteers, but how come they do it?" Yarrow asked. "I see 'em walking around like zombies, forbidden from speaking or even looking anyone in the eye. Why in hell do they stay?"
They had reached a tall fence. Actually, it was a set of three fences, two with barbed wire on top pointing in opposite directions. In the middle, a plain fence. Tinley withdrew a key chain from his jacket pocket and used one of the keys to open a locked box on the outer fence. A light inside glowed green. He threw a switch inside the box, and it turned red.
"Turning off the electricity in the middle," he told Yarrow, with a chuckle. "Don't want to fry anyone."
He closed the box and locked it, and then used a different key to unlock a gate on the first fence. After the three of them had passed through, he relocked the gate from the inside. A third key did the same for the electric fence. As they went through, Thomas pointed to a large, dead bird 20 feet away.
"This fence kills more eagles than all the hunters ever did," he said.
Tinley relocked the electric fence gate, and used another key to exit on the other side, and then re-lock. Finally, he opened a box on that gate with yet another key, and turned the fence back on. Yarrow noticed a humming when the light turned green. The procedure finished, they kept walking.
"We've got another three miles until we get to where we're going," Tinley said. "Might as well warn ya now, discipline will get tighter 'n tighter in the next 10 days."
"You got it, captain," Yarrow replied.
They resumed their relaxed pace, and Yarrow felt Tinley's hand on his shoulder.
"Sergeant, you asked why the Trainees stay. The short answer is that they stay for the certainty, but there's a longer answer that takes explaining. We're gonna have a lot of time, so I can start in on it."
"Thanks, sir," Yarrow said. "I've always wondered."
"Ya already know the numbers here, but I'll go over 'em again. Almost half of each class washes out. Of those who make the cut, one in 10 graduates as a sergeant like you, and one in 20 graduate as captains. There are even fewer trainees than leaders. Maybe one in 20 of the washouts wind up as Trainees. They are not ordinary fuck-ups. They are way beyond that, and that's why they wind up staying.
"Ya probably don't know that a Trainee's status continues forever. He gets several chances to drop out, but once he makes that final choice, it lasts forever. A Trainee will have a military career and a rank, but he will always be supervised for life by the Cadet Captain who supervised him here. We're talkin' about service for life. Trainees know it, and like I say, they get several chances to drop out."
"Sir, that makes it even more of a mystery!" Yarrow replied.
The other captain continued.
"Trainees are drawn from the washouts so let's start there," Thomas said. "Some washouts leave because of an injury or a personal hardship, or because they realize that they don't want to lead the military life, especially ours. There are no hard feelings about that. This life isn't for everyone, and we'd rather know sooner than later. The academy has hundreds of very good friends among these people, all over the country.
"There are others who couldn't hack it, physically or mentally or academically. They usually get treated pretty gently too, even the ones who were big disciplinary problems. Plenty of academy friends there, too. Then there are the washouts who are erased for honor violations. That's about half of them, and that's where the Trainees come from."
"Ah, the liars and the cheats and the thieves ..." Yarrow said, before Thomas interrupted.
"It's actually more than that," he said. "As a sergeant, you know that Jackson will often tolerate a cadet's honor code violations during the first half of Candidate year," Thomas said. "Sometimes, it's a matter of getting adjusted to the high standards here compared to a softer and more forgiving civilian life. A first-year Candidate who lies or steals, and so on, will be punished heavily, but can come back to the Corps if it's determined that it was an adjustment problem.
"Even after that, when honor violations bring dismissal, a lot of the time it's not a gross character issue. These people can't meet our standards, but they'll go on and do something else somewhere else. But the Trainees are different. In any class of 170, there are maybe 30 hard-core shitheads, but only four Trainees. It's not that they are liars or thieves or cheats or evaders. It's that they themselves are a lie."
"They are a lie, sir?" the sergeant asked, in a confused tone. "What do y'all mean?"
Tinley spoke up
"Okay, sergeant, let me tell ya a story," he said. "I was five years old. I took a silver dollar off my Pa's dresser. A day later, he asked my brother and my sister and me if they'd seen his silver dollar. They say no, and so do I, but I must have had a guilty look on my face 'cause Pa knew I did it. He says, 'Are you sure?' and they said no, and so did I.
"So he said he'd look harder, that maybe it fell behind the dresser. Of course, he knew I took it, and I knew I took it. So I got the silver dollar that I stole and I give it back. Bawled my little head off. Figured I'd get a whipping out of it, too. But he told me that my punishment would be no dinner, and to think hard about what it means to be a thief and a liar.
"I didn't sleep a wink. Got up the next morning and cried again and told him how sorry I was. Well, my Pa told me that he was proud of me for telling the truth and for being brave enough to face up to what I did. I had to apologize to my brother and sister and promise never to do it again. I cried some more, and my father told 'em to forgive me, and that as long as I never did it again the matter would be forgotten."
The sergeant smirked.
"He was telling you he'd always remember it, sir," he said. "If y'all did it again, then he'd use it against you, so it wasn't forgotten, sir."
"He wasn't playin' any angles," Tinley replied, casting a hard look the sergeant's way. "I never heard about it again. Reason I told the story is because most kids learn about honesty the way I did. They get caught, feel lower than horseshit, and never do it again. They learn that lyin' is the worst thing you can do."
"Yes, sir," Yarrow replied. "I didn't mean to imply anything about your father, sir."
"Now, with these ones we call Trainees, it's different," Tinley continued. "Maybe they don't get caught. Maybe they are raised by liars or thieves and follow the example. Or maybe they get caught but it's a big thrill. One Trainee told me that he'd actually want to get caught because then his Pa would beat his ass and he liked it. One way or another, it usually starts as a game. Then it becomes a habit, and then it becomes their nature. It turns inside out, and eventually everything about them is a lie.
"By the time someone like that gets here, he doesn't know the difference between truth and a lie. He's used to saying whatever he needs to say. Some of 'em get a hard-on for playing everything and everyone for fools. And here they are, at Jackson Military, like infiltrators. It's not that they're liars. They are a walkin' lie from start to finish. Even if they wanted to be truthful, they wouldn't even know where to start."
"The worst of the worst, sir," Yarrow said.
Thomas spoke.
"Yep, the worst and the most dangerous," he said. "Nations are like that too. It takes generations, maybe even centuries. Over time, everything becomes a lie. Everyone knows it's a lie, but they go along with it because they're cowards. Eventually they don't know how to be true. They're pretenders, just like a Trainee before he's nailed. But once they get the truth shoved in their face, they fold like a house of cards. But then it's too late, because they're a slave to whoever conquered 'em.
"The Trainees are here to teach us about what kind of people get themselves conquered," he continued. "About why people and nations are conquered, and what it means for both sides of a conquest. See, the general corps here carries out orders. Even as officers, that's what they'll do. The Corps of Discipline are in the middle, part conqueror and part enforcer. The Conquest Corps that you want to join, well, we are what the title says we are. We're here to make the conquest happen and to make it stick, so we need to know what it really is."
Tinley joined in.
"Big thing is to understand why people get conquered," he said. "It don't happen because they lose a battle or even a war. As conquerors, we've got to understand their weakness. That's why Trainees are here, and that's why we are right there on top of 'em. Once ya get into Conquest Corps, you spend half your time in third year studying conquest. Ya study winners and losers. Why they won, why they lost. What it means to conquer and be conquered. How to conquer, how not to be conquered. The Trainees are like a science laboratory."
Thomas spoke.
"Conquest starts with lies, then turns into cowardice and weakness," he said. "A strong Man can be defeated in battle but he can't be conquered. Same goes for nations. It's all connected."
"Yes sir," Yarrow said, his swagger returning. "I figure the Trainees must be the little weaklings. I can't say I pay much attention to them, but the ones I've noticed look like little runts."
"It's true that the Trainees are usually the shortest and lightest, and the Men of the Conquest Corps are usually the biggest and heaviest," Thomas replied. "But there have been a couple Trainees over six feet tall, and some Conquerors below five foot eight. Weakness isn't just a physical deal."
"So what is it?" Yarrow asked.
"You know how we were all drilled about lying and cheating and stealing and conniving?" Tinley asked.
"Yes sir," Yarrow said, more slowly, thinking about his many transgressions, especially the secret ones.
"Well, everyone does a little of it, especially early on," Tinley said. "And every Man will fail and lose and mess up. And if he's a Man, he'll face it, take his punishment, learn his lesson, and get better."
"Yes sir," Yarrow replied. "But aren't we better? That means not failing, doesn't it, sir?"
"It means knowing you'll fail," Thomas said. "Think about it a second. They even build unfairness into this place. Candidates and cadets get punished for things they never did. It's to teach us that in battle things won't go our way all the time, and that there won't be a good reason for it a lot of times, and that we'd better not whine about it."
"I never thought about it that way, sir," Yarrow said. "I've always hated unfair punishment, sir."
"Yeah, but you took it," Thomas said with a light hearted chuckle, "and you'll take it again."
Even though the Top's words were delivered in the friendliest way, the sergeant felt a flash of danger and wondered what the next 10 days held.
"There it is," Tinley said, pointing toward a high wooden fence. "Home sweet home."
At they approached the barrier, Yarrow saw a sign with lettering rendered in the familiar military style stencil, reading, "Training #4." There was a gate in the fence, secured by a heavy metal deadbolt. Tinley tested the bolt, and it didn't move. He fished out his key ring once more, inserted it in a lock next to the bolt, and swung it up and out of the way. The gate swung open, and they entered into a small yard in front of a cabin. Tinley lowered the bolt, and Yarrow heard it lock into place.
"It looks like the Trainee's not getting out of here, sir," Yarrow said, with a laugh.
"Intimidates 'em at first, that's for damn sure," Tinley replied. "But I've had Trainees tell me they feel safe being locked in here."
The cabin was also locked, and Tinley used another key to open it, and locked it behind them when they entered.
"Here we are," Thomas said, flicking a switch that triggered harsh fluorescent bulbs. "By the way sergeant, you'll be taking care of everything here until we've got a Trainee in a few days."
"Okay, captain," Yarrow replied. "Tell me what I've got to do and I'll do it, sir."
"That you will," Thomas said, lightly. "One more thing. In here, it'll be be 'sir' and not our ranks, sergeant. Like we said before, the rules tighten way up once we're here."
"Yes sir!" Yarrow responded, crisply.
"Okay, let's show the sergeant around a bit," Tinley said. They stood in a small living room that held a couch and a couple of chairs.
"Couch folds out, and that's where you'll sleep," Tinley said. "Once we've got a Trainee, he'll be on the floor or in the basement. There's a couple bedrooms in back for the captains. Everyone uses the same head, in order of rank and by permission. So if ya want to hit the head, ya ask us first."
"Yes sir," Yarrow replied.
"But first things first," Tinley continued. "First the food."
He walked toward the kitchen, with Yarrow and Thomas in tow. It wasn't a separate room, but just a section of the living room where the flourescent lights were burning. There was a linoleum floor, a counter and a sink, cabinets, a large freezer and a separate refrigerator. There was a table with four chairs, with a lower section at the end with a short chair.
"That's where the Trainee sits," Tinley said. "Until we've got a Trainee, it'll just be the three of us at the Men's table."
Yarrow breathed an inward sigh of relief that he wouldn't be "the Trainee" before the real one arrived.
"Sir, when's the Trainee gonna get here?" the sergeant asked Tinley.
"Let's see," the captain replied. "Today's Friday' right? I'm figuring Sunday or Monday. Not exactly sure just yet, but it won't be real long. No use havin' a Trainee before we explain everything about it. That usually takes a couple days or so."
"Got it, sir," Yarrow said. "I've got to say that this Trainee stuff is a bigger deal than I ever realized."
"Sergeant, you'll make three meals a day here, set the table, serve the food, and clean up everything afterwards to milspec Candidate standard," Tinley said, opening cabinets to show the dishes and glasses and silverware. "Dishwashing stuff is below the sink, including towels. Little broom closet over there has a mop and bucket, which you do after each meal. You also mop up the head after each use, and clean the head, the sink, the shower, and the brightwork to milspec Candidate standard."
"Yes sir," Yarrow said, dwelling on the term. "Milspec Candidate" was the standard demanded of Candidates. It meant clean enough to eat off of.
"Dinner is steak-fry and potatoes and beans," Tinley said. "Breakfast is bacon and fried eggs and toast and coffee and milk. Lunch is sandwiches and chips and milk. Got three days worth in the refrigerator. After that, we ought to have a Trainee. At that point, the Men get the usual and the Trainee gets burger and oatmeal for lunch and dinner, scrambled eggs, oatmeal, and coffee for breakfast. No milk, just water."
"Yes sir," the sergeant replied. "Sir, I saw beer in the fridge. That for us at dinner?"
"It's for Captain Thomas and me," Tinley replied. "Rank has its prerogatives, buddy! Same for booze. Until we have a Trainee, you'll get the pleasure of fetching us beer and whisky."
"Tops sure have the life, sir!" Yarrow replied with a laugh. "Damn! I can hardly wait!"
"That we do," Thomas replied. "That we do. Prerogatives of the conquerors. No alcohol 'til you're a captain. Give ya somethin' to look forward to."
"Yes sir!" Yarrow replied, enthusiastically. His misgivings melted away. He'd just been told he'd make captain. This 10 days was an initiation, not a test.
Tinley led the way into one of the bedrooms. He flicked a switch, and an incandescent bulb lit up the room. There was a double bed made squarely, a night stand, and a dresser. He opened the door to a big closet. It was filled with uniforms.
"That's where Captain Thomas and I put our stuff," he said. He pointed to the floor, where there were two pairs each of highly shined boots and shoes.
"Until we've got the Trainee here you keep the footwear shined up," Tinley said. "Shine gear's in that bag. And you make the beds, sweep the floor, beat out the rug, and keep the dust down. I'll show you where the cleaning stuff is."
"Yes sir," Yarrow said. It was dawning on him that he'd be doing a lot of housework over the weekend.
Tinley led the way into the other bedroom. It was a mirror image of the first one.
"Same goes here," he said. "Only difference is that the closet's got Trainee uniforms, and the dresser's got trainee exercise gear. Down at the bottom, there's a drawer with exercise gear and underwear for you. You'll have to put your uniform in the closet, but use the end opposite to the Trainee. There's a bunch of utility uniforms on that end too, so there should be something to fit so you're not limited to the one ya got on. There's shine gear on the floor for yer boots."
The bedrooms were connected by a short hallway. At one end there was another door, and in the middle the head. Thomas strolled into the head, which was big enough only for two.
"There's cleaning stuff below the sink," he said. "Trainee's enema kits are down there too. He's got to clean himself out every morning."
Yarrow chuckled.
"So you don't want the Trainee to have a car parked in the garage, then, sir?" he asked, playfully.
Thomas laughed.
"Anyway, the deal here is that the head's got to be milspec Candidate clean," the captain said. "Every time it's used, whatever got used gets cleaned right away except in the morning. Then ya wait until after breakfast. And in the evening, ya wait until after dinner. Floor gets mopped after breakfast. So if ya feel like takin' a piss off the deck outside, just ask. Lot easier than doin' it in here and having to clean the toilet to milspec Candidate standard."
"Thanks, sir," Yarrow replied, feeling his earlier worry about being treated like a Trainee receding. "I'll remember that."
Thomas led the sergeant out into the small hallway and out the door at the end onto an unheated porch. There was a washer and a dryer there, and a set of shelves holding an iron, and laundry supplies.
"Every day's laundry day," he said. "You do it until we have a Trainee. No need to mop up until the last day here, and then it'll be the Trainee's job. Uniforms that get laundered get ironed and starched. Utilities laundered, ironed, and starched every day after breakfast. You'll probably have to do laundry at least a couple times between now and when the Trainee's here."
"Yes sir," Yarrow replied. "Sheesh, sir, a Trainee is quite the little servant around here, isn't he?"
"Got that right," Thomas said. "Conquest, buddy. The conquered serve their conquerors."
Tinley took the lead again, and walked up to a door leading off the porch. He led them outside onto a large deck that held an assortment of wooden tables, chairs, and benches of various kinds. The fence that had blocked the front entrance continued around the sides, but the very back was metal cyclone, topped by inward-facing barbed wire. But the ground between the deck and the fence was angled in such a way as to give those standing or sitting there an unobstructed view of the river a few hundred feet away.
"Good place to sit and watch the world go by," Thomas said. "Especially when a Trainee is sucking your dick."
Yarrow laughed at the joke.
"Sir, can I take a piss?" he asked.
"Permission granted, sergeant," Tinley replied. "Down the steps and onto the grass. Hell, I gotta leak too. I'll do it out here to save ya the work inside."
"Much appreciated, sir!" Yarrow replied.
"Hey Tom, you gotta piss?" Tinley called out as he went down the steps with Yarrow.
"Yeah, why not," Thomas said. "Save the sergeant some trouble."
Moments later, as they stood and urinated, Yarrow couldn't help sneaking a peek at Tinley, who stood at an angle that gave him a view.
"Jesus Christ, sir, I'd hate to be on the other end of that thing!" he said with a chuckle. "I don't think I'd walk for a week."
"Oh yeah ya would," Tinley replied, with a grin. "I'd make damn sure of it."
Yarrow thought he detected an edge in the Top's voice, but dismissed it.