Tap-tap-tap-tap. “Ready, halt! Center, face!” The tall, husky sergeant-at-arms directed his troops. There were three soldiers forming the flag detail near the base of the flagpole, standing in a boxed formation. They beautifully executed serial precision movements under the Arizona skies. Beep. Scrr-r-r. A preparatory prompt sounded, followed by a squelch, the five-minute alert to honor the flag.
As the soldiers performed a time-honored morning ritual, Shy placed their notebook and empty coffee cup on top of the short wall leading up to the entrance of the Battalion Headquarters, which also served as the training center for military intelligence officers. The flagpole sat prominently in front of the headquarters building.
“Post the Colors!” the sergeant commanded.
One soldier clipped the width end of the flag onto the white rope cord. The other soldier slightly pulled the rope, keeping the flag cleared of the pavement.
Cannons boomed. Shy’s watch beeped. A perfectly pitched bugle blared across the post. As the music played, the young private hoisted the flag.
“Pre-SENT Arms!” The sergeant-at-arms barked. As the flag rose upward, the other soldier and sergeant-at-arms faced the waving stars and bars and saluted.
The music echoed across the small, Arizona valley all the way to where the schoolhouse sat. Standing as if they were eight feet tall, the soldiers’ limbs locked in place, left arms by their sides, heels pressed together, their right arms bent; and Shy saluted too. A gentle wind rushed across Shy’s face as they watched as the flag climb the 30-foot pole until it was secured in place.
The music stopped.
Shy dropped their salute and picked up their belongings. They walked past the flagpole and along the paved path under an imposing sculpture with golden lettering that read Through This Gate Pass Our Next Leaders.
Just as Shy reached the front entrance, they noticed there was a set of Battalion colors propped up tall in the flag mount. This was the Commander’s flag and alerted all entrants that he was in the building. Shy nervously keyed open the front door. As the door clanked shut, Shy stood in front of the mirror in the foyer and wiped their eyebrows. Shy took a deep breath while patting their freshly pressed uniform and checking for any imperfection. They walked through the double set of doors into a dark hallway, which this morning seemed unusually long. With each step, their foot strikes echoed large, filling the glistening floors down the hall. Shy’s mind grew anxious, running a thousand scenarios on why the Commander wanted to see them.
He knows.
No, he doesn’t, he just wants to check in about a student.
Yeah, right, he knows. You’re getting fired.
That doesn’t make sense. He has no grounds.
So why is he calling you in so early? Do you not remember the news last night? You’re next.
Stop it! It’s nothing.
Shy clicked opened a heavy door near the end of the hallway and pushed their way through into the small, dimly-lit secretary’s office. A small couch, coffee table, and three wood-backed chairs filled the tiny area. Everything was spotless and perfectly spaced.
Shy was unsure if the Commander was inside. Hesitant, they proceeded to round the dim corner to his office and saw the yellow light underneath the door. Their heart pulsated. Taking a deep breath, Shy dragged themselves to walk forward until they were mere inches from the door. A short memory flashed across Shy’s mind of flirting with that woman two months ago at a friend’s party. Shy had been drinking and the woman seemed interested. In the moment, it was innocent fun. But now Shy’s heart dropped as the guilt feverishly burned.
Maybe someone told.
Shy you haven’t done anything wrong.
He knows.
The Commander’s nameplate was prominent at eye level: LIEUTENANT COLONEL SCOTT E. MCGOWN.
Knock. Knock. Shy’s knuckles tapped two times on the door.
“Open and Enter.” The Commander’s voice was exact and serious.
Shy’s hand felt like ten-pound dumbbells while they grabbed and twisted the doorknob to enter.
The Commander, a midwestern man in his late 40s, was seated at his desk. He was a very tall man with a large presence. Shy thought someone had mentioned he played rugby in his college days at West Point. Short of that, Shy didn’t know much about his personal background. Military commanders didn’t make it a habit to get too close to their subordinates. The mysterious distance kept the respect and decorum up.
The Commander was brown-haired with a naturally athletic physique, a good-looking man by modern standards, and exactly who the public would picture as a military commander. He’d taken command of the training unit only three months ago. Shy and the rest of their colleagues were still learning the Commander’s quirks, his goals, and how to meet his expectations. It was general practice for new commanders to have a private counsel with their primary staff, but the maelstrom of DADT had overwhelmed everyone’s calendar.
Shy knew the Commander was aware of their pristine reputation. They wanted to do everything in their power to prove themself to him and earn his trust and respect. Shy immediately executed three sharp paces forward, stopped, and then executed a right face. Shy was facing the Commander. Then they snapped a salute.
“Captain Cole, reporting, sir!”
The Commander returned the salute and slid off his glasses onto the desk table. Shy finished the salute and stood pencil straight, hands glued to their side, and their eyes focused on the painting behind the Commander. It seemed remarkably similar to the painting in Shy’s room.
Shy stood square center in the commander’s office. It was a generous space for a man of prestige, traditionally dark like a good bourbon, the walls aligned with post-achievement swag. This space commanded authority and it was hard for Shy not to feel a little intimidated to stand there.
“At ease, Captain Cole.”
Shy’s heart was beating faster than an Indy 500 race. Their mind spun to prepare answers for anything the Commander could throw their way. Why am I here? What does he want?
“Did anyone tell you why you are here this morning, eh?”
“No sir. Major Weston just relayed that I was to report here at zero-seven hundred.”
The Commander nodded. “Well, let me cut to the chase.” Shy stiffened their shoulders and focused on the wall behind the Commander.
“Relax, Captain.” Perplexed, Shy’s empty gaze locked with the Commander in surprise. Usually, when a superior was preparing to discipline you, they would still keep you in the more formal “at ease” position. Shy slowly dropped their arms but kept their guard.
“I’m selecting you for Instructor of the Year. I wanted to be the first to tell you before the upcoming Winter Ball.” Shy’s knees buckled in relief.
“Oh, sir. Wow.”
“This year was a no-brainer. The Brigade Commander and I are extremely proud of you and we are lucky to have you on our team.”
“Thank you, sir. I… Thank you.”
“Well, you’ve earned it. You’ve trained five classes this year, on top of your regular duties, and I’ve noticed how often you’ve stayed late to help the stragglers.” He leaned back in his chair. “While I’ve got you here, I also wanted to check-in. I know we haven’t had a chance to schedule counseling but you know I have an open-door policy, eh? Did you want to talk about anything else?” the Commander asked.
Shy’s anxiety rushed through their body like pins and needles. Anything else? Shy, keep your mouth shut. “No, sir.” Shy shook their head.
“Okay. Congratulations again, but please keep quiet about the award for now.”
Of course, Shy thought. You don’t have to ask me twice. “Yes sir.” Shy snapped into the position of attention and saluted. “Good day, sir.” Hurry up and get the hell out of here, Shy.
“Good day, captain. Keep up the great work. Oh, make sure the students are ready for me, would you?”
“Roger. I’m headed down to the room now.”
Shy gave a tight smile. Once they walked out of the office, they exhaled a sigh of relief. Their heart rate slowed. They zipped into the hallway, meeting a sea of rushing students. The briefing was in five minutes and the students needed to be seated on time for the Commander.
“Five minutes!” Shy’s bark ricocheted down the hallway and the students responded in harmony, “FIVE MIN-UTES!
The young military officers, mostly in their mid-to-late-20s, filed one by one into the room, which soon overflowed with personnel standing alongside the side and back walls. The high and low pitch whispers reverberated with rumors regarding the Commander’s briefing. Everyone was aware of the recent news of DADT repeal. Did the Commander know something different than what the news had been reporting? What changes could the students expect?
Shy entered the multipurpose room swimming in blue tones and wood furnishing accents. The spacious room had cascading seating with rows of swivel hardback chairs descended to the front. Every cadre member and students were mandated to be present for this All Hands Briefing. The room, often used for lectures and large presentations, could hold about 125 audience members captive. The small base platform and lectern positioned at the front stood sentry in the silence. From front to rear, each table row extended from the wall and broke only at the aisle.
Captain Cole followed the last student into the room. This close to the meeting, it was standing room only. Shy found a single spot along the back wall next to a short, stocky woman, a peer they knew who loved Australian Rugby. Taking a moment to scan the room, Shy caught eyes with one of their new students, Captain Cameron Johnson. Cam was a hard worker, but still struggled with her classes. Shy felt a twinge of sympathy; they remembered how hard it had been to get through officer training. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Shy’s watch broke their attention. With a one-minute warning before zero-eight hundred, Shy silenced the room. “AT EASE!” they called, and every student faced front, not a word uttered.
Shy could hear the closing footsteps in the hall. The Commander and his Executive Officer walked in. A prompt man, the Battalion Commander was always on time.
“Room, ATTENTION!” Shy called out the room, then followed suit, no different from the students; Shy, too, acknowledged the superior officer and rendered him the proper respect.
A soft wind whistled beneath the door’s slight gap as if attempting to fan the combustible mixture of emotions inside the room. Shy felt uneasy, and much like the students wondered the reason for this All Hands. The cadre were generally given a heads-up before briefings like this. Not this morning. All eyes were on the Commander.
“At ease. Take your seats,” said the Commander, nearing the front of the classroom. At the lectern, he took a leisurely sip of Diet Coke, his back to the room of anxious faces, as if to gather himself before addressing the students. Then he turned to the audience. “XO, can you shut the door? Thanks.”
Shy jumped at the XO’s sharp, “Yes, sir!” Major Mack pulled the door shut and stood off to the side right next to Shy. The Major, easily in his mid-30s, towered over Shy by at least five or six inches. This didn’t seem to matter when Shy competed with him on the basketball court or cornhole games in the battalion area. The XO was a Hoosier fan to his core, and Shy connected with him.
The Commander walked away from the lectern and stood in the center of the platform, just looking at each of the faces in his command. He scanned the expressions of those seated, then turned his gaze to those standing along the back wall. Shy felt his eyes rest on them for a brief moment. They kept their eyes on him, exchanged a firm yet respectful glance before he moved on. But Shy wasn’t so confident inside; panic brewed, a tizzy of settled dust someone had purposely disturbed. Shy had mastered the art of survival over the course of their many years, of hiding who they were from others and themself—but this skill didn’t mean they weren’t quaking on the inside.
The silence and tension mounted as the Commander studied the faces in his battalion. “How’s everyone doing this morning, eh?” the Commander affably asked.
“Hooah!” The lecture hall thundered back this traditional, time-honored phrase. The Commander addressed the rows of faces. “Why are we here? You have finished your morning PT, eaten, hopefully, had time to shower…” The room chuckled quietly. “It is zero-eight hundred, and most Americans everywhere are still starting their day or just heading in to work. Every day, you wake to stand in formation, sometimes in the blistering heat, sometimes frozen, at zero-six hundred. Every day, every morning, we are reminded of why we are here. Why we do what we do. It’s simple and it is never clearer than when we start the day saluting the flag under the bright morning skies. There should never be any doubt why we serve and why others should want to serve this great nation.
“I know each of you are dedicated. That you are committed. That you wear your uniform with honor and pride. Know that what we do is an honor. And that serving is noble. To be a part of a brotherhood. A sisterhood. To be a part of a nearly 250-year lineage that has endured the world’s greatest battles. You are a part of something great. Hooah?”
“Hooah,” the audience hollered in the acoustically engineered room. Shy felt the tension easing as the room slowly warmed up.
“Many of you were in college or just graduated when the aftermath of 9/11 swept over our great nation. I was at the recruiting center. Suddenly, young men and women, old men, men in two-piece suits who had spontaneously left their jobs, were now standing in front of my desk to take up arms and defend their reeling country, our great country. I’d never seen anything like it. My team processed nearly 100 recruits a month, far surpassing our normal quotas. And not one time did I ask if they were gay or what faith they believed.”
The Commander looked across several faces around the room. “Not one time.”
He cleared his throat. “I only cared that they would defend this country and do it honorably. That they would upkeep our traditions and the customs that have made us the best army in today’s world. I just wanted to know if these men and women would have my back when we were on the front line staring at the enemy’s dark red pupils through our weapon’s scopes.” He paused, then his voice reverberated across the room. “Do you have my back?”
“Hooah!” the room roared back.
“So, why are you here this morning? I’m sure this is at the forefront of your minds, eh?”
Shy and others nodded, their stiff postures relaxing more and more.
“Last night, news broke regarding the possible repeal of the Don’t Ask Don’t Tell policy. Many of you were in grade school at the time, but in 1993, our military and civilian leaders looked at the impact of this policy. It is what we currently have in place and is still enforceable in the Uniformed Code of Military Justice. I stress that because I don’t want anyone to be confused or believe otherwise.
“If Don’t Ask Don’t Tell is repealed, it means that those who identify in this protected class would continue to serve without the fear of retribution. And for those who don’t identify in the protected class, it means you will continue to go to work and execute your duties. Theoretically, it should be business as usual.
“At the time when DADT was passed, everyone screamed that good soldiers would leave the Army in droves. And when the bill was signed… no one walked out. I suspect the same response will happen if the DADT repeal passes this December. Why? I believe it’s because we are a profession first. And as professionals, our force will still remain strong because of our devotion to the mission, and our values.
“Some of you may be asking: Is this worth the risk? Is it worth the division in our nation? The distractions within our beloved force? Why now, in the middle of war, eh? You are right – this is not the right time. It is clearly a distraction. I have pulled you away from your classroom schedule to talk about a change to policy that if changed will become effective immediately. And we don’t know what is going to happen, nor can we affect it. But whether the old policy is upheld or upended, we are still professionals who carry out the duties of our leadership and execute them with vigor.
“So I ask again, why are we here? Isn’t this above our pay grade?”
The Commander took a pregnant pause, allowing everyone time to reflect. As Shy scanned the depths of the room, taking in the mixed emotions, they shifted their weight in discomfort. This was a pivotal moment. Not only for the nation and Army they served, but for themselves. They were at a crossroads and their livelihood and quality of life were at stake. Could Shy still live under the current policy if it remained in effect?
As Shy reflected, the Commander asked another question. “What are we at risk of losing under a new policy, eh? Our faith? Our values? Or simply our comfort with leaving things, hard things, as they are? Is it vital to the mission to know if a soldier is gay or not? Do we need that knowledge to delineate between able Americans and determine who should serve and who shouldn’t? If Don’t Ask Don’t Tell is repealed, we may find ourselves quietly asking, ‘Who should fight alongside me and who shouldn’t? Who do I trust and who won’t I trust?’ These are biases we all have and we must question why we have them.
“Here’s another perspective: What do we have to gain? How does the repeal strengthen our force? How could we push past the discomfort of change? Change is hard and unpopular. But we are not the first generation to face unpopular change. I would venture to say that those before us laid the bricks for us to learn from them. Is it possible that the repeal gives us something greater in value, as opposed to taking away something of value we already had?”
The Commander pulled an index card from his blouse pocket and silently read the front before flipping it over. He turned and walked back to the platform in the front of the room, allowing the silence to simmer like a fresh pot roast, slowing the cadence of his talk. Shy admired how the Commander maneuvered through the topic and silently took notes to apply in their classroom.
“Both perspectives have merit, but I’m asking you to push past the surface and seize the depth of the argument. How does this policy strengthen or weaken our military force against our adversaries? That is the question our leaders and commander-in-chief will decide. As a leader, I want you to understand the nuances of this policy, but I caution you not to stray from your apolitical role as a soldier.
“We are a volunteer Army. Don’t forget that. We uphold the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic. This is what we are about: defending every American’s right of choice, including those Americans with whom we do not share values and social lifestyles. That’s my charge as your commander. To uphold my duty and oath to this Nation. To follow the orders of the commander-in-chief.”
The Commander suddenly stopped speaking and placed the card back in his pocket. “We are going to do something different now.” He descended from the platform into the center aisle. “I was given a slide presentation to present to you. But I decided that, rather than muscle through it, I want to talk openly with each of you. You are all thinking individuals and have your own independent views. I want to honor that.”
Shy felt the quiet hesitation in the room. Their eyes still planted on the commander as he now stood in the aisleway between students, haloed by the overhead lights, and looked down at his chest, at the black oak leaf cluster signifying the rank of Lieutenant Colonel. Suddenly, he tore off the rank, the rip of velcro slicing through the hall. Every eye, every heart, was captured in that moment. Shy didn’t even breathe.
The commander put the rank in his pocket. “I am a simple man. I put my pants on one leg at a time. I cry when I’m sad. And I’m obsessed with corgis.” A few chuckles echoed. “I want you to tell me how you really feel. What are your worries? What are you upset about? How do you think repealing this policy will affect you if that happens? We rarely get the chance to speak freely in the military, the chance to speak our minds and what is in our hearts. Tell me, what are your questions?”
A captain with four years of service quickly raised his hand. “I think they should be placed in a gay-only unit,” his Bostonian accent rang out. “It will be too uncomfortable to have gays serve openly and it’ll cost us our good order and discipline in the unit.”
“I see. Does anyone else feel the same way as Captain Murray?” The Commander scanned the room while raising his hand. A few hands went up. “It’s okay to agree.” A few more raised their hands. The Commander looked back at the captain. “I’m not going to sugarcoat my answers. I don’t think you want me to anyhow, eh?” The junior officers in the room murmured their agreement. “That’s a valid concern. It is. But look here. Sometimes we are afraid of what we do not understand. I think if you met someone who identified as gay, who was professional, and a good citizen in their community, and worked hard, and wanted a chance to get new opportunities, you might realize that person was not so scary.”
The captain looked down for a moment before replying. “Then I’m sure there are plenty of civilian jobs that would love to hire someone like that. I just feel that they don’t belong here, in the Army. Or maybe they serve, but just not in a combat arms unit. You know, the infantry or aviation, where you have to be close with your buddies. Sleeping and showering. It would make many. It makes me uncomfortable, sir.”
The commander placed a fatherly hand on the young trooper’s shoulder. “Captain Murray, you have a right to feel what you are feeling right now.” He pauses, drops his hand, and turns back to the center of the audience. “Eh, sometimes when we do not understand what is unfamiliar to us, it can feel uncomfortable. But as leaders, America’s leaders, we find that we must take the unpopular journey into uncomfortable territory. That includes this moment we all are standing in today.”
Captain Murray sat down, satisfied with the answer, or maybe he felt he didn’t want to push it too far, Shy couldn’t tell. Five more hands shot up. The Commander called on First Lieutenant Andrews, the short-statured brunette standing next to Shy, and the entire room twisted in their seats to face the back of the room.
Despite the fact, Lieutenant Andrews had only four years of service she possessed the mature confidence of someone well-established in their career. “Sir, my opinion is that if DADT is repealed and gays may openly serve, then I would have to leave the Army I love. Homosexuality is against my religion, sir. I should not have to accept or condone that lifestyle.”
Shy shifted and folded their arms. The rising anxiety and warmth boiled inside, pulling Shy back to their younger years when they first started struggling with their sexuality. It was only because of the years of camouflage that Shy was able to mask their emotions. Dude, keep it together.
The Commander made his way to the back wall. “Lieutenant Andrews, you know I love history. As the old elephant once told the baby elephant, ‘son, we’ve been here before.’ With that, I bring up the Women’s Armed Services Integration Act of 1948 that was signed by President Eisenhower and the Executive Order 9981: Integration of the Armed Forces signed by President Truman. To put it plainly, a military segregating troops by race was once widely accepted. As was the fact that women weren’t allowed to serve. Only a change to the law compelled our military to integrate its ranks and to accept women. The vile arguments and biased debate during those times were nearly identical to the outcry our nation is experiencing today. Segregation, some would say, worked. Until it didn’t. African Americans and women saw that upward mobility in their careers was stifled by a color and gender ceiling, causing many to resign or retire very early in their working careers. Every last one of those soldiers loved their country and were willing to put their lives on the line to fight in the nation’s uniform, even if they were treated poorly and relegated to second-class citizen status. DADT relegates gay people to second-class citizenship. It says, ‘you can sacrifice your time, your dreams, you can die for your country but we don’t want you to be visible.’”
He paused, considering. “I don’t have a good enough answer on how to square this with your faith. Religious beliefs are, by their nature, sacred. No one wants to be put in the position that they have to forsake or ignore what is most meaningful to them. I’m sure our senior military and civilian leadership are looking into that; after all, we have a huge Chaplain Corps that holds very specific and diverse views on those same concerns you have, Lieutenant Andrews. This is tough. But I ask you to not give up on our leadership or our nation as they work to do the right thing. And allowing gay soldiers to serve openly is the right thing. It honors every born or naturalized American citizen’s individual rights and freedom of choice.”
The whispers around Shy spread like a pulsing wave across a New York baseball crowd; the disrespect caught Shy off-guard. Shy felt the little darts of distrust and disgust, though they couldn’t discern the words. They’re talking about you. Too distracted, Shy missed the next question and answer, too focused on controlling the rising gush of heat. Why is he entertaining this? Shy, speak up…. But just as quickly, the fear roared back, reversing that decision. Wait… you will become a target… they will know.
As Shy warred internally, others in the room stated their opinions:
“This is so wrong and against everything I believe,” one student uttered.
“So now gays get to shower and sleep in our quarters. Who’s protecting us from their advances?” another student chimed.
“Since when did we change the rules to placate to a minority. What about us?” another voice asserted.
The only voices that rang were the dissenting ones. Shy had no idea some of their students and peers felt this way. Shy wanted desperately to speak out, but fear froze them again. The perspiration under their arms and along their back got worse. They stood, locked in place with arms still crossed at their chest, fuming. Shy focused on an imaginary point just below the podium in front of the room, eyes forward, ignoring, and expressionless. Their spirit had escaped.
Shy could see the moment the Commander realized he was losing control. “Anyone else with a different opinion wants to speak?” He wrestled the conversation back, methodically scanned across the room, his eyes meeting and holding Shy’s.
Shy froze.
Then Captain Johnson raised her hand. “Yes, sir!”
The Commander whipped around and walked over to her, gesturing for her to introduce herself.
“Captain Johnson, Class 10-11, sir. After listening intently to my peers and having a surface-level understanding of how the majority of Americans feel on the issue, I would like to share my position.” She stood, only slightly shorter than the Commander.
“You’re pretty tall. I’m not used to my students looking at me at eye level,” he joked. The captain smiled as if she’d heard that line before. “Please, go ahead.”
“Sir, you raised two hypothetical questions at the start of the hour: What do we stand to lose, and what do we stand to gain with the repeal of DADT?”
“Yes, I did,” the Commander said slowly.
“What do we stand to lose?” Captain Johnson asked. “We mostly stand to lose good order and discipline at the lowest levels in the short-term. The fact that we are at war only heightens the risk. It will take leadership to usher us safely through this bumpy patch.
“We also stand to lose respect and credibility amongst our allies on whether or not we truly exercise our own basic tenets and constitutional ideals: protection of our personal freedoms, free speech, and human rights. The world, including our adversaries, is watching.
“Finally, we stand to lose who we are. We are a profession of integrity. Don’t Ask Don’t Tell is a dishonest policy that begets dishonesty. The status quo which some argue to keep has already eroded one of our most revered values — integrity. Without integrity, we lose trust, the foundational glue of any unit. This is a hefty price we have paid thus far. But I believe not addressing the controversial issue of allowing gay Americans to serve openly will become costlier if we continue to ignore it.”
Shy was impressed. As she continued to speak with confidence, it was clear Captain Johnson was more experienced than her peers.
“So,” the captain continued, “what do we stand to gain? For starters, we gain a continued legacy of leading out front. We are a young nation that has strived to do what is right and remarkably unpopular. In the past, we have attempted to right wrongs. This was evident, as you noted, sir, with the passing of the integration passage for women and Black Americans. The proposed DADT repeal is no different. It protects a vulnerable population and allows them the eligibility and choice to serve this nation.
“With this new policy, we also stand to gain openness, rebuild trust, and attract more talent who want to serve and proudly uphold our values.” Captain Johnson turned to her peers. “Look at us. We represent the best and brightest. Many of us will leave here in a few months and ship off to the foothills of Afghanistan or the concrete cities of Iraq. I don’t know about you, but I want the best person, regardless of their gender or sexuality, to have my six. That’s all I care about. That’s all that should matter: do we have each other’s backs? So when I think about it this way, we have much to gain and so little to lose.”
The captain took her seat, and the student behind her double-tapped her on the back. Another to her left gave her a dab and smiled. Captain Murray, also, reached over to give his approval. The room was quiet. Shy mentally applauded Johnson’s eloquently-stated position.
The Commander seemed equally impressed. “Well stated, Captain Johnson. You’ve clearly thought about the issue. Eh, is there anyone else who wants to speak?” When the room remained silent, he continued, “All right. That concludes today’s training. I appreciate you all trusting me to share your truest concerns. I want to remind you that we are still soldiers; we take our orders from our commander-in-chief and civilian leadership. That said, I will support each of you to the best of my ability.”
The XO handed the binder to the Commander, who walked up the aisle to the exit. The XO then called out, “Attention!”
The packed room stood in unison, chairs sliding back loudly, as each individual straightened up, heels clasped, arms held in place at their sides. Not a sound made. No one out of order. As a single body, every soldier in the room stood at the position of attention.
“Carry on!” The Commander’s voice as he whisked out the door gave them the freedom to move, to think, to feel like an individual again. Intense chatter, some measured and some in near-revolt broke out. With the Commander gone, the tension was not as sharp as it had been, but it still lingered.
Shy bailed for the door. Breathe. It was like trying to plug the growing holes in their breached Hoover Dam of emotions. Hold it together, Shy! Everyone was still in the classroom so the hallway was dead. Shy faced the second-story window, staring into the eternal point of the overcast sky’s horizon. A picturesque field of cedarwood trees stretched and filled the foreground, interspersed with the occasional brown, flat roof-top and brick five-story buildings. The tree-lined view often reminded Shy of the Boy At A Window portrait back home. Shy’s mind shifted from first to fourth gear. The short, labored breaths and feeling of dwindling control bubbled more. You don’t belong here, Shy. Wait until they find out you aren’t who you say you are.
“Captain Cole?” That lyrical voice broke through Shy’s thoughts. “Cole?”
Shy turned to see an attractive officer approaching them – their supervisor, Major Rihannon Weston. Shy had first met then-Captain Weston at a major training exercise and immediately developed a crush. Even though they were now assigned to the same unit, they moved in different circles; Shy didn’t really know much about Major Reston. Shy didn’t know if it was Rihannon’s mixed heritage, her slender frame, her brown almond eyes, or that crazy competitive spirit to outrun or outsmart her opponents that made her most attractive. But no matter how much Shy was tempted to ask Rihannon out on a date, they never gave in.
“That was brutal back there, huh?” Rihannon came and stood beside Shy. Shy could smell the soft scent of Rihannon’s perfume that made the small of their back tingle. As Rihannon barely touched Shy’s sleeve, Shy faced the gray clouds, resisted.s
“Yeah,” they replied, gruffer than they meant to. “I just needed a quick breath of air. It was pretty stuffy in there. Jam-packed.” Shy turned back to the window with an almost empty stare.
“I know. Don’t get lost out here, ok?” Rihannon gave a wry grin and Shy’s heart thumped. How was it that she still affected them like this? “Once you finish getting air, I’ll see you back in the office.”
Shy nodded as Rihannon moved away, still tempted, by a woman they could never, ever have.
END OF CHAPTER.
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental. TWO ROADS BACK TOGETHER (draft version). Copyright © 2022 Shay D. Potter. Written by Shay D. Potter.
Thank you for reading! Share your critiques and feedback by leaving a comment below or emailing me at bebettermediallc@gmail.com.
This was an excellent chapter. You captured everything very well. I could feel the tension. I liked the commander. Great job.