After Luttrell wiped his mouth dry with the back of his hand, he came forward and shook Jason’s hand. “I heard I was getting a roommate today, but once it got past nine I doubted you were coming. I’m Seth, Seth Luttrell.” He smiled and noticed Jason was looking at his flag. “Beautiful isn’t it?”
Jason looked up at the flag. “I’m Jason Steed. What country is it?”
The boy looked annoyed by the question. “What country do you think it is?”
Jason paused. This kid was obviously proud of his country; he didn’t want to upset his new roommate. “Em, you know Seth, I’m not really good at geography, as a guess I would say Cuba?”
Luttrell laughed and then cursed. “The Cubans are communists their flag is.” He paused and ran to his briefcase and pulled out a book. He fingered through the pages. “Ah here, Cuba. Okay, I’ll let you off it’s similar. But if you don’t want to get hurt you better not make that mistake again. It’s the mighty flag of Texas, and there are lots of us Texans here so do yourself a favor and don’t make that mistake again. Besides, where are you from? You sound Australian?”
“I’m British. Well I was born in Hong Kong, but my mother was Scottish and my father is English. He’s a commander in the Royal Navy on an aircraft carrier.”
“British, cool. Which one?” Luttrell asked. He went to a desk and pulled out another book, this one with ships on the cover.
“Oh, HMS Hermes.” He joined Luttrell looking for a picture of it. “So, do I call you Seth or Luttrell?” Jason asked.
“Tex or Luttrell works for me. Most of our class call me Tex. The teachers call me Luttrell. Here it is, HMS Hermes. Oh it’s a baby just seven hundred and seventy feet. The USS Nimitz that comes into service next month is over one thousand feet long.”
“Well, you know what they say about a man who drives a big car. He’s compensating for a small…” Jason joked. Tex squinted at Jason; he never got the joke. Jason remembered Scott informing him that the Americans had a different sense of humour. Maybe this was what he meant.
They spent a few hours talking, but eventually Jason had to climb into his bunk. He was jet lagged. He hadn’t eaten but was confident breakfast would be good. It was past midnight and Tex had his alarm set for six in the morning.
It seemed that no sooner had his head hit the pillow the alarm was going off.
Jason met most of his class in the bathroom just after six. The large room was full of chatter. He received several looks when he stepped into the shower. He assumed it was because he was the new boy.
Tex stayed close to him, making sure he never got lost and found his way back to their dorm room.
“They let you wear your hair that long in the front in the British Sea Cadets?” Tex asked as he watched Jason gel his long blond fringe back over his head.
“No, not really, I gel it back. I keep the back and sides short. It’s called a Hitler Youth cut since it’s how they wore their hair. I like my fringe long,” Jason said.
“Your fringe?” Seth asked.
“Yeah, this.” Jason pointed to the blond hair hanging over his eyebrows.
“That’s your bangs.” Tex grinned.
Jason pulled on his new uniform. He found it strange to be wearing a jacket with the American flag on his shoulder. He looked around the room, holding the plastic it came wrapped in.
“Where’s the bin?” Jason asked.
“The, what did you say, bin?”
“Yeah the bin to put the rubbish in. You know, a rubbish bin.”
Tex roared with laughter. “Jason, you’ll have to learn to speak English. You mean a trashcan. We don’t have them in the rooms because guys were putting food scraps in them. The place was infested with cockroaches. All trash goes in the trash cans in the bathrooms, and they’re emptied twice a day.”
They walked down to the canteen together. Jason was impressed with the canteen, although he was told it was called a mess hall not a canteen. They offered everything to eat except hot tea. As he tucked into eggs and bacon, he looked at Tex.
“What do you want to join when you're eighteen, Navy?”
“Hell no. The US Marines. What about you?” Tex asked.
“S.A.S.,” Jason said.
“S.A.S? What’s that?”
“Em, Special Air Service. Like your Navy Seals, but tougher and smarter,” he automatically and proudly said without thinking.
Tex’s face changed. “Bull, no one is tougher than the US Naval Seals. You Brits wouldn’t stand a chance against them. We sent you home running in 1776 and took the country for ourselves in the revolution.”
“Ha, that was a civil war and we let you have it. We still had India, Australia, Hong Kong, and Canada. Even today Hawaii has the British Union Jack as part of its flag. We let you share it with the Native Indians.” Jason grinned.
“Oh boy, you're gonna be a hoot in history, and we got that first lesson with Corporal Armstrong. He's the strictest, meanest teacher we have. He’s gonna roast you if you mention that.” Tex laughed.
Chapter Nine
At seven-thirty they had roll call on the parade ground. It was followed by drill and inspection. Jason had experienced drill in the Sea Cadets, and he found it no more difficult here.
He followed Tex into the first class. He was still getting looks from some of the other students. Many had said hello to him and asked him if he was Australian. He sat next to Seth two rows from the front.
The door flew open and was slammed shut by an overweight man bulging out of his uniform. He turned and faced his students as if he was inspecting them and stood behind his desk at the front of the class. Jason noticed his nametag said Armstrong and assumed it was the corporal Seth had warned him about.
“Stand for the Pledge,” He ordered.
Jason stood with everyone else; he copied them when they all put their right hands across their hearts and faced the flag in the corner of the room. As they started to say the pledge he stood quiet, looking around and taking in the new experience. When they had finished they sat down, all that was, except for Corporal Armstrong. He threw a stick of chalk at Jason, who noticed it and caught it in his hand, much to the annoyance of Armstrong. A few gasps went around the room. No one had ever caught the chalk before, or tried. It usually just hit you in the face or head.
“Stand and tell me your name, Private,” Barked Armstrong.
“Steed sir. Jason Steed…” He paused. “Em, Private Steed, Sir.”
“Well Private Steed. You will now say the Pledge of Allegiance again for us all to hear.”
Jason colored up a little, He hated being center of attention and could feel everyone’s eyes watching him. He placed his hand on his heart and looked at the flag. Nothing came from his mouth.
“He’s new, Sir,” Tex said.
Armstrong threw a stick of chalk at him, although he was not fast enough to catch it, and it bounced off his forehead, leaving a white mark. “Did I ask your opinion Luttrell?” Armstrong sneered.
“No, Sir.”
“Then get out here and give me fifty.”
Tex climbed up from his seat, walked to the front of the class, and performed fifty push-ups. Jason watched, not sure what was going to happen next. He was confident he could do push-ups if he had to. Armstrong turned his attention back to Jason.
“So new boy, did they not do the Pledge at your last school?”
“No, Sir,” Jason said.
Armstrong marched towards Jason and faced him. He looked down at Jason, his face just inches away. “Do you take me for a fool boy? What kind of school doesn’t do the Pledge of Allegiance every morning?”
“A British school, Sir,” Jason said. Some giggles went around the room.
Armstrong pulled away from Jason, his eyes darting around the room trying to see who dared laugh. “Well then Limey. You will be saying the Pledge of Allegiance in class every morning until I say different, and if you get one word wrong, the whole class gets to do fifty.” Armstrong smiled. He turned a
nd walked back to his desk feeling sorry for himself. He stopped short and faced Jason again who had sat back down.
“Did I say sit?”
“Um, no sir, sorry sir, I thought...” Jason stuttered and stood again.
“So Limey, name me ten Presidents. They don’t have to be in order,” Armstrong asked. Most of the class rolled their eyes. They could all answer over twenty but had no confidence in the new boy.
“Well we have President Ford, President Nixon, Washington, Roosevelt.” He paused thinking hard, the entire class trying to mouth the names to him. “Oh, President Lincoln, Eisenhower, Em.” A long pause followed. “I don’t know anymore, Sir.”
“Six. You can just name six out of a possible thirty-seven don’t they teach history in Britain Private Steed, or are they all backward?” Armstrong asked.
The remark angered Jason who was very proud of his country. “Yes sir, they do teach history and much more of it ,as we have so much. Such as all the kings and queens and all the little countries we've owned from time to time, like America. Plus all the wives of King Henry VIII. I doubt anyone here could name them all including you,” Jason said.
“Good, Private Steed, very good. So you're proud of your country?” Armstrong asked. “Would put your country before America?”
“Yes, sir. I am proud of my country. I like America. You're our allies, but I would put my country first,” Jason said. He watched Armstrong slowly approach him.
Armstrong saluted him. “That is the correct answer, Private Steed. You should be proud of your country. You may sit down, but you still need to learn the Pledge of Allegiance.” Armstrong smiled. He took an instant liking to Jason. He admired someone with fire in his belly.
Tex and many of the others looked on open mouthed. They had never seen Armstrong smile before or known anyone stick up for himself in front of him.
At lunch, Jason and Tex joined three others from class. They all smiled when Jason sat down. “Hi Limey, I’m Austin, but I’m from New York so everyone called me Yankee.” Jason shook his hand. The boy was African American and very tall for his age.
“How old are you?” Jason asked.
“Twelve. We're all twelve, except for Cowboy. He’s thirteen,” Yankee said.
“Howdy, Limey. I’m cowboy, the oldest and toughest in class.” He reached over and shook Jason’s hand. He was a skinny kid with a face full of acne. His hair was cut so short he almost looked bald.
“Hi. Do you all have nick names?” Jason asked, trying to make a mental note of the names. “Why Cowboy?”
“Cause he’s bow legged, looks like he’s been riding a horse.” Yankee laughed.
“Riding a cow more like, ” Tex joked.
“I’m bow legged cause of what I got packed between them,” Cowboy joked, making a rude gesture with his hands.
“No, I seen ya in the shower.” Yankee laughed, wriggling his little finger at him.
Jason was enjoying his new school. He still had math and was a complete mess in American history, but was more advanced in French and German. He enjoyed the military activates like target practice, map reading, Morse code, and survival training.
By the next morning, he had mastered the Pledge of Allegiance and said it at the front of the class. English was a little difficult. Corporal Jones taught the class. He asked Jason to come to the front of the class and threw him a stick of chalk, so he could see for himself exactly what Armstrong had described in the staff room. Jason caught it easily.
“Private Steed, as you’re English I expect you should be good in the lesson, but you'll actually struggle a little with spelling,” Jones said.
“I don’t think so, Sir. I’m average at punctuation and spelling. I think I can spell no better or worse than anyone else here,” Jason said. He was unsure of the question or where Jones was going with it.
“I see., Well then Jason, write down the following on the blackboard. Color, Tire, Center, Program, Yogurt, Labor, and favorite, and Pajamas,.” Jones instructed.
Jason confidently started writing the words on the board. By the time he got to the third word he heard gasps from his classmates behind him. He paused stepped back and looked at his spelling, and when he was happy he continued. When he had finished he turned around to notice the whole class grinning at him. Yankee was shaking his head from side to side.
“Okay, Steed. Sit down. You got them all wrong. This is how to spell them.” Next to Jason’s words he spelt it the American way.
Jason’s English Corporal Jones
Colour Color
Tyre Tire
Centre Center
Yoghurt Yogurt
Favourite Favorite
Pyjamas Pajamas
Jason looked at how Jones had spelt the words differently and blushed.
“Don’t look so worried, Steed. You spelt it correctly for an English person, well done. But in the US, we spell words very different. These are just a few. If you spell the English way I won't give you a bad mark.”
Jason wrote to his grandparents and told them he was enjoying the Military Academy. Most people were helpful and friendly, and he enjoyed the lessons. He even admitted to Tex that the American versions of spelling seem to make more sense. He hated the nickname ‘Limey’ but it seemed to stick with him, and he couldn’t shake it off.
He enrolled in a martial arts class; he never really expected much. It was taught by Sergeant Hammonds. The class had twenty students, three from Jason’s year, the other’s all older. It was Taekwondo, where Jason was not only a black belt, but also a 3rd Dan, meaning he was two grades higher than a regular black belt. He had three yellow lines on one end of his belt. The other students watched him as he wrapped his belt around his waist. It also caught the attention of Sergeant Hammonds.
“So you’re the new boy. That’s an impressive belt.” Hammonds smiled. Jason looked up at Hammonds. His own belt was a plain black belt. “Maybe you should teach the class if that is really 3rd Dan?”
“Yes, Sir. Third Dan in Taekwondo. I do study other forms, but this is my highest grade and my personal favorite. I started when I was four. I’m pleased we do Taekwondo here.”
After the class ended, Jason continued to work out. Some of the others watched him perform his. Kata’s, His body effortlessly moved across the gymnasium with speed and grace. Each kick and punch was timed to perfection, hitting his imaginary opponent. When Jason was performing forms he was at his happiest, his mind focused on every muscle fiber in his body.
Chapter Ten
Tex looked up from his book when Jason returned to the dorm room. Jason was red faced and his hair wet with sweat.
“Looks like you either got your butt kicked or you’ve been on a five mile march.” Tex grinned.
“Neither. Just a good workout.” Jason sniffed his armpit. “I better take a shower before bed.”
He returned wet a few minutes later with a towel wrapped around his waist. Tex had the window open and was gazing outside. Cold air had filled the room.
“Shut the bloody window. It’s freezing in here now.” Jason moaned.
Tex turned and laughed. “I love your swear words, Limey. They're so British. Even when you’re pissed you sound posh.” He gestured Jason towards the window. “Look, the siren has gone off at the Airbase. They've got guards running around, search lights, dogs barking. It’s probably a drill. I doubt the Russians are invading.”
Jason peered out the window with Tex. He wrapped his arms around himself, trying to keep warm. Quentin Roosevelt Airbase was nothing more than an airfield, with modern hangers and large buildings along one side. Yankee had told Jason that is was a research center for the Air Force. Tex and Cowboy argued it was just an old air base. Jason went along with Yankees theory. They had far too much security for just an old base. He thought whatever secrets they had there; they wanted to keep them secret. No one from the Academy had ever been allowed in.
“Okay, now shut the window it’s freezing in here,” Jason said. He quickly pul
led on his Pajamas and climbed into his bed, peering out of the top of his covers.
Tex closed the window, turned off the light, and jumped into his bunk and farted for good measure. “On Saturday we go into town. We normally get malt or a root beer and go to the movies. You’ll have to come with us, Limey.”
“A malt or a beer? You must think I’m green, no way you guys will get served. You got to be twenty-one here. At least in Britain you can drink at eighteen, but none of you look more that fifteen, even in uniform,” Jason said.
“What are you going on about, Limey? A malt shake or a root beer. You don’t have to be twenty-one to drink them. It’s just milk or soda.” Tex laughed. “Don’t tell me you have never had a malt or a root beer?”
“Nope. I’ve had a milkshake. Is it like that?” Jason asked.
“The malt is. The root beer is like Coke but different.”
There was still an alert on the airbase. Helicopters came and went; searchlights occasionally lit up the dorm room, as there powerful beam passed. Armed Guards with dogs searched the perimeter.
The following morning, news spread like wild fire in the academy. Someone had broken into the base and two guards had been injured. This caused rumours to spread. Some said it was a pilot going crazy. Others said the Russians were invading. Not even the staff at the academy knew the facts. Security was increased on the airbase, and as a safety measure it was also increased on the adjoining academy.
The incident never stopped the daily arrival of the huge C-9B Skytrain II US Navy Aircraft. The planes flew back and forth from Thailand bringing back used military equipment that was used in the Vietnam War. They were trying to salvage as much as possible. Jason learned that just a few months before a flight contained returning troops, some in body bags.
*
The academy competed each year in the annual US Military School Games. This year was no different. The three-day event would be held at the US Marine Corps camp in Pendleton, California. The competition was a small version of the Olympic games with just students from Military academies across the US. Quentin Roosevelt Military Academy had a tradition of winning the most medals. They were known as the academy to beat.