Duty(5)

That's the good thing about being at the Point. The office hours are different from the rest of the Army, and for the most part, the Academy treats things on the so-called 'gentleman's code.' That means that unless you're in trouble or in some other way f*cked up, there aren't any of the morning group formations, whether it's for PT or anything else. Instead, we show up for work, we do our jobs, and we get our free time. Even our office hours are different. Instead of the nine to five that most units operate on in garrison, we run by the timeline that the Corps of Cadets does, which means that while we start stupidly early at seven thirty, I'm also out of the office by four on most days.

Not that I can take advantage of that free time. As a Private First Class, I don't exactly make great pay. I mean, twenty-two grand a year isn't peanuts, especially since I don't have to pay for health insurance or an apartment, and even food can be free most of the time, but I'm not exactly living high on the hog, as my grandmother used to say. I've got bills to pay, specifically paying off my student loans for community college. It was the whole reason I joined the Army in the first place. My parents tried hard, but they're both working class people, and after a high school career where I kinda spent three years goofing off and spending more time watching the hot ice hockey guys than studying, I found myself short on scholarship options when I graduated. Still, I've got my associate's degree, so the Army was a good choice, since I can make Specialist or Sergeant faster that way, and then I'll have a good GI Bill afterward to finish out my degree. They even offer options to help you study in the service as well, but I'm not ready for that yet. Kinda strange, being somewhere that’s meant for college studies when I'm not ready for college.

I get back to my barracks and change quickly, wanting to make the most of the time I have to ride. My one weakness, the thing that I'll admit I've spent too much money on, is my bike. Once I realized that I didn't like the hard contact of hockey, and I'm nowhere near the pretty princess style that makes a good figure skater, Minnesota's favorite sports went out the window. But what my home state did have was lots of good roads for riding, and in the months that I've been here, I've gotten back into riding again.

My lime green Specialized is my baby, custom fit to my body after I pulled out a little bit of my built up pay after finishing training at Jackson. My roommate is pretty cool with my hobby too, not minding that I have a big part of my personal space in the barracks taken up with a fifteen-hundred-dollar bicycle. This might be a military Academy, but there's no way I'm trusting my baby to just being locked up outside on the bike rack.

I head outside and stretch lightly before hopping on my bike, rolling down and around the cadet area. I don't usually go near Central Post on my rides. To be honest, I've got personal beef with the Corps of Cadets. It's not that I resent them for being able to go to college for free. I mean, they're going to be commissioned and they have to serve five years after they graduate, and I've heard a little bit of what they go through. It's tough. Four years of being simultaneously called a future leader but also given a lot less freedom than even I have must wear on them.

But with that great stress comes a lot of compensation, too. Like I said, the cadets are treated differently than any other group in the Army. Even their seniors, or firsties, as they call themselves, have this strange blend in which they're called the best and brightest of the Army's future, and they’re given a lot of stress and privileges in addition to the stress of classwork . . . but on the other hand, I'm able to leave after work whenever I want, and they can't. I don't have to sign out to go to New York City on the occasions that I can afford it, and there's none of the stupid parking issues that they have. My car's parked right outside my barracks for when I want to use it. They have to walk three-quarters of a mile to get to theirs. It's like the cadets are pressured and treated like babies at the same time.

To make up for it, a lot of the 'pampered pets' are *s. Especially the First Captain, or highest ranking cadet. I get it, and I feel bad for her. There haven't been a lot of female First Captains. And she's the poster child for her class. Seriously, she's on the f*cking website. And even though she's twenty-two, she's reporting to Colonels and Generals on a pretty routine basis, and every VIP that comes through post is a chance for the Army to trot her out to do a dog and pony show. She's shaken hands with half of Congress, I think, and for certain, she's met the President. It doesn't excuse her being a certifiable bitch.

I avoid the cadet area when I can, and circling around, the hill from the docks up to Buffalo Soldier gate warms my legs up. The weather's perfect, a crisp sixty-five or so, and the afternoon sun is nice as I crank out toward the bridge.

I'm about a quarter of the way there, six miles to go to the bridge still, when I feel someone coming up behind me. I glance over my left shoulder and see a guy on a bike approaching, catching up to me. “Hi!”

He's cute, from what little I can see, and as we ride out toward the bridge, I enjoy the company. He's a good rider, perhaps not the most efficient, but as we head toward the bridge, he leans into his pedals more, catching up and passing me just before we hit the turnaround.

I slow my bike to a stop. My rear wheel's feeling a bit wobbly the past two miles, and the guy comes to a stop, circling back. He gets off his bike, a look of concern on his face. “Everything okay?”