Out standing in the fiel.., p.15
Out Standing in the Field, page 15
“Yeah, well, I pepper-pod like I mean it, sir,” I told him, downplaying the gravity of the incident. “You know how it is. The ground isn’t exactly covered in three inches of moss. No harm done. We all survived.” I gave them both a look that clearly said they would get no information out of me. I managed to dodge the rest of their questions, to reassure the deputy commander that the incident had been a valuable training exercise, and then I was dismissed.
That night, in the privacy of his room in the officer’s quarters, I confronted Kevin about why he had ratted me out. He didn’t deny the accusation.
“It’s not right, Sand. You make it sound like it was something to be proud of, but you look like someone used you as a punching bag. And look at your feet for fuck’s sake!” Even through the white cotton sport socks, it was obvious my swollen feet were bluish black now. We were attending a friend’s wedding that weekend, and I’d had to buy a size ten pair of pumps, when I normally wore size seven. I would probably lose toenails. He repeated that he had no choice but to report the incident, and that he felt there was something I was not telling him.
I sat on the edge of the bed, trying to figure out the best way to get to him. “No, Kevin. I’m not hiding anything. It was really hard and my feet did freeze. But it wasn’t malicious. It was a test, to see if I could handle it, and I passed! Well, in reality I failed, but I think I passed the real test.” He sat beside me and held my hand.
He responded that whether I had passed or failed was irrelevant. Kevin was an infantry officer. He knew, more than most, the obstacles that would be laid in my path, both intentionally and unintentionally in the normal course of training. But in his eyes, the prisoner exercise was beyond that. It had been wrong and he felt no one should have to go through that. He apologized for blowing the whistle, but admitted that someone needed to answer for what had happened.
I yanked my hand from his and stood up to face him. “You don’t understand! They’ll get their revenge on me if they think I complained. It will be ten times worse! Besides, it wasn’t that bad. You suffer just as much when you do your Ironman races. I’m in the goddamn infantry, Kevin, not hairdressing school. You, of all people, should get that.” I was furious. If he jeopardized my career, I would leave him. That was clear as day. “Kevin, if I was a male buddy of yours, you’d be respecting me for having gone through that. You’d be thinking, Wow, this guy is one tough son of a bitch. But because it’s me, you think I’m some feeble damsel in distress needing a knight in shining armour to come to her rescue.” I paced back and forth in front of him. “I’m not and I don’t need you to be my goddamn hero! I love this! I am happy, excited, proud! This is exactly what I wanted and I am kicking ass!” He was silent for a moment, his eyes searching. My voice would be carrying into the rooms next door, so I lowered it before continuing.
I turned to him and pleaded. “Kevin, baby, I need you to be on my side. I’m alone here, and I have no one to confide in. You have to trust my decisions.”
“Your side? Your decisions?” He uncrossed his arms and the danger in his eyes told me he was finally ready to unfurl his anger. “Your decisions? Sandra, it’s always been about your decisions! We never decided you would be in the infantry, we never decided to get a cat, we never decided to buy a convertible Mustang. The only decision we made was to not have that baby and you’ve been making me pay for it ever since.”
I gasped. Kevin had never been angry with me. I’d never heard him raise his voice to anyone. Unable to respond, I ran to the bathroom, locked the door, and sat on the toilet lid with my head in my hands. I cried at the fury of his words as they slowly sank in. They wounded me more than any of the bruises that covered my body. They hurt because they were true. I inevitably let the flood of tears come as I realized how unfair I had been to him, how I had made so many decisions without ever consulting him, inviting him in only after the fact. I thought of the colours I’d painted in the different rooms of our house, the plans I’d made for most of our holidays together, the name I’d chosen for our cat. Some seemed like insignificant decisions, but now I viewed my behaviour through his eyes. I could easily understand how he’d feel excluded. It had grown much worse since the abortion. Physically, I had pushed him away repeatedly in fear that my body would betray me again; and emotionally, he’d been tossed carelessly aside as if the loss had been mine alone. I thought he’d been pulling away from me because I chose to be an infantry officer instead of being a mother, but now I realized it was I who was pushing him out.
Worse, I had probably never let him in to begin with.
I sat there for a long time, feeling horrible that I was so lousy at relationships despite having had such loving parents as examples. I was screwing it all up. I needed to do better because Kevin was a wonderful man and he deserved more. I wiped my eyes with the stretched sleeve of my grey US army sweatshirt, left the bathroom and went over to sit beside him on the edge of the bed, where he’d been patiently waiting for me to come to terms with his comments. I put my head on his shoulder. He apologized, saying that he had not meant for it to come out the way it did.
“Oh, Kevin, it’s me who is sorry.” Tears began once again to flow down my cheeks. “I don’t deserve you. I’m selfish, wanting what I want and going after it without consideration of others.”
“I’m not others, Sand,” he said softly. “At least, I don’t want to be. I want to be your partner, in everything.”
“You are, and you’re my best friend. Which means I get to support your dreams of being an Olympic athlete, and you get to support mine of being in the infantry, even if you don’t approve of the way it’s going. I’m sorry I pushed you out, I’ll try harder to include you in my life, Kevin.” I weighed the risks of that nervously. “But, I need to know that you won’t betray my secrets, because I’m sure there will be many more to come. I’ll make an effort to make decisions with you, but if you don’t approve of the way I deal with my own stuff, you can’t ride in and save me.” I sniffled, wiped my eyes with an already soaked sleeve, and took his hand in mine. “Please, you have to trust me, babe. I’ll raise the flag if I need to, I promise. Trust me to do that on my own, okay?”
I could tell he was struggling between doing what he felt was right, and what I wanted him to do. His anguish was palpable and I could understand it. He’d been raised with the belief that men take care of women, men protect women, men hit men who hit women. How could I ask him to go against everything he’d been taught, and to sit by idly while the woman he loved went through incomprehensible trials that left her scarred and seemingly broken?
I tried to lighten the mood. “It’s either that or you’ll never see me naked again.” He didn’t laugh.
He told me that he was on my side, that he didn’t agree with everything that had happened to me, but that he would be there for me. He let go of my hand and put his arm around me. I felt closer to him at that moment than I had ever been with anyone. “In the future I’ll keep my mouth shut, but I’m telling you right now, the next time I see Mike it won’t be pretty. He’ll be sporting a few of those bruises himself.” Mike and Kevin had been good friends back in Valcartier. They had skied together and had occasionally gone out for beers.
“No, please don’t do anything, Kevin. Mike is on my side too. He had a lot of pressure to make sure I failed this course any way possible. He chose instead to show them what I was made of and now I am sure I did well, or at least I was until you ratted on me.”
“I didn’t rat on you, I ratted on him.”
“Well, the consequences will be the same. I know you don’t get it, Kevin, all you see are the bruises. But because of Mike, I know exactly whom I can rely on within the platoon, I know who my allies are, and I know what I’m capable of too. He knew exactly what he was doing. And because of that exercise, a few guys from the enemy force are now convinced that maybe it’s okay for women to be infantry.” They would tell two friends and so on.
He told me how hard it was for him to see me this way. It wasn’t that he didn’t agree with women in the infantry, but rather that he wasn’t sure if he could endure seeing his girlfriend go through all of that. He took my face and gently turned it towards his. He looked so sad, so tormented. “It’s very painful to see you like this.”
“It will get better.” I was lying and we both knew it. The career path I had chosen would have more than its share of bruises, scratches, and cuts, possibly even worse. I couldn’t imagine any man who would enjoy seeing the woman he loved get hurt. But to me, the cuts and bruises I sported were trophies I’d earned by taking life head-on, by forging ahead despite my fears of failing, and they made me feel powerful, even beautiful.
•••
that friday evening, kevin invited me to attend his regiment’s traditional tgif beer call in the Royal Canadian Regiment Officers’ Mess. For a Van Doo, this is like going into hostile territory. The two regiments are famously competitive with each other, although when deployed outside the country they act as a united front. It’s all healthy competition. I wasn’t badged a Van Doo as I had not graduated yet, but there was no mistaking my affiliation with the Royal 22e Régiment, even if I wasn’t wearing the Van Doo beaver insignia on my beret.
Being an excellent officer and a world-class biathlete, Kevin was really appreciated by his peers, and everyone in general. Even Van Doos liked him, despite his affiliation with the “Run Chicken Run” regiment. He was an all-round good guy, and lately he’d been on the receiving end of much teasing about his infantry girlfriend. Luckily, he took it all in stride.
I arrived at the officers’ mess and nervously went to stand beside Kevin around one of the tables. As if I was a work buddy, he put his arm around me and squeezed, flashed me a very happy grin, then introduced me to the men around the table.
Kevin offered me a beer and before I could respond he poured me a draft from the pitcher on the table. My capacity to absorb alcohol was non-existent. After one beer I would start to feel giddy, so I rarely had more than just a few sips unless I knew I was in a safe, preferably gender-balanced environment. Consciously, it wasn’t so much that I didn’t trust the people around me, it was more that I felt I needed to have total control over my actions — and alcohol seriously impeded my judgment, leading me to quickly let my guard down. It was already challenging to spar verbally with these men without having to do so while being intoxicated.
Traditionally, there is no sitting down during tgifs because we are meant to move around to meet and greet our colleagues. Around our table were lieutenants and captains from the rcr. Also beside me stood a captain from the Princess Patricia’s Canadian Light Infantry Regiment, who was easily six foot four and would have made Arnold Schwarzenegger look like Homer Simpson.
Since Kevin had just returned from his six-month peacekeeping tour in Cyprus, he was the centre of attention. I was grateful for the diversion from questions about my training. He told stories about the ceasefires between the Greeks and the Turks that never lasted, the stash of antique copper kettles they’d found in the basement of an abandoned store, and the view of the Mediterranean Sea from Saint Hilarion Castle in the Kyrenia mountain range. Then, he shared an anecdote about my visit to Cyprus for his vacation. He’d taken me to a topless beach and had challenged me to do like the locals, saying that it was safe to take off my top given that no soldiers ever came to the beach because it was too far from the military base in Nicosia. Always up for a challenge, I had removed my bikini top, only to have three soldiers come over five minutes later when they had recognized Kevin.
“You should have seen her scramble to get her top on!” He laughed and the other officers did too. Once that curtain was lifted, I knew the stage had been set for “let’s tease the infantry girl” to begin, especially since they’d had a few beers by then. And so it did.
“So, Kevin, eat much beaver since you’ve been back from Cyprus?” asked one of Kevin’s colleagues and the boys roared with laughter. His vulgar reference to me was well understood in this crowd.
Kevin laughed, looked at me apologetically, but before he could respond I answered in his place.
“Not nearly as much as I’ve had chicken,” I said straight-faced, but with just a hint of humour in my voice. As soon as the comment left my mouth, I knew that this was probably the fastest way to alienate a whole regiment against me. Calling the rcr chickens is all good fun amongst seasoned soldiers, but doing so is suicidal if you haven’t even earned your stripes yet and you happen to be in their officers’ mess.
However, to my stunned surprise, the captain from the Princess Patricia’s Regiment slammed his hand down on the table, put his huge arm around me, and laughed so hard that soon everyone else was laughing too, including Kevin. He winked at me, and I could tell he was pleased. One of the guys grabbed the pitcher of beer and topped my glass, the ultimate sign that I had just been accepted into the sanctity of the infantry brotherhood. Even if the jokes were loaded with sexual innuendos, for those precious moments, I wasn’t a woman, I wasn’t Kevin’s girlfriend, I wasn’t the enemy. I was just another officer who had proven she could bear the brunt of verbal wit and dish it out in equal parts.
“You should spoil yourself and try a Patricia,” said the captain from the Princess Patricia’s Canadian Light Infantry Regiment, still red in the face from laughing so hard.
“She’s not vegetarian,” responded Kevin and laughter erupted once again. The banter continued, eventually shifting to teasing each other about their respective regiments’ battle prowess, or lack of, during one battle or another.
“If the Black Watch hadn’t been there to save your regiment’s sorry ass in the Rhineland …”
thirteen
Keep Your Feet and Knees Together
The day prior to graduation, Captain Rainville found me sitting alone on the steps of the barracks, shining my boots for the upcoming parade. It was going to be just a small ceremony since it was a spring course and there were only a few platoons in training. The bigger graduation parade would be held at the end of Phase 4 in August.
Captain Rainville said he needed to talk to me and motioned for me to scoot over. He took his place beside me and this time, it was Mike, my friend, who spoke to me, and I recognized the agony in his voice. I stopped polishing to look at him with dread, imagining the worst. Had he been reprimanded for the prisoner exercise? Was I being released from the course? Had I failed?
“What’s wrong?” I asked apprehensively.
He told me I’d be getting an excellent grade on the course, but that I wouldn’t be top candidate. Apparently my name had been tossed around several times, but they all felt that it would set me up as a target for Phase 4. It would be hard enough as it is, he said, without making me the one to take down. Relief washed over me and I smiled at him. I wanted to fit in, not stand out. I already stood out by being so different, and I didn’t need it to be highlighted any further.
I remembered when I had been on my Basic Parachutist Course at sixteen, I had excelled and the consequences had been disastrous: alienation by many of my colleagues. The instructors had unintentionally fuelled the fire with their comments: “Look at Perron, she’s already finished packing her chute and you’re not even halfway done,” or during the morning run, “Are you going to let yourselves be beaten by a girl, you bunch of wimps?”
The night before course graduation, I’d gone home (we lived on the military base) and in a state of panic had told my mother that there had been a rumour saying I was to be awarded top cadet. “They all hate me, Mom! I can’t be top cadet and I don’t want to be first! All I want is to graduate and get my wings, go back to the corps.” My mother, who had already been advised that I would be getting the award, betrayed nothing, taking me in her arms and saying only that I had to let those boys be.
They were immature, she said, and I needed to be proud of all the hard work I had put into the course. I had worked hard, but the next day some of my course mates spat at my feet when I was awarded top cadet. The feeling of accomplishment was overshadowed by the lack of acceptance from my peers. Would this be the story of my life?
“Thank you, Mike. I get it, and I really appreciate it.” They had recognized the delicate situation they’d be placing me in if I’d been nominated as top candidate on the course and had wisely chosen to protect me instead of making me a target for the new students who would be joining our current class of graduates to form Phase 4. I asked him if he’d got in trouble from the interrogations we’d had following the prisoner exercises. He’d been reprimanded, he said, but nothing too major. He said that he’d received a copy of all our declarations and that only one candidate had disclosed anything damaging. So much for confidentiality, I thought, glad I had kept my mouth shut.
Mike assured me I was going to be an excellent officer, if I could only make it through Phase 4. He told me I had a few fans out there but that there were many more people who wanted to see me fail. “Don’t trust anyone,” he said, “and keep your feet and knees together.”
The last comment was a saying between paratroopers meaning that if you jump with your feet apart, the cords holding the canopy, known as risers, could get tangled between your legs and cause a malfunction in the opening of your parachute. In the same way, if you landed with your feet and knees apart you could break your back or damage your knees. The saying is a friendly reminder to stay vigilant, watch your position, and land safely. I knew what he was trying to say and it was heart-warming. He stood up, looked intensely at me and said, “We are soon going to have women in the infantry, and I’m proud that you’ll be our regiment’s first. Go kick some ass, soldier.” He smiled and walked away. I stayed on those stairs for a long time, revelling in what Mike had said. I’m going to be an excellent infantry officer … I savoured his opinion of me and the realization that tomorrow I would be one step closer to achieving my dream, one that I had visualized since I’d been a young teenager.
