Ashley's War by Gayle Tzemach Lemmon

arranged in a semicircle, and Amber thought they looked like brown caterpillars waiting to become butterflies. She located her assigned tent and stepped through the wooden door into a space large enough to fit five cots comfortably on each side, along with a few desks and some standard-issue metal folding chairs. Lightbulbs dangled from wooden struts lining either side of the tent. Power outlets could be found here and there for computer work and writing exercises.
    One of her tentmates, an officer who held the rank of major, Amber guessed was the most senior female trying for this new position.Judging by her officer rank, age, and the fact that she had worked for Admiral Olson, she was clearly a star. Also in the room was a soldier she nicknamed “the Trucker,” who chewed Copenhagen Long Cut tobacco, stashed her spit cup beneath her cot, and had a mouth that would put a sailor to shame.
    The only distinguishing feature of the uniforms was a rectangle-shaped piece of tape with the candidate’s ID number written upon it attached to their camouflaged arms and legs. No tabs or insignia displaying rank or any other outward sign distinguishing between enlisted person and officer was permitted. Everyone had an equal chance to shine or shrink in the course.
    The first official test commenced right then and there at the tent. Of the many challenges that would come over the next several days, this should have been the easiest, since it judged not endurance or intelligence but organization. The Army special operations trainers had given the women a precise packing list in advance of their arrival, and now they wanted to see if the soldiers had followed instructions and brought everything on it.
    Among the mandatory items:
Two pairs of standard Army-issue boots (or their commercial equivalent, since almost everyone found other brands more comfortable)
Two pairs white cotton socks
Five pairs green/black socks
Gore-Tex top, Gore-Tex bottom
100 mph tape (better known as duct tape to civilians)
Two reflective belts
Long underwear
Two towels
Shower shoes
Sewing kit
Three pens, three pencils
Eyeglasses if needed. (Contact lenses are prohibited.)
Poncho
Canteen
One rucksack with frame
One duffle
Sleeping bag
Officially issued laptop
One headlamp
One flashlight
One penlight
    They were also provided with a list of the only additional items candidates were allowed to possess:
Pace count beads for tracking distance traveled
Pocketknife
Bungee cords
Foot powder
Insect repellent
Lip balm
Map case
Moleskin
Vaseline
Scissors
Parachute cord
    One book (and one book only). It could be a Bible, the Ranger Handbook, or a novel. No magazines were permitted.
    A stern-looking female instructor approached, and Amber suddenly felt queasy as she realized in horror that she had failed this first, most simple test. All her gear was neatly sitting there, on the gravel entryway in front of her tent, at perfect attention. Everything, except for one item.
    “Where is your duffle bag?” the instructor asked in a monotone. She was maybe a decade older than Amber and had a similar no-nonsense demeanor.
    “I didn’t need it, ma’am,” Amber answered. “I packed tightly enough that I fit all the other gear on the list in my rucksack.” As she spoke, she realized the folly of her hubris. She had only just stepped off the truck and already was showing herself incapable of following simple instructions.
    The instructor didn’t allow a hint of emotion as she began her interrogation about the missing item.
    “Was it on the packing list?” she asked.
    “Yes, ma’am, it was,” Amber answered. Her stomach roiled.
    The instructor scribbled something in her notebook and moved on.
    Dammit, Amber thought. Seriously, if my own cockiness is what keeps me out of this . . . She forced herself to buck up her crushed spirit and remain at attention as the instructor moved down the line of fellow CST hopefuls. It was hardly an auspicious start to the week. And it had begun so