Battle Dress by Amy Efaw Page A

I’m here because I didn’t want to be an E-5 in the Army anymore.”
    “That so?” Cadet Daily smiled. An amused, almost sarcastic smile. “What’re you famous for, Combat ?” He leaned closer. Water from his nose dripped onto Ping’s. “How’d you get that Bronze Star, Hotshot? And all those other medals. Steal ’em off some dead guy?”
    “Sir, I earned them in Afghanistan.”
    For a second all scrubbing ceased. I didn’t know what a Bronze Star was, but it sure sounded impressive. The lower part of Cadet Daily’s face retained the smile, but something like jealousy flashed in his eyes. He stepped back.
    “Ping.” He spat it more than said it. “I’ve got a smack named ‘Ping.’ Unbelievable.” He shook his head. “You’re going to catch all kinds of heat with a name like that! I almost feel sorry for you, Combat. But don’t get your hopes up— almost is the operative word. What kind of name is ‘Ping,’ anyway?”
    “Sir, Ping is a Chinese name. In the Fujian dialect of south China, ‘Ping’ translates to ‘soldier,’ sir.”
    “How apropos,” Cadet Daily said. Then he turned to me. “Davis, what do you got?”
    I stared at the gray water disappearing down the drain, wishing I could follow it. After Ping I had nothing impressive to say. “I’m Andi—short for Andrea—Davis. I’m from Lake Zurich, Illinois. Um, that’s a suburb of Chicago. And I’m famous for, um, running, I guess—”
    “Running?” Cadet Daily looked interested. “Did you get recruited for track?”
    Recruited? I didn’t know people got recruited for sports at West Point. I shook my head. “No, sir. But I ran track in high school. Cross country, too.”
    He turned his green eyes on me. My Speedo suddenly felt awfully skimpy. I tugged at the tongue of my lathered boot. I knew I didn’t look much like a runner. Not a long distance runner, anyway. I didn’t have the requisite stick legs, and, well, I had too much on top.
    Suddenly I heard my mother’s voice, speaking to my doctor during an annual checkup: “With knockers like that, she could be a go-go dancer, couldn’t she?” I squeezed my eyes shut to clear my head. I’m so glad she’s not here now.
    “You any good, Davis?” Cadet Daily asked.
    I shrugged. “I guess, sir.” I never went to State. The thought just sat there, condemning me. How good can you be if you never went to State? I rubbed the toe of my boot with the nail brush. White leather peeked through the lather in places. I had qualified—twice in cross country, and once in the 3000—but had never gone. My mother had seen to that. She hated “that good-for-nothing running.”
    I chewed the inside of my lip, wondering what to say next.
    “You’ll wear a hole in your boot scrubbing like that, Davis,” Cadet Daily said. I could feel him staring at the crown of my head, waiting. I watched my feet and the bluing running over them. My toes looked funny, tinted gray. “And you came to West Point because . . .” he prompted.
    Because one thousand long miles stretched between West Point and home? Because I didn’t want to owe my parents anything anymore? But I couldn’t tell him—or Third Squad—that. “Sir, I came to West Point because . . . well, um, I’m not exactly sure why.” I raised my eyes to his face, and suddenly the words came fast. “But, sir, this girl—a cadet, actually—came to my high school to talk about West Point to anyone who wanted to know about it. That was my junior year. And well, I stopped by her display—it was right in front of the library—and it sounded like something I’d like to do, and I’ve always liked being outside—”
    “If you just want to be outside,” Cadet Daily said, annoyed, “join the Peace Corps!”
    I had let myself babble, and now he was mad at me. Way to go, Andi.
    He stepped closer, his green eyes penetrating mine. “If you don’t figure out why you’re here, Davis, you’re never going to stay.” He moved on to stand