Mrs. Lieutenant: A Sharon Gold Novel (21 page)

Oh, no! How
can the men be so reckless? They'll be lucky not to be arrested for
conduct unbecoming an officer. And if they are arrested, Kim is
sure their punishment won't be "Mickey Mouse."

“
Do not call an older woman or senior officer’s
wife by her first name until she has invited you to do so.”
Mrs. Lieutenant
booklet

"We're doing pretty well, aren't we?" Nelson
says, his fingers circling Wendy's erect nipples. "I'm accepted by
the men in my class. Robert Gold even maneuvered to be on my tank
for the night training exercise. Said he wanted to be with someone
competent."

Wendy wiggles her toes underneath the top
sheet. She and Nelson have just made love and she feels terrific –
but not just because of the good sex.

Today Mrs. Donovan actually called! "We would
like to extend an invitation, Mrs. Johnson, for you to be a
volunteer visitor at the hospital. So many young soldiers are at
Ft. Knox by themselves," Mrs. Donovan said, "and no one visits them
when they are in the hospital. The volunteer group is organizing
regular visiting days. Could you take Monday afternoons?"

Wendy has been ecstatic since the phone
call.

Won't Nelson be impressed that she is on a
visitors rotation just like everyone else – like all the white
women. Her offer of help has been accepted! She waited till now,
the right moment, to tell him the news.

"Guess what?"

"You're pregnant?"

"No, Nelson, you know that's ..." She blushes
and pulls away from him, hiking the sheet over her breasts.

"Joke, joke."

She smiles. "Remember that meeting I told you
about after I attended – the one about volunteering at the
hospital?"

"You didn't know if you'd get to do
anything?"

"Mrs. Donovan – the head of the committee –
called me today. She wants me to be a hospital visitor!"

Nelson leans over and kisses her. "That's the
good part about the army," he says. "They may not like us but
they're good soldiers – the wives, too. And the orders are: all
second lieutenants are created equal – equally low. Except for the
RA guys. They're more equal."

He looks down at the sheet, then up at her
again. "In five weeks we have to give our answer about going vol
indef. I've been thinking ... about going Regular Army – making the
army a career."

Pain jabs between her breasts. Regular
Army!

"What do you think?" Nelson asks.

"Why?" She inhales. Tries to force the pain
away. "Why would you do that?"

"It could be a good opportunity," Nelson
says. "I could do pretty well as an officer, be treated fairer than
outside the army."

Spend the next 20 or 30 years as an officer's
wife? Mrs. Donovan called, but that doesn't mean other women would.
Wendy says: "I want to go home after two years, not move from post
to post all around the world."

Nelson laughs. "Our phone bills would be
pretty big with you always calling your mama."

She throws her arms around him. "Nelson, I do
not want to be an officer's wife any longer than I have to. I do
not want to worry our whole life together about unaccompanied
tours. I want to go home!"

Nelson pulls her down so they lay side by
side. "I want to make you proud – this might be a way to do it. But
if you're so against it, then maybe it's not right."

She leans her head on his chest. She loves
him so much. "Thank you, thank you, Nelson."

**

The next day Wendy parks her car in the
hospital lot and walks towards the main hospital door. Nervousness
and excitement fight each other.

This morning at breakfast Nelson hugged her.
"I'm proud of you." And grabbing her breasts and giving them a
squeeze, he said, "Aren't all those soldiers lucky? I'm just glad
they're in bed and can't get any ideas." She laughed and kissed
him.

Now she enters the lobby and follows Mrs.
Donovan's directions to the nurses' station. "Hello," she says to
the woman sitting behind the reception counter. "I'm Mrs. Johnson.
Mrs. Donovan arranged for me to visit soldiers this afternoon."

The woman doesn't look up. Her pen slashes
across a medical chart on the counter. Wendy's knees wobble. Has
Mrs. Donovan sent her here only to be insulted?

The woman clicks her pen shut and smiles.
"Welcome aboard. I'll show you around in just a sec."

Relief floods through Wendy.

Two hours later she returns to her car,
exhausted and pleased. The soldiers were friendly, happy to have a
visitor hand them water cups, straighten their pillows, joke with
them. "Won't your husband be jealous?" they said.

Of course these soldiers are only sick, not
wounded. She doesn't think she could do this for soldiers missing
limbs, soldiers swathed in bandages. Soldiers who might make her
realize what could happen to Nelson.

And if Nelson goes Regular Army ...

Wendy turns on her engine and pulls out of
the parking lot. She won’t think of this now. It is five weeks
before the commitment must be made. Anything can happen in that
time.

**

Three days later Donna says "We thought you
weren't coming," as Wendy walks across the grass towards the other
women standing in front of a Ft. Knox building. "Maybe you had
better things to do."

"Not likely," Wendy says. She wouldn't miss
this officers’ wives' tour of Ft. Knox for anything. Nelson doesn't
talk much about what he does. Maybe seeing things for herself will
help with some of her fears.

"I like your outfit," Sharon says.

Wendy smiles her thanks. The distributed
Disposition Form for the “Visit of Ladies to US Army Armor School”
had included dress options:

“1. A tour through the Armor School for
ladies of student and Staff and Faculty officers is scheduled for
Saturday, 6 June 1970.

“2. A copy of the itinerary is attached as
enclosure 1. Ladies will assemble in Gaffey Hall Auditorium (Bldg
2369), at 0810 hours, with activities commending at 0815 hours.
Ladies attending are encouraged to wear low-heel shoes; slacks may
also be worn.

“3. To assist in planning for this tour,
students are requested to complete the attached questionnaire and
deliver it to your class leader by 29 May 1970.

“4. Staff and Faculty wives desiring to
attend are requested to notify Guest Speaker Branch by telephone,
extension 4-7445, NLT 29 May 1970.”

The form had been signed by the Armor
lieutenant colonel who was the deputy director of instruction. And
the distribution list read like an induction into a secret
society:

DISTRIBUTION:

1 - Ofc of DA/Secy

1 - Ofc of D/I

1 - Ea Married Student

AOAC-3

AOB-21 & 22

OMO-14

1 - Armor School Bookstore

5 - Ea OP Off

AMM Dept

Autmv Dept

Comm Dept

Wpns Dept

CO, Sch Bde

Wendy had chosen a navy blue pair of slacks
that set off her thin waist and a white short-sleeved blouse along
with navy low-heeled pumps.

Now Donna indicates a woman raising her hand
to get their attention. "She's one of the older women from the
coffee at the general's quarters," Donna says.

"Come, come, ladies," the woman says,
motioning them all to enter the building. "Please take a seat in
the room on your left."

When Wendy was growing up, blacks had to
enter movie theaters from a different entrance than whites and sit
in the balcony. Her parents convinced her that those balcony seats
were actually the better ones – you could see clearer. Only when
the separate entrances had been eliminated and blacks could sit
wherever they wanted did her parents admit their "little white
lie." And now she sits in the first row of this audience with her
white friends!

An officer in suntans stands in front of
them. "I'm Major Polens and I'll be your tour guide." He turns his
head from side to side so they can all see his smile. "Today you're
in for a real treat – a chance to climb inside a M60A1 tank, a
certified killing machine."

Certified killing machine! How can he say
such a thing? Isn't this what they are all scared of?

The major continues, "It's not the easiest
thing to get up into. Young soldiers hop aboard; older officers use
the little toe hook on the front slope and haul themselves up. For
your convenience we've arranged a set of steps.

"Once on the deck you climb up on the turret,
where you can look down into the tank through the commander's or
the loader's hatch. The commander's is bigger. Sit on the edge and
swing your feet inside, then lower yourself to the seat."

The major grins. "We've got a lot to see
today, so let's begin our tour. First stop is the enlisted men's
mess hall. I'm sure you're curious how we feed all these men."

They file out behind the major. "Certified
killing machine," Sharon mutters to Wendy as they walk across the
grass towards the mess hall. "Why did he have to say that?"

"Just what I wondered."

In the immense kitchen the major points out
extraordinarily large ovens, mix masters, pots and pans, and
recites statistics on how many meals a day are prepared.

"I bet our husbands are pleased they don't
have to eat here," Sharon says. "Robert thinks it's funny they can
eat in the Armor School cafeteria, go to the Officers Club or
Country Club, or come home for lunch every day."

Wendy smiles. "Nelson told me we can even
pack them a dinner when they go on that night training
exercise."

"What night training exercise?" Kim asks
Sharon.

Is it Wendy's imagination or does Kim never
direct a question or statement to her?

"The men are going to practice firing live
ammunition off the tanks at night," Sharon says.

Wendy sees Kim clench her hands. "Jim didn't
say anything about this."

"Our men will be fine," Wendy says to Kim as
they all follow the major out of the mess hall and across more
grass. "It's not really that dangerous."

"I hope our husbands are all on good teams,"
Donna says, coming up on Wendy's other side. "I'd hate for them to
be with any imbeciles. I don't want my husband shot at by
accident."

Wendy doesn’t look at Kim’s face to see
whether she’s heard Donna’s comment.

Two minutes later the women reach their next
destination: an olive green tank sitting outside another low-slung
building. "Here it is!" the major says.

Close-up the tank hovers over them like a
huge Frankenstein. The top of the treads are level with Wendy's
chin and the long main gun points at her head.

Wendy touches the tank. "I thought it would
feel like a big heavy truck, metal, but hollow inside. Put your
hands on it," she tells the others.

"It doesn't feel like there's anything inside
it," Sharon says. "It's like a rock!"

"Ladies," Major Polens says. "Here's your
chance to see the inside of a tank. Who wants to climb in?"

Several women indicate they will try, and
Wendy gets in line with them. Sharon stands behind her, while Kim
and Donna step to one side to watch.

Wendy flashes to standing in line at the
county fair. She is five years old, waiting for a ride on the
Ferris wheel. Her mama holds her hand, her papa stands on her other
side. She eats pink cotton candy and her mama tells her to "hurry,
finish it up" before they get to the head of the line. Wendy licks
her fingers of the last wisps of cotton candy before it's their
turn.

There is
no ride.
When they
reach the ticket taker – an old man in baggy pants with a smelly
cigar – he says something to her papa. Then her papa takes her hand
and leads her out of the line. She cries and her mama offers her an
ice cream cone. She stops sniffling and accepts the ice cream cone.
That night she dreams of riding the Ferris wheel, of going up, up,
up so high in the sky and coming down, down, down so fast. The ice
cream cone was a poor consolation prize.

This time when Wendy gets to the head of the
line she is motioned forward. She uses the steps to mount the tank,
swings her legs over the rim of the open hatch, and lowers herself.
Then she's sitting on a stool, with handles and dials and knobs all
around her.

Wendy gulps, her breath caught. Perspiration
drenches her face. It's so tiny inside!

She's hiding in a hole. The dogs are above,
sniffing out one more runaway slave. She's not going to make
it!

Wendy flings her hands over her head and
pulls herself halfway out of the hatch. The major grasps her under
the arms, pulls her legs out, and helps her down the steps.

"Wendy, are you okay?" Sharon asks.

Wendy nods as Sharon climbs up the steps for
her turn.

Then Wendy sinks onto the grass. Kim and
Donna bend over her.

"What's wrong?" Donna asks. "Are you
sick?"

"I ... I just got frightened. It's so small
inside." Like a hole where a runaway slave hides.

Her high school education hadn’t spent much
time on the Civil Rights movement – that subject was too close to
the students’ segregated lives. But time had been spent on “safer”
black subjects of a 100 years ago – the stories of those slaves who
braved death or brutal beatings to make a dash for the North and
freedom.

Wendy looks up at Kim and Donna. They are not
here to capture her – she’s safe – at least for now.

**

Two days later Wendy picks up Nelson's dirty
fatigues piled on the couch. She'll drop them off at the laundry on
her way to Sharon's for the committee meeting.

As she reaches for the car keys, Wendy thinks
about when she learned that Nelson had a two-year commitment to the
U.S. Army – an army fighting a guerilla war in the jungles of
Vietnam, wherever that was, with men being killed by "soldiers" as
young as 10 and 12.