CHAPTER NINE
“Ten-HUT!”
The cadets snapped to attention, arms at their sides, spines straight, eyes forward in two parallel lines facing each other. Between them, on the floor of West Point’s south-wing gymnasium, lay a thick green mat. Sergeant Castle paced over it between the two rows of cadets. He was a short man, five-six at best, but every inch of him was bulky, heavily muscled, except the shaved top of his head. He wore the same uniform that the cadets wore, a simple gray T-shirt and matching shorts.
Maya kept her eyes forward as Castle moved to the other end of the mat. She didn’t dare look at the boy in the opposite row at the edge of her periphery. Greg.
“At ease,” Castle ordered.
Maya shifted her hands behind her back and widened her stance, though she still didn’t look over
