Raji, Book Two

Chapter One I stood on the stage with the other forty-nine cadets and wiped my cheeks with shaking fingers as I watched Fuse. He stood beside his mother in the third row of the audience. Everyone in the auditorium applauded the new junior class. I should not be up here. I took his place at the academy, and I had no right to do that. I glanced around at my fellow students and saw there were forty-eight boys and one other girl; Elizabeth Keesler. She stood next to me, gripping my hand tight. Eight girls were among the 250 students present on the first day of competition, but by the end of the week, only Liz and I had made it through to the top fifty. Vincent Fusilier–or ‘Fuse,’ as his friends called him–had been in the competition, too, but didn’t score high enough to join the new class. Fuse has been in school for the past nine years, and I have never spent even one hour in a classroom. How unfair is this? I shall ask Dr. Pompeii to remove me and give my place to— My thoughts were interrupted by Dr. Octavia Pompeii returning to center stage. The audience quieted down and took their seats, then Dr. Pompeii leaned forward, placing her hands on the podium. “Standing before you is the junior class of Octavia Pompeii Academy for the year 1926.” Her voice was surprisingly strong for a petite woman of forty-three. She waited for the wave of applause to subside, then continued. “Parents, guardians, and friends, say goodbye to your children for the next four months, because they will be hard at work until Christmas vacation.” Through the murmurs and whispers of the audience, I heard a low whistle and knew it was Fuse. I waved to him and smiled, hoping he couldn’t see the tears streaming down my face. “The city of Richmond donated land for this academy in 1917,” Dr. Pompeii said. “In the nine years since then, no female students have entered the junior class, so it gives me great pleasure to welcome Elizabeth Keesler and Rajiani Devaki.” She paused to look at me and Liz, then turned back to the audience. “The first women to attend our academy.” “Did you hear that, Raji?” Liz whispered. “She called us ‘women.’” I nodded. “More like two wimpy girls,” someone said in a low voice from behind us. We looked around, to our right, but saw only a dozen grinning faces, their eyes straight ahead. “They won’t make it through the first week,” another boy whispered, from the left. Liz and I jerked our heads that way but didn’t catch the culprit. “I bet they run crying to Mommy before Wednesday night,” another boy said. “One of them is bawling already.” I heard stifled giggling and looked to see who it was, but Liz stopped me. “We’ll see about that,” she whispered, “won’t we?” “Yes,” I said, but I was resolved to tell Dr. Pompeii I wanted to give my place to Fuse. That would leave Elizabeth as the only girl to put up with the boys’ teasing and taunting. I looked at Liz. She is strong enough. She will be able to stand up to them on her own. Dr. Pompeii continued. “Please stand for the passing of the colors.” She backed out of the way as three seniors decked out in their parade uniforms marched onto the stage, carrying the academy’s flags. The cadets marched in single file, with the American flag in front, followed by the Virginia flag, then the flag of Octavia Pompeii Academy. When they reached center stage, in front of the new junior class, they performed a left flank movement, resulting in the three of them standing at attention, side-by-side, facing the audience. All three preformed each move in perfect military precision. After a few seconds, as if by some silent command, they dropped the butts of their flagstaffs to the floor. So coordinated were their movements, the three thumps of the staffs upon the stage floor sounded as one. They then tilted the staffs forward and went into a parade rest position. The two cadets with the American and Virginia flags each carried wooden cases with glass tops, cradled in the crooks of their left arms. Some whispers of approbation came from a few of the juniors behind me, but a sharp look from Miss Pompeii quieted them. Another senior cadet marched onto the stage, passed in front of the color guard, then stood at the podium. “Be seated, please.” The cadet said, then waited for the audience to take their seats. “I am Cadet Sergeant Benjamin Smith. The Guardians of our flags serve in exulted and highly esteemed positions within the senior class. Their duties are not only to preserve and protect our flags, but to honor them every day in raising and lowering them over our campus.” He paused for a moment before going on. “The American flag…” Cadet Wilson, who held the American flag, turned to his right, took six steps, then lowered the staff to a forty-five degree angle so the flag hung down from the staff. Some quiet comments came from the audience when they saw the flag was tattered and stained. It was also torn and had several small, round holes. “The flag you see is a replica of the one Cadet Wilson carries in its protective case.” Cadet Wilson held the wooden case so the glass top faced the audience. Everyone could see the folded American flag inside. “The reason we display a replica is because the original flag you see in the case is too precious and fragile to be handled on a daily basis.” Cadet Smith looked toward the left side of the stage. “We are honored today to have with us a soldier who has direct knowledge of this flag’s history.” A soldier wearing the Marine dress blue uniform and a white visor cap stepped from the wings of the stage. He walked slowly, using a cane for support, but his posture was still straight and upright. It took a moment for him to reach the podium. “Master Sergeant William Jensen,” Cadet Smith said, “United States Marine Corps.” Sergeant Jensen received a strong round of applause, then Cadet Smith popped a snappy salute. The Marine stopped, shifted his cane to his left hand, then returned the salute. When he brought down his hand, he reached to shake hands. Cadet Smith left the podium to Sergeant Jensen and went to stand beside Miss Pompeii. Sergeant Jensen removed his cap and placed it under his arm. “Teufel Hunden,” he spoke into the microphone. After a pause, he repeated the phrase, “Teufel Hunden is what the Germans called us at the Battle of Bellau Wood. A rough translation is ‘Devil Dogs’. It was May 1918, just eight years ago that General John J. Pershing ordered the U.S. Marines to drive the German Army from a heavily wooded area forty-five miles west of Paris. My unit was the Second Battalion, Fifth Marines, commanded by Captain Lloyd Williams. “On our first day in the battle, we were under heavy machine g*n fire as German artillery shells landed closer and closer to our lines. We were told to hold our positions until reinforcements arrived. Then we were to take out the machine g*n nests and push forward into the woods to silence the artillery. As we were digging our trenches, someone shouted, ‘Here they come!’ “We grabbed our rifles and took aim at the horde of soldiers in horizon-blue uniforms scrambling over a low ridge and running toward us through a wheat field. But before we fired a shot, Captain Williams yelled, ‘Hold your fire! They’re unarmed.’ After watching the men for a moment, he said, ‘They’re Frenchmen!’ We lowered our rifles and got out of the way of the French soldiers running through our lines and toward the rear. “A French officer stumbled as he ran to catch up with his men. He regained his balance and shouted at Captain Williams, ‘You must retreat with us, we have been overwhelmed!’ “Captain Williams yelled at the running Frenchman’s back, ‘Retreat? Hell, we just got here!’” Sergeant Jensen waited for the polite laughter to die down. It was hard for me to understand all the words he spoke. Even after a year in Virginia, my English was not very good. If I could see his lips, perhaps my comprehension would be better, but I did realize he spoke of a battle during the Great War in Europe that had ended only a few years before. “After waiting two hours for the promised reinforcements, and taking many causality from the incessant German artillery, Captain Williams climbed to the front edge of our trench and, using his binoculars, surveyed the edge of the woods on the far side of the wheat field. “He dropped his binoculars to his chest and shouted, ‘Come on, let’s go!’ “There was a moment of silence as the Marines looked at one another. No one knows what went on in the minds of those men; I only know that I thought of the Marine motto, Esprit de corps. This has little to do with the enemy, or of Captain Williams, or even of the war. But it has everything to do with the brotherhood of the unit. The bonding of a group of men into a single force that functions as one. It was that force that made our platoon stronger than all its individuals would be acting alone. Together we could win. “From somewhere down the line came a battle cry, then, with a resounding yell, five hundred Marines climbed out of the trenches to follow our captain into the wheat field separating us from the woods. “Our standard-bearer carrying the Stars and Stripes was the first to go down. He was hit twice by machine g*n fire. The flag fell to the ground but was immediately grabbed up by another soldier, who ran forward, leading the charge across the wheat field. Bullets ripped through the flag and chipped away at the wooden staff. “The flag-bearer faltered and went down. The flag fell on the b****y body of another Marine. The flag was taken up by a third soldier, who shoved the staff into the ground, then went down on one knee beside the flag. He raised his Springfield rifle and opened fire on a German machine g*n emplacement. The rest of us followed his lead and soon silenced the machine g*n. The soldier pulled the flag staff from the ground and with a battle cry ran forward across the wheat field. The rest of us followed close behind and soon overran the machine g*n nests and captured the German artillery. “The Devil Dog Marines,” Sergeant Jensen continued, “lost more men in the Battle of Bellau Wood than in all of its previous history. “This flag…” He paused as Cadet Wilson raised his flag staff to an upright position and stepped over beside Sergeant Jensen. Cadet Wilson then handed the wooden box over to the sergeant. “…is not just cloth and stitched thread.” He looked at the glass top of the box for a moment, then turned it for the audience to see. “It is a sacred shroud covering the spirits of the 1,811 soldiers who died at the Battle of Bellau Wood while defending the honor, duty, and freedom this flag stands for. Whosoever shall now take possession of this icon of bravery and courage will be charged with no less a solemn and serious duty than those who died so that you, all of you, may continue to live in freedom. The new guardian of this flag shall be treated with the utmost dignity and respect this corps of cadets must hold for the flag itself.” The sergeant stepped back to allow Cadet Smith to return to the microphone. “I will now announce the name of the cadet in the new senior class who will become the Guardian of our American flag for the class year 1926.” He unfolded a small slip of paper, then glanced around the audience. “The new Senior Cadet Guardian is Master Sergeant James Grayson.” With a shout, Cadet Grayson stood from his place near the back of the audience and hurried down the center aisle toward the stage. He was followed by a round of applause. On stage, he stood at attention in front of Sergeant Jensen, while Cadet Smith held the microphone before the sergeant, who stared at Cadet Grayson while waiting for the audience to quiet down. “Do you,” the sergeant said to Cadet Grayson, “swear upon your honor to uphold the tradition of respect and allegiance to this American Flag, as it has been for all your predecessors at Octavia Pompeii Academy?” “I do, sir.” “Do you swear to protect this relic of honor from fire and storm, placing its safety above the safety of your own life and limb?” “I do, sir.” “Then it is with great honor that I transfer the guardianship of the American flag to you.” The sergeant held out the wooden case to the cadet, who took the case and, holding it against his chest, faced the audience. As the audience and junior class behind him applauded, Cadet Grayson marched over to Cadet Wilson. With a measured and precise movement, Cadet Wilson presented the flagstaff to Cadet Grayson. After the transfer, the two of them marched to the left side of the stage and faced the audience. Cadet Benjamin Smith returned to the podium. “I would now like to introduce Calvin Hoskinson.” A slim young man came onto the stage. He was dressed in a gray Confederate Civil War uniform. When he reached the podium, Cadet Smith shook his hand, then moved back. The flag bearer with the flag of Virginia stepped forward and lowered the flagstaff so the flag hung down from the pole. The flag was stained and tattered and had several bullet holes. It featured the Virginia state seal, showing a female warrior with a sword in her right hand and her right foot on a prone figure representing a tyrant whose crown lay on the ground. Below the two figures was the Latin inscription Sic Semper Tyrannis; Thus Always to Tyrants. The background of the flag was deep blue. The young man removed his cap and stepped to the podium. “My grandfather was Private Levin Hoskinson. He carried the flag of Virginia into the battle of First Manassas on July 21st, 1861. His unit was called Virginia’s First Brigade, but after the battle it was renamed the Stonewall Brigade, in honor of its commander, General Stonewall Jackson. “General Jackson received his famous nickname during the height of the battle, when the Confederates were losing ground. Brigadier General Barnard Elliott Bee, whose unit, the Third Brigade of the Army of the Shenandoah, was on General Jackson’s left flank, shouted, ‘There’s Jackson standing like a stone wall. Let us determine to die here, and we will conquer. Rally behind the Virginians!’ “General Bee died the day after Manassas of wounds he received during the battle, but Stonewall Jackson and his brigade led the assault that turned the tide at Manassas and eventually gave the Confederate Army their first victory of the war. General Jackson’s brigade lived on to fight thirty-eight engagements in the Civil War. During the course of the conflict, over six thousand soldiers served in the Stonewall Brigade, but by the time of the surrender at Appomattox, only two hundred ragged and defeated men were left.” Calvin Hoskinson paused to allow the audience time to think about the battle and war. After a moment, he continued. “Private Lavin Hoskinson died on that b****y afternoon of July 21st, 1861. He was nineteen, a year older than I am today. “My grandfather died at Manassas, but his flag…” he looked at the Virginia Flag Bearer as the cadet held the glass-topped case for the audience to see the old flag inside, “…his flag is here today, and I am honored to have been chosen to transfer the guardianship of this precious relic of our heroic past to a new cadet Guardian.” Calvin waited for the applause to subside, then stepped away so Cadet Smith could take the podium. “The new Guardian for the Virginia flag is…” he unfolded a white sheet of paper, “Cadet Corporal Fletcher Slaymaker.” With a shout, Cadet Slaymaker jumped from his seat between his parents and hurried down the center aisle toward the stage. The audience applauded as he ran down the aisle. After the Virginia flag was transferred to the care of Cadet Slaymaker, he joined the American Flag Guardian, while Calvin Hoskinson stepped over beside Marine Sergeant Jensen. The two of them shook hands, then Miss Octavia Pompeii took the podium. “The flag of Octavia Pompeii Academy is not a relic, but it is treated with the same degree of honor and respect as the American and Virginia battle flags. Let us hope that our flag is never carried into battle, except on the fields of competition in tennis and chess.” She waited for the audience to quiet down. “And we DID conquer on those fields of battle, didn’t we, seniors?” This raised a cheer from the cadet seniors in the audience. “And we will again this year…” she looked toward us, “won’t we, juniors?” We cheered, not knowing exactly what we were cheering for. Were we to compete with other schools in tennis and chess? I wasn’t very keen on competition, but apparently the boys were. “The new Guardian,” Miss Pompeii said, “for the flag of Octavia Pompeii Academy is…” She unfolded the sheet of paper, and a look of surprise came over her face, as if it were someone totally unexpected. She then smiled with pleasure as she read the name, “Cadet Corporal Colt Handford.” Cadet Handford ran down the aisle and leapt to the stage. He accepted Miss Pompeii’s vigorous handshake, then stood at attention to take possession of the academy flag. After that, he took his place with the other two Flag Guardians and smiled broadly as the audience voiced their approval.