Front Lines by Michael Grant Page B

and fastidious. “And now answer my question: how long did it take?”
    â€œNo time at all, sir.”
    â€œAh.”
    â€œYou’re an officer in enlisted country. The conductor brought you to that specific compartment. You ignored the others and focused on me. You have no luggage. The conductor hung a Full sign as soon as you came in. So, if I may speak freely . . .”
    He waves his cigarette by way of permission.
    â€œYou were either a very indifferent masher, or you were FBI or army intelligence checking me out.”
    He nods, sticks the smoke into his mouth, and extends his hand. She shakes it formally.
    â€œYou know how to keep your mouth shut,” he says. “That’s good.” One last drag and he flicks the butt out over the track. “That’s very good.”
    â€œThank you, sir.”
    â€œSo, the military intelligence school for you, eh?”
    â€œSir, either you know where I’m heading, or you don’t.”
    â€œHuh. All right then, PFC Schulterman. Carry on.”
    He leaves her there, and by the time she makes it back to the compartment the Full sign is gone and her seat has been lost to fresh bodies.
    Rainy is irritated at losing her seat. And sinfully proud of having successfully run this gantlet.
    I’m going to like this game .
    The next day, showered, her hair as under control as it ever is, her uniform as neat as she can make it, Rainy joins the first class of recruits in the history of the Military Intelligence Training School to number females among its complement. Twenty-seven males and fourteen females jump from their steel chairs as a gaggle of officers enter and take the stage.
    Rainy is not surprised to see the erstwhile LieutenantJanus—Captain Herkemeier—standing behind and to one side of the colonel who commands the school.
    For about two minutes Rainy feels the pride of standing alongside other enlisted personnel chosen for their intelligence, discretion, judgment, and skill at languages. Colonel Derry, a small man with a thin mustache and thick glasses, throws a very big bucket of cold water on that emotion.
    â€œThe Supreme Court, in its infinite wisdom, has decreed that we must . . .” Here Colonel Derry searches for the right word and ends up spitting it out like a piece of bad meat. “. . . accept . . . Has decreed that we must accept females into this training facility.” Maybe he is naturally pop-eyed, or maybe the lenses of his spectacles make his eyes appear ready to pop like overfilled water balloons, but most likely, Rainy believes, he is actually enraged. His voice is certainly tense and high-strung. And he bounces on the balls of his feet with each word he emphasizes. It creates an odd sort of show since his choices of emphasis seem almost random.
    â€œI have been ordered to thus accept females, and I carry out my orders. But as long as I am in command of this facility, I will exercise my discretion to the maximum , to ensure that the natural order of the sexes ”—that phrase comes with three rapid bounces—“a natural order that has decreed that woman shall bear children and tend thehearth, while men shoulder the harsher burdens of life’s vicissitudes. . . .” He loses his way for a moment, but finds it quickly enough. “Females will be accorded all the courtesies of their rank, and woe to any male who treats them ill. But woe as well to any female who forgets her place or fails to exhibit the virtues of her sex !”
    Throughout this Captain Jon Herkemeier stares straight ahead, neither nodding nor shaking his head.
    There are suppressed snickers from some of the male soldiers. Rainy can hardly blame them. Virtues of her sex is a phrase almost designed for deliberate misinterpretation.
    Rainy doesn’t look around—one does not look around when a colonel is speaking—but within her peripheral vision are two other females, neither looking pleased.
    â€œIn