The Last Supper
Jackson led the way into the Commandant’s dining room. It was a small, walnut panelled room with a couple more armchairs just inside the door and a table set with a chair at the head and foot, and further three chairs down either side. Along one wall was a row of pictures, then photographs, of past Commandants. Beneath that row, and on the other two walls, were many smaller photographs of young cadets, all of them wearing Captain’s rank epaulettes. The newest was a photograph of Jackson. He saw me looking at it and smiled proudly.
“My place in posterity, Boots. If I achieve nothing else, I’ll be remembered here. The odds are good though: more than a third of the guys whose pictures are on this wall went on the gain three-star rank in the services, served in the Senate or Congress, or headed a Fortune 500 company. There have been a couple of Vice Presidents too.” Jackson didn’t say it, but I knew he hoped to go a step further than that. I wonder how many others have sat in here sharing the same dream?
Two places had been set at the table, one at the head and the second at the seat to its right-hand side. I stood behind that chair, waited for Jackson to sit down at the head of the table first.
“Thanks, Boots.”
Once Jackson was seated, I pulled out my chair and sat beside him. The cutlery looked to be better than we get to use out in the main dining room, it had the lustre of silver rather than the glare of stainless steel, and there was plenty of it. The glasses were crystal too. My mum sets our table like this at Christmas, or to impress people if dad has important visitors. I don’t think we have enough for eight place settings, though that’s not an issue because our table is only big enough for six people.
I picked up the menu card that was placed in a holder by a silver bowl containing white and red striped carnations which formed the table centrepiece and held it out to Jackson.
“No Boots, you choose first. It’s exactly the same food as is being served next door, but we have it brought to us rather than going to the counter.”
I glanced at the menu and quickly decided on smoked mackerel pâté for my starter and lamb cutlets with rosemary sauce for my main course. I’ll worry about dessert later. Often I skip dessert and just grab a piece of fruit to take back to the dorm with me. Jackson was still perusing the menu when the door opened and one of the kitchen staff, a young girl, well probably a few years older than me, who usually serves at the counter, entered and smiled at us.
“Are you ready to order yet, gentlemen?”
Jackson had made his mind up and ordered cheese and tarragon stuffed mushrooms followed by braised beef ribs and rice for his main. The ribs, which come in a delicious sauce, are one of everybody’s favourite dishes and so appear on the menu most Mondays. Shane often gets a couple of extra ribs just by smiling sweetly at the server, which annoys Travis as he generally has to ask for a few more. He always gets extra, there’s no skimping on portions here, it’s just that he has to ask and Shane doesn’t.
I hardly had time to pour us each a glass of water from the decanter in the centre of the table before the waitress returned with our starters. Obviously, she only had to plate them up from the counter next door rather than wait for them to be cooked from scratch for us. I waited for Jackson to pick up his cutlery and then grabbed my knife, spreading some of the pâté on the fingers of toast and then topping it off with some of the salad. It’s delicious. I reckon the chefs here could easily work in any of the top hotels down in Pittsburgh, or anywhere else, if they wanted to.
“So, Boots,” said Jackson as he finished one stuffed mushroom and speared a second, “Help me understand you.”
He popped the mushroom into his mouth and looked at me, waiting for an answer. What sort of answer does he want? It’s a weird question. What is there to understand about me? I made my mouthful of toast and pâté last as long as I could, taking the time to consider the question. Jackson finished his mushroom the same time as I finished my pâté.
“From what I have seen of you, Boots, you’re generally smart, hardworking, pretty clued up on your military stuff, loyal and potentially a good leader. Exactly the characteristics of a guy who would usually be welcomed here, and who would do well here. Kyle speaks highly of you, as do many others. But you’re not the usual type who comes here are you?”
Jackson let those words sink in. He wasn’t pushing me for an answer. He was just laying out the field for what he was planning to say next. I was definitely being lectured rather than interrogated. He seemed to have made up his mind about what he was going to say.
“The issue with the Oakdale girls seems to have been resolved in your favour. You still have the option of pursuing a case against them if you and your father wish, but I can equally understand that you might just want to put the whole episode behind you, Boots. Don’t dismiss that option lightly, however much you might want to just forget it. What they did was wrong, very wrong, and even if you don’t want to see them punished you ought to think about the warning message it would send to others. You might protect someone else, perhaps someone less resilient than you, from the same or a worse eventuality. Do you understand what I’m saying, Boots?”
I nodded. “Yes, Sir. I understand. But I’d rather just forget about it.”
“That’s fair enough, Boots, I can appreciate that even if I don’t agree with it. I’m not the one in your shoes, so my thoughts aren’t the ones which matter. And you can drop the formality, I’m trying to talk to you as a friend tonight, not your Captain. Okay?”
I nodded, but he’ll always be my Captain. We can pretend otherwise, but there will always be that barrier between us no matter how much either, even both of us, wish otherwise. It’s the way things are. The way things should be. Even with Nathan. Nathan is my Sergeant. We’re not equals.
“You impressed people at the weekend, Boots. Both at the gallery, and at Nathan’s house. Mrs Bauer thinks very highly of you, as does the Commandant. You represented all that is best in the college when you escorted Mrs Bauer on arrival and to the stage for her speech. That won’t be forgotten. The incident with the Oakdale boys was not your doing but you managed it well. I admire the way you tried to keep Nathan out of things. I hope that’s something you’ll continue to bear in mind.”
I nodded again and continued eating. I’m beginning to get an idea of where this is going. No sense in letting good food go cold as Jackson continues the lecture.
“At Nathan’s house, everyone was impressed by how well you did at the various sports, and how you were always keen to help and assist others. You were a perfect escort to Mrs Bauer and Elizabeth when required. Impeccable manners. In short, Boots, if you were here for a full four years, I can see you being one of the leading contenders for Captaincy of the college in your senior year.”
Jackson paused, chased another of the stuffed mushrooms round his plate with his fork, ate it, then continued.
“And yet, Boots, there’s always that undercurrent of trouble around you. Not just the Oakdale incident either. You seem to attract trouble, and don’t always appear to try hard to avoid it. Writing that essay about Tecumseh. The inter-dorm water fights that got out of hand. Or take last night for instance. You really shouldn’t have been drinking whisky. I know the rules in England may be different, but you’re not in England now. You’re in America, and you’re fully aware of the rules here. You could have declined when Nathan offered you a drink. You should have declined. It’s not only you that would end up in trouble, Nathan would too. Perhaps even Mrs Bauer. I’m sure you don’t want that, do you Boots?”
“No, Jackson.” I guess that’s why Jackson was keen to get Nathan alone last night when he got Nat to show him to his bedroom. Why it took longer than just a few minutes. Jackson must have been giving Nathan a dressing down for the whisky. Not that it seemed to bother Nat, he didn’t mention it when he came back. Which isn’t surprising. Nat seems to behave very differently at home to how he does here at college and I can’t see him being impressed by Jackson trying to play the heavy in his own home.
“Elizabeth also seems to have concerns too, Boots. She gave me the impression that she isn’t happy with how close you and Nathan are getting. Maybe she too thinks you’re potentially a bad influence on him.” Jackson let the comment linger as he finished his last stuffed mushroom. What’s Jackson thinking about seeing me in the corridor this morning? Has he figured out I spent the night with Nathan?
I finished my last toast finger, placed my knife down on my plate and sat back. I have to just let this wash over me. Not rise to the bait. Definitely not get aggressive or defensive. I know Elizabeth has concerns, but perhaps not about my influence on Nathan, rather his influence on me perhaps. Or the effect we both have, could have, on each other. I think she actually likes me, in her own weird way, just as she actually likes Nathan. I think she might even like Jackson. She is right though. Jackson is too. I could be a bad influence on Nathan. Not in the way people usually think about being a bad influence. When it comes to driving fast cars, drinking, chasing girls, well, Nathan is streets ahead of me there.
Or he was. Now he seems to be settling down, getting more responsible. He even managed an early promotion here at college. All the guys in the dorm look up to him. Sure, we complain that he is too strict, but he’s not way too strict, and under that gruff exterior he’s actually quite caring. You only have to see how he has Noah’s confidence to understand that. How he cuts Travis and Shane some slack to play fight and skip tea occasionally. Lets Will get away with playing with his gadgets when he ought to be studying. He’s got the balance right. He’s going to make a great replacement for Kyle. Getting involved with me could ruin all that for him. I think that’s what Elizabeth was alluding to. My dad too.
Before either of us could speak, the door opened and the server came in with our main courses. We smiled and made small talk as she collected up our plates, placed our main courses on the table in front of us along with several bowls of vegetables and then left.
“Tuck in, Boots, that looks good. The lamb smells delicious. I think I may have made a mistake by sticking to the tried and tested ribs.”
“Do you want to swap, Jackson? I don’t mind, I’d be happy with ribs.”
Jackson smiled and hesitated. “No, Boots, you’re good. It was kind of you to offer though.” We both added some vegetables from the serving bowls to our plates and then started to eat. The lamb really was as good as it smelled. Jackson was clearly enjoying the ribs too.
Jackson paused between eating his ribs. “When your dad comes on Wednesday, the near consensus is that there’s no need for him to take you away from college. After all, you’re the innocent party in all this. Everyone expects you to stay, be put back on the boxing team too, and be here for the remainder of the college year just as planned. Play a major part in leading your dorm to victory in the military exercise at the end of the year. The Commandant’s even thinking about raising you up a year, putting you in with the sophomores better to reflect your abilities and skills. Everyone is pretty sure you’ll cope well enough.”
I hadn’t thought of that. Getting bumped up a year would be good. Better even than being moved out of the dorm and into another dorm. That had been my thinking. I’d thought of it when talking to dad. When I had told him about Nathan. How I felt about him.
Dad had just listened, told me he thought he understood what I felt about Nathan, but was I sure? Could it just be a crush? He hadn’t been surprised when I told him I liked Shane, but suggested that maybe my feelings for Nathan weren’t as strong as they seemed. Maybe I was just on the rebound from Shane? And even if I was serious about Nathan, then that was different to liking Shane. Nathan and I aren’t equals. Being associated with me would be detrimental to Nathan if people suspected he was showing favouritism to me. He told me that’s why in the services, if two guys fall in love, they are expected to make it very clear rather than hide it, and then one of them is transferred into another unit. It maintains good discipline. That’s what I had been thinking about. When my dad comes on Wednesday and we go to see the Commandant, I was going to ask if it might be possible to put me in another dorm. Keep some space between me and Nathan. Give us time to sort out how we feel about each other without their being any issues with him being in charge of me. But getting bumped up to the sophomore year would be even better!
“So, Boots, what’s the deal with you and Nathan? You two seem friendly enough. Maybe as friendly as me and Jayden were?”
He must have figured out where I spent last night. He didn’t think I’d been with Elizabeth after all. Or if he did, she probably very quickly put him right. That must have surprised him. Nobody here seems to have a clue about Nat, other than Kyle, and he wouldn’t have told anyone.
“We’re friends, Jackson. Good friends.” I have to tell the truth. Not telling the truth, even if I don’t lie, gets me into deeper trouble. “Maybe we’ll be more than just good friends. I don’t know yet.”
“You do know the problems that could cause, Boots? Especially for Nathan?”
Especially for Nathan. Is that what all this is about? Especially for Nathan? Not for me. Is Nathan the only one who matters here? I’ll be gone in a year anyway, whereas Nathan will always be around. Is this the rich boys joining forces to look out for each other? Or maybe it’s less altruistic than that. For Jackson, Nathan could be a useful ally, a stepping stone on his way to becoming President. Assuming Nathan gets some power of his own to wield in Jackson’s favour when it matters. It’s not protecting Nathan; it’s guarding potentially useful assets. Governor Nathan Bauer. Protecting Jackson’s ambitions.
Maybe that doesn’t matter though. I still don’t want to see Nathan run into trouble. I like him. He’s made it clear he likes me. I believe him when he says it too. Nathan is honest. Decent. Truthful. Nathan’s not going to land in trouble because of me. I have to switch dorms. Or get bumped up a year.
“Jackson, I’ve no intention of causing any problems for Nathan. I was going to ask to switch dorms when my dad comes here. Keep some space between me and Nathan. If I get bumped up a year, that would be even better.”
Jackson finished the last of the food on his plate and moved it aside.
“You’re not going to be bumped up a year, Boots. You’re not going to be moved to another dorm.”
What’s he talking about? He just as good as said I’m going to be bumped up a year. Or that the Commandant had said it. That would solve everything.
Jackson read my face. Waited for the first wave of anger to subside, then spoke before I could. Quietly, making me strain to hear him. Defusing me. Dominating the situation.
“You know what you have to do, Boots. You have to leave on Wednesday. It doesn’t matter what the Commandant offers. What you might prefer to do. If you truly don’t want to cause any issues for Nathan, you’ll leave. Not because I tell you to leave: I know what you’re thinking, and you’re right, I have absolutely no way to compel you to leave. No influence over the Commandant to stop you being bumped up. You’ll leave because you know it’s the correct thing to do. You’ve already shown you are prepared to take the fall to protect someone else, even if they don’t deserve it. Now you can protect someone who does deserve it. I don’t think you know the reasons behind why Nathan is here, but he’s making amends for that, redeeming himself. You can give him the break he needs. Will you do that for him?”
Jackson’s right. Like Nathan said, it doesn’t matter how they dress it up, this is still just a school. Jackson has no power here. No real power. Some influence, maybe, but no actual power. He can’t get the Commandant to not bump me up a year. Can’t stop me from being allowed to switch dorms.
“Think, Boots. You don’t really fit in here, do you? Sure, you blend in, but that’s not the same is it? You understand the background all these guys are from. Wealth and power. They were born to it. No matter what people might like to think about this being the land of opportunity, everyone knows that some people have more opportunity than most, even if they don’t deserve it. It’s not fair or right, but it’s the way things are. The Bauers own half of Pittsburgh, will govern it for generations to come. They don’t lose elections. Kyle’s dad can walk into the Oval Office any time he wishes without an appointment, and can afford to indulge Kyle with a puppy and school him here. I’m pretty sure your dad will be finding the fees here for you a struggle on a colonel’s pay. Will spends more on Amazon in a day than you have to last you until Christmas. Need I go on? Sure, you’ve made friends, Boots, but you aren’t really one of them are you?”
I resisted the urge to ball my fists up, to smash Jackson’s nose flat.
Jackson’s right. He’s basically saying to me just what my dad said. That there’s no need for me to be here anymore. That I definitely shouldn’t get involved with Nathan. That if I genuinely do like him, I should keep away from him. At least until I’m sixteen, for both our sakes, which of course means keep away from him full stop. Even if I do stay here the full year, I’ll still be going back home to England a month before I turn sixteen. Half a world away from Nathan.
Jackson’s looking at me.
“Jackson, nothing happened between me and Nathan last night. I stayed in his room, slept in his bed, but nothing happened between us.”
Jackson nodded.
“I’m serious, Jackson, I mean it. I need you to believe me. I’m under age, you know that. I’ve been in enough trouble already because of it. I’m no way dragging Nathan through that too. He understood that. He didn’t push for anything more.”
“I trust you Boots. Your word is good for me.”
“I’m not done, Jackson. A few days ago, you lectured me about the school motto. About the Cadet’s Creed. ‘Honor. Integrity. Courage.’ There’s more than that, Jackson. There’s also Compassion. Kyle has it. Nathan has it too. It’s what sets them aside. Sets them above everybody else. It’s what makes Kyle an Honor student. It’s why Nathan will be every bit as good as him. It’s why Nathan can reach through to Noah. Why Shane trusts him. Why Travis and Will respect him. It’s why the dorm needs Nathan. Why I needed Nathan. And I need you to show some compassion too. Don’t go stomp on Nathan, Jackson. He’s done nothing wrong.”
“I told you, I trust you, Boots. It turns out that you’re probably the most decent, honourable guy here in the college. That’s why we both know you’re going to do the right thing. Not for me. Not for yourself. You’ll do the right thing for Nathan, and because of that, for Noah. For Shane. For Will. For Travis.”
* * *
Tuesday went by in a blur. Everything seemed normal enough. Classes went okay. All the guys were laughing and joking at tea, still talking about the great weekend everyone had just had. Nathan finished private study a little early so everyone could prepare their sports kit for Wednesday afternoon. Riley called by as usual and we all took the mickey out of him and Nat as they went to the washrooms to shave down ready for swimming. Everything seemed just so normal. Nat and I played it cool. Tried not to look at each other too much. Not to smile at each other too much.
As we walked back from dinner that evening, Shane made a point of being by my side.
“Are you okay, Boots?” he said quietly. “It’s just that you seem quieter today, and Noah says you didn’t prepare your swimming gear for tomorrow.”
“I’m fine, Shane. Just a little tired perhaps. A few late nights at the weekend catching up on me.”
Shane smiled, that smile of his that can melt icebergs. I knew I hadn’t fooled him, but that he wouldn’t push it. He was letting me know he was there, but not intruding.
“Thanks, Shane.”
* * *
My dad arrived just after nine on Wednesday morning and we met up in a room that had been set aside for us in the library. We weren’t scheduled to meet with the Commandant until almost lunchtime, and that gave us plenty of time to talk things over. It wasn’t until quarter to twelve that we arrived at the Commandant’s office.
“Good morning, Craig,” said Mrs Woodleigh as I knocked on the outer office door and led dad inside. “It’s so nice to see you again. You had several very good pictures in the papers on Sunday. Quite the dashing young hero, escorting the Governor’s wife into the Carnegie Gallery. Dancing with the Governor’s daughter too. Such a pretty girl, you made a fine-looking couple. You must be very proud of him, Colonel Wright.”
Dad nodded and said “Hello” to Mrs Woodleigh as I smiled. Yes, Elizabeth is definitely pretty I thought to myself, but I’m not sure she’d take it as a compliment. And she almost certainly wouldn’t consider me as boyfriend material. Not that I mind that. It’s fun being around Elizabeth when you get to know her, even if she does call me a ‘dumb mouse’. Travis calls me worse.
“It was a nice evening, Mrs Woodleigh,” I replied, “but the real star was Artilleryman Mason. His portrait sketches were on display alongside some paintings worth over a million dollars each.”
“Ah, yes, young Noah. It’s hard to believe he plays lacrosse so ferociously, and so good to see him coming out of his shell. He’s quite a looker too, Craig, he’ll be challenging you for the pretty girls soon enough!”
I smiled and reached the Commandant’s door, knocked lightly and then opened the door for dad to lead the way in. So much has happened in the few weeks since we were last here.
“It’s best for you to wait outside, Craig,“ said dad. He stepped into the Commandant’s office and closed the door behind him. I wasn’t expecting that.
“Hi, Boots, good morning Mrs Woodleigh.” I turned around. Kyle was standing in the doorway. “Can you come with me, Boots?”
Mrs Woodleigh smiled. “You’re to go with Kyle, Craig. Your father won’t be long, he’ll soon catch up with you.”
Unsure what was happening, I followed Kyle out of the office and back down the corridor of the main building. It wasn’t until we stepped outside and began to walk back over towards the dormitory block that Kyle spoke.
“It’s been good having you here, Craig, it really has. You’ve really livened the place up. The guys in the dorm are going to miss you. I wish you could have stayed.”
It wasn’t until Kyle said it, that reality began to sink in. I’m leaving Allegheny, and just as abruptly as I arrived. No introductions, no goodbyes. I know I’d talked it through with dad, first on the phone, then again this morning, but it hadn’t seemed real. I guess I was still hoping that a rabbit could be pulled out of the hat. That I’d be allowed to stay. Perhaps bumped up a year like Jackson had said. Except he had said that wouldn’t happen. I hadn’t believed him. I thought it could happen. That my dad and the Commandant would sort things out. Work out a way for me to be here with Nathan. It’s only a bloody school after all.
The dorm was empty when we stepped inside it. My suitcase, which is normally kept down in the basement storage area, was on my bed.
“I brought it up for you, Craig. It shouldn’t take you long to pack. You didn’t bring much with you.”
Kyle’s right. I travel light. It’s something dad’s instilled in me. Keep everything to a minimum and be ready to move at a moment’s notice. Don’t unpack anything you don’t need, and re-pack it once you’ve finished with it. Sometimes you have to move fast, very fast. A lot of the things on my desk and in my cupboard don’t even belong to me. The text books, the uniforms, they are all the college’s.
I opened my cupboard and took out my uniform. Held it up and had a good look at it. I looked smart in that. I hung it on the wardrobe door as I quickly emptied the wardrobe of my own clothes, packed them quickly in the suitcase. There was ample space for my own books, my radio and laptop. A few personal items from my desk.
I turned back to the wardrobe, looked at the uniform tunic. It has my Royal Marines Cadets shoulder flashes on it. Those are mine, I earned them. I slipped my pocket knife out and took the uniform down from its hanger, sat on the bed as I deftly slit through the stitches and removed the shoulder flashes. I put the flashes in my travel bag and hung the uniform tunic back in the wardrobe. Kyle was watching, pretending not to notice the tear forming in the corner of my eye.
I picked my knife up off the bed and snapped the blade closed, was about to put it in my travel bag. I can think of a better place for it. I walked over to Travis’s bedspace, turned my knife over in my hand, then placed it on his pillow. He’ll make good use of it.
I walked back over to my bed and opened my travel bag, took out my washkit and unzipped it. I rummaged through it and took out my razor, stepped over and placed it on Noah’s pillow. He liked it, said it had style. It’s his now.
Kyle watched but said nothing as I reached into my jacket pocket and took out my fountain pen. My ‘digital communications device’ as I’d jokingly described it to Will. Will can have it. He’s into technology, but he’ll still need to sign things when he’s a multi-millionaire CEO of some tech company. I placed it on his pillow.
Kyle was smiling. “That’s very good of you, Boots. I’m sure the guys will appreciate it.”
“Do they know I’m going, Kyle?”
“No, they haven’t been told. We thought it best. I’ll gather them together when they get back from sports this evening and tell them.”
I looked over to Shane’s bedspace. I would have liked to have seen him once last time, to say goodbye. I think he would have understood. I wanted to leave something for him too, but for a moment couldn’t think of anything suitable. Then I did.
“Kyle, could you give this to Shane for me?”
I unfastened my St Christopher medallion from around my neck and placed it in Kyle’s hand. He held it there for a moment as I spoke.
“I promised to look after him, to protect him, after he told me about his past, Kyle. I can’t do that if I’m not here, but St Christopher can. Will you make sure…?”
As I started to choke up, Kyle nodded and patted my shoulder. “I’ll do that Boots. Trust me, he’ll never forget you. None of us will. Come on now, it’s time to go. Grab your bag, I’ll carry the case. Your dad’s bringing his car round to the front of the building.”
I can’t go yet. I have one last thing to do.
As I stepped towards Nathan’s bedspace Kyle tensed up, but then relaxed a little as I veered off slightly and went to the admin area alongside where Nathan sleeps. I have to tell him something. It’ll hurt him when he finds I’ve gone without saying goodbye. I’m not saying goodbye.
I picked up a marker and stood in front of the admin whiteboard. Nathan’s whiteboard. The one he uses to keep order, to note things on. It’s where he clips the weekly orders with one of those little coloured magnets. It’s the nerve centre of the dorm. I steadied my hand and wrote.
“Ruth 1: 16-17”
Nathan will understand. He’s not religious, but he’ll recognise the words. We spoke them together on Sunday night.
* * *
A few minutes later I was sat alongside my dad in his car, staring stiffly ahead as we swept down the long, tree lined drive towards the gatehouse. Dad slowed down as we approached the barrier, expecting to have to stop, but before we reached it the cadets privates on duty raised the barrier to allow us straight through.
“Craig, look up,” said dad, softly, “I think you need to see this.”
I looked up and focused my attention outside of the car. The two cadet privates were standing nonchalantly by the barrier, waiting to lower it again after we passed though, but there was another figure a few yards down the drive from them, standing stiffly to attention just beyond the barrier. A tall, muscled figure in a full ceremonial uniform, his white trousers gleaming in the late autumnal sunshine. His grey tunic bearing the additional gold braid befitting his rank. It was Jackson. He shouldn’t be in ceremonial uniform today. Right now he should be back at the gym getting ready for sparring with Jayden or Connor. What’s he doing here? Has he already found the note I left inside his boxing glove back at the changing room? No, he can’t have done. He hasn’t had time. This is something else.
As dad drove slowly towards him at walking pace, Jackson drew his sword, smartly raised it in front of his face, remained rigidly at attention as we passed, then with a flourish, returned the sword to its scabbard. Dad smiled at me.
“I don’t merit a General Salute, Craig. That was for you.”
Epilogue
My big adventure in the States, the year my dad had hoped to spend rebuilding our relationship after all the time we’d missed with him being posted to Iraq and Afghanistan, didn’t work out as either of us had planned. That was my fault. I simply wasn’t ready for American girls, but they were ready and lying in wait for me. Throw into the mix the fact that I wasn’t as smart as I thought I was and, well, you know what happened there.
I wasn’t ready for American boys either. Sure, I loved the couple of months I spent at the Allegheny River Military College, or Allegheny Alcatraz as we all preferred to call it, and under different circumstances maybe I could have really achieved something there. I would have won them a boxing cup at the very least. I found out later that the college had offered to grant me a scholarship for a full four-year stay but my dad had turned it down. At first I was angry about that – I had made good friends there and it would have been a once in a lifetime opportunity to get a brilliant education in an environment I loved – but, with hindsight, he had made the right decision. As Jackson and Kyle had said, I didn’t really fit in. Blended in, yes, but that’s not the same as fitting in. Not the same as being a natural part of that elite group of society they were drawn from. The guys I met there, the friends I made however, I will never forget, and if I had stayed things might not have turned out so well for them. They needed Nathan, and he needed them.
Kyle was the first to make an impression on me, I guess he was my first crush though I didn’t realise it at the time. Basically, he was Mr Perfect: an inspiring leader, a compassionate human being and, let’s be honest, fit as fuck. The fact that he was gay was a complete irrelevance and that was perhaps the most important thing about him. I learned from him that sexuality didn’t define a person: it was part of who they are but not what they are. It was down to him that I found accepting I was gay and coming out relatively easy. In short, Kyle was the big brother I had never had but so clearly needed, and he lived up to the role. After graduating from West Point, Kyle followed in his father’s footsteps, joined the State Department and was soon appointed to a junior post at the US Embassy in Norway. I expect to see him being appointed as an ambassador one day. And yes, Lee Miller went with him.
If Kyle was my first crush, Shane was truly something else. Fucking the cheerleaders, that was kind of pleasurable, but only that. It didn’t give me the same feeling as I had that night in the cabin when I held Shane close to me. It didn’t matter that all I did was hold him. That he didn’t feel the same way about me. Holding him was enough. That smile of his. Those blue eyes. The blond curls. I would have done anything to protect him, to keep him safe. I didn’t understand at the time why I felt the way I did about him. Shane worked out that I was gay before I did, but it didn’t bother him. He still liked me anyway.
Shane graduated from Alcatraz with good grades, but chose not to go to university even though he had offers from several Ivy League colleges and Kyle’s parents, now his own adoptive parents, were more than happy to fund his education. He’d continued dating Amelia throughout his time at Allegheny and decided to remain locally. Within a year they were married and Shane was working part time in Mr Miller’s auto shop and studying for a business degree in the community college. Five years later he was a partner with Mr Miller and between them they now own a growing chain of auto repair centres across north west Pennsylvania. Shane never forgot his past, nor the kindness shown to him by his adoptive parents, and each of the autocentres ran a ‘car club’ scheme where youngsters could drop in at weekends, no questions asked, and talk about cars or anything else that might be on their minds. It was supported and part funded by the Governor’s Office.
Noah went from Allegheny to Rhode Island School of Design, majoring in Fine Arts but with a secondary in Business Studies. He was soon an accomplished artist with exhibitions worldwide and a keen business mind, but retained his links with Nathan who continued to represent him. The bond of trust they had established at Allegheny endured.
Though we all liked to think of Travis as a dumb farm boy from a wooden shack on the prairies, in reality he was nothing like that. His father ran one of the largest agri-businesses in the States and Travis went to Harvard after leaving Allegheny, majoring in Genetics. He never lost his simple, robust outlook on life and I always remained grateful that it was from him that I learned what friendship meant.
After graduating from CalTech, Elizabeth moved on to do a PhD at MIT and then joined a small start-up company designing rockets in Los Angeles. Apparently, they plan to get to Mars before NASA. She headhunted Will the day he graduated from Allegheny, told him that learning on the job was better than spending four years getting a university degree that would only teach him to think like all the other aerospace engineers. Will took her advice, skipped university and, last time I heard, was head of a department at the same company working out how to manufacture radiation shielding from sand on Mars. He soon had universities competing to get him to go and lecture to their students even though he has no formal degree of his own. He does have several honorary doctorates though, and apparently often begins his lectures by throwing a spud into the audience and challenging the students to think what they could make from it. “Fries” isn’t the answer he’s looking for.
As for Nathan, well, if Shane taught me what love was, Nathan taught me what passion meant. It was hard to part from him at Allegheny, but he wasn’t prepared to forget me. He kept in touch, first by managing to contact my dad and persuading him to pass a message to me, then by email and video call. He never pushed things, and I was grateful that he was prepared to give me the time and space I needed to mature and come to terms with growing up.
On my sixteenth birthday my dad video called me from the States. We chatted for a while and as we talked the background behind him struck me as vaguely familiar. Almost as an afterthought, just as he was about to sign off, dad smiled and said, “Oh, I almost forgot, Craig. There’s a friend of yours here who wants a word with you.”
It was Nathan, and I suddenly realised dad was calling from the Allegheny Heights Country Club.
“Hi, Boots,” smiled Nathan, “How you doing? I couldn’t let today go by without wishing you a ‘Happy Birthday.’ How do you fancy giving us Colonials a second chance? If you look behind you, your mom has an envelope with your birthday present in it from your dad: a plane ticket back over here for a month. A direct flight to Pittsburgh so you can spend some time with your dad. I’m hoping maybe you’d come and see me too. Perhaps we could drop a couple of bags in Lemon Steroids and go travelling, or get the boat out and follow the Ohio down to the Mississippi and then to the sea…”
* * *
And Jackson?
I presume he found the scrap of paper I left inside his boxing glove. It was a poem I knew, and which seemed fitting.
“Shake hands, we shall never be friends, all’s over;
I only vex you the more I try.
All’s wrong that ever I’ve done or said,
And nought to help it in this dull head:
Shake hands, here’s luck, good-bye.
But if you come to a road where danger
Or guilt or anguish or shame’s to share,
Be good to the lad that loves you true
And the soul that was born to die for you,
And whistle and I’ll be there.”
A few years later, Jackson whistled.
Jackson graduated, summacum laude, from West Point and as a freshly minted second lieutenant was posted to Afghanistan. Within days of arrival in theatre he was given command of a small detachment of troops and sent forward to an Afghan National Army post on the edge of Helmand Province to undertake a training role, bringing the ANA up to speed on counter-insurgency tactics. It was an ideal role for a newly qualified officer, allowing him to gain experience in commanding troops in a useful role but one away from direct contact with the enemy.
Unfortunately, the Taliban had other ideas. No doubt informed by a collaborator in the ANA that the post was hosting only a small, lightly equipped US detachment, and that they were commanded by a young and inexperienced officer, they launched a major attack on the outpost under cover of bad weather and darkness. Unable to call in air support due to the weather, and beyond the range of artillery support due to the mountainous terrain, Jackson was on his own. He mustered his men, deployed them and those few of their Afghan counterparts who didn’t desert, and stood his ground.
Twelve miles away, leading a covert reconnaissance mission with a troop of marines, I heard a call for assistance over the radio. Recognised the voice. Understood the desperate situation he was in. Cut off, out-numbered, low on ammunition and unlikely to get the air support he needed. Twelve miles sounds close, but they were Afghan miles: mountainous terrain impassable to vehicles and with danger at every turn. We were a small, light force, on foot, ill-suited to a direct confrontation with a numerically superior enemy. An enemy equipped with mortars and heavy machine guns, operating on his own ground. We were in no position to assist.
Tactical reality was an irrelevance: there was no question of us not going to Jackson’s aid, our brothers in arms needed us.
It took us seven harrowing hours to reach a point overlooking the ANA outpost, a further hour to deploy, unseen, to within a few hundred yards of the firefight. All the time we monitored the radio net, heard the short, precise, professional updates on the unfolding situation that Jackson relayed back to his HQ. More of the ANA had deserted, leaving the US troops almost alone in a shrinking perimeter. We could see for ourselves the mortar fire and heavy machine guns beginning to chew their position apart. Knew from the Americans’ radio reports that their ammunition was virtually exhausted, their water and medical supplies already gone, that they had taken casualties.
Jackson was among the wounded, caught by the blast of a rocket propelled grenade as he dragged a fallen comrade to safety, but he remained at his post, leading his troops. Inspiring them.
As dawn broke, the Taliban had advanced to within a hundred or so yards of the small sandbagged position in which the US troops had established a redoubt. Their return fire was dwindling as they conserved what little ammunition they had remaining for the final onslaught. We knew too that their wounded were in a bad way. A rescue mission was on stand-by, crewed helicopters waiting just over a hundred miles away to come to Jackson’s aid, but the weather was keeping them grounded. Ground troops were en route too, but would not arrive for several more hours. As the Taliban surged forward in a final offensive to take Jackson’s position, my small patrol had manoeuvred to their flank. I ordered ‘fix bayonets’, then, at the critical moment when their attention was focussed on taking Jackson’s position, we fell upon them unexpectedly with fury and fire. We broke the attack, sowed confusion in their ranks, and fought our way through to Jackson’s redoubt, reinforcing them, allowing our patrol medic to begin tending their wounded as we rained fire on the re-grouping Taliban. Senior in rank to Jackson, I took command, re-organised the defensive position, gave him my morphine, wrapped him in my sleeping bag.
Twice more in the next hour the Taliban attacked again but with dwindling enthusiasm. Dawn was bringing a breeze that was driving off the rain and fog, the helicopter gunships were at last airborne, closing on us, would be overhead within a half hour. The Taliban began to melt away into the hills before our avenging angels could arrive. The first wave of helicopters to arrive were gunships, harrying the Taliban, securing the ground around us. Barely a minute later a RAF medevac Chinook touched down just a few tens of yards from the redoubt: medics streamed out to triage the wounded and began stabilising them for the flight back to Camp Bastion.
Hit by several mortar and grenade fragments during the battle, I was triaged as Cat 1, moderately wounded but who would survive even without medical attention. More than half of Jackson’s men were triaged as Cat 2, severely wounded who would only survive if they received immediate and extensive treatment. They were the priority cases.
Jackson was designated Cat 3: unlikely to survive even with immediate and extensive treatment. It sounds harsh, but for the greater good, effort could not be expended on him whilst ever there were Cat 2 patients in need of aid. I sat by his side in the helicopter, injected him with more morphine to dull his pain, assured him that everything possible was being done for his men, released and re-applied a tourniquet to his shattered leg. We were airborne within minutes, heading at full speed towards the waiting operating theatres at Camp Bastion. As we skimmed through the valleys I talked to him continually, held his hand, thanked him for all he had done for me.
Jackson is a tough bastard. He simply refused to die in that helicopter. He wanted to ensure he got his men safely back to Camp Bastion. To ensure he completed his mission. He wasn’t going to let go of life until he knew we had touched down in safe ground, that his guys were in the medical facility that is located right alongside the landing pad.
The medics at Bastion are amazing. They had the Cat 2 patients unloaded and in the primary operating theatres in less than three minutes. Then they came back for Jackson, helped me carry his stretcher to the reserve theatre. Off-duty medical staff had flooded in from all over camp the moment the Chinook had radioed in the first condition reports of the wounded aboard. They’d established an additional full surgical team which now set to work on Jackson. They seemed to understand that I wasn’t leaving, let me stay with him in theatre as they anaesthetised him, began the impossible task of repairing his blast shattered lungs, removing most of his liver and spleen, amputated his left leg, started to search out the dozens of fragments of shrapnel that peppered his body. After almost nine hours of effort, they closed him up and placed him in an induced coma to let nature take its course. Medicine had done all that was possible for him, now it was down to his own tenacity and hunger for survival.
Still, he refused to die.
Four months later, I was able to take a week’s leave from Ganniland and flew to visit him at the rehabilitation wing at Brooke Army Medical Centre where he was undergoing physiotherapy, learning to walk again with a carbon fibre leg. He even joked that ‘Only temporarily, Sir,’ I might be able to steal the centre of the ring from him if we boxed. If there was a boxing ring in the hospital, I think he would have dragged me to it.
As I laughed, he revealed his next goal: to stand, walk and kneel without the aid of crutches, and to do so by the end of the month. “That’s when Elizabeth is next able to visit, and I have a plan.” He reached over to his bedside cabinet, opened a drawer and took out a small box. Inside was a small, very elegant diamond ring.
“I plan to propose to her, Boots. We’ve been close for quite some time now. I guess if she agrees, that will kind of make you and me some sort of brothers-in-law…”