The armory was like many other Army National Guard armories across the nation. It was a two-story building of dark red brick that had been constructed during World War II. Originally, it had been built on the outskirts of the town but, over time, neighborhoods had grown up around it. A local country club had constructed a nine-hole golf course around the facility and the parking lot, giving it the appearance of a stately old building with well-manicured lawns.

As Sophie swung her car into the parking lot, she experienced the same old tingle of anticipation. Belonging to the National Guard had always made her proud. It challenged her physical stamina, forcing her to remain in top condition. It was also so far removed from the day-to-day responsibilities of her gallery, which she felt helped her to grow in confidence. Beyond what it did for her, she liked being a part of something bigger than herself or her community.

She had two reasons for arriving so early that day. One was to park at the rear of the building so Captain Gage Jenkins would not see her climbing out of her car. She was afraid he might recognize it as the same vehicle driven by his neighbor, and put Lieutenant Keaton and Sophie together to come up with enough ammunition for her firing squad.

The other reason was to assist in preparing for the training to be conducted that day. It promised to be a full day, and she’d carefully planned it to ensure all the scheduled training would be completed by the end of the day.

Entering through the rear entrance of the armory, she inhaled the musty, mildew-like scent that reminded her of the locker room in her old high school gym. It had the same sweaty, gym-sock odor. In the center of the building was the drill hall, an open, high-ceiling room, larger than a basketball court, and equipped with hoops suspended from the ceiling. In the evenings after the day’s drill, the soldiers liked to play basketball. Any kind of physical activity was encouraged to keep the soldiers fit—a nebulous goal when the soldiers only met once a month for two to three days at a time.

She immediately went in search of First Sergeant Horton to check the status of preparations for the day’s training. The tables and demonstration materials to be used in the round-robin training sessions needed to be arranged in each of the classrooms. The classes were scheduled to fulfill the requirement that each soldier learn or refresh skills in the common tasks with which they should be familiar. It was a requirement from the lowliest private all the way up the chain of command to four-star generals. Saturday’s Common Task training plan was designed to enhance skills in first aid and cardio-pulmonary resuscitation, which were vital skills needed in any wartime situation.

Sophie found the first Sergeant, or “Top” as all first sergeants were nicknamed, in one of the upstairs classrooms supervising the setup activities. When he saw Sophie walking through the door, he winced visibly before his mouth broke into a wide smile of welcome.

“Good morning, Lieutenant. I see you didn’t get those new contacts. Don’t you have a nicer set of glasses you could use in the mean time? Those things are god-awful ugly. They’re what I’d call BCGs—birth control glasses.”

Smiling, Sophie took the bait. “What do you mean by ‘birth control glasses’, Top?”

“Well, ma’am, no sane man would want to touch a woman wearing anything that ugly.”

Sophie refrained from commenting but laughed along with the younger soldiers in the room. She knew she looked pretty awful, but it was all part of her disguise to keep Gage in the dark about her identity.

That morning, she’d secured her long wavy hair into a bun at the nape of her neck, pulling it so tight it stretched her skin and made her eyes sting. The effect emphasized her cheekbones in stark relief, making her appear thinner than she was. She had added a liberal amount of mousse to her golden tresses, darkening the color to a mousy blond. She’d passed on putting on any makeup, except for a swipe of drab beige across her lips that helped blend them into the rest of her face. She looked dreadful, as planned.

“Are the classrooms about ready? I want to start training as soon as formation and roll call are completed. We have a lot to do today, and we need to stick as close to the planned schedule as possible.”

“Don’t you worry your pretty little head about a thing, Lieutenant. Everything is in place. Are you ready for formation? Remember, Captain Jenkins will be conducting an in-ranks inspection first thing this morning.”

“Yes, First Sergeant, the soldiers were informed last drill and should be prepared. Let’s do it.”

They filed down the stairs and out into the early morning sun. Soldiers milled around in small groups, yawning, stretching, and cracking jokes as they awaited the call to formation.

The First Sergeant took his position and brought his body to attention, and then took a deep breath. “Commmpaaannny!”

He boomed so loud it startled the birds in the trees, and they rose squawking and complaining, flying off to find a less disturbed perch. The noise seemed incongruous with the tranquility of the manicured fairway behind them.

The First Sergeant paused for effect. Everyone fell silent and quickly moved toward their positions.

“Fall in!”

Last minute scurrying ended with each soldier standing stock still, at rigid attention, all gazes forward, each person anticipating the next command.

When the platoon sergeants were sure that each member of their platoon was in their proper place, they executed a smart about face and saluted their lieutenants.

Sophie returned her platoon sergeant’s salute, executed an about face and awaited the next command. The first sergeant performed his about face and saluted the company commander, Captain Jenkins, then moved to the side to allow the commander to address the company.

“Commmpaanny!” He paused. “Open raaannks, march!” Captain Jenkins issued the order in a deep clipped tone that carried across the morning air.

Each squad took the necessary steps forward or backward to widen the space between the rows of soldiers. The first sergeant led the way as the captain inspected each platoon, one man at a time. The in-ranks inspection was performed in a strict military style of tight pivots and uniform steps.

The captain stopped in front of each man, inspecting uniforms and haircuts. His reputation for running a tight, disciplined unit had preceded his arrival. The soldiers worried they wouldn’t pass his keen eye and had prepared themselves accordingly, having fresh haircuts and wearing their best uniforms. Sophie couldn’t remember the last time a few of them had even bothered pulling their uniforms out of the dryer before wrinkles set in.

The company was comprised of soldiers, mostly men, of every size, shape, age, and color. There were fat old sergeants and pimple-faced privates. Each one of them an individual in experience and values, but all with one common thread—they belonged to the Army National Guard. Prevalent in the ranks was a strong feeling of camaraderie and dedication to their country. Every person added value through experience or energy, or a combination of both.

Sophie kept sight of the captain in her peripheral vision. He completed the inspection of the platoon next to hers and marched over to where she stood.

“Second Platoon prepared for inspection, sir!” she said, saluting him smartly. He returned her salute and marched away from her to inspect her unit, leaving her to fall in step beside him.

He stopped in front of a barrel-chested sergeant whose rounded belly pushed the jacket of his uniform out about four inches from the pants he had pulled up under his protruding abdomen. Sophie ran a quick scan over his person to mentally tally his infractions against regulations. His hair was gray, but clipped short. That was okay—check that one off. His grizzly face was smoothly shaved—check. His uniform was fresh, wrinkle-free and fit—check. Everything was in order—except his weight.

Sophie knew the regulations on height and weight and knew this particular soldier was well over his limit. Sergeant Merriweather had been fighting a losing battle with the bulge for months. But she also understood that retention was slipping in all Army National Guard units, and that every soldier was needed since Guard units were being called upon increasingly to serve in war-torn areas of the world, working side-by-side with active units.

Sergeant Merriweather was fat, there was no doubt about it. Sophie cringed a little, waiting for the axe to fall from Captain Jenkins as he paused in front of the man.

“Sergeant Merriweather, I notice the combat patch on your shoulder. Did you see combat in Iraq?”

“Sir! Yes, sir!” Sergeant Merriweather’s stood straighter.

“Proud to have you in this unit, Sergeant.”

“Thank you, sir.” The sergeant’s chest puffed out with pride for the recognition.

They exchanged salutes and the captain executed a right face, continuing down the line.

Keeping pace with him, Sophie breathed an inner sigh of relief. The man had a heart. Imagine that.

As they rounded the corner of the second squad, they heard a loud, clear call from the field behind the armory.

“Fore!”

The entire formation ducked in unison, except Captain Jenkins.

Seeing that he was still standing straight and tall with a perplexed look on his face, Sophie shouted the only thing she could think of. “Incoming!”

Then she clapped her hand on the top of his cap and pushed him hard into a crouching position. A hard, round object whistled past their ears and landed with a crack on the pavement a few feet beyond the formation.

The men returned to their positions of attention, smothering jokes about combat and hazardous duty pay.

A man wearing knee-length knickers and a caddy hat strolled off the golf course with an embarrassed grin. “Sorry about that, fellas. Gotta work on that slice.” The man squared up to his ball and smacked it with a metal pitching wedge, returning the ball to the fairway. Tipping his cap to the formation, he then continued his early morning round of golf.

“Does that happen often, Lieutenant?” Captain Jenkins asked as he straightened his cap and uniform.

“Often enough, sir,” Sophie said, lowering her voice to avoid sounding like the girl next door to Gage.

“Have you got a cold, Lieutenant?”

“No, sir,” she replied in the low voice, keeping the bill to her hat dipped a little forward, allowing the morning sun to shade her face. This was going to be long day.

The inspection resumed without further incident until each man and woman was individually addressed by the new company commander. When he was finished, he relinquished command to the first sergeant and walked into the building to begin the day’s work.

The first sergeant motioned for Sophie to address the units. From the front of the formation, she began her description of the day’s training. “Today, we’ll be conducting first aid training in a round-robin format. You’ll spend half an hour at each station. When the whistle is blown, you are to move on to the next. We will give you a refresher on each of the skills presented at the station. Then you’ll be required to demonstrate your mastery of that skill. Some of the skills we’ll cover are: dressing field wounds, setting broken bones, administering atropine, treating head wounds, treating for shock, mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, and CPR. Your platoon sergeants will divide you into teams and assign you to your first station.

“We have a lot to cover in a short amount of time, so I ask that you all pay close attention and move quickly from one station to the next.”

With comments complete, Sophie turned control of the troops over to the platoon sergeants and hurried up the stairs in the armory to man her station.

Sophie was in charge of providing the refresher on CPR. She had arranged for the loan of a demonstration dummy for the training from the local Red Cross chapter. The dummy had a lifelike head and torso of a woman, without arms and legs. The design allowed the simulation of the CPR and mouth-to-mouth resuscitation techniques.

When the first team had gathered around the station, the session began. Smiling, Sophie launched into her lesson enthusiastically. She always enjoyed a chance to work closely with the soldiers.

“Good morning, troops. Are you ready for a full day of dynamic training?”

“Sir! Yes, sir!” they shouted in unison.

With an ironic grin at their little attempt at humor, she continued. “This station will provide you with a refresher on techniques necessary to help revive a victim who has stopped breathing or whose heart has stopped, or both. At the end of this session, you’ll be required to demonstrate the techniques used to clear a blocked airway, perform mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, and perform CPR. Do you have any questions before we begin?”

One sergeant standing near the rear of the group raised his hand in the back.

“Yes, Sergeant Schott?”

“Private Johnson wants to know the name of the babe before he gets more intimate.”

The group of soldiers gathered in front of her laughed as the young private standing close to the demonstration table blushed a fiery red.

Smiling gently at the impressionable young soldier, she gestured to the dummy on the table in front of her and answered in a professional tone.

“Her name is Anne. Each of you will be practicing the demonstrated techniques on the Resusci-Anne dummy. Her chest cavity expands when air is forced through her mouth, thus providing a close simulation of an actual victim, whose own breathing function has ceased. Since you seem very interested in our dummy volunteer, Sergeant Schott, you can be our first live volunteer to demonstrate the procedure.”

Moving with an exaggerated strut, the sergeant pushed his way through the other soldiers to stand in front of the dummy. Stretching his arms out in front of him, he brought them back together and flexed his fingers, loudly popping his knuckles. “Where do I put my hands, LT?” he said and poised his hands over the breasts of the dummy then gave the soldiers an exaggerated wink.

“Curtis, if you don’t know by now, you may as well go home!” shouted the man next to him. The men erupted into friendly laughter and bawdy comments, each man trying to out-do the next.

“Hey, Curt, make sure you wash her off after you put your mangy lips on her, I sure don’t want to swap spit with you. No telling what kind of diseases you got.”

“Yeah, he’s probably got jungle rot or hoof in mouth disease.”

Sophie shook her head, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips as she continued her lesson, giving each soldier the opportunity to practice with the dummy until they mastered the rhythm of breathing and chest compressions.

---

Standing near the door of the training room, Gage observed quietly, undetected by the Lieutenant. He had observed the entire class, witnessing how professionally the homely lieutenant conducted the training, as well as how deftly she handled the raucous jokes and comments from the lively group.

He noticed how she continuously pushed the ugly black-framed glasses up the bridge of her slender nose. A stray thought crossed his mind. She would be passably attractive if someone would take pity on her and show her how to do her hair, and select a more flattering pair of spectacles. She did have a very pretty mouth. He surprised himself by discovering that he envied the Resusci-Anne when the Lieutenant demonstrated the mouth-to-mouth techniques, pressing her lips to the rubbery lips of the dummy.

He shook his head, wondering where those thoughts had come from. He was still reeling from the effects of the girl living next door to him. He had no intention of getting involved with another any time soon. Yet, he continued to watch the young officer for the entire session, his opinion of her reluctantly improving by the minute. It was apparent she knew the material, and she handled the soldiers firmly and fairly.

Private Johnson was the last to demonstrate the technique. He looked nervous and embarrassed at being the center of attention. He knelt on the mat beside the dummy and the Lieutenant. She gently guided him through the procedures to check the victim’s airway and pulse. Then he placed his mouth over Resusci-Anne’s and began to apply mouth-to-mouth. As he blew air into the doll, his cheeks billowed. Gradually, his face grew paler beneath his freckles. The Lieutenant was behind him and didn’t see the moment when his eyes began to glaze over.

Concerned, Gage pushed away from the door and started to move toward them when Lieutenant Keaton spoke.

“You can stop now, Private Johnson.”

Straightening from his crouched position, the Private’s eyes rolled, and he tipped backward, falling to the floor in a dead faint.

The Lieutenant rushed to the private’s side, checking for a pulse and steady breathing. Satisfied that he was returning to normal, she sat back on her heels and waited for him to regain consciousness.

Private Johnson opened his eyes to stare up at the Lieutenant, a dazed expression on his face. “What happened?” he asked.

Gage noted her soothing, velvety voice as she responded, “You hyperventilated, Private.”

“I what?” asked the bewildered private.

“You forgot to breath, dummy!” shouted one of the men, and the whole group laughed.

“Don’t worry, private, you did just fine,” she reassured the blushing youth.

There was something vaguely familiar about that voice. Funny, but her voice hadn’t sounded like that earlier. Maybe he had better keep an eye on this lieutenant. Gage had an inkling something peculiar was going on.