Cadet - 5. Cadet Fourth Class • IV

“Why the fuck are they taking so long?” Ritch was frustrated; he hated the military’s hurry up and wait approach to everything. “I mean, we’re all here. Let’s get this shit show on the road.”

Will extended an arm and snatched the tennis ball Ritch was bouncing off the wall. “Down, Peterson. We’ve all seen the videos and heard the stories of what’s going to happen. Why are you so eager?”

“Yeah, Peterson, what’s the rush? I’m willing to sit here as long as they want.” The squadron’s doolies had all gathered in a common area, awaiting the upperclassmen to begin the weekend’s activity. “The longer we do, the less time they have to torture us.” The female cadet’s thoughts were endorsed by multiple nodding heads.

During the month following the Vail weekend, all Ritch, Will, and every other doolie thought and talked about was Recognition. It was a distraction to any activity, and more than once instructors had to admonish daydreaming freshmen. In reality, it had started after their return from Christmas break with increased intensity in their training. Known as the Dark Days or the Dark Ages, the period preceding Recognition was strenuous, and led many to question their commitment. Ritch was glad he and Will had been able to escape the pressure cooker atmosphere for a couple of days on the slopes.

Although it would not be official until First Class Cadets graduated in May, the weekend was meant to mark freshmen’s transition to upperclassmen. A new group would enter the Academy in less than three months, and Ritch’s class would no longer be the lowest rung on the ladder, no longer subject to constant harassment by older cadets.

“What are you looking forward to most?” Will tossed the ball back to Ritch.

“Not having to run the fucking strips!”

“Hear, hear!”

“When we’re done, I’m gonna take the slowest damn stroll across the T!”

“I’m never stepping on that marble crap again!”

The Terrazzo, designed by landscape architect Dan Kiley, was a large, open space surrounded by buildings. The plaza, a checkerboard of marble strips with inlaid terrazzo tiles, was dreaded by doolies. Until Recognition, stepping on the tiles was prohibited. They had to cross the expanse by running on the marble strips, carrying their backpacks in hand instead of wearing them on their back.

“I can’t wait until I don’t have to greet every upperclassman.” That came from a usually quiet woman everyone knew was extremely shy and struggled with the requirement.

Although the mandate was still there—doolies were supposed to greet upperclassmen in hallways, and were technically supposed to do the same with group and wing staff on The Terrazzo—it had been relaxed after the first few weeks. These days, most upperclassmen in a freshman’s squad would say hi first, eliminating the need for Ritch and his fellow C4Cs to initiate the interaction.

“Me? I plan on talking non-stop during meals.” Laughing, Will ducked to avoid the ball Ritch threw at his head.

“I pity anyone who sits with him. My roomie talks so much I sometimes have to put on headphones to block his oral diarrhea.”

“Stuff it, Peterson!”

Academy freshmen ate at attention, not allowed to look at anything other than the seal on their plate, unless given permission to be at ease by the person in charge of the table.

“I talk during meals all the time.” Mitch Simmons, the Texan Ritch met during I-Day, had landed in the same squadron and become a friend.

“That’s ’cause you’re a jock, Simmons.” Ritch’s eye roll led to a few chuckles. “And you sit with all the other jocks instead of with us mere mortals.” Ritch ate with the boxing team now and then, but it was football players who, more often than not, gathered at meal times.

Mitch had seen limited action the previous season but had since bragged about being a starter next fall. When the athletic teams came together at meals, there was a lot more flexibility concerning how they were to sit and what they were allowed to do.

“Off we go into the wild blue yonder, climbing high into the sun.” The Cadet First Class who walked into the middle of the doolie’s gathering softly sang the first two lines. It would be the last time the Cadre did not shout at the fourth classers for a while.

As a unit, the freshmen sprung from their seats, stood at attention, and belted the next lines at the top of their lungs. “Here they come zooming to meet our thunder, at ’em boys, give ’er the gun!”

The Air Force Academy’s Fight Song was something they all knew by heart. Sung by everyone at Falcon Stadium during home football games, it was heard more than once during away games too while cadets gathered to watch on TV.

With cadets assembled on The Terrazo, the Wing Round Robin kicked off the weekend’s activities. While being yelled at by upperclassmen, sometimes with derision and at others with encouragement, doolies moved through a rotation of high-intensity exercises. Cadets of all classes participated in sprints, pushups, bear crawls, squats, crunches, and Ritch’s most hated exercise: flutter kicks.

Although not as challenging as they were originally, the leg lifts, done extremely fast one leg at a time, had frustrated him. They were not part of his repertoire of exercises prior to the start of his Academy experience and had him bitching at first. As with most physical activity, frequent repetition soon had his body accustomed to them. He still despised them, though.

“You know this would be deemed hazing anywhere else, right?” Bent at the waist, Will tried to catch his breath after helping Ritch lift a shorter cadet, so she could reach the pull-up bar. “These people could be subject to criminal prosecution and face civil lawsuits too.”

“Fine, you can handle that when you become a lawyer. Give me a hand for now.” Both helped spot their fellow doolie, holding her up when she nearly lost her grip. Providing assistance to a struggling classmate had not been part of the instructions received, but it had not been explicitly prohibited. Ritch hoped Cadre members watching would view his actions as loyalty, since he was not about to allow anyone to falter, if he could do anything about it.

As part of training for life as an officer in the United States Air Force, the Academy’s Cadet Wing simulated the organization of an operational Air Force wing. The approximately 4,000 cadets, divided into four groups of ten squadrons each, lived, ate, and took part in military training with their squadrons. Each was comprised of roughly even numbers of cadets from all four class years.

“What are the seven basic responses, doolie?”

Ritch internalized the groan; he could not believe they were asking shit learned during BCT. His response was automatic. After all, he had been using those phrases nearly every day since arriving at the Academy. “Yes, sir or ma’am. No, sir or ma’am. No excuse, sir or ma’am. Sir or ma’am, may I ask a question? Sir or ma’am, may I make a statement? Sir or ma’am, I do not understand. Sir or ma’am, I do not know.”

“Recite your favorite poem, doolie.” The question was shouted at Ritch and Will simultaneously by two different upperclassmen. Ritch’s internal growling grew louder. He hated poetry and could never understand anyone’s affinity for the stuff. However, he and Will knew exactly what the expected response was and echoed each other as they replied.

“Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.”

Published in 1875, Invictus by William Ernest Henley was a favorite at the Academy, and every cadet knew the poem by heart. It had been part of the quotes they had to learn for weekly knowledge tests.

The physical challenges of Recognition ended on Saturday with the Run to the Rock. A misnomer, since it was a hike instead of a sprint. First class cadets joined their fourth class counterparts on the five mile trek to Cathedral Rock. The formation was named after Cathedral Rock Ranch, the first piece of property acquired by the Air Force for the Academy.

Knowing the end was near, smiles began appearing on doolies’ faces. When a C-17 Globemaster III buzzed them during the hike, the prevalent mood was exhilaration. Cheers and shouts drowned out all noise except for the airplane’s roar. At The Rock, photo opportunities were plentiful, and the cadets posed in perpetually changing, grinning groups.

Ritch made sure there was one taken of him and Will with arms draped over each other’s shoulders. “This is it, bro. After the final formation back on The Terrazzo, we get to shit, shower, and shave before we relax and enjoy ourselves.”

Upperclassmen organized and ran Recognition. It provided commanders an opportunity to evaluate their performance as leaders, assess how well doolies met military training requirements, and gauge their ability to continue their Academy journey.

Ritch noticed no matter how hard those senior to him pushed, there was an element of encouragement in their actions. Upperclassmen were as invested in their success, as freshmen were themselves.

After BCT, cadets entered their academic year squadron. The Cadet Wing’s forty squadrons were further divided into flights and elements with cadets becoming closer to each other the smaller the group was. Ritch, Bender, and Simmons had grown extremely tight over the preceding months. The picture of the three standing together eventually made it onto social media.

Their ordeal culminated on Saturday with the Recognition Dinner in Mitchell Dining Hall. The meal followed the Prop and Wings ceremony within the cadets’ squadron.

A vertical airplane propeller superimposed on spread, feathered wings, the coveted insignia had its roots in the United States Army Air Service. When the Air Force came into existence in 1947, the emblem migrated to the new service. Over the years, the design details were altered, but the one worn by Academy cadets retained the original’s rounded wingtips. Recognition meant those cadets could now wear the metal logo on their flight caps.

“Bro, I may want to wear my cap all the time.” Ritch’s sense of accomplishment was immense. “Even when I’m not wearing a uniform.” The fact they could now wear civilian clothing was one of the most coveted privileges by Fourth Class Cadets.

“I have a present for you, guys,” Will, sitting in the back seat of the rental, announced as soon as the vehicle left the North Gate. Ritch had paid for the rental and refused offers to share the cost; he claimed he would have spent the money even if he traveled alone to Vail. Will opened his backpack, retrieved a plastic shopping bag, and flung Air Force knit hats to his companions.

“Thanks, bro!” Cadet Fourth Class Federico—Fred—Rodriguez hesitated accepting when Ritch invited him to Vail during spring break. He had never skied, did not have any equipment, and was concerned about the cost. Raised as a single-parent child, he claimed his mother had worked like crazy to provide, but there was seldom excess money for frivolous items or endeavors.

Cadets earned a little over eleven-hundred dollars a month, however, just a meager percentage of that amount made it into their personal bank accounts each pay period. The list of deductions was endless, since their salary was designed to cover a majority of school-related expenses.

Ritch tried to assuage Rodiguez’ worries about money, and his and Simmons concerns about equipment. Mitch Simmons, the football player from Texas, was their fourth. “Look, guys, the place doesn’t cost us anything. There’ll be plenty of food there, so we can whip up something for breakfast and dinner. If we want lunch while on the slopes, we’ll go somewhere cheap. And there’s plenty of equipment at the house. You won’t have to rent anything. My brother-in-law’s a big guy, Simmons. His stuff should fit you.”

“What about lift tickets? Those are expensive, right?” Since Rodriguez had never been to a ski resort, he was unfamiliar with what things cost.

“The management company will provide two days at Vail, and those would be the most expensive ones.” Ritch tried to be vague and not let on anything the management company provided was deducted from payments his fathers received when the place was rented. Brett and César had told him to treat the vacation as if it was a family trip and not worry about cost. “We won’t ski every day, but we can hit Breckenridge or Keystone after we do Vail. Those cost less.”

While planning the trip, Rodriguez admitted he had a small four-year scholarship he could tap for his share, as long as it was not an exorbitant amount. A check for the proceeds was issued at the beginning of each semester directly to him. The government, or the cadets’ salary, covered tuition, room, board, uniforms, textbooks, and most other school-related outlays.

Because someone in Simmons’ flight had a smudge on their shoe, the surprise morning inspection had taken longer than anyone expected. The four friends did not depart as early as planned. Some seventy-five miles west of Denver, Ritch exited I-70 and pointed at an Arby’s sign. “This place good enough for a quick bite? We have food at the lodge, but I’m hungry.” He assumed the fast food outlet was inexpensive enough for everyone.

“Are you boys pilots?” The attractive woman had been leaning against the serving counter, talking to one of the cashiers, when the cadets entered the restaurant and stood in line to order.

“No, ma’am. We’re cadets at the Air Force Academy.”

“Hey! Speak for yourself.” Ritch smiled at the woman. “I am, ma’am. But I already had my license before I got to Colorado Springs.”

“Pete,” she called out to the guy at the register. “Let me know when you’ve rung up their order, I’ll override it.” She turned to the cadets, smiling. “Lunch’s on the house.”

“Ma’am?”

“I’m the manager, guys. This is a little something to thank you for your service.”

“May I ask your name, ma’am?”

“Wendy, Wendy Jones. And you all better stop calling me ma’am. It makes me feel old, and I’m still two years away from thirty.”

“I’m Will, ma’am. Oops, sorry. I’m Will Bender, Ms. Jones. The big guy’s Mitch, that one’s Fred, and our fearless leader’s Ritch. Thank you so much.”

“Ms. Jones’ not much better than ma’am. Call me Wendy.” She scanned Ritch from knit cap to cowboy boots. “How old are you? You look younger than your friends.”

“Eighteen. Three of us are. Will’s already nineteen.” He shrugged and grinned. “Maybe I look the youngest ’cause I am? By a couple of months.”

Wendy turned her eyes to Will. “How come he’s the leader, if you’re the oldest one?” The woman smiled a lot while talking to the cadets.

Ritch found her extremely attractive and wondered why she was spending so much time with kids ten years her junior.

“He organized the trip, rented the car, and we’re staying at his family’s place in Vail.”

“Vail?” A sculpted eyebrow rose in a sign of surprise. “That’s a nice place to have a house in.”

“The house belonged to my grandparents. My dad inherited it when they died.” Ritch did not feel like explaining the Davenports and Brett were not blood relatives and hoped she would drop the line of questioning.

“So, you’re gonna spend the week skiing?”

“I doubt it. Fred’s never been, and Mitch’s only done it a couple of times. I’m hoping they don’t break anything.” The joke earned him one-finger salutes. “We have lift tickets for the next two days already, and I figure we’ll take the next one off to give the rookies a chance to rest. I want to hit a different mountain at least once during the week.”

“Well, maybe I’ll see you again if you visit Breckenridge, Keystone, or Copper on Thursday or Friday. Those are my days off, and I usually hit the snow when I’m not working.”

“I’ll give you my number, Wendy. Text me where you’ll be, and we’ll meet you there. I’d like to reciprocate and buy you lunch.”

“Peterson, that was the smoothest pickup I’ve ever seen.” Mitch shook his head apparently not believing his fellow cadet had walked away with Wendy Jones’ number in his phone. “You’re so gonna get laid this week, fucker.”

“Amen!”

“Way to go, bro!”

“Chill, guys. You’re all full of crap. Nothing’s gonna happen. The woman’s ten years older than us.”

“So what?” Will pushed on Ritch’s shoulder from the back seat. “She was checking you out like crazy. Damn! Mitch, Fred, and I may have to go cougar hunting to keep up with you.”

“Whatever, man. Is sex all you think about?”

“Yeah… You have a problem with that?”

“Coño! Eso no es una casa. Es una mansión!”

Ritch had kept a garage opener with him the previous month and clicked it to raise the door. “Don’t exaggerate, Fred. It’s not a mansion. It is just a house, and it’s my dads that own it. I just borrowed it for the week.”

Will nudged his roommate’s shoulder again. “That’s not what Cap said, Ritchie. He called it a family retreat, and he and Mr. A. said you could use it whenever you wanted.”

“Ritchie? Cap? Mr. A?” Simmons kept shifting his sight between the house and Ritch.

“Cap’s Captain Davenport, and Mr. A’s Mr. Abelló. From what they said, it’s what all of our boy’s friends call his fathers. I hope you guys get to meet them sometime. They’re sooo cool.”

“And Ritchie?”

“Oh, that’s what family and friends called Peterson while he was growing up. He hates the nickname.”

“You better watch your back when we’re on the mountain, Bender. I may be pushing you out of the way. Permanently.”

“Bro, a Jeep and a Harley?” Simmons was slack-jawed when Ritch pulled the rental into an empty spot. “Whose are those?”

“Jeep’s mine. The Harley belonged to my brother-in-law, but he and CJ have two others, so I trailered that one over here last summer. The dads aren’t sure what they’ll do with it.”

“You ride?”

“I’ve been on bikes as a passenger since I was a kid. I learned to ride a couple of years ago, but I’m the only one in the family who doesn’t own one.”

“Changed my mind.” Fred stood in the doorway looking into the house. He took a step inside and turned 360 degrees, scanning the room from floor to ceiling. “Bro, this isn’t a mansion. It’s a fricking hotel. How many people can stay here?”

“The dads said twenty comfortably, more if they brought out sleeping bags.” Will nudged Rodriguez out of the way, walked towards the kitchen at the other end of the house, and dropped his backpack on the kitchen island. “Dibs on one of the third floor masters.”

“Go to hell, Bender.” Simmons did not sound amused. “Just ’cause you know the layout don’t mean you get to pick first. And who the hell are the dads?”

“My fathers. It’s what I call them, and Bender’s heard me do it often enough.” Ritch opened both fridge doors and scanned the interior. “Good, lots of premade and frozen stuff. We may want to grill steaks one night, but otherwise I think we can survive using the microwave. Anyone want a beer?”

Simmons seemed to jump from surprise to surprise. “Really? Your parents let you drink? What about the Academy finding out and us getting in trouble?”

“I’ll…” Ritch and Will had started to talk at the same time, and both waved a hand to indicate the other one should go first.

“Fine, I’ll go. And I’ll take a beer. Simmons, I’ll repeat what my dad said to us over Thanksgiving. He offered us drinks, my mother asked the same thing you just did, and Dad said what happened in Wyoming stayed in Wyoming.” Will grasped the bottle Ritch held out. “Sooo… What happens in Vail, stays in Vail.”

Rodriguez and Simmons both nodded when Ritch held out beer bottles to them. “I’ll have a beer now and then, Mitch, but I’m more of a wine drinker. I’ll uncork a Shiraz the night we grill that’ll knock your pants off, it’s so good. I gotta remember to open it early so it can breathe.”

Simmons once again looked lost. “Uncork? Shiraz? Breathe? What the fuck, Peterson? My parents would kick my ass if they knew I was drinking. My buddies and I used to get our hands on a few beers now and then, but I only drank if I was out camping or staying at someone else’s place. And the one time we got our hands on a jug of wine, there were no corks involved.”

“You wanna tell them about Ozzie and your winery or you want me to?” Will barely got the words out he was laughing so hard.

“I’m starting to regret inviting you, Bender. You can explain it to them. Later.” Ritch motioned with his head for his fellow cadets to follow him. “Come on, grab your gear, and I’ll show you where to crash.”

Rodriguez fell in step next to him and climbed the stairs, side by side. “How many rooms, Ritch?”

Ritch stopped to think for a moment. “Five, I guess. There’s two large ones on the top floor with a den between them. That has pull out couches. There are three on the second floor. Two good sized ones at either end, and a bunk room in the middle.”

“How come your fathers bought something so big?”

“Remember, they didn’t buy it? Cap, that’s the Marine, inherited it from his parents. His dad built it to entertain friends and business contacts. He was involved in real estate and a bunch of other stuff. And he was some kind of big shot in the Republican Party. I never met him or Mrs. Davenport.”

Ritch and Will took the third floor, while Mitch and Fred settled in on the second. After changing into shorts and t-shirts—Ritch had cranked up the heat as soon as they arrived—they followed their host to the basement and the large, locked storage the family kept personal items in. Aside from the closets, the basement housed the furnace, water heater, and emergency generator; otherwise, it was mostly unfinished.

The rest of the day they spent eating, drinking, and watching sports on TV. It was a luxury they did not enjoy at the academy.

Simmons had minimal experience boarding, and Rodriguez was a novice. Bender had grown up skiing. Although on smaller mountains, Ritch had done it quite often back East. He had also taken advantage of Ski Club outings several times, since snow had started in the fall.

As a doolie, ski equipment was kept in the cadet's room. In most squadrons, freshmen were allowed to have a ski jacket and pants as the exception to the no civilian clothes rule prior to Recognition. Ritch looked forward to stashing his gear in storage rooms available to upperclassmen.

“I’ll stick with you the whole morning. Or until you feel ready to try one of the easier runs.” Bender had decided to once again ski, and Rodriguez had expressed an interest to try that first.

Simmons, on the other hand, wanted to partner with Ritch and snowboard. He had tried it before and had the basics down. Ritch offered to babysit him too, until the Texan felt comfortable enough to leave the learning area. Two runs down the bunny hill later, they were on the lift to one of the easier runs.

After a short break for lunch, they returned to the trails until exhaustion finally forced them to quit for the day. The recent shift to Daylight Savings Time meant the sun did not set until after 7:00 p.m., but the guys were at the resort’s lodge a couple of hours earlier.

Along the way, a bevy of young women sidled up to them while in line for the lifts or after finishing a run. The four cadets all collected numbers but left plans for getting together vague. Ritch insisted they not commit to anything until they talked to Wendy Jones.

“Man, my calves are killing me.” Soaking in the hot tub, Fred rubbed his legs beneath the water. “Not sure I’ll be able to move tomorrow morning.”

“You’ll be fine, Rodriguez. We have Ben Gay or Icy Hot somewhere around here. Rub some on before you hit the sack, and it’ll help. And pop a couple more Advils at the same time.”

On the way back to the house, Ritch had stopped at a grocery store, and bought a container of apple cider. After warming it up in the microwave, he added a shot of Yukon Jack to each of the four mugs. “Where’d you learn how to make these things, Peterson?” Simmons drained the remainder of his mug, set it on the deck, and sank further into the bubbling water.

“My brother. CJ and Ozzie always order the same thing when we’ve gone skiing.”

After a second day on Vail Mountain, the cadets spent the next one sightseeing. Echoing the exploration spirit his fathers—and more significantly his brother—usually exhibited, Ritch piloted Defiant towards Aspen. They walked around town, and after lunch at McDonalds, decided to ice skate for a bit. They had called a couple of the girls they met their first day on the mountain to join them.

Ritch was flat on his back after another fall when his phone rang. He managed to get to the boards and prop himself up while answering. “Hey, Wendy. You at work?”

“Yep. Taking a break. Listen, you guys still interested in getting together Thursday?”

“Definitely!” Ritch hoped his friends were right about the woman being interested in him. “You tell me where you want to meet, and we’ll be there.”

“Good. Here’s what I was thinking about.”

After treating the coeds to snacks and sodas, and promising to call them again, Ritch stopped at a drugstore on the return, and bought a box of condoms.

“Where are we going, and why are we unracking the gear?” Will removed the skis he had been using from atop Defiant and leaned them against the garage wall.

“Breckenridge. We’re going snowmobiling.” Ritch liked the surprised expressions on his companions. “I talked to Wendy yesterday, and she suggested it. She knows a cheap place to rent them for a couple of hours. It’ll cost us less than a lift ticket.”

What Ritch failed to mention was Wendy had invited three female friends to join them, telling Ritch, “I’d rather your friends be entertained, so you and I can hang alone.”

The girls were younger than Wendy and appeared excited to spend time with the cadets. Once their ride was over, Ritch invited them back to Vail, promising there were supplies to make sandwiches, booze, and a hot tub. Although large on them, the girls did not object to the gym shorts and t-shirts Ritch scavenged for them to wear in the tub.

“Is it tough getting into the Air Force Academy?” One of Wendy’s friends asked of nobody in particular.

Simmons, the most loquacious amongst the cadets, was quick to reply. “Hell, yeah! First you have to be nominated, you have to apply, and then you wait, hoping you’re accepted. Only a little over ten percent of applicants are admitted.”

“Who nominates you?”

“There are a few different ways to get one, but the most common one’s having a member of Congress to do it.” Bender had previously discussed his odyssey with Ritch. “Before you apply to the Academy, you have to apply for a nomination. They’re kinda limited. I applied to both Wyoming senators and our congresswoman. One of them came through for me.”

“Same here,” Rodriguez said.

Simmons nodded. “Me too.”

Wendy, sitting next to Ritch, ran a hand over his thigh when she asked if his experience was the same.

“Mine was probably a bit easier. Since D.C.’s not a state, we don’t have senators. We do have one, non-voting representative in Congress. I met her a couple of times, since my brother’s friendly with her. I asked him for help, and he talked to her on my behalf. She told me I’d get it as soon as I did the paperwork.”

“Peterson’s family’s connected, Wendy. They know a bunch of famous people.” Will ducked, trying to avoid the water splash Ritch aimed in his direction.

“One more reason to murder you, Bender. Can’t you keep your mouth shut?”

“Oh, oh, roommate quarrel.” Wendy shivered when she stood. “I need to use the little girl’s room.”

“Let me show you where it’s at,” Ritch offered. “You can use the one in my bedroom.”

A couple of hours later, Ritch followed Wendy down the stairs. Everyone else was already dressed, waiting for them, sitting at the kitchen island. A smirking Will verbalized what they all seemed to be thinking. “Took you long enough to use the bathroom. We were about to send out a search party.”

“I’m definitely killing you, Bender.”

Wendy laughed and locked lips with Ritch. “Ignore them, tiger. They’re just jealous.” She winked at her friends. “You girls ready to head out?”

They nodded, giggling. At the door, Wendy once again kissed Ritch. “Text me next time you come up. We’ll get together.”

“If you can take a Sunday off and drive to Colorado Springs in the next couple of months, I’ll take you flying like I promised, okay?”

“You got it. Maybe once the weather warms up a bit more.”

Once the women drove away and the cadets returned inside, they all turned on Ritch. “Bro, that’s not fair. You using the fact you can fly a plane to get laid.”

A smug Ritch shook his head. “Nope, I made the offer between rounds.”

“We want details.”

“Not a chance, fuckers. A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell.”

“Kissing, my ass. And who said you were a gentleman?”

Mitch had a girlfriend back in Texas he was serious about, so he had not been interested in sex with any of the women. Will had struck out. The one he was interested in was in a relationship too. It turned out Rodriguez was the only other one to score. He also declined to provide additional information.

Wendy had left behind discount coupons for Beaver Creek lift tickets, and that’s where the four cadets headed the next day. With ski season approaching the end, some mountains tried to increase business by lowering prices. They agreed it would be their final day on the slopes, so they stayed until daylight began to fade. Simmons and Rodriguez begged off the final run, when Ritch convinced Will to join him on Centennial. At nearly three miles long, the two rookies claimed it was beyond their capabilities after a full day of skiing. Ritch and Will found it thrilling but exhausting.

Snowcapped mountains were everywhere during a Colorado winter, however, due primarily to a lack of transportation, first year cadets usually enjoyed them from afar in Colorado Springs. Or from the mountain itself, if boarding or skiing. Ritch wanted a different perspective and convinced his companions to take the Jeep out for another sightseeing drive on Saturday.

“I’m doing this again in summer.” Ritch thanked the woman who had just taken a picture of the four cadets in front of the Continental Divide sign. “This is the second time I take a picture with one of these signs and they’re both on snow.”

“Bro, I’ll come with you.” Simmons draped an arm over Ritch’s shoulders. “We could go off-roading in your Jeep.”

The forty-eight miles of U.S. Highway 34 running through Rocky Mountains National Park were unlike any other road Ritch had ever driven. Eleven miles of it rose above the tree line, the altitude at which the park's evergreen forest came to a halt, on its way to the crest at nearly 12,200 feet. He considered he might even ride Trail Ridge Road on the motorcycle.

“You’re on, Simmons. First free weekend in August, when we’re all back.”

“Hey, Peterson. You have a few minutes to talk to me?”

The knock on the open dorm room door made Ritch look up from the laptop’s screen and remove his headphones. “Come in, Marsh. I can use a break.”

“What you studying for?” Because he was in a different Squadron, Cadet Second Class Braxton Marsh and Ritch had only interacted during Ski Club outings. As a senior the following academic year, Marsh would be in charge of the organization after the current president graduated in May. They had become friendly, and Marsh had insisted Ritch drop protocol when in private. He could use his first or last name.

“German. My accent sucks, so I’m listening to how to pronounce some words.”

“Why German? I know you’re fluent in Spanish, so you could have tested out of the language requirement.” During a ski outing, the group had stopped for Mexican food, and Ritch had surprised his companions by carrying on a conversation with their server entirely in Spanish.

“My brother did the same thing at Georgetown, and I thought I’d follow in his footsteps. Plus, I was born there so… Anyway, what can I do for you?”

The man smirked at the younger cadet. “I understand you’re a hunter.”

Ritch was confused. “Huh?”

“Someone told me you bagged a cougar over spring break.” Braxton hailed from Southern California, was an inch or two above five feet, and his face reflected his Filipino background. The guy was handsome and exotic according to a female cadet Ritch talked to during a ski trip. His nickname was Little Stud, supposedly for the countless Colorado Springs’ girls he had bedded since his freshman year.

“WHAT?!” Ritch nearly jumped out of his chair. “Damn Bender and his big mouth.”

Marsh chuckled. “That your roomie? He wasn’t the leak. Some football player approached me about joining the club. He told me about having a great time skiing with you during spring break. Simmons?”

“Mitch Simmons. I’ll add him to the list of people to hurt.” Ritch smiled when Braxton cracked up.

“He also told me you own a small hotel in Vail.”

“Jeezus! He’s such a dick. And a liar. My parents own a place in Vail, not me. And it’s definitely not a hotel.”

“Not what I heard, doolie. Simmons said you could sleep a whole squadron in it.”

“He exaggerates.”

“How many people can it handle then?”

Ritch had no idea where the conversation was headed. “Maybe twenty? More if people brought sleeping bags and slept on the floor. Where’s this going, Marsh?”

“No need for sleeping bags. Twenty’s more than enough. Any chance your parents would let the club use it?”

“Like organize an outing and spending the night there?”

“Yep. If we didn’t have to spend money on hotel rooms, we could head up on Friday night and return Sunday. A couple of days on the slopes would be nice, instead of our usual one day treks.”

Ritch nodded, thinking that could be a fun adventure. It would also give him an excuse to call Wendy again. “Yeah… I’ll talk to the dads, but I’m sure they’ll leave it up to me. Maybe we can plan it for a three-day weekend?” Ritch was now fully behind the idea, having a bunch of cadets at the house would be fun. “I went up this year for President’s Day, and it was nice to come back early on Monday. We still had two full days of fun.”

“Let’s make it happen, bro. And when I take over, I want you to be part of the hierarchy. You’re a decent boarder from what I’ve seen, and I figure you’ll get better over the next couple of years. The club can always use good skiers to help rookies. You in?”

“Sure, what the hell. I’ll probably have a lot of free time in the fall. From what I’ve seen, upperclassmen have plenty of it to waste. Don’t you guys sit around twiddling your thumbs all day?”

“Watch it, doolie…”