Bad Luck Cadet by Suzie Ivy Read Free Book Online Page A

were
another matter. I don’t think they knew what to make of me. I was a
more self-assured Suzie with a toned and muscled body to go with
the new me. Veronica gave me a big hug when our lunch was over and
told me how proud she was.
    Donna arrived for Sunday night study session.
I was extremely relieved to lay eyes on her. She told me she was
okay when we walked back to our dorm room together.
    I felt overwhelming relief to keep my roommate
and friend. Donna and Rocco were my rocks and I realized I was
theirs as well. Stronger more “cop like” cadets had fallen, but we
were still standing.
    The start to week five was ominously easy.
Sgt. Dickens failed to show for Monday morning inspection, so there
were no pushups for improper hair, shoes, clothes, etc. Everyone
passed the Monday morning class test. We even managed to skate
through the day without a single punishment hill run.
    Tuesday morning we were presented with our
Guidon. This is a flag representing our academy and class. Sgt.
Dickens made quite a production and we all took pride in the
presentation. The flag was yellow with PAFRA and class number 95 in
large black letters. A cadet was chosen to be our flag bearer and
it was quite an honor. He would carry it at all times including
physical training and defensive tactics. Our flag was to be the
symbol of our pride. Nothing was to happen to it or we would be
punished like no punishment we had yet seen. We were told we needed
a class slogan by the end of the week.
    Our academy polo shirts and workout clothing
had arrived and were passed out. We were told to wear the workout
clothes and academy shirts on the following Monday morning. Class
ninety six would be starting on Sunday. They would move into
available dorms and be using the classroom beside ours. We were
told to stay away from them. We had our new polo’s and the new
cadets would be in white shirts and ties. For a change it was nice
to be us.
    The day wasn’t over. It was time for OC gas
(o-chlorobenzylidene malononitrile) training better known as tear
gas. The “red shirts”, looking like SWAT commandos, came in
directly after lunch. There were three of them. Their muscles were
bulging beneath their red t-shirts and they acted like they had the
best job in the world. They were deceptively cheerful. We learned
to identify “red shirts” with pain beginning that day.
    The training session started out as a lot of
fun. The “red shirts” blew things up and taught us about making
bombs. We were able to play with plastic explosive. One of the
cadets made a penis and it became a contest to see who could make
the best one (academy humor at its finest). We were also shown
videos of crowd control and actual mob scenes with police
intervention.
    We were then marched outside and taken about a
mile out into the desert. We were issued side-handle batons and
learned “hands on” crowd control. We split into two groups with one
side being the “out of control” crowd, and the other being the
officers. It was a great learning experience, and the psychology
behind crowd control is fascinating. We took turns pissing off the
other side and then a turn as officers getting the trouble makers
under control.
    The fun part was over. We were run in a slow
jog for a mile to open our pores (this was to make the gas burn
more on our bodies). We were then lined up in our squads, but
instead of being spread out, we were told to stand shoulder to
shoulder. It had been explained the cans of tear gas would reach
over 1400 degrees in temperature and we were not to touch them. We
were also told we had to keep formation until a whistle was blown
or we would start over.
    The cans were tossed around us. We tried
holding our breath but it was impossible. Water was pouring from
our eyes, nose and mouth and breathing was unbearable. I felt
someone at my feet and I grabbed his shoulders and held on for dear
life. We were not going to break our formation and start over. It’s
hard to explain