thirteen

Keep Your Feet and Knees Together

The day prior to graduation, Captain Rainville found me sitting alone on the steps of the barracks, shining my boots for the upcoming parade. It was going to be just a small ceremony since it was a spring course and there were only a few platoons in training. The bigger graduation parade would be held at the end of Phase 4 in August.

Captain Rainville said he needed to talk to me and motioned for me to scoot over. He took his place beside me and this time, it was Mike, my friend, who spoke to me, and I recognized the agony in his voice. I stopped polishing to look at him with dread, imagining the worst. Had he been reprimanded for the prisoner exercise? Was I being released from the course? Had I failed?

“What’s wrong?” I asked apprehensively.

He told me I’d be getting an excellent grade on the course, but that I wouldn’t be top candidate. Apparently my name had been tossed around several times, but they all felt that it would set me up as a target for Phase 4. It would be hard enough as it is, he said, without making me the one to take down. Relief washed over me and I smiled at him. I wanted to fit in, not stand out. I already stood out by being so different, and I didn’t need it to be highlighted any further.

I remembered when I had been on my Basic Parachutist Course at sixteen, I had excelled and the consequences had been disastrous: alienation by many of my colleagues. The instructors had unintentionally fuelled the fire with their comments: “Look at Perron, she’s already finished packing her chute and you’re not even halfway done,” or during the morning run, “Are you going to let yourselves be beaten by a girl, you bunch of wimps?”

The night before course graduation, I’d gone home (we lived on the military base) and in a state of panic had told my mother that there had been a rumour saying I was to be awarded top cadet. “They all hate me, Mom! I can’t be top cadet and I don’t want to be first! All I want is to graduate and get my wings, go back to the corps.” My mother, who had already been advised that I would be getting the award, betrayed nothing, taking me in her arms and saying only that I had to let those boys be.

They were immature, she said, and I needed to be proud of all the hard work I had put into the course. I had worked hard, but the next day some of my course mates spat at my feet when I was awarded top cadet. The feeling of accomplishment was overshadowed by the lack of acceptance from my peers. Would this be the story of my life?

“Thank you, Mike. I get it, and I really appreciate it.” They had recognized the delicate situation they’d be placing me in if I’d been nominated as top candidate on the course and had wisely chosen to protect me instead of making me a target for the new students who would be joining our current class of graduates to form Phase 4. I asked him if he’d got in trouble from the interrogations we’d had following the prisoner exercises. He’d been reprimanded, he said, but nothing too major. He said that he’d received a copy of all our declarations and that only one candidate had disclosed anything damaging. So much for confidentiality, I thought, glad I had kept my mouth shut.

Mike assured me I was going to be an excellent officer, if I could only make it through Phase 4. He told me I had a few fans out there but that there were many more people who wanted to see me fail. “Don’t trust anyone,” he said, “and keep your feet and knees together.”

The last comment was a saying between paratroopers meaning that if you jump with your feet apart, the cords holding the canopy, known as risers, could get tangled between your legs and cause a malfunction in the opening of your parachute. In the same way, if you landed with your feet and knees apart you could break your back or damage your knees. The saying is a friendly reminder to stay vigilant, watch your position, and land safely. I knew what he was trying to say and it was heart-warming. He stood up, looked intensely at me and said, “We are soon going to have women in the infantry, and I’m proud that you’ll be our regiment’s first. Go kick some ass, soldier.” He smiled and walked away. I stayed on those stairs for a long time, revelling in what Mike had said. I’m going to be an excellent infantry officer … I savoured his opinion of me and the realization that tomorrow I would be one step closer to achieving my dream, one that I had visualized since I’d been a young teenager.

The next day, in front of girlfriends, parents, family, and friends we all proudly graduated Phase 3 infantry training. After many hugs and pats on the back, we all went our separate ways with our loved ones, knowing we’d be back after the May long weekend.