Chapter 2: You Are in the Army Now!

Karen took one look at me when I walked through the door that night, and knew that something was terribly wrong. I was so overwhelmed that I couldn’t even speak. My hands trembled as I handed her the papers. She silently unfolded them and read the orders: I was being commissioned as a Major in the U.S. Army Reserve.

She looked up at me, eyes wide with disbelief, and whispered, “They can’t do that ... can they?”

I handed her the contract, opened to the pages where I’d signed my acceptance. I would hold the rank of Major in the U.S. Army Reserve. She began to tear up, then sat down and wrapped her arms around me. I couldn’t offer her any comfort for once, because I was the one who needed it.

As Dr. Frisch had put it, I was up the creek without a paddle. There was no way out. I’d been advised to make the best of it.

Randy asked for directions at the information desk, and I managed to check in ten minutes early with their help. It was a small win on a day that already felt overwhelming.

An enlisted staff member at the front desk looked up and asked to see my orders. My throat was dry as I handed over the thick stack of papers the Marine Lieutenant had given me the day before. I had no idea if they were in the right order, or if I’d even brought everything that I was supposed to. The staff member didn’t say a word. He flipped through the pages with practiced efficiency, pulling a few out without hesitation, then handed the rest back to me without so much as a glance. He’d clearly done this a hundred times. I, on the other hand, felt like I was already screwing it up.

He pointed behind me after I was processed, and said, “Please wait over there.”
I turned to look. ‘Over there’ turned out to be a row of hard, empty, sterile, and strangely quiet plastic seats lined up against one wall. I walked over and sat down, unsure of what was coming next, the weight of the unknown pressing heavier with every passing minute.

I realised after Randy, Scotty, and I parted ways that I’d be here for a while. They headed back to the office to help Molly, who was still fielding calls from news outlets desperate for a comment. The weight of the silence settled over me; I was alone now, with nothing but my thoughts about the uncertainty ahead.

I had been waiting for forty-five minutes, the impatience gnawing at me. A Sergeant called my name just as I stood up, ready to march over to the desk and demand answers. I walked toward him, heart pounding, and he asked, “Are you Mercer, James, Doctor?”

He told me to follow him when I confirmed my identity to his satisfaction, so that we could begin processing.

The first part involved standard questions that you’d expect for any job: name, address, marital status, spouse’s name, and any dependents, along with their names and ages.

He asked for the names of three individuals who could vouch for my character once we finished with that. I gave him the first three that came to mind: the former President, his Chief of Staff, and a high-ranking FBI official.

The Sergeant looked at me and I could see it in his eyes; another Washington gadabout playing Army.

“You asked, and I gave you the first three who came to mind. I can give you three more if those aren’t acceptable. Just tell me which branch of the government you prefer, or how about members of the President’s Cabinet?” I responded.

“Those will do, Sir,” the Sergeant replied. “I need to pass you along to medical so that they can assess your physical condition.”

He escorted me down the hall to a clinic where I was to be poked, prodded, and stuck.

The Army physician, assisted by a medic, gave me a physical unlike any I’d ever had, and one I doubted I’d ever experience again. He passed me without hesitation, saying that I was in excellent condition.

I went to the barbershop after the medical checkup, as I was required to get a regulation military haircut. I was directed to where I would be issued my uniforms Once that was done.

The staff there was helpful in me getting correct uniforms, rank insignia, and unit patches. I was told the process would take most of the afternoon and to return for my Army Combat Uniforms before 5 PM.

The Sergeant assisting me suggested that I grab lunch at the food court just down the hall. I found a place that served healthy salads, which is where I decided to eat.

I couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was going all out to pull a terrible prank on me while eating my salad. I was sure that they’d show up at 5 PM and say, “Ha, ha, we pulled one over on you.”

At least, I hoped they would.

I looked around, amazed by everything happening around me. The Pentagon was a city unto itself, more than just offices. The building had everything: a barbershop, a medical clinic, even a men’s clothier, though the selection was limited.

I wouldn’t have been surprised to find apartments for people who worked there in a place this vast.

I wandered back to the desk where my adventure had begun earlier that morning after lunch. The Sergeant there suggested that I go to the administration office to get my military ID made and finish the remaining paperwork. That process took up most of the afternoon.

In addition to the photo ID, I had to fill out forms naming my next of kin and designating where I wanted my military pay to be deposited.

The final task of the day, before picking up my uniforms and gear, was the swearing-in ceremony. I was disappointed to realize that it wasn’t some elaborate prank, it was real.

The ceremony was held in front of a Colonel, two Majors, and a Sergeant Major.

They cut me loose after the ceremony with instructions to report back the next day in my Class ‘A’ uniform. I had to ask the soldier assisting me what that meant. He smiled, took pity on me, and patiently explained the differences between the various uniforms.

I thanked him for his help and headed to the car, carrying my new uniforms.

The drive home was only six miles, but it still took me a good thirty minutes with rush-hour traffic. Once inside, I brought in my new wardrobe, and Karen insisted that I model the uniforms before I could put them away.

I had just put on the Class ‘A’ uniform when Andi came through the door. Both of them were in the living room when I came downstairs. Karen started hooting and hollering, and Andi soon joined in. I was glad they were having fun. I, on the other hand, felt miserable about the whole experience.

I went back upstairs after they’d had their fun, hung my uniform up, and changed into sweats. I spent the rest of the evening entertaining them with stories about what I’d encountered that day at the Pentagon.

I made a quick stop at the office to catch up and check my messages before reporting to the Pentagon as ordered the next morning. I couldn’t resist stirring the pot as soon as I walked through the door. I bellowed “AT-ten-hut!” like a Drill Sergeant on caffeine. Watching all the ex-military guys spring to their feet and snap to attention, then slowly realize that they didn’t have to play that game anymore, was priceless. The look on Randy’s face alone was worth it. Everyone cracked up. I asked Randy and the ‘Twin Mountains’ to give me a once-over, just to be sure that I wasn’t about to embarrass myself at the Pentagon. They confirmed that I’d followed the instructions to the letter, though I suspect they were a little too pleased to find no faults. I didn’t linger long before heading out, but I left them with a good laugh.

I still had to park in the visitor’s lot and flash my military ID at the guard in the shack at the Pentagon. I gave him my best ‘I totally belong here’ look and asked for directions to the right office. They handed me a thick packet of materials that morning, everything I’d need for the next couple of weeks. Among other things, it sent me off to the security office to get the proper stickers for my fleet of vehicles, specifically the Vanagon, my motorcycle, and the Mini Cooper. I figured that it was time to give the Mini some love. I’d picked it up precisely for navigating the chaos of city driving. Small, nimble, and just feisty enough to fit my mood.

I also got my temporary orders, nothing like a fresh stack of bureaucracy to brighten your day. I’d be working out of the Pentagon’s administrative offices for the rest of the week, getting a crash course in how the Army actually did things. I’d be heading up to Carlisle, Pennsylvania, for a mini-course on military protocol and history, basically how to not embarrass myself in front of Generals, the following week. I was booked for a two-week dive into military intelligence, Spy school lite, at Fort Huachuca, Arizona, after that. Then, assuming I survived all that, I’d return to the Pentagon for my official assignment.

Since I’d be off playing soldier for the next couple of weeks, I handed the reins over to Andi, Randy, and Dr. Frisch. Randy was in charge of anything technical or security-related, basically it was his mess to fix if something broke or someone tried to hack us. Andi handled client relations, keeping our current accounts happy and making sure that potential clients felt properly courted. Dr. Frisch took point on the legal and administrative side of things; paperwork, policies, and all the stuff that gives me a headache. The three of them would act as a leadership team if anything serious came up. Majority rules. Any leftover chaos could wait until I got back.

I wandered the Pentagon like a lost puppy, or maybe a confused tourist in a government maze trying to make sense of its endless corridors, for the rest of that first week. More than once, hopelessly turned around, I had to swallow my pride and ask for directions, which on at least one occasion, actually got me where I needed to go. I eventually noticed that maps to help wayward souls like myself were posted throughout the building. I naturally ignored them. Like many men before me, I launched off on my own, navigating like I was chasing the Northwest Passage. It wasn’t until a grandmotherly civilian employee scolded me for being ‘bull-headed’ that I finally gave in and started following the maps. Best decision I made all week.

My second week of military training landed me at the U.S. Army War College in Carlisle, Pennsylvania. I joined a bunch of other freshly minted officers for a crash course on how to act like a military officer and actually understand the Army’s chain of command. It was intense, think twelve-hour days packed with enough rules and protocols to make your head spin. There definitely was no time for goofing off, though I tried my best to sneak in a few moments of mischief.

We were up at 0500 for a morning run because nothing says ‘welcome to the military’ like being dragged out of bed before dawn. We were dressed and ready for breakfast by 0630, then marched off to class, where we sat from 0730 until noon, soaking in enough military jargon to fill a textbook. After a quick one-hour lunch break, it was back to the grind from 1300 to 1700. Evenings weren’t much better, packed with study, memorization, and group ‘what-if’ sessions that pushed us to think on our feet, or better yet, figure out how to think outside the box without losing our minds.

We suited up in our Class ‘A’ uniforms for a graduation ceremony late Friday afternoon. We got certificates proving we’d survived, and passed, the course. I drove home that night, arrived by 2100, and was greeted at the door by the women in my life: Karen, the twins (when did they get so tall?), and Andi. Beast and the Dobermans went wild. I swear that Beast nearly knocked me over with his excitement.