Was I going to watch Captain Harris get shot in the middle of the mess hall? Sure, the man was a total prick, but I didn't think he deserved to die because of it.
It was then I noticed that Wayne was not alone. Walking alongside Wayne was an older distinguished gentleman with a head of blondish-white hair under his hat and a fancy uniform with three yellow stripes on the arms.
"Who's that?" I found myself asking.
"That's Commandant Lassard," Mullers replied. "He's the head of the academy. Didn't you—Oh, that's right; you got here late."
Stiner, Manson, and Mullers began chuckling.
"Well, this can only mean one thing," Mullers said, her voice shaking with laughter. "Harris was dead wrong about Wayne."
As Wayne and Commandant Lassard approached Harris, all who were aware of the impending confrontation fell silent. Our squadron of thirty had evidently told the others the "Russian spy" story, because it seemed as if everyone was aware that this would be no ordinary conversation. In a few seconds, the entire mess hall was so quiet one could hear a pin drop—and yet the only thing that was heard was the sound of two men's footsteps approaching the officers' table.
It took a couple of moments, but Harris was soon aware of the sudden silence of the room. I watched as he scanned the cafeteria suspiciously, his eyes narrowed. And then he saw Wayne—with Commandant Lassard.
As Lassard arrived at Harris's table, Captain Harris hesitated to stand up, but at Lassard's expectant stance in front of him, he begrudgingly made his way to his feet and half-heartedly saluted his superior. All eyes were on him. I saw a flicker of fear in his eyes as he looked around the room, giving me a weird twinge deep in my stomach.
"Captain Harris," Lassard began, his voice surprisingly strong as Harris promptly lowered his salute. "I was very, very disturbed to hear that Cadet Wayne—" at that he turned and winked at Wayne—"was ejected from your class."
"I don't understand, Sir," Harris cut in, looking demure. He now kept his hands clasped in front of him. I imagined a pair of handcuffs being slapped on those wrists, and couldn't help but smile.
Lassard took a bewildered look about the room, noticing that everyone was staring unabashedly at the standoff. Clearing his throat, he looked back at the shorter man in front of him.
"Were you not informed, Captain Harris? Cadet Wayne is a special recruit of ours."
Lassard's voice was pleasant, deep, and very regal-sounding. Even while admonishing Captain Harris, he kept a kind disposition and spoke like a decorated General might when addressing his troops in peacetime.
"Of course he is!" Harris shot back, eyes full of ire. "He's a damn Ruskie and probably a member of their mafia!" Lassard looked mortified at the statement. Harris paused after seeing Lassard's face. When he spoke again, his voice was loud and accusatory, his face exaggeratingly aghast. "Are you working for the Russians, Commandant Lassard?"
There were gasps heard all around the room. I could not believe my ears. How could this sweet old man be the bad guy in all of this? And if Lassard was being falsely accused, why did he not immediately say something, or at the least, simply dismiss Harris from the academy? The Commandant just stared at Harris, his mouth shut but eyes wide. He was flabbergasted by Harris's accusation, closing his eyes as he considered his next words. When Lassard opened his eyes again, Harris looked positively arrogant. Lassard cleared his throat and then spoke in a calm voice.
"You see, Captain Harris, Cadet Wayne is the son of Commandant Rakov. You remember him, don't you? He sent for us to help arrest Konali. Boris here was so very, very impressed with the skills and expertise of the academy that he wanted to attend it for himself. I invited him here."
Murmurings passed through the mess hall at the information. I saw Harris's eyebrows shoot up as his jaw dropped.
"If that's true, why did he go by an alias?" Harris asked, his voice sounding a bit choked. It was clear that he was losing this argument, and I couldn't help but smile.
"Though Konali has been apprehended, the Russian mafia is still very, very active and if it was made known that Boris was attending the academy, their American cohorts might've kidnapped him and held him for ransom for many, many rubles. The name change was for his own protection."
"I see," Harris replied with a grunt, thoughtfully stroking his chin. He held the elbow of that hand up with his other arm slung across his waist, which made his shoulders round off. He looked very much defeated, though he'd never admit it to anyone—or to himself.
Even though he looked defeated, Harris wasn't ready to give up yet.
"Why didn't you tell me about him?" he asked, looking annoyed.
"You remember what happened last time privileged information was shared," Lassard said matter-of-factly, putting his hand to the side of his mouth, palm outwards, as if being secretive—though his booming voice didn't help. I couldn't help but be intrigued…. What was he talking about?
"How was I supposed to know that the—" Harris began in a higher-pitched, whiny voice, but was interrupted by a hyena-like laugh from the sea of cadets. He immediately shut his mouth and glared at his impromptu audience with narrowed eyes, scanning our faces for the source of the male-sounding laugh, which abruptly stopped. It was an odd time for someone to laugh, but that implied that someone in the audience of cadets knew what had happened 'last time.'
"Now that Mr. Rakov's identity has been revealed," Lassard said, not acknowledging the laugh, "he will have to return to Russia."
"He doesn't have to do that—" Harris cut in, but was silenced with a hand from his superior officer. I watched as Wayne touched Lassard on his arm, which seemed to remind the commandant to say something.
"However, he would like something before he goes," Lassard added after a moment.
Harris looked up at Lassard quizzically, but didn't lay eyes on Wayne—err, Boris Rakov.
"What's that," Harris muttered, his jaw set in a grimace.
"He would like you to apologize to him. He said he was very, very embarrassed by you in the classroom."
"What!?" Harris blurted, his eyes as wide as saucers. A moment passed in which nothing changed.
"Can we do this somewhere else?" Harris then asked quietly through gritted teeth, not daring to look over at the cadets staring at him from almost every angle.
Lassard remained in place.
"He said in order to fully patch up the misunderstanding with him and his father, he wanted it to be done in public. It would be much, much more sincere that way."
I could see a reddening of Harris's neck which quickly spread to his jaw then his cheeks. Was that shame I saw on his face? After nearly a minute of silence, Harris turned to Wayne, bitterness in his gravelly voice.
"You should have told me that you were invited—"
"I tried. You not let me finish…."
The room fell completely silent again as Harris dropped his head, clenching and unclenching his jaw. The lighting of the cafeteria cast shadows across the contours of his face, making everyone instantaneously aware of small changes in his facial expressions.
Suddenly Commandant Lassard spoke.
"Please, just get this over with, Captain Harris. I have to feed Birdie."
Who's Birdie?, I mouthed to Mullers.
She only shrugged. Good. So I wasn't as out of the loop as I thought. I focused my attention back on the unfolding scene.
Captain Harris took a deep breath, his face now crimson. I could see the sheen of sweat over the entirety of his face as he stood before the two taller men, seeming to shrink in size with every moment.
"I apologize for the misunderstanding," he mumbled, eyes focused on the ground all the while.
"Much, much better!" Lassard boomed, a smile emerging on his face as he clapped his hands together with delight. "Thank you, Captain Harris."
"No."
Boris Rakov had spoken.
"No, what?" Captain Harris replied, his voice full of irritation.
"I can tell it not sincere," he said, glancing over at Lassard and then again at Harris. "You not look at me."
"What are you talkin' about?!" Harris exclaimed in his southern drawl, his eyes widening with incredulity. About a dozen cadets snickered and Harris shot them a venomous glare.
Lassard said nothing more. He was not the confrontational type, and it showed. Harris glared at Wayne, now showing him open hostility.
"You see, Commandant. He now angry," Wayne said, indicating Harris with a hand. The irate glare instantaneously disappeared from Harris's face, though Lassard was evidently able to glimpse upon it for a moment.
"I am very, very shocked by your conduct, Captain Harris," Lassard said in a slightly sterner manner to Harris, who recoiled as if physically struck. "You risk setting back our relationship with Russia many, many, many years if you can't apologize to Mr. Wayne—err, Mr. Rakov here."
I watched Harris's eyes self-consciously drop to the floor as he gulped loudly, his Adam's apple bobbing as he remained silent. He used his peripheral vision as his eyes darted to and fro from their downward focus, finally settling somewhere below Rakov's face. There it was—shame. At seeing what must certainly be an ultra-rare emotion from Harris, I grinned until my cheeks hurt.
At the last moment, his eyes met Rakov's. He took a deep breath, his shoulders rising and falling dramatically as he did so.
"I'm sorry," he muttered, his voice almost too low to hear. With that, his eyes fell back to the ground and he dared not look at the recruits staring at him from their seats.
"I forgive you," Rakov stated quite loudly, placing a hand on Harris's shoulder. Harris flinched at the touch but shut his eyes before he could reveal anything else. Instead of verbally responding, Harris nodded his head, his mouth twisted in a grimace.
Lassard turned to us recruits suddenly. "Why are you all staring?" he asked, as if he had no idea. He really was a bit senile.
With that, Lassard and Rakov turned and left the room. Harris was left standing at the officers' table with a full tray of food in front of him. Rather than sit back down, he grabbed his baton and promptly strode out of the room, leaving his tray behind. He did not so much as glance at us cadets.
I glanced at the clock above the buffet line. It was now 8:30 pm. Only an hour and a half until I was to meet up with Harris—if he was even capable of remembering it after being humiliated in front of everyone!
Please review! Is Harris in character? Is Lassard in character? In the upcoming chapters, there'll be Tackleberry, Hooks, and Jones too!
