Chapter 2
A/N: Tony's first day at RMA. November 10, 1986. Monday. I picked the year and everything myself, since what I could find in NCIS canon didn't get real specific about what year Tony was in 12th grade.
Reveille blared from the speakers set up all over the campus at Remington Military Academy, and in the Hull House barracks, in the room he'd moved into only just last night, Anthony DiNozzo, Jr., opened his eyes, then immediately shut them again and groaned.
Oh, no, not this shit again.
He had hoped to get shipped to some nice fancy prep school when he got booted out of Bunker Hill Military Academy down in Pennsylvania after just six weeks there this fall. And he'd lasted less than six weeks at West Texas Military Academy prior to that. They were not even one semester through the year, and Tony had already at his third school. Why did he keep going to military schools? He hated these damn places and loathed some of the tight-assed, overzealous little windup toy soldiers he found there. Everybody dressing the same, looking the same, acting the same, getting up and going to bed on the same schedule… and now he got to do the whole thing over again. God-damn-it.
Where was Dad gonna send him next? Tony had no intention of staying here. Or taking this seriously. It was gonna be so fun to get kicked out again. It was also gonna be fun to see when Dad would break from his endless series of business trips and show up for something in person. Tony hated that, too. Dad was barely present in his life at all much of the time, and when he was, he always seemed to have something better to do.
Hull House barracks came alive, with dozens of boys getting up and opening their room doors and beginning to get their uniforms on, making trips to the latrine and running the sink each of them had in their rooms. Everybody was getting ready. Tony decided he'd pass. He wasn't going to get up. They'd just find him lying here, not going to formation, not going to inspection, and if they didn't like it, they could eat shit. Maybe they'd get really pissed off and kick him out early. The room light came on, and Tony groaned and shoved his head under the pillow. The noise out in the halls got worse as the door to the room was opened. The overweight boy that Tony had seen sleeping in the bed across from his was wasting no time getting ready. Wonderful. The kid was probably happy to be here and everything.
"Reveille, reveille!" Coach Tanner called, his rich baritone voice booming through the barracks hallway. "Uniform for today is BDU's! That's Battle Dress Uniform, ladies!"
"Stuff your BDU's!" a boy shouted.
"Let's try that again," Tanner replied.
"Stuff 'em, Captain Tanner, sir!"
"That's better, Mister Marshall. Why are the rest of you not fully dressed and ready for Mess I formation at 0630? You people better move like lightning and sound like thunder! I wanna see doors open, lights on! Now, now! This is not a luxury resort!"
"Can we change that, Coach? Please?"
"That's a negative, Collins."
"I think it'd be much better that way, sir. Sounds nice."
"Cadet Sergeant Major, don't you have something more productive to do with your time?"
"Yes, sir, I do."
"Then do it."
"Yes, sir."
Tony listened to the sound of boots hitting the tiled floors all over the fucking place, and thought blissfully of the idea that he just might get out of here today if he stayed here long enough. One set of boots joined the pair already moving around in the room, but Tony didn't bother checking who it was. It didn't matter. None of these little cadets were important to him.
"Room, at ease!" Travis Phelps suddenly called out.
"Piggy, what is Mister DiNozzo doing there? They sound reveille loud enough around here to wake the dead. Why didn't you tell Coach Tanner your roommate died the night he got here? Explain this to me, my man!"
Disinterested as Tony was in all this, he couldn't help but be a little surprised. This was a cadet with rank, possibly a lot of rank. He sounded used to speaking with authority. How does he know I got here last night?
"I don't know, Sergeant Major."
"Hey, you! Get up!"
Nope. No such thing happening today, sonny.
"One more try, my man."
Uh-uh. No way. Better get your superiors in here so they can expel me.
"Okay," the boy said pleasantly, "works for me."
Just as Tony was starting to congratulate himself on the success of his scheme, the metal frame of the bed gave a sudden screech as it slid on the tiles. Before he could even begin to process what that meant, the entire bed tilted away from the wall, and Tony was unceremoniously dumped onto the floor. He landed in a heap, with his head barely catching the edge of the pillow, and the rest of him tangled up in his school-issue blanket.
As angry as he was startled, Tony sat up and looked for the one responsible. The lean, red-haired, grinning cadet standing over him seemed a likely candidate. His nametag read "MARSHALL" and the black rank insignia of a cadet command sergeant major was pinned to either side of his collar. Beneath the uniform were indications of a strong, athletic frame, one which the youth had put to good use turning Tony's bed on its side. Well, 'good' was probably not the right word.
"You do that to everybody?" Tony demanded.
The boy laughed, doing something else that seemed to come easily to him. "No, just the ones who won't get up," he answered. "Listen, you're really handsome and all, and good job doing all that PT, but today's uniform is not underwear." He went over to the open closet and grabbed a BDU shirt, blouse and pants, then picked up a black pair of leather boots, and threw the whole set of items at Tony. "Better put these on. Your patrol cover's- here." The redhead picked that up and threw it at Tony as well. "Phelps, you get this room straight. DiNozzo, put your damn clothes on. Welcome to Remington, my name's Christian Scott Marshall, and I will be your brigade sergeant major for this school year."
"Jesus, you wanna go somewhere else yet or what?" Tony grouched, getting to his feet. "Or do you always like watching guys in their underwear?"
"Don't be late to formation," Marshall said, ignoring what Tony had said. "I'd hate to have to write you up on your first day."
XX
The day commenced with dizzying speed. After racing downstairs and clumsily falling in with Alpha Company out on this street that ran by the barracks, Tony marched down to the mess hall and ate breakfast in a strange new dining area, surrounded by guys he didn't know. Every last one in BDUs, every last one with a short, neat haircut.
There were so many of them! For a military prep school, this place was actually pretty big. With what Remington was said to cost, Tony found himself hoping the food here would be better than at his last one, but no. It was enough to keep you alive, but the people who made the food here- at all military schools- seriously seemed to be exclusively using canned food that probably expired in 1966. Tony ate what he was given anyway, because he knew this was all they'd be giving him. He knew that part of the game was in their favor. He'd play along where he had to, but he looked forward to the first moment where he didn't.
Mess I lasted forty-five minutes, but it was still over too fast. After having to form up and march back to the street in front of Hull, Tony then had to run upstairs and finish rebuilding the room that kid Marshall had so kindly helped destroy. He didn't see the red-haired boy again, for which Tony found himself feeling thankful. No way did he want to be around someone who was clearly at this school by choice. Not to mention, people who showed up and dumped him out of his bed tended to rub Tony the wrong way. Somehow, doing that tended to make a bad impression with Tony every single time.
The kid was one of "them"- pencil-pushing, robotic, rules-and-regs-obsessed careerist cadets who all thought it was their destiny to become the next Douglas MacArthur. So what if he had a sense of humor? Occasionally, one of those windup toy soldiers did. It didn't change the fact that they were all too busy indoctrinating other kids to ever consider actually thinking for themselves.
But even as Tony inwardly fumed about the injustice of it all, he fixed up the room to the bare minimum, mostly because Travis Phelps seemed to be worried about it. The fat boy with the thick glasses was trying his best to look properly military, but was not having much success. He simply was too heavy, and Mess I alone was enough to tell Tony that he was not having a good time at Remington. The macho, competitive atmosphere typical to military schools held little tolerance for those who stood out from physical deficiencies. Boys who were too fat, above all, were not looked on well, and some cadets targeted them like it was their job to do so. That was what Tony had seen at his last school, and he was beginning to think he'd be seeing it here.
Colors- the raising of the flag and playing of the United States' national anthem- and morning formation inspection was enough to tell Tony what he needed to know about that. The tall, black-haired boy who commanded 1st Battalion, a cadet lieutenant colonel named Park, came up to Tony and Phelps and immediately began finding problems with the uniform of the latter.
"Shine those boots, Piggy," Park said. "They're a disgrace. New guy here looks better than you. His boots look like crap but then they got drawn from supply last night. He's got an excuse anyway. You gonna fix your shit or what?"
"Yes, sir," Phelps answered immediately.
"Yeah, whatever," Park said. "You can shine 'em but you'd still be fucking fat. You oughta join the swim team with me so my Dad can see me outswim a great white whale."
Tony didn't like all this casual cruelty. Park was saying some nasty things, and he didn't even seem to think anything of it. Even so, Tony found himself hesitating, wondering if he should really be sticking his neck out for some boy nobody seemed to like when he didn't even know anybody here. Everyone's opinion might be affected by the fact that Tony had associated himself with the boy called Piggy. Did Tony really want that?
"Hey, Park," Tony said uncertainly. "Maybe-"
"Shut up, new guy," Park said, not even looking Tony's way. "Piggy, you look like you could use some exercise. Golan's holding a PT session out in front of Aubrey Hall at fifteen-hundred. That's three in the afternoon in case you didn't know. You think you can get your fat ass out there and do some pushups?"
"Yes, sir," Phelps replied, sounding like he'd much rather do anything else but knew he didn't have a choice.
"Hey, Park," a boy said, coming up beside the battalion CO. "What about the new guy?"
The tall, broad-shouldered cadet lieutenant colonel glanced at Tony a moment, then nodded. "Okay, Summers. Him, too."
The two boys moved on, doing some spot checks here and there but mostly the inspection was just a formality. They took their places at the head of the group of companies that made up 1st Battalion, and everyone stood at attention as the brigade commander received reports from each company commander on how everyone was present or accounted for. Then the flag was raised, and the Star-Spangled Banner played. Then, the company TAC officers made their comments for the day. Since Alpha's was Tanner, the big, dark-skinned man came up alongside the company CO, Long, traded salutes with him, then spoke to the group of boys.
"Another day in paradise, boys," he said, grinning. "You gentlemen get yourselves to class, and actually learn something this week, will you?"
The cadets laughed, and Tony found himself joining them. Tanner had an all right sense of humor, it seemed like, even if he took this cadet-land stuff too seriously.
"Now, some of you may have noticed a new face in the barracks. His name's Anthony DiNozzo, senior who just transferred in. Make sure to introduce yourselves when you get a chance, and make him feel at home. Mr. DiNozzo, stand fast. Everyone else, dismissed!"
As the others left for class, DiNozzo decided he'd humor Tanner and stick around. It was whatever. Going to class, not going, it made no difference to him.
"So, you gonna give me that tour, now?" he asked as Tanner approached him.
"As promised," the big man answered. "Looks like your uniform fits you all right."
"It still looks dumb."
"Well, can't really help that," Tanner said. "Unfortunately. Some of the guys think it's the height of fashion, if you can believe it. I can help you find your way around, though, so let's get on with that and not make you too late for your second class of the day. Speaking of, we had to guess classes, too."
As they started walking, Tony asked, "What'd I get signed up for?"
"Here's the list," Coach Tanner said, handing a piece of paper over. "And you oughta try adding a 'sir' on the end more. People will understand you being new, but that's only gonna help you so much, for so long. "
"Thanks, sir," Tony said, putting a sarcastic emphasis on the second word.
"That's a start," Tanner rumbled. "Work on it."
XX
"Remington was founded in 1921," Tanner said as they walked the campus. "Name refers to the family that started Remington Arms. They were big supporters of the school when it started and helped it get through the Depression. It's been a military school since 1926. You don't live what I'd call the easy life here, but you get used to it."
Assuming I'm here that long, Tony thought. He looked down at the schedule.
BLOCK I- 0755
BLOCK II- 0925
15-MINUTE BREAK
BLOCK III- 1100
MESS II FORMATION- 1220
MESS II- 1230
ACADEMIC LAB I- 1345
ACADEMIC LAB II- 1430
ATHLETICS- 1530
MESS III FORMATION- 1830
MESS III- 1845
RECALL TO BARRACKS- 1915
STUDY HALL I- 1930
STUDY HALL II- 2005
STUDY HALL III- 2050
PREPARE FOR TAPS- 2130
"Three formations a day? Seriously?"
"You've been to a military academy before, Cadet DiNozzo," Tanner answered. "That's standard anywhere you go."
"I mean, they really think I'm gonna show up?"
"If you don't, one of the TACs will come and get you."
"TACs? Like, thumbtacks, things you pin posters up to the wall with, or-?"
"Training And Counseling. TAC officers assume some of the responsibilities and roles of the parent since this is a boarding school environment. We teach and mentor the cadets and keep order in the barracks, as well as serve as the first stop for any issues between cadets in a given company, or between companies. It's rough here for some of the boys, especially new ones. We try to be there when we're needed."
"Gee, thanks, Dad."
Just then a tall, distinguished man approached them. Tony noticed he was wearing a olive drab uniform with a lot of ribbons on the left side, along with some silver badges, one of them with crossed rifles on it. He wore a golden winged parachute above the ribbons, and a single silver star gleamed in the morning sun on each shoulder. Tanner rendered a salute. "Good morning, sir."
"Good morning, Coach," the man said. He glanced at Tony. "This the new cadet who arrived last night?"
"Yes, sir. Brought him in from the train station last night, just showing him around and taking him by a few offices to do some final in-processing."
"Excellent," the man said, nodding. "I appreciate you taking the initiative and getting that done, Captain."
Watching the interaction, Tony couldn't help but notice how absolutely proper the man's bearing was, how upright he stood. His eyes were incredibly alert, reminding Tony of a hawk or an eagle more than a person. This man was someone to be reckoned with.
Then the man held out his hand to Tony. "Mr. DiNozzo, I'm Preston Blake. Pleasure to meet you."
"Hiya, sir," Tony said, a little flustered but determined not to show it. "Good to meet you."
"Are you signed up for a practice this afternoon?" Blake asked. "Looks to me like you play something. Carry yourself like an athlete. Believe I saw the forms in my office. Was it soccer or basketball?"
"I've played some basketball," Tony answered.
"I can see it," Blake agreed, nodding. "You should think about signing up. I know Tanner's always looking for a few good men. He's our head basketball coach as well as Alpha Company's TAC officer, so if you wind up with both that'll be a blessing or a curse. I hope it's the former."
"Thank you, sir," Tony said. Although he was damned serious about getting expelled, he felt like offering some politeness in return for politeness given. This guy was such a gentleman he should have been wearing a monocle and a top hat.
"I'd love to talk more," Blake said, "but I have a meeting with the Board of Trustees to get to. Mr. DiNozzo, I enjoyed meeting you. Come by my office in Aubrey Hall if you ever need anything. Mr. Tanner, thank you and keep up the good work. Good morning, gentlemen."
With that, Blake moved on, those sharp eyes continuing to guide him from under the black visor of his olive drab hat. Tony was impressed despite himself. That guy had to be someone important around here.
"So, is that the big guy on campus?" Tony asked, looking after him.
"That's Brigadier General Blake," Tanner answered in his deep voice. "He's the President."
"I thought Ronald Reagan was the President."
"One's President of Remington, the other's President of the United States. Take a guess which is which, Mr. DiNozzo."
"General Blake's President of the school?"
"Smart man."
"So Aubrey Hall is, like the HQ or whatever?"
"Yes. It's the main administration building, center of the campus. You don't go up to the first floor unless you're asked. The President, Chief of Staff, Commandant, Alumni Director, the Dean- all the big dogs have their offices there."
"So, do you have an office there?"
"No, my TAC office is in Hull House and my coaching office is in the Stewart Field House."
"But you said the big dogs are in Aubrey. You don't have an office there. So you're not one of the big dogs."
"I'll let you decide that one yourself," Tanner replied. "We're going to make a stop to see the Captain Wilkes, the Registrar, in Aubrey, and then Captain Scott at the Quartermaster a few floors down. Then over to Cabot Hall next door for your first-ever haircut at Remington. Then you're off to class for Block II."
Tony laughed. "Uh, thanks, Coach, but, look, you don't have to do all that. I'm not staying that long."
"Oh, you're not?" Tanner replied, turning and raising an eyebrow.
"Nope."
"I see. Well, why don't you wait and see? The place may grow on you."
"All the other windup toy soldier schools didn't."
Tanner stopped and looked at Tony then, the stern look from last night back on his face. "Mr. DiNozzo, I'd advise you lose the attitude. And a helpful hint: you don't address the General by saying 'Hiya'."
"What, that a new rule around here?"
"No. It's an old one. Let's get moving, DiNozzo. You've got places to be."
As they walked, Tony thought about something, and as they neared the doors of the big, elegant-looking building labeled AUBREY HALL, he spoke up. "Coach, Captain, whatever?"
"Yes, Cadet, Private, whatever?"
"Any chance I could do basketball this afternoon?"
"I thought you weren't staying for long."
"Well, could I at least not be bored 'till you guys kick me out?"
"I don't see why not."
"Thanks, Coach."
"Not a problem, DiNozzo."
XX
Block II turned out to be Leadership & Ethics class, taught in Trask Hall, Room 202 by somebody called Aaron A. Ambrose. He walked in and found about ten cadets already there. They wore various insignia of rank, ranging from private to captain and whatever. A few of the boys glanced up at Tony, then returned to talking with each other or looking at their notes.
"Is this, uh, Leadership and Ethics class?" Tony asked, glancing at his class schedule again.
"Maybe," a blond boy answered. "Are you new? You look lost enough."
A few of the other boys seated in the classroom laughed.
"Are you an idiot?" Tony replied. "You look stupid enough."
The boy laughed, turning to some guys nearby. "Someone doesn't know who I am."
"You're also assuming that I care."
That drew more laughter from several of the boys. The blond, who wore two black diamonds on his BDUs, gestured at his sewn-on nametag. "Let me introduce myself. I'm Alexander R. St. Esprit, IV. I'm the brigade commander around here. Senior cadet, if you want it simple. And you oughta take a seat, DiNo-whatever. Sorry. I'm not good with wop names."
Some more laughter. Tony felt the back of his neck growing hot.
"You really think you're somebody, don't you?"
"I don't think so. I am somebody," St. Esprit chuckled, seeming to be enjoying this to the fullest. "Look, man, just have a seat. You don't need to act all tough to impress me."
"I'm not trying to impress you, buddy."
"I'm not your buddy." St. Esprit gave him a hard look. "Now take a seat. You're new and you don't know how things work in this school. Give yourself time and don't go trying to piss people off."
"How about I do whatever I want, Lieutenant?"
"Colonel," the boy corrected him sternly. "Six years at this place, nobody ever busted me five grades before. I said, take a seat."
"Make me."
"What is it, man? What's with this attitude? Are you some 'tough guy' wanting to get kicked out?"
"Can you arrange that, sweetheart?"
The boy's pale face flushed, and a few guys near him looked pissed. St. Esprit opened his mouth to say something, but he spotted someone behind Tony and sprang out of his chair, hands behind his back. "Room, at ease!"
At once, the entire rest of the room jumped up and stood at ease as well.
"You got a good early warning system going, Brigade Commander," a deep, gravelly voice said. "Got a new man in the class?"
"Yes, Sergeant Major."
"We got a seat for him?"
"Yes, Sergeant Major."
"Why isn't he in it?"
"I don't know, Sergeant Major."
"The general's son doesn't know?"
"No, Sergeant Major."
"Guess that's why we need sergeants major, huh? Figure out the stuff the officers can't, right?"
"Yes, Sergeant Major."
The man stepped forward and came into Tony's field of vision. "So you're the new man, DiNozzo. Huh?"
"That's me."
"You got your schedule?"
"Yeah, right here." Tony handed it over.
The man looked it over. He was wearing the same type of Marine uniform as General Blake had been, with red stripes sewn onto each arm. He had a lot of damn stripes. Three up, four down. He was a bit short, maybe five-foot-six, and his face looked like it had been crudely cut from a boulder. This was not an especially handsome man, and that was putting it nicely, but Tony's first impression was that this was not somebody to cross.
"So you why were you late, DiNozzo?"
Just then, the bell went off in the hallway, signaling the start of Block II.
"Uh, the bell just rang," Tony said, pointing toward the door. "Like, it-"
"I didn't ask you if the frigging bell rang," the man broke in. "I asked why you were late."
"Well-"
"One more try, mister. Why were you late?"
Tony hesitated, then tried something else. "Uh, I don't know, sir. I'll be on time next class."
Then the man smiled. "Taking responsibility. Nicely done. You weren't late, and I'd like to apologize for being so discourteous to you on your first day in my class. My name is Sergeant Major Ambrose, and I'm your Leadership & Ethics instructor. You can call me 'sir' if you gotta, but I prefer Sergeant Major since I'm not a flippin' officer."
"Sure, Sergeant Major."
"Try 'Yes,' Mr. DiNozzo," Ambrose rumbled. "Now requisition yourself a seat. Class has been running for about sixty-five seconds now."
Tony took his bag and set it down on the desk, digging out a notebook and a binder. A moment later, Sergeant Major Ambrose neatly shoved it off the desk, caught it, and handed it to Tony. "Keep this on the deck, Mr. DiNozzo. Bookbags stay on the deck."
Leadership & Ethics proved to be a lot more work than Tony had expected. Not only did Sergeant Major Ambrose keep walking up and down the aisles between the tables and then circling the room, making it impossible for Tony to draw sketches or slouch in his chair at the back of the class, he regularly cycled through the students, never seeming to call on the same person twice. And if you never put your hand up, he made sure to call on you. By the end of the class, Tony had been caught drawing once, warned about slouching twice, and learned that if he didn't want to get called on every single time, he better have his hand up when a question was asked.
Up front, St. Esprit seemed to get a laugh out of Tony's misfortunes for a time. Ambrose jumped on him about that immediately, though, and the blond cadet officer quickly sobered up and focused on the class, ignoring Tony entirely. The class stayed orderly for the whole block, and Tony was amazed at how Ambrose seemed able to keep them all under control without effort.
This guy looked to be tougher than most. Usually, the slouching and such got a teacher riled up sooner or later. Tony was going to have to change things up if he was gonna win this one.
XX
At Mess II formation, Tony deliberately showed up late and got a glare from Park, who he then blew a kiss too. Coach Tanner moved in before the guys could start arguing, but the tall, self-important blond from Block II, St. Esprit, noticed and gave Tony a shake of his head. Tony just blew him a kiss too, and was disappointed when the blond just turned his head forward and called up the battalion. That kid Marshall was there in the battalion staff group, along with another blond teenager that Tony recognized had been sitting beside St. Esprit in class.
Tony was so glad. He was going to make all these tightwad jerks hate him, and while he was at it, he'd do the same with faculty. He knew how they worked. They'd get mad at him for not knuckling under and just doing what he was told like a good little soldier, and then they'd ship him out of here. It was gonna be awesome. Maybe he'd go to a co-ed school next, and Dad would stop trying to send him off to these stupid military academies.
It was gonna be fun when he reported to that stupid PT session that jerkoff Park had signed him up for. Golan was the idiot who'd been sitting next to St. Esprit, probably his stooge or something. All these military pricks at these dumb schools had a second who followed them around like a loyal cocker spaniel.
Well, later today, he'd get to find out how loyal this one really was.
XX
During the gap before athletics started at 1530, group calisthenics were to be led by Golan, and lead them he did. He was there waiting before anybody even showed up. Tony knew because he'd passed by and seen the blond cadet there. Once the eight guys he was expecting were all present, Golan launched right into it. Situps, then pushups, mountain climbers, flutter kicks- the works. He treated it like this was the real thing, for Chrissakes, not a dumb school.
But what started to concern Tony was how Phelps was doing. The heavyset boy, called "Piggy" by nearly everyone around here it seemed, was doing okay early on, but quickly began to struggle. If Golan noticed, he gave no sign that he did. He kept going with the exercises, an air of complete seriousness about him.
Did he have any idea how ridiculous he looked in BDU pants and boots with a frigging RMA sweater on top?
No. Dumb question. None of these military dicks had any idea how dumb they looked.
"One, two, three!" Golan barked, effortlessly leading the group in the exercises. He not only took part in the PT he was in charge of, but genuinely seemed to relish getting to do so. "One, two, three!"
"Oh, man, the wakeup this morning was bad enough, but the food?" Tony complained to Piggy. "I mean, can you believe how much our parents are paying for this place?" After a few more reps of the mountain climber, Tony added, "Took me two weeks to get kicked out of my last school. I think this time I'm going for a new personal best."
Piggy didn't answer. He didn't seem to have the breath for it. He struggled up again and again, a little slower each time.
Then he went down.
Tony knelt beside him, forgetting about the PT. "Piggy, you all right? Man, you're all flushed…"
"Stop!" Golan called out, moving in. "Cadet Piggy, what the hell are you doing?"
"He needs a break, Golan!" Tony said, looking up in exasperation. Did this guy never know when to quit?
"Drill Leader."
Tony stood up, looking at Golan. "What?"
Golan stared right into Tony's face from just inches away. "You will address me as 'Drill Leader', Cadet DiNozzo. Here at Remington any cadet leading a PT session will be addressed by that title."
"Okay, well, Drill Leader, I think Piggy needs some time out. Maybe the nurse."
"Piggy," Golan said with ill-concealed impatience, "is gonna stay right where he is until he learns to keep up with the rest of the squad."
Tony stood up. "I think you should let him take a break."
"I don't think so."
"I didn't ask what you thought, Golan."
They were face-to-face now. The other boys had stopped and stood around uncertainly, while Piggy lay on the concrete, trying to regain his breath.
"That's two demerits, DiNozzo," Golan said.
"What for?" Tony asked, amused.
"One for dropping out of PT. One for your tone."
"So, is Piggy going to the nurse, or what?"
"Don't worry about him. You worry about yourself, DiNozzo. I know you're new, but you better listen. You're gonna get back in line if you know what's good for you."
Tony smirked. "Well, one thing's for sure. I've never known what's good for me."
Golan stared at him, disbelief now added to the anger. He wasn't used to being talked to like that, clearly. Tony was gonna help educate him on that, no doubt about it. The blond managed a smile after a few moments. "Is that right?"
"You bet, buddy."
Golan shook his head. "That word again." He turned and looked at Piggy, who was still on the ground. "Get up!" he barked. "On your feet, Phelps! Come on, get up!" When the pudgy boy struggled to his feet, still breathing hard, Golan snickered. "Still the great white whale, huh, Piggy?"
"Yes, sir," the boy answered.
"So can Park keep 1st Battalion under control or not?"
"I don't know, sir."
"You ready to do some more PT?"
"Yes, sir," Phelps said, although he clearly wanted to do anything else.
"Hey, Golan," Tony said, "I don't think you oughta talk to him like that."
"I'll talk to him however I want, DiNozzo. Now what am I? You saw my rank earlier. You're so fucking smart, so what am I?"
Tony hesitated, not sure what this guy was even talking about.
"Come on!" Golan said, jabbing Tony in the chest with a finger. "Tell me something, anything, you moron, but you better tell me what I am! Let's go! Now, now, now!"
Tony thought about it and decided on an answer. "You're an asshole."
The formation cracked up laughing, and Golan's eyes flashed. Tony saw it and prepared himself for the fight, but suddenly a red-haired boy was there, grabbing Golan's right arm and holding it down.
"Golan, you stupid bastard, hold it!"
"I don't like smartass new guys, Marshall," Golan snarled. "Let go!"
"Golan," Marshall said, "if Gunny Ellison sees this we'll all be walking tours. If Sergeant Major Ambrose sees us, we'll be lucky to graduate."
"Goddamn it, Marshall!"
"Come on, man," the redhead insisted. "Please. You can't go beating up every new guy who mouths off. And I'm here because practice starts in ten minutes. Just let it go. You got better things to do, Colonel."
Golan paused, took in a deep breath and let it out. He cast a glance around, seeming to notice the audience. Then he cast a glance at the nearby buildings, probably wondering if anyone had seen the proceedings from a window.
"All right," the blond said. "Okay." Glancing back at Tony, he said, "You better get it together, DiNozzo."
"What if I don't?" Tony retorted, mouthing off because he could.
"Fucking Christ," Golan hissed to himself. He took a breath, then looked back at Tony. "Listen to me, man. Keep mouthing off and I'll send you home with your nuts in your pocket. And for your information, I'm your brigade executive officer." He turned to the other cadets. "I'll see you idiots next time. Dismissed!"
Tony still felt like being a wiseass, but Piggy let out a groan as he relaxed from the position of attention. Golan sneered but didn't say anything as he walked away.
"Jesus, what an asshole," Tony said quietly. "Piggy, you okay, man?"
"I'll be fine, I just need to sit down," the pudgy boy answered. "It's okay."
"Are you sure? Maybe we oughta get you to the nurse or something."
"Thanks, but I'll be all right."
"Well, okay," Tony said uncertainly.
"Better get to the barracks and grab your PT uniform," Marshall said. "Coach Tanner doesn't like it when guys are late to practice."
"How'd you know I told him I'd do basketball?" Tony asked curiously.
"Word travels fast around here," the redhead answered, checking his watch. He sketched out a salute as he moved out. "See you."
"All right, sure," Tony said. "Whatever, man." He paused, then looked at Piggy. "Hey, so which way's our barracks?"
Piggy pointed. "That way. Better hurry if you want to get to practice on time."
"Thanks, Piggy," Tony said, nodding. He turned and hurried in the direction the fat boy had specified.
XX
Fifteen minutes later, Tony made it to the Walter P. Chrysler basketball gymnasium, a place big enough that it had to be able to seat five hundred people when the bleachers were all pulled out. More than a dozen boys were already there, making shots at the hoops and dribbling basketballs around. The steady, randomized beat of the balls hitting the polished wood floor, the squeak of shoes as the guys moved around, the glare of the lights and the slightly musty smell that all basketball gyms seemed to have… if there was any place around this school that Tony was gonna like, it was here.
"DiNozzo," a deep voice boomed. "I see you took your time joining us. Give me eight laps around the edge of the basketball court. I wanna see those feet move!"
Tony turned around and immediately began to protest to the big, dark-skinned man. "Aw, come on, Coach, I only got here yesterd-"
"Come on, get moving!" Tanner barked, clapping his hands together. "Let me see how fast you can run, DiNozzo!"
"Well-"
"Go! Go! Go!"
Tony gave up and started jogging. While he did, he waved to the guys as they practiced, drawing some odd looks, curious stares, and, best of all, laughter. That was the thing Tony always went for with his antics. He was gonna get kicked out, sure, that was the goal every time he wound up at a new boarding school. But there was no reason not to make 'em laugh while he was at it.
The run was actually not that bad, especially with how it was pretty chilly outside. Wasn't soccer practice held outside? Every soccer coach Tony had met was a fanatic. Actually, coaches were fanatics, period. It was almost guaranteed that Golan was outside right now, running around in shorts and a t-shirt. Tony sincerely hoped that jerk was freezing his ass off.
While he ran, Tony tried thinking about some things he wanted to do other than this, and he inevitably wound up thinking about girls. That got things moving, all right, but that just made it awkward trying to run normally. A visit to a bathroom stall was up next. First chance he got. Great way to relax. It wasn't as good as some other ways, but it was something.
After he finished with his laps, Tony went up to Tanner, who was speaking with a tall boy wearing a blue and silver uniform jersey, number 10. The jersey left the arms and shoulders bare, revealing strong, well-defined muscles. Tony had a feeling before he got close, had a sense from when he saw the red hair. But when the boy turned to face him, Tony groaned aloud.
"Shit, not you again."
"Me again," the red-haired boy said, grinning. "Are you disappointed?"
"No, just annoyed. I'm getting tired of seeing your face."
The cadet sergeant major threw back his head and laughed. "You're gonna see my face a whole lot, my man! Better get used to that!"
"Oh, please no."
"Please, yes." He held out his hand. "I don't think we were properly introduced. Christian Scott Marshall."
"Mickey Mouse."
"Okay, I'll get that put on your jersey if you want. If you make it onto the team."
"I'll make it. Just give me a ball and get me started."
"That's the first time you've sounded serious about something," Tanner remarked, glancing at his clipboard. "Let me hear more of that, DiNozzo."
"I mean it," Tony said. "Just give me a ball. Let's go, come on."
"Oh, I'm gonna have fun with this," Marshall said, and he turned and shouted at the boys on the court. "I need a ball!"
"No wonder you got lady troubles, Marshall!"
"One-Ball Marshall's missing his left nut, guys! Somebody look for it!"
"You guys cut it out and throw me a damn basketball! And get off the court! I'm going one-on-one with the new guy!"
Tony glanced at the red-haired boy curiously as the other players cleared the court. One of them tossed Marshall a basketball, and he began dribbling it with practiced ease. He tossed it up, caught it, and turned to Tony. "Coach wants to see what you can do, DiNozzo. So do I. So come on, and let's see what you got."
As Marshall headed out onto the court, Tony couldn't resist saying, "I don't think I'm gonna come on anything just yet."
"Don't worry about that," Marshall shot back. "Not everybody's smooth like me. I got plenty of lady friends. Impress me and I'll set you up." He threw the basketball at Tony, who just barely caught it before it would have struck him in the face. The brown-haired teen wanted to be angry, but the red-haired boy was out on the court, eagerly taking up a ready posture, watching Tony, waiting for him to move. The redhead couldn't wait to get started. He couldn't wait to play. Tony understood that, and felt a temptation to like this cheerful, energetic kid.
Tony put on a smirk as he started dribbling the ball, moving towards Marshall's side of the court. "Okay, ginger boy. Brace yourself."
"I'm shakin', baby, I'm shakin'."
XX
What followed was the toughest game of one-on-one basketball that Tony had ever played. He was warmed up when it started, eager for some competition. By the end he could feel the sweat dampening his PT shirt, could hear his own heavy breathing. Behind that playful, lively exterior was a kid who played basketball like it was the center of his life. He played hard, and moved faster than anyone Tony had taken on before. He was energetic and animated off the court. On the court, he was almost a blur. Tony was good, and he knew it, but Marshall was better. He was faster, better at blocking, could dribble and shoot on the move with more skill. He blocked Tony like he knew what he was going to do before he did it, and the harder Tony tried to play, the happier the redhead seemed to become.
The more intense the game got, the more energy Marshall seemed to display. Tony brought out everything he could think of, everything he had learned, and then started mimicking some of the new things he saw Marshall doing. His legs started to feel like lead, his lungs were on fire, and his arms really, really wanted a break. But Tony didn't want to lose to this guy, so he pushed himself and kept going.
Come on, come on, no way was he gonna lose. They were 3 and 3. Tony wasn't a pushover at this game, not by a long shot. So what if Marshall was fast, so what if he thought well on his feet? Even if he was better at the game, maybe, Tony would beat him. He'd beat him because Marshall was gonna get cocky, get to thinking he had this game in the bag, and then-
Shit!
Tony had slipped up for a second while he and Marshall were moving back and forth on the court, the redhead trying to move onto Tony's half and Tony trying to stop him. It was a second, just a single second's lapse in concentration, but that was all the captain needed. Tony saw him make a break for it, sprinting by him in a rush of air and a blur of blue and silver, and moved to block him again, but it was too late. He poured all his strength into flying down that court after the redheaded boy, who really was in amazing shape. How else could anybody run like that after doing so much of it already?
Marshall was almost at the 3-point line, and already he was lining up a shot. Tony saw the upward tilt of his head, the almost quizzical way he glanced at the net. He sprinted forward, finally passing Marshall, who by then was raising himself on his feet, tossing the ball into the air. In desperation, Tony jumped up after it, raising an arm in a last-ditch effort to knock it off course. His fingers just barely brushed the underside of the orange sphere, and then it was gone, out of reach, and Tony went down hard as the ball dropped through the hoop and the guys cheered.
That was it. The game was over. Tony had lost.
Above him, the captain stood, holding a hand out. "Hell of a game, DiNozzo," he said.
"Just a warmup," Tony replied. Touchy pride made him stand up on his own, but the red-haired youth beside him didn't seem to mind.
"Not bad, DiNozzo," Tanner commented from where he stood nearby as the two boys walked off the court. "I wanna see you bring that kind of game onto my court every practice. Every single one. Do that, and we'll talk about getting you a jersey. How's that sound, Captain Marshall?"
"I'm for it," the red-haired boy said. "Hey, you boneheads! Get over here and meet the new guy!"
Tony shook hands with a couple dozen guys, and at least acted like he'd remember their names. But hey, it was all good. He'd get kicked out soon, but until then, he'd play some basketball. A good and workable plan.
XX
Having planned his act well for dinner, Tony showed up late for the Mess III formation and kept making mistakes while they marched, which annoyed Park to no end. But the best part was when they were in the mess hall itself. After St. Esprit recited the Cadet Prayer, the companies started to line up for food. As Honor Company for the current nine week session, Alpha Company went first. Tony waited a couple minutes, then stood up and headed right over to the line.
"Hey, what're you doing?" a boy asked.
"Who're you, man? Are you even in Echo?" another boy said.
"Who cares?" Tony replied. "Nobody. Nobody cares about this stuff." He reached over to the stack of trays. "I just want some food. If I gotta eat this crap, at least give it to me fast."
The other boys in the line near him seemed confused, but Tony ignored them. He stayed there where he'd cut into the line until he felt at tap on his shoulder.
"There's a line," a boy with two black diamonds on his BDU collar said. He had pale skin, short auburn-brown hair and cool gray eyes.
"I know," Tony answered, turning back to watching the boys ahead of him.
Tap, tap. Tony turned his head again.
"Well, this isn't the back of it."
Another boy, this one wearing one black diamond on his collar, came walking over. He glanced at Tony's BDU blouse. "You're not in 2nd Battalion. Who's 'DiNozzo'?"
"That would be me, my man. Don't you feel privileged? I'm here all week, limited time only. And how do you know which battalion I'm in?"
"What's he talking about, Carroll?" the second boy asked. Tony glanced at him, reading his nametag: HEISLER.
"What, are you guys cousins or something?" Tony asked.
"Hold on," Carroll broke in. "Why are you in Echo Company's line? I don't know you and I know every cadet in my battalion."
"It isn't yours, bud."
"Why are you in line with the wrong company, DiNozzo?"
"I want to eat the shitty food faster."
Carroll laughed. "That's good! I like you, funny man. Now get out of Echo Company's line."
"Nah," Tony said.
"What's this goin' on up here?"
Tony looked and saw a squat, broad-shouldered man with a bunch of stripes on each of his sleeves standing nearby. "Nothin', man," Tony replied casually. "How're you?"
"Make it Gunnery Sergeant, man," he replied. "Are you in Echo Company?"
"Not really."
"Then get out of the line. You're holding up the whole show. Nobody's movin' until you get out. Both lines are stopped. You want attention, right? Well, I just made sure you got it. About five hundred guys waitin' on you, now. Make a choice."
Just then, Park came striding over, looking thoroughly pissed. He started to say something, but the sergeant held up a hand.
"I'm gonna give you ten seconds to think this over," the gunnery sergeant said quietly.
Park, Carroll and Heisler were a long way from the only people staring at Tony. The mess hall had gotten pretty quiet, and even the ladies working behind the counters and the cadets on serving duty had all stopped to watch. Finally, Tony stepped out of line and went over to the sergeant, enthusiastically shaking his hand. "Hey, I'm DiNozzo, nice to meetcha, man!" He laughed. "I just love this, you know? This place is great."
"I know just what you mean," the sergeant replied. He grinned and chuckled. "You come see me at the TAC office tomorrow and we'll find you a Springfield to march with. I got one that'll fit you right, I just know it."
"Sure, all right, mister," Tony said, getting tired of the guy's burning stare. He stepped out of the line and started to move back to his table, but the NCO grabbed a tray and held it out, blocking Tony's path.
"We gonna learn you respect for rank, too. This here's the last time I let you get away with ignorin' fact that I was in the Corps for twenty years. Cuttin' wise may get you by at those other schools, but this is Remington. We give respect where due. You got that?"
"Sure."
"Then relocate yourself, cadet, and do it in a hurry."
XX
Across the room, the brigade staff, who sat at their own table just as the battalion staff cadets did, were looking incredulously at Tony. The redheaded boy, the basketball captain- Marshall, that was his name- wasn't looking surprised, as some were, or with thinly-veiled anger and contempt, like the two blond jerks were. He just turned up his palms with an expression that said, What was that about?
Tony shrugged and sat back down at his chair.
"You're just all kinds of set on making friends around here, aren't you?" one of the boys asked. "You're doing a great job if that's your plan."
"Yep," Tony said carelessly. "I live to get on the nerves of these military dicks."
"Think about that when you're marching tours," a boy with sergeant's chevrons answered. "Gunny Ellison's relentless. He's never gonna forget you after you ran your mouth like that." He looked more closely at Tony, then groaned. "Oh, no. I knew you were in my squad. I saw you this morning. Christ."
"What, is there a problem, dude?"
"The problem is that the General is coming to review the Corps tomorrow! It's Veteran's Day? Remember? November 11th?"
"What General? Don't we have some general guy in charge around here?"
"Lieutenant General Alexander R. St. Esprit, III," Phelps spoke up from across the table. He sounded like he'd memorized the name.
"Oh, the illustrious brigade commander's father?" Tony laughed. "Wow. Oh, man, is it the Second Coming already? If his son's like this I can't wait to see Daddy."
"You watch yourself tomorrow," the cadet sergeant warned. "I mean it. Alexander the Great's dad is a war hero. Three-star general, Medal of Honor, everything. He's Class of '55, too, and he's slated to join the Board of Trustees the day after he leaves the Army."
"I'll do whatever I want. Boys, you don't get it, but I ain't gonna be here long."
"Well, if you want a quick way outta here, that's a good one," the sergeant said. "But my old man served under The Great's father. My Dad talks about The General like he's God. You watch yourself, buddy. You're gonna make enemies around here if you take on The General."
Tony laughed. "You sound like you wanna lick his boots."
The boy slammed a fist on the table, making everybody jump. "You watch it. I'm not gonna say it again. I warned you."
"Thanks for the warning."
"Fuck!"
The cadet sergeant abruptly shoved his chair back and stood up. He strode away and stopped at the brigade staff table. St. Esprit and Golan soon looked over, cool, calculating looks on their faces. Marshall shook his head reprovingly, then looked up at the sergeant and motioned him down.
"I pissed him off," Tony said, but he only got a few chuckles, not the laughter he was expecting.
The boy gestured angrily, and he looked ready to storm out of the mess hall. But Marshall stood, walked him over to Gunnery Sergeant Ellison, and said something. Ellison glanced at Tony, then nodded to Marshall. He and the other boy stepped outside and started walking down the hallway, talking.
"Well, Collins knows who to go to, anyway," a boy remarked. "He's seriously bucking for rank but he knows who to talk to."
"What?"
"People around here trust Marshall. Just watch the middle schoolers when he makes his rounds. They're the little kids around here and they love him."
Another boy spoke up. "He has so many kids asking for his help with homework and just trying to talk, he has to schedule actual fucking appointments sometimes. But if you go up and ask him, he finds time no matter what." He paused, then added, "A lot of his friends are pricks. But he's a good guy."
"Whatever," Tony said, shrugging it off, determined to play it cool. He was a little concerned he may have overplayed his hand, though, and so kept a low profile throughout the rest of dinner. The food wasn't great, but hey, better than nothing. Or maybe Spam. Actually, the food around here was probably reheated Spam with some "eggs" and "cheese" added in. It was all garbage, just like this overrated prep school. How could anyplace so lousy cost so damn much? Dad was out of his mind.
XX
At the end of the meal, Brigadier General Blake stood up and addressed the five hundred cadets seated in the mess hall.
"Boys, just a little reminder to be on your best behavior. The Superintendent of the United States Military Academy is paying Remington a visit tomorrow. It will be full dress, so make sure you've got everything ready. Don't wait to shine up at the last minute. And for those of you who try it anyway, make sure this is the last time. I'm sure your classmates will back me up on that."
Many of the boys laughed appreciatively.
"For those of you who might be thinking this is a good chance to try and get a leg up on that West Point application, don't overthink it. Lieutenant General St. Esprit is the Superintendent, not the head of Admissions. Like me, he gets all kinds of credit he doesn't really deserve."
More laughter from the cadets.
"But it is a great honor to have him here. Make no mistake. Even if he didn't pick the Marines like I did, we crossed paths a few times in a little place called Vietnam. I know you will all give him the respect he's due. For any of you that're new or unsure how things work, just follow the example set by the faculty and staff, and your cadet leaders. Now you've all got study hall coming up, but it's being abbreviated tonight so you can make sure you're squared away for tomorrow. Get a good night's rest, and do Remington proud when the General gets here tomorrow."
There was a strong round of applause after that, a testament to General Blake's standing in the faculty and the Corps of Cadets. Tony took notice of it, but he was already thinking of something else. He'd come up with what sounded like a terrific idea. It was hard not to smile, the more he thought about it.
Achieving a new personal best on how fast I get kicked out might be easier than I thought.
A/N: 12-13-2017.
After months of nothing, I finally completed another chapter. We meet the 1986-1987 Honor Corps in Chapter 1, and now we meet 17-year-old Anthony DiNozzo, Jr. in Chapter 2. I managed to feature one of the few brief flashback moments we see in S12E14: "Cadence".
But here's the thing. Simply mouthing off to a cadet with rank isn't really gonna be enough to have a group like Honor Corps come after you. These guys operate in secret; they'd need more than that to justify going out of their way to act. That's just my interpretation, but it's justified, I'd say. Besides, I also try to write a bit of fairness and sense in for the members, too. They don't like Tony's manner, but he's new and with the big parade and the visit from the Superintendent of West Point tomorrow, they have their minds on more important things. The next day, though, he just might win their undivided attention.
My thanks to anyone who posts a review. All feedback is welcomed.
In particular, I want to thank VGLittleBear, whose steady support for this and other stories of mine for NCIS has been priceless.
I cannot say when I'll get to completing another chapter, but I will aim to have it be much sooner than the many, many months that passed between Chapter 1 and Chapter 2.
4-8-2018: I have been going through each chapter and implementing some proofreading and corrections, thanks to feedback provided via PM by VGLittleBear, who has returned from a *long* absence to nitpick the heck out of this story. But without that, I would have missed all these mistakes I'd made. Just goes to prove that VGLittleBear's help and support really is a priceless commodity.
About a word used in this chapter: "wop". According to the infinite wisdom of UrbanDictionary, it is: "An epithet used for those of Italian descent. WOP stands for WithOut Papers. Many Italian immigrants had no papers to identify themselves and were branded as WOPs."