"Sir"
When
Barker jumped to his feet and assumed a position of attention, so did I. There
was no need to look behind me for the danger that had just entered his room on
4-0. To do so would have exhibited a lack of discipline, and a questioning of
Barker’s judgment.
“Sir,
Midshipman Fourth Class Phillips, nine two five seven eight seven, Twenty-Third
Company, First Platoon, Third Squad, Beat Army, Sir!” I yelled in near unison
with Barker’s own ‘sounding off.’
“Mr
Barker, how are you?” I heard in a distinctive southern drawl. I knew from the
voice that Marine Corps First Sergeant Halifax was in our midst. The first sergeant
was our Battalion Senior Enlisted Advisor, and guided the entire Plebe Regiment
through drill during Plebe Summer.
Now
it was fall, we were approaching our first set of finals and Barker and I were
already sinking. Halifax cared for not just all Plebes, but all midshipmen
within the Brigade, but he especially looked out for prior enlisted Marines
like Barker. My classmate spent a few years in fleet before coming to
Annapolis, much of it as part of the Marine Corps detachment onboard the
battleship USS New Jersey.
Prior
enlisted mids definitely had a leg up on their peers, especially military-wise.
I had made a plastic model of the New
Jersey as a kid. Barker had served on the iconic ship. But now we were in
the same boat academically. Somehow Halifax knew this...the way all senior
enlisted know what is going on with their charges.
“Really?
Everything is copacetic with you two?” he said now including me in the
conversation.
“We are both struggling with grades, First Sergeant,” Barker admitted. “We are trying to prep for finals and are both sweating it.”
“You are going to do fine. I know you are taking all the right steps to succeed, extra instruction and all that. Hell, you are here on a Saturday afternoon to put in the needed effort...you will make it.”
“I will, First Sergeant, but sometimes I think I will be ranked dead last,” Barker said dejectedly.
“That may be, Mr. Barker, but do you know what they call the last man to graduate in each Naval Academy class?”
No, First Sergeant.”
“They call him, ‘Sir.’”
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