Page 3 of The Commander

For about thirty seconds, despite his fury, I sort of relished the power I held. Until his next words.

“I’ll make some calls and reverse it. This is not happening.” He stormed out of the room with me on his tail.

“Dad! Dad, stop.”

Could he do that?

Could he take away my dream and make me hate him forever? The answer was no.

Fortunately, Dad couldn’t influence the right people to, you know, break the law.

I’d left a few weeks later, disappointed he hadn’t changed his tune or come to the door where Mom waved goodbye as I drove off.

It had hurt.

But as I say, he’d been a controlling figure in my life since the moment I took my first breath. My mother was no wallflower, but Dad was in charge. His rules dominated our lives, and what he said was law.

Growing up on army bases meant it wasn’t unusual to have a strict father; they were all alphas, after all. But it gets into your DNA. The pride of serving, the life, the people.

From the time I was little, I was obsessed with toy guns. Mom tried to buy me dolls, but I’d steal my brother Ted’s toys instead.

I once built a grenade filled with rice, a small, harmless explosive that made such a mess I’m sure the people living in old houses are still vacuuming up the grains. I tried to tell Mom that Ted was responsible, but no one believed it for a second.

Can’t blame them, I guess.

Ted’s an accountant. He didn’t get the GI genes from Dad, and I know my father wishes it was the other way around.

Which I resent.

He had no problem when I was a little girl to have me sit on his lap and watch him clean his rifles. I’d help out by picking up pieces and handing them to him. It was cute back then. Even when I was a little older, he’d teach me to assemble and disassemble them, saying it was good that I knew how to handle a gun.

Later he’d regret it, but I don’t think it much mattered one way or another that he’d taught me. I loved everything about the military.

When I was about fourteen, I told him I was going to be a soldier, and he said no.

I had been shocked.

Mom encouraged him to let it go. That it would pass. That this was a phase I was in and it was his fault, as he’d encouraged me as a little girl.

“Bullshit. Ted did the same thing, and he hasn’t shown any interest. And he’s a boy.”

I’d done one of those hugely dramatic eye rolls and was told to go to my room. As if that was going to do anything.

My phase never passed as they’d hoped.

Dad got proactive; recommending different career options, setting me up on experience days with more feminine or safe jobs. After he encouraged me to be a nurse, I stopped talking about it because, honestly, there’s no universe in which anyone should trust me with a needle.

I attended the University of Texas at Austin, where I earned my bachelor’s degree in criminal justice and political science while doing ROTC part time. This earned me entry into the military. From there I was commissioned and began basic officer training here at Fort Cavazos.

Two years in, and I’m so close to being promoted to 1LT—first lieutenant—which requires Captain Jenkins' recommendation.

The same man my peers think I’m banging to have received my first promotion.

I didn’t.

The man might be the single-most good-looking male on the planet and melt my panties just by walking past me, but my career is important to me. I’ve earned everything I’ve achieved and will die before I let anyone think otherwise.

“Mom, I have to go, or I’ll be late. Love you.” I hang up because it’s the only way when she gets like this.