Carly by Lyn Cote

cheerfulness that made her stick out. So far those precautions—keeping away from Alex and Francie’s hovering
     as a witness—had worked. There hadn’t been another incident between her and Alex. The DI still watched both her and Crazy
     Woman more closely than the other recruits. But so far the sergeant had had no reason to punish them more than the others.
     She dished out plenty of that for everyone.
    Carly figured she could do a hundred push-ups now without much sweat. What an accomplishment. She’d written a paper in high
     school about treatment of POWs in the Vietnam War, and she had noticed an unpleasant correlation between the methods used
     by the Vietcong—intimidation, sleep deprivation, public humiliation, total loss of control—and those of her drill instructor.
    Carly’s eyes slid shut of their own volition. She took in a deep breath and forced them open again.
How much longer, how much longer? Dear God, don’t let me fall asleep and collapse
. Her M-16 started to lower, and she straightened her spine.
Don’t give in. Don’t give in
.
    Again, she turned her mind back to the one who hated her. What would Nate tell her to do in this situation? What would Nate
     do about Crazy Woman? She asked him in her mind, and she heard his answer loud and clear.
Don’t make waves—whatever you do
. And that seemed to sum up her total lack of control. She was no longer in the ordinary world; she was in the army, a GI,
     government issue.
    “Atten-tion!”
    Carly, along with all two hundred of their company, snapped to attention.
    “About-face!”
    Salvation had come. They could go back to bed—for at least another hour’s sleep.
Dear God, don’t let them make us do another hour out here. Please make them let us sleep.
    Two afternoons later, Carly sat at one desk in one row of desks in a crowded classroom, staring da> at the most boring film
     ever made and trying to stay awake. Failing to do so was a fate not to be contemplated. And to make matters worse, though
     she’d tried to maneuver herself away from Crazy Woman, Alex sat right in front of her. But then Alex hadn’t looked very pleased
     to have Carly at her back.
Good. Let Crazy Woman feel exposed.
    Carly’s mind wandered to another unpleasant shock that had come just before dawn that morning. She’d wakened before the DI
     and since everyone was still snoring, she’d counted the buttons on her mattress and pulled up the one over her earrings. Since
     that first night in the barracks, she’d been so busy, and never alone, that she hadn’t checked on them. So, just making sure,
     she’d felt around in the predawn gray for the tiny diamond earrings. They had not been there.
    Then the DI had shouted them all awake and she’d popped the button back into the mattress and leaped to her feet. Had someone
     come in and switched their mattresses around? Why? Had someone seen her put the earrings into the mattress? That didn’t seem
     possible.
    Carly’s eyelids slipped down and shut. She blinked rapidly, fighting her body’s deep fatigue. Once again, she was fighting
     the sleep demon. Two nights in a row, she’d been allowed around four hours of sleep, but not four consecutive hours. An hour
     here. An hour there. How could sleep become such a huge thing in a life?
    On the screen, the nondescript man with a mesmerizing voice in the ancient black-and-white 1950s film droned on about how
     to read a topographical map.
Map! Just set me free, and I don’t need a map to lead me to my bed!
    Carly glanced sideways at Francie, who sat at the desk just to her left. Her head was nodding, nodding. Carly slid her boot
     sideways. As soundlessly as possible, she tapped the side of Francie’s combat boot—once, twice. The DI was walking around
     the room, looking, looking.
    Carly bumped Francie’s boot hard.
Wake up, Francie!
Francie’s chin snapped up, her eyes blinked open.
    The man in the film began discussing what could happen to a soldier who misread