The Vanguard

Chapter 1

The Invitation

Commander Morton says that there are times in your life when everything changes, when you know that nothing will ever be quite the same again.  I know what he means.  I have seen three of those times in the past year.  The first was when I found out I was coming on this trip.  The second was the two days I spent in the brig.  Or was it right after that, when I was lying in my bunk?

The third time was right now, hanging from a window ledge, forty feet above the sidewalk, with my fingers numb and my arms getting ready to pull from their sockets.  No strength to pull myself up again.  No way out of the situation.

Death is a time in your life when everything changes.  That was all I had to look forward to.  For a moment, I wondered how I had come to this.  What had I done wrong?

It all started at the camporee.  We won, you see.  Our troop had the highest combined score of all the troops in the district, the score being a tally of all the games and contests we had been in that weekend.  But it wasn’t my fault.  I was sipping cocoa when it happened.

My name is Matt Dodds, by the way, and at this point, I was still the quartermaster of Troop 360 in Champaign, Illinois, about two hours south of Chicago.  I like Champaign.  Everything else for about a hundred miles in any direction is just flat cornfields, but Champaign has trees, a few hills, and lots of stores and places to eat and play.  If you have to live in corn country, I could not think of a better place.

So, there I was, first week of October, at the camporee, sipping cocoa with my friend, Fred Barber.  We had both just been promoted to the troop staff; I had spent the last two years as leader of the Coyote Patrol and Fred had led the Road Runner Patrol for just as long.  Now our old assistants were running the patrols and Fred and I, scribe and quartermaster, had very little to do.  The senior patrol leader, Ben Jensen, and his assistant, Joe Porter, were out and about the park, cheering our patrols to victory.  Fred and I were just keeping an eye on the campsite.

Fred was sitting on a camp chair, repeatedly flipping a tent pin into the ground and retrieving it.  I had seen him do this many times before.  He had the singular ability to never hit what he appeared to be aiming at, yet he never seemed to hit his feet, either.  Still, that did not guarantee the safety of anyone else’s feet, so I gave him a wide berth when he was doing this.

Have you heard anything new about the score yet? he asked, between tosses.

I’m sitting right here next to you.  If I had heard anything, so would you.

Yeah.  We’ll probably lose, all because of you.

Me!  What did I do?

You let all those prisoners escape.

We had been playing Capture the Flag earlier in the day, our troop versus another.  Whenever a scout from the other troop was captured on our side of the line, he was brought to the prison, in this case, a handy tree.  The prisoners were honor bound to stand at that tree until tagged by a member of their team.  I was one of the two prison guards.  This blond guy from the other troop kept getting past me and releasing the prisoners.  I did see him; he was just faster than I was.

We won that game, I reminded Fred.

Only because Ben managed to capture their flag before they could use all those escaped prisoners against us.

Says you!  We won that game and that gave us fifty points.  That will probably win the whole camporee for us.  Most of the contests were patrol against patrol, earning the winning patrol ten points for their troop’s score.  The troop-against-troop contests were worth more points.

I’m afraid you’re going to need more points than that, said a voice behind us.  I turned and saw that it was Fred’s father, walking into the campsite.  Mr. Barber is a member of the district staff and helps run these camporees.

Got any more cocoa for an old man? he asked.  Or is it just for scouts who are too lazy to compete?

If you’ve got the cup, we’ve got the cocoa, I replied.  Mr. Barber snapped a camp cup off of his belt and handed it to me; I filled it from the pot.

We’re not being lazy, Dad, said Fred.  We are doing what we were told, namely, watching the camp.  You know, making sure the district commissioners don’t steal anything while the troop is out winning the camporee.

Which they are not doing, Mr. Barber answered.  They are a little behind on points right now.

But we got fifty points for Capture the Flag, I insisted.

So did half the troops at the camporee.

Oh yeah.  Well, I never claimed to be brilliant at that sort of thing.

Don’t worry about it, Matt.  You spend a lot of time with my son.  From that alone, I knew you weren’t brilliant.

Thank you, Mr. Barber.  Thank you very much.

Don’t give him anymore cocoa, Matt.  Mom doesn’t like him insulting us.

Mr. Barber?

Yes, Matt.

How close are the scores?

Unofficially?  You guys are in third place.  Maybe second.  Still, the scores are all close enough that any of the top four troops could still win.  The final contests are going on now.  We will know in an hour.  Then we can let you boys in on the surprise.

Surprise? Fred and I chorused.

You’ll just have to wait.  Meanwhile, why don’t you two put some more cocoa on the fire?  The wind is picking up and you’ll have some cold kids coming back pretty soon.

So, Mr. Barber moved on and we put on more cocoa.  It was thirty minutes later that the patrols started to file back to the campsite.  They did seem pretty cold and they appreciated the cocoa.  We asked them how they had done and each patrol claimed to have won their last contest.  Then our scoutmaster, Mr. Bradley, showed up with Ben and Joe and all three seemed somewhat gleeful.

I think we might have done it, boys, he said.  It is going to be close, but I don’t think any other troop won all of their contests in the final round.  Can’t wait to find out.  If we do win, it will all be because of you, Ben.

I later found out what he meant by that.  Ben Jensen had gone from contest to contest, most of the day, coaching our patrols and cheering them on.  Everybody later admitted, if Ben had not been there, they probably would have lost.  You have to understand, Ben is an honor student, a track star, and an Eagle Scout.  He has real presence.  People seem to do what he wants them to.

It was now three o’clock on this Sunday Afternoon and the closing ceremony was in forty-five minutes.  Ben and Joe got everyone busy breaking camp.  My job, other than tending to my personal gear, was to make sure that troop property got put back where it was supposed to.  Not always an easy task, mind you, what with what a bunch of scouts could do to wreck even the sturdiest of equipment.  Still, I managed to get it done.

The troops gathered at the appointed time, in formation, with flags flying.  Parents, anxious to get home, stood along the edges of the field.  Mr. Harding stood in front and announced the winners.  First, he announced the three patrols with the highest scores, in ascending order.  None of our patrols were called.  My heart sunk.  Then he called off the winning troops, also in ascending order.  Troop 87.  Troop 152.

And the winner of the Phinney District Fall Camporee is… he paused for effect.  Troop 360!  There was a lot of cheering from our guys, some groans and polite applause from the other troops.  Ben and Joe went forward with the troop flag to receive our ribbon, but instead of returning them to the troop, Mr. Harding had them stay up front with him.  Then he raised the Scout Sign until he got quiet.

I have to tell you, he said, finally, that winning this camporee is just part of what Troop 360 has done today.  You might have noticed that our Mr. Barber has been spending a lot of time on his cell phone this afternoon.  He has been coordinating with the council office.  You see, what you might not know is that, while we have been having our camporee here, every other district in the council has been having their camporee at the same time, at other sites.  They have all been running the exact same contests that we have.

Fred and I looked at each other, confused.  We had been doing this for five years and district camporees were never, to our knowledge, coordinated like this.  Mr. Harding continued.

What you also don’t know is that every camporee has had guests.  Did you notice these people in the yellow windbreakers?  I had seen them a few times over the weekend.  Two men and a woman, always writing on their clipboards.  These guests have been insuring that scoring was done identically at each camporee.  According to the word that Mr. Barber just got, Troop 360 had the highest score of any troop in the council.

More cheers erupted.  Joe waved the troop flag around and nearly hit Mr. Harding with it.

But Troop 360 has won more than just another ribbon, Mr. Harding continued.  You see, our guest scorekeepers are representatives of Tyler Unlimited.  Troop 360 is winning an honor that will only be bestowed on nine other troops in the country this year.  They are going on a trip.  They are going on the Vanguard!

Fred just about knocked me over on his way to the ground.

What?  Of course you have heard of Tyler Unlimited.  Got its start making computer chips fifteen years ago, then became a leader in the electronics revolution, second only to Microsoft.  Got very big, then branched into satellites, rocketry, education, video games, movies, agriculture, restaurants, and freight hauling of every type.  There are not too many things that it doesn’t do.

Granted, Tyler Unlimited did not start a lot of these businesses.  Sometimes, when a business is doing very well and has more money than it can spend in its own field, it will go ahead and buy other companies.  If those companies continue to make money, the new owner has yet more money and buys still more companies.  According to my father, the economics professor, who knows about such things, this usually, in time, leads the company to fail, or at least lose some business.  Why?  Because being an expert in one field does not make you an expert in others, so people who take over a new type of business will often make mistakes that an experienced owner would not have.  Dad says that wise companies stick to their knitting, staying in fields that they understand, using their hard-earned experiences to maintain their investment.

Yeah, I know.  I feel the same way.  But that is the way my father talks and if you can find a way for me to continue to eat without coming to the family table, I would like to hear it.

Anyhow, Tyler Unlimited did not fail.  It thrived.  Why?  Roderick Tyler, of course.

I cannot tell you much about Roderick Tyler.  Who can?  Few people ever get to meet him.  He just sat in his mansion on Tyler’s Island, year after year, and bought or started one business after another, based on his own hobbies and interests, and made each one a success.  He sits in his mansion still, directing his vast empire and avoiding the public completely.

Luckily for us – Troop 360, that is – one of Tyler’s interests was Scouting.  He had been in the Scouts, apparently, quite some time ago.  Another of his interests was boating.  Another was environmental science.  So, he set up the Vanguard Project.

The Vanguard Observer is a ship.  Yacht?  Well, it is bigger than any yacht, but smaller than an ocean liner.  It is crewed by some four hundred scouts, with a scientific staff and other specialists, and led by a small team of experienced sailors.  It sails all over the world, photographing this, measuring that, and giving its crew a chance to see what the world has to offer.  It has sailed every year for about four years now, for about nine months.

How do I know all this?  Well, to start, there is a monthly column in Boys Life about it, written by the scouts aboard her.  Beyond that, there have been many magazine articles and television specials about it.  Everybody knows about this.  Certainly, every scout does.

There is no charge for sailing on the Vanguard.  Tyler Unlimited pays for the whole program out of the bottom of its corporate heart, from its vast corporate wallet.  It distributes the scientific information it gathers to everyone, free of charge.  It is a science program, a youth program, and a public relations program, all rolled into one.

Now Troop 360 was going.  Now I got to go.

At least, I thought I would.  Parents are strange.  They say they want you to get out and do things, get new experiences, and stand on your own, but then they throw a tizzy when you actually try.

When I got home from the camporee that Sunday evening, I told my folks about the whole Vanguard thing.  Dad seemed okay with it, though not very enthusiastic.  Mom wasn’t happy at all.

I’m sorry, Dear.  You’re not going.  I won’t let you.  With that, she turned and walked off to the kitchen to start dinner.

What?  Dad?  Why can’t I go?

My father took his time folding his newspaper, then looked at me.  He seemed genuinely unhappy at having to address the problem at all.

Look, son, you are only just sixteen.  I think your mother feels you aren’t ready to leave home for nine months.  Heck, she’s probably right, judging by the shenanigans I see every day at the university, and those kids are at least two years older than you.  Besides, I think she’d miss you.

This I could not believe.  I was not going to be allowed to go on the biggest adventure I have ever been offered, because my mother didn’t want her little boy to leave.  The way she was constantly complaining about my room, my clothes, my music, and my personal habits, you would think she would be glad to let me go.  As I said, parents are strange.  There had to be some way to convince them.

Dad, didn’t you say it was common in England for children to spend most of the year away in boarding school?  Young kids?  Much younger than me?

I did.  But England is not that big a place and the practice isn’t all that common.  Students are rarely more than an hour’s drive or two from home.  Plus, they come home some weekends and holidays.  Not the same thing at all.

Dad, do you want me to go?

Hmm.  Come to think of it, I would miss you too.  You know what?  I doubt the decision has to be made tonight.  Let me think about it for a while.  Meanwhile, work on your mother.  If you can convince her, I doubt I will object.

So, I did what guys have been doing throughout history: I pleaded with my mother.

It wasn’t an easy fight.  First, I had to get her and Dad to the information meeting, held that Tuesday evening at the church hall where the troop normally met.  Come on, Mom.  At least see what it is you are saying ‘no’ to.

At the information meeting, representatives of Tyler Unlimited showed a video and handed out folders full of information.  They went over the medical facilities aboard ship, explained how the education program worked – you can’t very well take the better part of a year off from school and not make it up somehow – and talked about health and welfare and all that.  Lots of parents asked questions or raised objections; Mom just sat there, glancing occasionally at the pamphlets.

In the end, I think it was the travel that convinced her.  I was not just going away to school; I was seeing the world, at least a pretty good part of it.  Mom has always liked to travel and she often says that she would not want to die before she saw someplace or another.  Counting up all of such places that she has mentioned over the years, I don’t think she will ever get to see them all.  I think she let me go so that I would get a head start on seeing everything she wanted to see for herself.

It turned out that I was not the only one having parent trouble.  Most of the troop was having trouble, especially the younger scouts.  It seems most parents don’t want to send their children away, despite the fact that they spend so much time saying just the opposite.

I was shocked to find out that Ben Jensen was not going.  Turns out that he and his parents were planning to move to California in the summer and they did not want him gone during the move.  I never understood this.  I mean, if they were moving anyhow, what difference would it make if he came home here or came home there?  In any case, I did not see how the troop would be run without him.  Joe Porter is a very nice guy, but he does not have Ben’s knack for getting people to do things.

Fred was coming along.  With all of his brothers and sisters, I doubt his parents would notice the difference.  Besides that, I had talked about the Vanguard Project with Mr. Barber a few times and I know he thought it was a terrific opportunity for anyone who got invited.

In the end, less than half the troop ended up coming.  I became frightened that Tyler Unlimited would decide that we were not worth their trouble and select another troop.  After all, they had given us this troop manifest that we had to fill out: four patrols of eight, a staff of five, a junior assistant scoutmaster, and a scoutmaster.

It turned out that this was completely normal in the history of the Vanguard Project.  We were told to recruit scouts from the troops in our council’s other districts who had won their camporees.  In fact, the council had already been told to be ready to do this.  If we exhausted those troops, we could recruit from other troops in our district, then from all other troops in our council.

Then I found out that Mr. Bradley was not going.  I guess I should have expected that.  After all, I could not really expect him to leave his heating business and his family for nine months.  The Tyler folks explained to us that this is very normal, that the scoutmasters who traveled on the Vanguard were usually young assistant scoutmasters who had not yet started careers or families.  Troop 360 did not have anyone who fit the bill, so council started searching.  After a month, they still could not find anyone, so they asked Tyler Unlimited what to do.  The company did some checking, then said that they would provide a scoutmaster for the troop.

Instead, we were to provide one additional junior assistant scoutmaster.  That, I thought, would be a problem.  We did not have a JASM, our last one, Bill Wiener, having gone off to college last month.  Then I saw the manifest at a troop meeting and discovered that Joe Porter was filling our first JASM slot.  This was puzzling.  Who was going to run the troop?  Anyhow, council searched around and found a willing JASM named Al Basset up the road in Rantoul.

The troop manifest got filled out in a couple of month’s time.  Then the Tyler people came back to town for a week, held two more informational meetings, handed out all sorts of forms and pamphlets, coordinated things with the local school districts, and spent a lot of time telling us exactly what we could take and what we could not.  Seems some countries have odd ideas of what they don’t want in their country.  One oddity: they did not want us to bring flashlights.  Why?  Because the Vanguard would provide us with rechargeable flashlights.  They did not want to carry a large supply of disposable, D-cell batteries, so they only used rechargeables.

We all had to get physicals.  No, not like the one you get for school, not even for the sports teams.  We spent a whole Tuesday at University Hospital, running from one department to another, getting poked, prodded, and drained.  Three guys had to return the following week for further tests and one of them had to go back again.  Eventually, all three were approved.

We had to get passports.  We had to get visas.  No, not credit cards -- these visas were basically a statement from a country saying that we had permission to come and visit them.  Not all countries required them, but some did.

We took swimming lessons.  No, not dog paddle and breast stroke, but real survival swimming.  We learned how to turn our trousers into life preservers, starting in the water, fully dressed.  We learned a drown-proofing technique that involved floating just beneath the surface and doing an occasional push up with a scissors-kick to grab another breath.  Our final exam had us doing this in the deep end of the university pool for four hours.

We had to take tests.  Since the Vanguard crew was coming from all over the country, they used the tests to determine where we would fit into the Vanguard’s educational program.  Fred suggested that I be started at the lowest level, so that I wouldn’t fall behind.

The holidays came, which meant, we knew, that this year’s Vanguard cruise had just ended and that the troops from that voyage were just getting home.  Our trip was still three months away.

In January, we had a meeting of those members of Troop 360 who were going on the trip, with Mr. Bradley and Ben Jensen supervising.  The meeting was meant to pick the guys who would best be able to lead the troop on the voyage.

Instead, they picked me.

Honest, I did not see it coming.  Yes, with Joe filling a JASM slot, Fred and I were the next senior, but I had never been anything more than an adequate patrol leader and everyone should have known that.  Fred had been equally average in his leadership role.  Certainly, the troop should have known better than to elect me senior patrol leader and Fred my assistant, but that is what they did.

Once I realized which way the wind was blowing, I asked Mr. Bradley if he shouldn’t consider some of the guys coming from the other troops for leadership.  He just shook his head.

No, Matt.  This is Troop 360.  This is the greatest adventure this troop is ever going to have.  It will be led by boys who have grown up with this troop.  It will be led by boys – young men! – that I know and trust.

I did not know what to say to that, so I shut up.  After all, the ship had plenty of adult leadership, we were being provided with an experienced scoutmaster, and Joe would be there, so how much leadership would I be expected to provide anyway?

The troop staff was rounded out by Gary Yale, Dan Kulp, and Dustin Bates.  But Dusty was my replacement as leader of the Coyote Patrol and his assistant, David Kulp (yes, Dan’s little brother), was deemed too young and inexperienced to lead the patrol.  So, Mr. Bradley acquiesced and decided that one of the newcomers would be chosen to lead the Coyotes.

From this point on, the troop followed a weird kind of dual path.  For everything related to the Vanguard, Fred and I led the troop.  Actually, we did whatever Mr. Bradley or Ben suggested.  For everything else, Ben was still the senior patrol leader.  He would continue to lead those who stayed behind until he left town at the end of the school year.  Of course, Mr. Bradley would continue to be the scoutmaster here at home.

It was February and we were camping in a county park along a creek.  There were trees here, giving us a little shelter from the wind.  The temperature was just a little above freezing, but we were sitting around the campfire and were warm enough.

This was to be the last campout for the whole original Troop 360, until half of us got back from the voyage the following December.  It was supposed to be a completely normal troop campout, just like the ones I had been going on for more than five years now, sort of a last hurrah.

It was late in the evening.  We had spent two hours around the campfire, doing the usual skits and singing the usual songs.  Then Ben had sent the patrols to bed, so now it was just the staff, Mr. Bradley, and Mr. Barber, who often came on troop outings.  We were sipping at coffee -- which goes cold quickly in the outdoors, I don’t care what your mug is made of -- and talking of the day’s events.  Then Mr. Bradley suddenly changed the subject.

Well, Matt.  Are you ready to lead the troop around the world?  Think you can handle it?

Now he asked!  Mr. Bradley had said it in a joking manner.  I answered him seriously.

I’m really not sure I am, sir.  I’ve been thinking a lot about it.  I don’t really think I know how.  Really, what do Fred and I know about running a troop?

You both ran patrols, said the scoutmaster.  This is the same thing, just on a broader scale.  The only difference is, you should try not to control the boys directly, but work through their patrol leaders.  Heck, you’ve had leadership training; you know all this.

It will be a little different, interjected Mr. Barber.  This is going to be twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week – like summer camp, but lots longer.  I don’t think their training was quite intended for this sort of thing.

So you don’t think we’re up to this? Fred asked his father.

I didn’t say that.  You two can do it, if you put your minds to it.  Don’t forget, this program has been going on for years.  I suspect they know how to help you do the job.  You just have to do it.

But I’m not going to know what I’m doing, I whined.  Really, I didn’t mean to whine, it just came out that way.

Neither will any of the other SPL’s, said Mr. Bradley.  Nor will all the other people boarding the ship.  You will learn.

But if we are all just learning, what right will I have to tell others what to do?  I won’t know any more than they do.

A leader leads because it is his job, answered Mr. Bradley.  It is his duty.  Don’t expect the others to do their job, if you are not willing to do yours.

It isn’t that hard, Matt, added Ben Jensen.  You’ve seen me tell guys what to do a hundred times.  They do it, don’t they?

Well, yeah, but that’s because you’re you.  People always do what you say, whether they are in the troop or not.

That’s because they know what I’m telling them is the right thing.

But…  Oh, never mind.  This is hopeless.  Mr. Bradley, can’t you get one of the new guys to replace me?  Two of them are experienced SPL’s.

That’s not my plan, Matt.  You’re up to the job.  You just have to convince yourself.

Don’t worry, Mr. Bradley, said Joe Porter, who had been sitting quietly this whole time.  I’ll be there.  I’ll keep things together.

I know you will, Joe.  But don’t do Matt’s job for him.  Else, he’ll never learn another thing.  I don’t think Matt will survive very long if he never learns another thing.

Everyone had a good laugh at my expense.  Soon, we put out the fire and went to bed.

Two weekends later, the troop had another campout, but this one was only for those going on Vanguard, including those from other troops, plus Mr. Bradley.  It was a chance for us to get to know each other, work with each other in our assigned roles, before we set out across the world.

I spent a lot of my time helping Dan Kulp, showing him what I had been doing as quartermaster.  It is not a very hard job and there is very little to it, but Dan had a bit of trouble getting the hang of it.  I saw that as an omen of trouble ahead.

Peter Justman officially took charge of my old patrol, the Coyotes.  He seemed to have very little trouble taking charge and soon had the patrol winning most of the contests and games.  He had no trouble giving orders, that was for sure, and the guys in the patrol seemed to follow them.  Taking orders, on the other hand, he did not seem inclined to do much.

Justman!  I’d like the Coyotes to take the rear guard position on this hike.  I phrased that exactly, tone for tone, the way Ben had once told me to do the same thing.  Justman looked at me for a moment, then said No, we are the best patrol and we deserve to be at the front of the line.

No, no, no.  You don’t understand.  We rotate these things in this troop.  Back of the line on this hike means you will be front of the line next hike.

He thought for a moment, then responded, also using the word rotate.  A short time later, we were almost come to blows and Joe Porter was standing between us.  Mr. Bradley called us aside.

Gentlemen, he said, we are not going to get anywhere if our leaders end up fighting each other.  What’s the problem here?

I told Justman here that it was the Coyotes’ turn to be at the rear of the line and he said they would be at the front.  Simple as that.

Mr. Bradley, said Justman, this is a brand new Coyote Patrol.  Half of the boys are new, from other troops, so what went on before doesn’t matter now.  We’ve won more than half of the games today.  In my book, that should put us at the front of the line.  That’s how we do things in my troop.

I see, said Mr. Bradley.  You make some good points.  I guess things should start over.  Still, our senior patrol leader gave you a directive and you should have followed it.  At least, you should have come to me first, instead of just saying no and almost getting in a fight over it.  You boys have both disappointed me with that.  The rest of the scouts should not see the two of you yelling at each other.  Bad for morale.  Now, shake hands and let’s get this hike under way.  Peter, the Coyotes will be at the back for this hike.

So, Justman said, Yes, sir and we shook hands and started the hike.  It seemed to go well, at first.  Then I noticed that the Coyotes had worked their way up to the number two position.  Soon, there were calls of Cutting! and arguments between the patrols.  I told Justman to get back where he belonged and he did – for a few minutes, after which he worked his way forward again.

This went on for an hour, with Mr. Bradley ignoring the whole thing.  After a time, I gave up and the Coyotes took the lead.  Justman got out front, leading the troop at a very fast pace.  Some of the smaller kids became exhausted trying to keep up.  This, at least, made Mr. Bradley shout to the front of the line to slow down.  Justman would slow down for five minutes, then start speeding up again.  I think Mr. Bradley was getting ready to do something about it, but then we came back to our campsite – not too surprisingly, a half-hour ahead of schedule.

Most of the troop went back to their tents to collapse for a while.  It was then that I made a discovery.  The hike had Justman sweating a bit and he took his hat off, then wiped his face with his sleeve.  Until now, I had only ever seen him at meetings and such with his hair combed and the rest of him fairly neat.  Now, with his face red and his hair matted down, I realized that I had seen him before.

He was the guy who had freed all of those prisoners right under my nose during Capture the Flag.

Good.  Now I had another reason to dislike him.

We had dinner, then the troop played a game of flashlight war – like flashlight tag, but bigger, with teams and rules – the Hawks and Bats against the Coyotes and the Road Runners.  The rest of the staff and I stayed out of it, taking turns as referees.  The game went on for two hours, then we had a campfire.  I noticed that Justman was not really big on campfires; he just sort of sat there, staring into the flames.  When it was the Coyotes’ turn to lead a song or perform a skit, David Kulp took charge while Justman just sat there.

The next day was much the same.  Every time I told Justman to do something, I got an argument.  When I went to Mr. Bradley about it, all he said was, You’re the one who’s going to be with him for nine months; you’d better figure out a way to deal with him.

Even tent-folding was something that Justman did better than everyone else.  When I asked him to do it the way everyone else was doing it, he exploded.

What!  That’s no way to fold tents!  Are you guys just some bunch of idiots or what?

We are pretty much in the ‘or what’ category, said Fred Barber, smiling.

It doesn’t matter how you want to fold tents, I told Justman.  We have a certain way of doing things.  Hell, you aren’t even going to see these tents again.  They are going to be used by our troop, the guys staying home, and they are going to expect the tents done up a certain way.

It was no use.  The Coyotes folded their tents the way Justman told them to.  Fred, Dan, and I agreed to meet at Mr. Bradley’s house that night and refold them.  It would only take ten minutes.

Then I noticed that Fred was sort of laughing into his hand, while shaking his head.

What’s the matter with you? I asked.

He looked at me, still shaking his head, and said, This is going to be a long trip.

Ɣ

The Vanguard

Chapter 2

Welcome Aboard!

Every culture has its own rules, its own traditions.  You would be wise to learn them as quickly as possible, before you find yourself in jail.  - The Morton Minutes

At 6PM on a Friday, in mid-March, we all met at a corner of the parking lot at Market Place Mall.  Two television stations and the paper actually covered the event.

It is surprisingly difficult to say goodbye to your parents, when you know that it is going to be a long time before you see them again.  Mom was dabbing her eyes constantly and even Dad’s seemed to be a little moist.  Heck, so were mine.

We loaded our luggage aboard the chartered bus, before saying our final good-byes.  Then we got on board and the driver pulled slowly out of the parking lot, while everyone, inside the bus or out, shouted and waved.  Soon we were on the interstate, headed east toward New Jersey.

One of the new boys started to get ill – you know, motion sickness – but