"Ma'am. Wake up." My eyes opened instantly. McCord, my squadron's cadet commander and the other Color Guard trainer, was standing over my sleeping bag. I sat up, slightly groggy from lack of sleep, but mind already racing. McCord looked haggard. He had driven the 7 hours with 2 of our other guys from the squadron and had just arrived as I was falling asleep. They got less sleep than we did. "It's 5:30, ma'am." I frowned and looked at my watch as I stood.

Major Bonk, our squadron commander, showed up at 7. By then we had already showered and had a bit of practicing under our belts too. The guys were nervous and jumpy, and I knew we needed to get some food in their stomachs. We went off to McDonald's, keeping close eye on the time. They had to be ready for inspection at 8:30. They calmed a bit at breakfast, joking around and having a bit of fun. I on the other hand was incredibly sick to my stomach. Nervousness and worry had made my stomach problems flare up. I told myself to suck it up, even though I knew it wouldn't be long before I'd start puking. Sure enough, I ended up disappearing to the bathroom before they were even done eating. Lt. Nedved, who had served with me in my last unit, must have mentioned to the guys why I suddenly walked away, even though I didn't want them to know. They had enough to worry about. When I came back, Lohan handed me his pack of gum without a word. I gave him half a smile and we butted closed fists.

When we got back, I sent Nedved, McCord, and Skyberg with the team to get them dressed and ready to go while I stood outside and smoked what would be the first of many, many cigarettes that day. Finally, 8:20. The guys emerged looking nervous but all business. I checked each of their faces as they came out, and saw nothing more than jitters and a burning desire to win. Gengler looked calm and unaffected. I went up to him, shielding our conversation by turning my back to the others. "You okay?"

He let his guard down slightly, and sighed. "I'm scared shitless." I grinned. "Good. Then you won't screw up from being cocky." I winked at him and he took a deep breath. "Come on, Nick. This is yours. All you guys gotta do is show them that." He nodded, and we got ready to go out to the fieldhouse.

We were second for the in-ranks inspection. We knew we could be weak in this event. Our drill would be impeccable, but our equipment was old and not in the best shape. I knew we could get docked for that. But it was out of our hands now. We watched the first team, from Custer, and we exchanged knowing glances. There was no way this team was winning this event. Out of step and slow on their rifle maneuvers, they looked unsure and sloppy.

Then it was time. My team marched up to the starting point and paused. I walked up and smiled at them, giving them a bit of a last-minute pep talk. "I believe in you guys. Don't forget that. This is yours. Go take it." They were all finding their zone, but Gengler winked at me. I stepped back and realized it was out of my hands now. I also realized I needed to throw up again. Purkapile came up and asked why I was so white. I told her "ulcer, ma'am." She's a nurse in her "other life", and she had some Zantac on her that she shared with me. I was thankful. It would have been a long day otherwise.

The chief judge nodded to the team, and the games began. With a perfectly executed command, Gengler and Ehrichs brought up their rifles and they marched down the pattern on the floor to the judge. Completely in step. Completely synchronized. I threw a look at Nedved, who was taping it from the corner. He gave me a thumbs up. So far, so good. They stopped smartly, saluted, and dropped the salutes all with perfect timing. The judges came up and inspected, and each time they stopped in front of one of the riflemen, Gengler and Ehrichs would bring their rifles up and open the chamber for the judge to inspect. Then on the judge's signal, they would "order arms", or slam the butt of the rifle on the floor and go back to attention.

It seemed to drag on forever, but it was only about 10 minutes. Once they were done, they saluted once more and marched out. As soon as they fell out of formation, they came back over to me. "What do you think? Was that good?" I beamed. It was good.

Next came the standard drill. This was one of their strongest events. I knew if they put themselves in the zone, they'd take it. The problem was Ehrichs. The last maneuver of the routine was an "eyes right". This is when the team passes by the judges and salutes them while on the move. It requires different movements by each person depending on where they are in the formation, and faultless timing to look presentable. It's difficult enough to get right in a big squadron. It's hell on 4 people, all of whom the judges can see. I knew Ehrichs was our weak point. Gengler also had a bad habit of anticipating his command, or starting to perform the command before he was completely finished giving it. This, combined with Ehrichs being slightly slow, made for a nasty combo once in a while.

We were first to go in this event. The judges took up their posts right in the same positions that we had practiced in for months, even though they could have stood anywhere they chose. This was going to be just like practicing at home in the gym. They formed up, got the cue, and with a sharp command from Gengler and a loud soundoff from the team, it began. They marched up to the judge, reported in, and then the timer began. The rifles had to do a manual of arms, which is a rifle routine that goes through all the positions, and then they march off to do a drill routine. All of this had to take place in 3-5 minutes.

Gengler called the commands for the rifles, and an amazing thing happened. Ehrichs' timing was perfect. The two of them did their routine like they had been doing it all their lives. I sat with my mouth open, amazed. I couldn't find a mistake. There were none. It was beautiful. The team marched their way through the drill with no problems, not even an inch out of step. Once they were done, the fieldhouse erupted. We had just showed them how it was done. And they all knew it. The guys came over to me, swimming in jubilant grins. They knew they kicked butt.

But something was happening over by the judges. Major Bonk was over there with Purkapile and the chief judge, as well as the commander of the Custer squadron. I walked over just in time to hear "rifleman calling commands." Oh my god, I thought. They're throwing a fit about Gengler being the commander and being a rifleman, not the US flag carrier. Purkapile was reading the national competition regulations, looking for a mention of it. After a few moments, she looked up. "There's nothing that says they can't, so we'll let it stand." Custer's commander, Col. Marking, refused to let it go. He held up his copy of the regs. "According to paragraph 2, section c, all color guard movements not listed in the national regs will be subject to regulation by the Air Force Drill and Ceremonies Manual. I happen to have that right here. On page 6 of the Color Guard section, it states, 'The senior flagbearer commands the color guard and makes all commands for drill and movement.'"

Corey and I looked at each other. This was bad. Why didn't we see this? We reminded ourselves to kick each other later and press on. They called an emergency meeting of the judges, and Corey, Col. Marking and Purkapile, and the other team's trainers all sat down in the conference room. My heart was pounding, and no amount of Zantac could calm my stomach then. Col. Purkapile began.

"Okay. So we know that Brookings is out of regulation for having the rifle call the commands. The question is, are we going to penalize them for it?" She looked around the room. One of the judges spoke up. "I only took off 20 points." Considering each judge started with 1000, I figured this wasn't too bad. They gave us a choice: either we move Gengler to the US flag position, making him legal to run commands; we give Clark command of the color guard; or we take a point deficit on every event for the rest of the day. How much, I asked. Col. Marking spoke up again. "Well, *I* think they should take off 50 points per judge. That's a pretty serious offense." Major Bonk suddenly had enough.

Turning to the colonel, he said, "If you really had a problem with who called commands on my team, you would have mentioned it after the in-ranks inspection. The only reason you're bringing it up now, after the second event, is because those guys did so well." The tension in the room was thicker than molasses, but I knew Bonk was right. And so did everyone else. But it was there in black and white. Gengler needed to make a decision. The judges told us the deficit would be 20 points, per judge, for a total of 80 points off the top of the next 2 drill events. 80 out of a possible 4000 was nothing huge, but we were well aware it could come down to that 80 points at the end of the day.

I went back out to the team and gave them the bad news. I told them the decision they need to make, and turned to Clark. "Can you call commands?" He shrugged. "I could, but it's not going to be perfect. I don't know if I remember the order." Gengler's face was as still as a mask. No one said anything for a moment, and finally we were out of time. "What do you wanna do, guys?" I waited, holding my breath. McCord was as tense as I was. We didn't really give them too much of a choice, but we wanted it to be "their decision". I knew what I wanted to see them do, but I didn't know if they have the confidence to do it. It was a big risk. Gengler looked at the guys one last time.

"We'll take the deficit. We'll just be good enough so it doesn't matter."

I wanted to hug them all. I knew how much faith in themselves it took. But I also knew how much it took out of them. They were all shaken to the core. Would they be able to be good enough to overcome a total 320-point deficit for the day? I didn't know. But we were out of time. It was time for the indoor presentation of the colors. And they were up first.