Nobody goes to The Citadel to have fun. Not the freshmen--known as "knobs." Not the upperclassmen--who count the days until they graduate. And not Campus Crusade for Christ staff member David Preston--who left a thriving ministry at his beloved Texas A & M.

"We have a saying," says cadet David Norris, whose father and grandfather both attended this South Carolina military college: "You hate to be here, but you love to be from here."

Life at The Citadel is rugged, no doubt about it. The pressure begins on Day One of the freshman year. Knobs, like the young man wearing a raincoat on page 32, must march in the gutter, double-time, wherever they go. When an upperclassman addresses them, they must drop whatever they are doing, stand at attention, and respond by shouting "Yes, sir!" "No, sir!" or "No excuse, sir!"

Cadets may spend an hour a night polishing shoes and shining brass, only to get "racked" (yelled at) during inspection for a smudged button. Everyone gets up at 6 a.m. for physical training, does periodic two-mile runs and participates in military exercises. Then there's a full class load.

Sunday night offers a break from those duties, when more than 80 cadets turn out for an informal Protestant worship service led by David Preston. Photos of Citadel guest speakers--people like Henry Kissinger and Dwight D. Eisenhower--look down from the walls of the meeting room, as if to say, "Whatever you're talking about here better be important."

And it is. Each week David passes on not only his love for God, but also his conviction that cadets can rise up as key players in the struggle to help fulfill the Great Commission. Citadel life, daunting though it may be, forges leaders who have the steel to lead men and women in spiritual battle.

But David needs to help Christian students, especially knobs, make the connection between their misery and their Master.

"You were willing to come to The Citadel and give up your life as you knew it," David told the gray-clad cadets at a meeting last year. "You gave up your hair, your clothing, your privileges, to come to this school. Why? Because you trust The Citadel will make you a better person. How much more can you trust God?" Young men around the room smiled as the message hit its target.

"The best way I can spend my life," says David later, over a cup of coffee, "is by discipling cadets and sending them all over the world." The lanky Texan grins with excitement as he lays out his belief that military-school cadets make the most strategic disciples, and he explains that the system builds leaders with self-discipline.

But as Citadel people keep emphasizing, you can't be a leader until you learn to be a follower. Thus the rigors of the knob year. Young cadets learn to follow instructions to the letter, take responsibility for their actions, and obey the Honor Code.

The system also breeds people skills. "If you [as a knob] can stand in front of a sophomore screaming at you," David explains, "and not get uptight because he's yelling at you for all the wrong reasons, you can relate to anybody." Knobs soon become sophomores themselves, at which time they teach newcomers Citadel lore and traditions. Upperclassmen gain more responsibility, often leading and training squads of younger cadets.

Such a structure fits right into the Great Commission. When cadets say they don't know how to disciple others, David points out that they are already doing it. But now, rather than taking high-school students and turning them into Citadel men or women, they take spiritual babes and turn them into mature Christians. "You can see it click," says David enthusiastically. "And it gives them confidence."

David Preston is well-suited for a ministry with cadets. A graduate of the military program at Texas A & M, he understands life at a military school. And his education at Dallas Theological Seminary prepares him to train cadets who can become Christian leaders whether they go into the military, Christian service or the work force.

In the summer of 1997, Paul Pettijohn of Campus Crusade's Military Ministry asked David to join him and others on a scouting trip to The Citadel. The new president, Gen. John Grinalds, was a strong believer, and Pettijohn felt the time was right to send a full-time staff member. Though David never expected to leave his work at Texas A & M, during that trip he felt God giving him orders to report for duty at The Citadel.

His biggest concern was whether his wife, Laura, would be able to leave her friends and family in Texas. But the mother of three preschoolers said simply, "I only want to be where you are."

And the transfer did make sense, for David, a pioneer, wants to see cadets from all the military schools and academies going out as missionaries to the world.

Upon arrival at The Citadel, David found the wheels of ministry already turning. A small group of cadets had been meeting with other Campus Crusade groups in the city of Charleston. Shawn Maze, an upperclassman and leader in Campus Crusade at Texas A & M, had just transferred in on an exchange program. And most important, perhaps, The Citadel wanted cadets to develop their faith in God, for it values the "whole man."

"The greatest need of cadets here," says head chaplain Charles Clanton, who served in Vietnam and Desert Storm, "is to find a personal relationship with Jesus Christ. Many come here thinking they are Christians, but they're running on their parents' religion. Because of the stress they go through during their freshman year, they see the need for the Lord themselves."

David works closely with Clanton, virtually serving as his right-hand man. "If not for the chaplain," he says, "we'd be blind. He gave us immediate access to impact."

Chaplain Clanton invited David to lead the Sunday night meeting, as well as mentor student religious officers.

Shawn Maze also contributed to the immediate impact. His knee-high leather boots and World War II khakis stood out among the Civil War-era uniforms of The Citadel, and people flocked to hear his thoughts. "[Schools like this] are leadership labs," says Shawn. "They're producing leadership for the civilian sector as well as the military."

Shawn and David took a religious survey of all the incoming freshmen. While David worked with upperclassmen and the religious officers, Shawn started a freshmen Bible study with 20-some members.

By the end of the year, two or three females were involved as well, including Jennifer Causey, who wants to be a helicopter pilot. "I like Campus Crusade," she says, "because as a female I feel comfortable and accepted there."

David finds that molding Citadel cadets into strategic spiritual leaders is more challenging than he expected. He can't enter the dorms, as he could at Texas A & M, for civilians are not allowed into the barracks. And in order for a cadet to leave campus, even for an afternoon getaway at David's house, orders must be issued through the chaplain's office.

But the payoff is worth it. "My goal is to see this place producing the greatest Christian leaders of their generation," says David. He believes that if the military, and especially officers, can be equipped with a heart for sharing the gospel, God can use that to change society itself. As proof, David looks no farther than his front door.

"The South was evangelized through the Civil War," he says. "Robert E. Lee and Stonewall Jackson brought evangelists to speak to their troops all the time. It could be that the South is the Bible Belt because of the influence of a couple of Christian officers."

And it could be that if enough cadets turn their leadership skills to the service of the Great Commission, the next generation will be filled with generals and admirals, business leaders and missionaries who will take command and make things happen for the glory of God.