55Wow! Thank you XO93, Camilla, Allie, ChocAndSnow19, Paratrooper56 and cchickki for the reviews! I hope I won't disappoint! Enjoy! Xoxo
~Chapter 2: White Sunshine~
Two months had passed since Esther had heard the LIFE magazine's Airborne advertisement. Her 18th birthday was only yesterday. It wasn't much of a party though; the only one that was excited was her father. Her mother was practically bitter, her sister unable to hold back the tears. Esther now was questioning whether it was a good idea to take this on or not. The recruiter assured her the Airborne would take good care of her, but in the pit of her stomach she felt that when the war was waging on at full speed, they would forget about their 'poster child'.
As she blew out the row of melting homemade candles, made of beeswax from their homestead's hives, Esther wished for only one thing. I wish to stay alive and come home after the war is won.
Now it was the morning of her departure for Georgia. "Camp Toccoa," her father informed her on the way home from where they went out to dinner the night before. Her mother pretended not to hear, staring out the window with a hard gaze, as if she didn't want to know where her daughter was going. Dixie rested, sleepy with the amount of crying she had done, with her head on Esther's lap. In the front bench seat of the family's station wagon, her father continued. "Sink's secretary says the only thing you've missed in training is the conditioning, meaning the running. They haven't started the jump training yet, so you'll be able to catch up easy, hun." Esther felt like he was trying to convince himself rather than her that she would excel at this.
Her chest thumped, thinking back to her high school weight lifting class. Esther was always one to be keeping up with the boys, being the only girl in the course. She could bench press her own weight, squat with a bar of 250 pounds and do as many set ups as her coach. But the running murdered her. Her lungs would burn, her temples would ache, the pain after running just a mile would demand to be felt. Now she worried she would be kicked out of the Airborne the moment she was ordered to run.
"You know I'm terrible with endurance, dad." She reminded him- as if he wasn't already aware.
He gripped the steering wheel a little tighter as they turned in their quarter of a mile gravel driveway. "They'll get you into shape and you'll be able to do it without a drop of sweat on your forehead."
Now it was really time to leave. No amount of preparation could help with saying goodbye to her family. Her mother had evolved past the stage of tears and now could not muster any words, but only looks of disgust directed towards her father and leaving the room when the LIFE advertisement would broadcast on the heirloom radio.
Her father was sitting impatiently in the running station wagon, drumming his calloused hands on the black steering wheel. There wasn't any luggage to load onto the top of the vehicle- she had already been ordered to not bring anything. Esther cut herself out of the family's annual church member photograph, and stuck it in her plain, round locket. It almost seemed grotesque to snip her face away, but all four of them could not fit in the space.
A long braid ran down her back as she stood on the front stoop of their home. For all she knew this could be the last time she would stand here. Her hair was the only quality she treasured about herself, vainly, perhaps. Esther had a habit of twirling her hair when she was nervous or deep in thought.
"They'll cut your beautiful hair off, you know. Chop the braid right off. Won't even make it even at the ends…" Her mother warned as she handed her a jug of hay slack. It was an old drink made with molasses and water that would quench your thirst, even on the most humid Nebraska days. Her mother kissed her warm, flushed cheek before embracing her first child. "I love you, Esther. Write often."
She returned the embrace and then patted her apron pocket, "I've brought a pad of paper and pencil in case they don't supply it. I'll write you guys, one way or another."
Dixie was wailing dramatically, convinced if she screamed enough her sister would no longer have to leave. She held on as tightly as her frail arms could muster around Esther's hips. She peeled her sister off her side, and squatted down to give her one more explaining speech.
"Baby sister, I'm going to be sending home so much money you can eat as many ice creams your stomach desires."
"I'd rather have you home than all the dolls, ice creams and dresses in the world." Dixie tried to gasp out between sobs.
Esther's heart pinged with sheer guilt. Nothing she could say would help ease her sister's confusion. She could only hope time would help relieve the pain.
Her father leaned over into the passenger seat and rolled down the window. "Dixie! Let your sister go! We've got a long drive to make!"
Now with tears fighting to escape her eyes, Esther gave one last hug to her sister, and stood to kiss her mother and take in the scent of her hair. Her mother lifted Dixie up and she squirmed to break free from her to chase Esther down. She sat down on the hot upholstery of the old car and took one last glace at the only house she had ever known. Now at the end of her driveway, she looked in the passenger side mirror to see their homestead for a final time. With a swollen throat, she quickly shut her eyes to stop the tears but could only see the image of Dixie running down the driveway. Though she had broken free from their mother, she was no match for the impatient speed her father was urging the car.
No words were spoken for the nearly two hours on the highway running along side the Mississippi River.
Now four hours into the ride, her father finally spoke. "Your sister will be fine, Esther. You'll be fine too. Just think about how proud you will be making everybody in Grand Island. You'll be a celebrity all around the country. You'll be in all the magazines and newspapers."
Esther, irritated, crossed her left leg over her right, turning away from him to look out the side window. "I'm not going for the fame, dad."
"When you see what's happening over there, wherever you go- Pacific or Europe- you'll understand why you are going."
The rest of the journey until Oklahoma, where they would stop for the night, was completely silent. The only sound was the wailing of the tires flying over the grooves in the highway, which eerily resembled Dixie's cries of despair.
Hotel's were expensive and not well kept up in this part of the country. People were too concerned with managing to survive to keep a hotel room clean. Some were without houses and simply lived in the motels. Others spent their nights in Airstream campers down by the river, where they could manage to fish for meals. The government was struggling enough before, and now when the war came, the struggles were neck deep. Most of the people Esther saw as she looked out the window in Oklahoma City were widow's who husbands had been killed in action, or men who had not been drafted yet. Perhaps Dixie would understand why the 50 dollars a month was so promising if she could see this. Dixie was so sheltered and unaware of the world on their 40 acre homestead in Nebraska. Not much made sense to her innocent mind, other than Sundays she went to church, Wednesdays she helped with the laundry, and she got three months off of grade school when summer came.
Esther's rest was uneasy that night- she stayed up thinking about what Camp Toccoa would bring her. What bothered her most as she listened to her father's peaceful slumber in the station wagon was that she didn't have a clue what the next year or two of her life would bring. She hated uncertainty even more than she hated ignorance.
The next half of the journey would be east bound and down towards Georgia. The closer to the Gulf of Mexico they got, the more red the soil got. The finer grains would escape through the seams of the door and collect under the window, where Esther would push it into small heaps to pass the time. Her father rarely exchanged words, albeit the times he would point out wildlife that they wouldn't normally see in Nebraska. It was odd and uncomfortable for them not to chat, and the tension that was normally absent only stressed her out further.
At last, a square sign emerged from the side of the highway, giving a simple 'Welcome to Georgia'. Camp Toccoa was in the far northwest corner of the state of Georgia, nearly on the state border, so she knew they were nearly there. Half of an hour later, rows and rows of peaks of khaki grew from the red soil and she knew her time in the presence of her father was dwindling down.
"Here we are," her father announced, quickly gesturing towards a sign stamped with military block letters 'Camp Toccoa' with a parachute symbol following.
B.o.B.
As they drove in further, they were stopped by the guards at the main entrance. Though she can barely hear over the sound of her heartbeat pounding in her ears, Esther thinks they say something about how they've 'been expecting the poster girl for the Airborne.'
The car rolls forward, with now worn down rubber tires loudly grinding against the gravel driveway. "Did you hear that, Es? They've been expecting us!"
She nods half heartedly in response, eyeing the formation of men that appear to be getting screamed at by an awkward looking man. God, I hope he isn't my officer.
Now at the colonel's quarters, her father eagerly shifts the station wagon into park and gets out. An older man with hair that reveals his age and facial hair to match meets him on the steps. Esther legs were unresponsive, so she sat for a moment, watching the two men interact excitedly. Suddenly their conversation falls, and Esther's father gestures for her to get out, an almost annoyed expression on his face.
The distance from the car seat to the stoop seemed to roll in slow motion. The door handle slips out of her clammy hand twice, and she bumped her head on the top of door frame. Already making a fool of myself. She noted, her blood still pounding ferociously with nervousness, so intense she could feel the rapid pulse in her lips.
"Esther! How nice to meet you!" The decorated colonel with the kind face offered her a handshake before she had a chance to wipe the sweat from her palm. "I'm Colonel Sink, head of the 506th Parachute Infantry Regiment."
She nodded her head in response to his formal introduction, and then shot a nervous glance to her father. He gave her a reassuring smile then looked up to the towering Sink. "She's a bit nervous, Colonel." It was the same tone of voice her mother had used when Esther had visited her Aunt in California and took a passenger train. She warned the conductor it was her first time on a train, almost telling him to take care of her on the ride.
"Well, Miss Fusillade, your uniform and PT Gear is just inside on my desk. Easy Company is who you will be assigned with. They are the finest men in this camp."
Her father gave her back a gentle shove in the door before continuing the conversation with Sink. As she opened the door, she heard her father ask, "Will she be on the front lines?" And before she could close the wire encased with glass door, she heard the officer reply, "Absolutely."
Inside she found neat stacks of manila envelopes and papers strategically placed away from the flow of the small metal fan perched on the corner of Sink's desk. His secretary's desk was empty, making the low hum of the fan the only sound in the office. Esther located her pile of new clothes with a scrap of paper sitting atop that read 'Esther Fussilade'. As she bent forward to retrieve the pile of olive drab up, the fan blew on her face. For a moment she stood there and enjoyed the stream of cool air that diminished the beads of sweat on her neck and face.
The laughter of her father just outside the door snapped her back into the reality that she would soon have say goodbye to him, possibly forever. She suddenly felt like an ass for being so short with him on the car ride here.
She walked out with an armful to meet them once again. "Ah, you found them I see." Sink nodded to her full arms. "They will probably be a little large on you, miss. They are the smallest size we have, and the boots are size 9 men's. Sorry, but it's all we've got."
"It's okay," her voiced failed her, croaking, giving away her sheer anxiety. "Really, it's alright, sir."
"Good then," he gave a kind smile. "You and Charles can walk over there to Easy Company, and then you will start your training with the men. Lieutenant Sobel with get you caught up."
Her father and Sink shook hands and thanked each other, neither understanding who was sacrificing more. They walked a ways, a silent barrier between them. It felt odd and distant- the two were always so close back home. The stars and stripes waved proudly in the stale Georgia breeze, making Esther's chest ping.
Her father turned to her, pausing to say the last goodbye. He held her at arms length and dropped his head to catch her eyes. "Behave yourself. Set a good example. You're going to be closely watched." He said this as if she was to represent their name well. She hurriedly looked down at her neatly pressed uniform to avoid his gaze and saw her name sewn into the front. It read 'Fusillade', which meant a rapid discharge of firearms.
Her father was really proud of their last name. He had wanted to join the Marines back in the day, but he had terrible knees. The Marines wouldn't accept anybody with any medical flaws. Even if your teeth weren't perfect, you would be denied and sent back home. Esther knew the fact that her father couldn't serve always bothered him. It made him feel slightly guilty that he never served his country. Now that she thought about it, perhaps that is why he was so eager to send her off to war.
He then wrapped her in his arms, running one hand quickly down the braid at her back. He had only cried in front of her one other time. It was when she had made him a very personal father's day card, filled with her favorite things about him. But her father never released tears, but rather let out dry sobs that shook his body. Esther felt these empty sobs against her in the embrace, and realized how badly they would miss each other.
"Make me proud," he said finally, trying desperately to make it seem like his eyes were bothering him, not from emotion but from the Georgia dust.
"I love you, dad," she said plainly, very worried about the amount of emotion seen in his face. It was as if his eyes revealed he had accepted their now unknown fates.
"I love you two, my girl. Goodbye for now." He gave a weak smile and touched his calloused hand to her cheek quickly.
Then he turned to go, Esther could see from behind he wiped the back of his hand against each eye. He did not look back, and even when we put the car into reverse, shifted into drive and began driving away, he did not give her a second glance. Esther saw the definite glint of tears in the hot, white sunshine, streaming down his tanned cheeks.
She couldn't coax her legs to move, even though her heart told her to chase after him so she could go back home. Esther suddenly felt as confused as Dixie, and couldn't shake the childish urge to take off.
"You people are at the position of attention!" The awkward man's words barked, bringing her from her desire to run. He began to criticize everything about them. The list went on as he poked at their minute infractions, and he even bullied with their last names. A speech spewed from his bitter mouth, one that Esther would come to hate. 'Easy Company' flew from his jaws, and it was the only comforting thing she had heard all day. Easy Company- this was her company.
Esther stood at a distance, watching them carefully, but didn't pay much attention to what she assumed was Sobel, had to say. Holding her Army greens out in front of her, she realized that she needed to change soon. Some of the men would dare to move nothing but their eyes to look at her, questioning her presence.
"We're running Currahee!" He bellowed, the sound of a pleasure coursing through each word. From the looks of disgust from the men, she could tell all of this would be far from a pleasurable experience. She began to watch the men as they jogged into the barracks, but a man with dark hair had to retrieve his bayonet that had been chucked into the ground by Sobel. As he bent down to pick it up, he glanced at her with a peculiar expression.
"Private Fusillade!"
She jumped, and she knew he wanted her when he pointed to the ground that lay in front of him. Esther jogged over to the tall fierce man and then clapped to attention.
"Yes, sir?" She held her tongue close to the roof of her mouth, careful to not let her voice waver.
"Change into your PT gear, woman. You will be running Currahee." Esther was shocked inside-she had never been addressed solely by her gender. Regardless, she saluted, he ignored her gesture and pointed his long finger towards the longer yet building that all the men had just gone into.
Knowing Sobel was closely watching her from behind; she forced her legs to carry her weight, which suddenly seemed to double. The instant her small figure made its great debut, two short men stopped their arguing, and others stopped their complaining about Sobel. Everybody's eyes were fixed solely on her. Not knowing how to act, she forced her most brilliant smile, and a short puppet-like man came up to her.
"Hey, cowgirl. We've been waitin' for you. There's your cot, ya better hurry up and change," he said pointing to a bed, with a sly look on his face.
"Well, shit," rolled out of her bewildered mouth. A loud roar of laughter rang throughout the small room. Esther's faced flushed a deep blood red, as she began to unzip her dress. She tossed her pad of paper with only tallies of the amount of different wildlife she had seen on the trip on the front page on the cot, along with the nub of a pencil. She reluctantly pulled off her dress and rapidly pulled on the white tee and navy shorts. And they stood up to their name, as they were the shortest article of clothing she had ever dared to wear. As she stood up from her cot, the guys tried to smile through their obvious anguish at having to run, and some managed to shake her hand as they too left. They weren't the careful and dainty handshakes she had received during greetings at church, but firm and shockingly strong.
A Private White and a man named Lipton were left, talking. Esther knew their names from listening to how they were addressed in the conversation, or rather, the argument. He stopped his apparent begging with White, and turned to gesture at her head. "You might, uh, wanna put your hair up. You're gonna get real sweaty, real fast."
He must have seen her begin combing it with her fingers as she brought it over her shoulder. Realizing somebody was in a way giving her an order, Esther nodded and presented a timid, "Yes, sir." Esther thought of how her mother, who was hundreds of miles away, threatened that they would cut her hair off.
Lipton jogged out the door, an uncertain look on his face. When he was gone, she hurriedly twisted the frazzled braid up into a messy knot, exposing the already beading sweat on her neck. Trying to make a friend, she asked White, "Coming too?"
Without a response, he starred intently at the floorboards, and Esther was confused as to why he had refused Lipton's orders. She then made her way to the rest of the men. They were knocking the sideways caps off of other uniformed men in a different company. Why was Easy the only company in PT gear while the other men in the camp were dressed in pressed dress clothes?
As they neared a towering mountain, all Esther could think about was her high school weight lifting class morning run.
So, there's that! I'm spending the week with my aunt and uncle, so I may not update. I'll be bringing my laptop though so if I have time, I will try to write! Thanks for reading, it means the world! :)