Front Lines (Front Lines 1)

“Much to think about,” Rio agrees solemnly.

Halfway back to the women’s bathroom stands Sergeant Mackie.

“Richlin. Castain. The men’s latrine is off-limits. Report to the mess sergeant for KP.”

KP—kitchen patrol—involves peeling a great many potatoes, brewing vats of coffee, and washing pots and pans. It’s a lot of work for two tired, sore girls.

But it’s less work when Cat comes sauntering in. “I am in the mood to peel me some taters,” she says in an exaggeratedly rustic accent.

This is perhaps not too great a surprise, though Cat is the only female to join in. Then Jack appears in the doorway. “Hot, soapy water, just my cup of tea. Stick has other duty or he’d be here.”

And th

en the appearance that stops them all in mid-laugh: Tilo Suarez.

Tilo shrugs irritably. “What? All the pretty girls are here. I’m not leaving them to this foreigner.” Jack tosses him a towel.

Upon returning to barracks they find a somewhat changed atmosphere. For one thing, people have come up with several names for Rio’s stunt. It is now Private Richlin’s Raid. Or Richlin’s Surprise Inspection. Or more crudely the Rio Richlin Short-Arm Showdown. Even Private Richlin’s Willie Hunt.

And Rio herself is treated differently. About half the men find the whole thing entertaining and grudgingly admire her courage. The other half (most of whom were in the showers at the time) are not at all amused. Not at all. Some are angry. Some seem almost wounded.

In a single day, with twenty-five push-ups and a brief foray into the men’s latrine, Rio goes from being a sort of appendage to the more outgoing Jenou to being an object of curiosity, admiration, fear, and resentment.

The same array of attitudes is evident among the other women, some of whom see her as a champion, while others are annoyed at her sudden elevation in status.

She begins a letter to Strand, thinking she will tell him all about it, but then, after contemplating various descriptive passages, decides not to. How on earth is she supposed to tell him that she’s gone storming into the men’s latrine?

Even the push-ups . . . What if Strand can’t do twenty-five? Does she want to seem to be bragging? Does she want him to think of her as some muscle-bound girl? Men don’t like muscular girls, everyone knows that. No man likes a girl who is stronger or bolder than he is.

No, best not to talk about it with Strand. But Jack—who was not in the shower at the historic moment—cannot stop grinning. So maybe Strand will find it funny too. Someday.

“Lights out in five,” Sergeant Mackie calls from her room.

Jenou is already in her bunk. She’s tugging her hair forward to look at split ends. “I think I may get a Mackie cut,” she said.

“Cut your hair that short?”

“I’ll still have all of this.” Jenou waves a languid hand, indicating her body. “And honestly, when we dry-fired our rifles I lost a hairpin and my hair ended up getting in the way.”

“How short?”

Jenou holds up two fingers like scissors and pretends to cut at about the three-inch mark.

“You’ll look cute,” Rio says.

“Cute? How dare you? I’ll look stunning,” Jenou corrects her.

Rio rolls onto her side and pushes closer, lessening the gap between them so she can lower her voice. Jenou mirrors her movement.

“Am I becoming mannish?” Rio asks.

Jenou barks a short laugh, then puts a hand over her mouth. “Mannish?”

“I was just thinking of writing to Strand.”

“Oh, I get it. You’re wondering if he’ll still like you when you can beat him up.”

“Yes, that, what you said, aside from the beating-up part.”