Front Lines (Front Lines 1)

Jenou shrugs. “I have given this some thought.”

“I was sure you would have.”

“And what I’ve decided is: tough shit.”

Rio waits, looking into her friend’s luminous eyes, but there is no more, so she prompts, “Tough shit?”

“Look, honey, we are in the army now. We have to do what we have to do to make it through. Right?”

“Right,” Rio agrees tentatively.

“So we have no choice anymore. This is it. We have PT before sunrise, and we have marches, and we have runs, and we have drills, and we have no choice in the matter anymore. And if Strand, or any other boy, doesn’t like it, tough shit.”

“Tough shit?”

“Tough shit.”

“Okay. Tough shit.”

“I can’t believe you said that out loud, Rio,” Jenou says with a mischievous smile. “You never used to curse. I think you’re becoming mannish.”

Rio would throw something if not for the fact that her bunk is perfectly squared away.

The lights go out with an audible snap of the switch. Rio pulls the rough wool blanket over her. Almost instantly sleep comes, leaving her only time enough for two thoughts.

The first is: But I still want him to like me.

The second is: Tough shit if he doesn’t.

LETTERS SENT

Dear Mother and Father,

I only have time for a quick note to let you know that I am well. Jenou and I are settling in. The barracks is fine, there’s a heavy curtain separating the girls women from the men. I find the strangest thing is not so much being with the males as the fact that some of the battalion are quite a bit older. The people I spend time with tend to be younger. There’s a fellow named Tilo who is twenty, I think. He thinks he’s God’s gift to the fairer sex, but he’s harmless. And Dain Sticklin is twenty-one, but Jack Stafford is just seventeen, barely older than me, and I think Kerwin Cassel isn’t much older, either. There are people here in their late twenties, even thirties!

But they’re really a swell bunch.

How is everything at home? Did Clarabell have her calf? And is it a bull as we thought?

Your loving daughter, Rio

Dear Strand,

I hope you were sincere when you asked me to write you, because I’m doing it, as you can see.

I have arrived at Camp XXXX, which is just a few miles from XXXX, which is basically the middle of nowhere.

The barracks is . . . well, I suppose you’re in your own barracks, and I’d guess they’re about the same. I was going to add that our sergeant is pretty tough, but I suppose all drill sergeants are. The only difference being that ours is XXXX.

I suppose I don’t really have anything very clever to say, except that I really enjoyed our date. I especially enjoyed talking with you afterward. I’m enclosing a copy of a photograph my father took of me in my uniform. It’s the only picture I have to send right now, but I hope to be able to send you a picture that is a bit less GI. I do still remember what it’s like to wear a dress, though it may be some time before I have the opportunity. Still, if you’d like a more girly picture of me, I can ask my folks to try and find one in the photo album. And I would love certainly enjoy a picture of you as well.

I hope you are well, can you tell me . . . ?

Affectionately,

Rio

Hi, Mom and Dad and you too Obal,