A Fight for Survival

Camp Artemis

The transport truck groaned to a halt, kicking up a cloud of dust that settled on the sea of eager and apprehensive faces. Molly's eyes, scanning the throng of women, landed on Alexis almost instantly. A wave of relief washed over her. At least she wouldn't be facing this alone. As they stood together, taking in the sprawling air base, Molly spotted her cousin, then her grandfather, the Colonel, his face a mask of military bearing as he oversaw the operation. It made sense that this was happening in Iowa, her family's roots ran deep in this soil. Irish, like Italians or Greeks, they understood the strength of family ties, the way those connections could stretch across states and generations.

"Where are we? It feels like the edge of the world," Alexis murmured, her gaze sweeping over the unfamiliar landscape.

"My backyard," Molly replied, a hint of pride warming her voice. "Grandpa told me it's Fort Des Moines, outside Des Moines. They're calling it an 'experiment,' but after we're done, this place will be the main training ground for the WAC."

"WAC?" Alexis's brow furrowed.

"Women's Army Corps," Molly clarified. "We're here to test out the facilities and to see if this can actually work.

Their attempt to reach Molly's cousin was cut short by a voice that boomed across the tarmac, silencing the nervous chatter. "Alright, ladies, listen up!" A stern-faced officer addressed the assembled women, his tone brooking no nonsense. "Training starts at 0700 tomorrow. This is a classified operation, no one leaves this base. Nine days ago, the Women's Army Corps was established, and this will be one of its primary training centers. You 300 women were chosen for a reason. This training will challenge you, push you to your limits, mentally and physically. But we'll make you stronger, mold you into the soldiers this country needs. When spoken to, you will answer 'yes, sir' or 'no, sir.' Am I clear?"

A chorus of "Yes, sirs!" rang out, a mix of apprehension and determination in their voices.

They were divided into groups by age: 18-19, 20-21, and so on. Molly breathed a sigh of relief when she and Alexis, 26 and 27, fell into the same group. At least they wouldn't be facing this alone.

Over the next few weeks, the regimented life of basic training became their new normal. They learned to navigate the barracks, the shared hardships forging unexpected bonds of friendship. As they settled into their bunks one evening, the quiet a rare treat, women began trickling in, filling the space with nervous whispers and rustling sheets. Thankfully, their barracks housed mostly higher ranks. Alexis, with her engineering background, had been given the rank of Corporal, a fact that never failed to amuse Molly, who had been given the rank of Seargent because of her leadership skills.

"An engineer turned intelligence officer? You'd rather be building bridges than deciphering codes, wouldn't you?" she teased, nudging Alexis with her elbow. Alexis shrugged, a wry smile playing on her lips. "Orders are orders. Besides, someone needs to keep you lot in line."

Exhaustion, that night, was a blessing. Molly, used to the racket of a large family, drifted off quickly, the sounds of rustling sheets and hushed whispers a lullaby. Alexis, however, lay awake for hours, the silence amplifying the whirring of her thoughts. Images of maps, of coded messages, of the uncertain future that lay ahead, danced behind her eyelids, chasing away sleep.

The clang of metal trays and the roar of hundreds of conversations washed over Alexis as she and Molly entered the mess hall. The aroma was a strange concoction: industrial-strength coffee, something vaguely meaty, and a hint of disinfectant that clung to everything. It was chaos, but a strangely comforting chaos, a symphony of shared experience that resonated with the new rhythm of their lives at Fort Des Moines.

"This coffee could strip paint," Alexis remarked, eyeing her metal mug with suspicion. She carefully maneuvered her tray, laden with a pile of mystery meat, lumpy mashed potatoes, and a sad-looking salad, through the throng of women.

Molly, trailing behind, giggled. "You think this is bad? You should have seen the scrambled eggs this morning. They had the texture of...well, I won't ruin your lunch."

Alexis couldn't help but smile. Leave it to Molly to find humor in a mess hall. They finally spotted an empty table tucked in a corner, a small haven in the sea of green uniforms.

"You wouldn't believe who I just saw in line," Molly whispered, leaning closer to Alexis as they settled onto the hard benches. "Sergeant Miller, trying to sneak an extra donut! I swear, he hid it under his hat."

Alexis chuckled, shaking her head. "That man and his sweet tooth will be the end of him."

"So," Molly continued, her eyes twinkling with mischief, "how's that whole 'intelligence officer' thing going? Cracked any secret codes yet?"

Alexis sighed, picking at her food. "It's a lot of maps, Ginger. More maps than I ever thought existed."

"But you love maps," Molly protested. "You were practically raised on them. Remember all those hours you spent in your grandfather's study, tracing your fingers across the globe?" Alexis smiled, a touch of wistfulness in her eyes. "That was different. Back then, maps meant adventure, possibilities. Now..." She trailed off, the weight of their current reality settling on her shoulders.

Molly reached across the table, squeezing Alexis's hand. "Hey, we're in this together, remember? We'll figure it out, one map, one code, one plate of mystery meat at a time." Alexis returned the squeeze, a genuine smile spreading across her face. Molly had a knack for cutting through the tension, for reminding her that even in this strange, new world, they had each other. And in that moment, surrounded by the clatter and chatter of the mess hall, it was enough.