Chapter Text
Eleanor Price blew a strand of hair from her face as she stepped off the bus and onto the dusty ground of Camp Toccoa. The ride from Fort Bragg had been nearly five hours long, and she was glad she had chosen a light cotton dress for the trip, rather than wearing the Class A blazer and skirt uniform she’d been given. She reached up, trying to arrange the rogue hair back into the victory roll where the rest of her hair had been carefully frozen in place. She should have at least left her Class A cap out of her luggage so she could put it on. If the men at Camp Toccoa were anything like the men at Fort Bragg, fitting in here would certainly not be easy.
“Ma’am, Colonel Sink wants you to report to his office. I can take your trunk to your quarters,” the Private who’d driven the bus said. Nora bit the inside of her cheek and glanced at the back of the bus, where the few other men who’d been transported today were retrieving their belongings.
“If you’ll point me to my quarters, Private, I’ll do it myself,” She told the young man, who sputtered.
“But ma’am, my orders--” He began, but Nora gave him a stern look that stopped him in his tracks.
“Your orders are to point me to my quarters,” She said, “And it’s Lieutenant.”
She’d been warned before leaving Fort Bragg that first impressions would be everything with these men.
“Of course, Lieutenant.” The Private complied, still flustered, “You’ll be in building F. It’s not a barracks -- it’s one of the private rooms where we have visiting colonels and generals stay. It’s that way,” He explained. “Colonel Sink’s office is just two buildings to the left of that. Do you need me to show you?”
“No, I’m sure I can manage. Thank you, Private Anderson,” She replied, reading his name tape. Nora walked to the back of the bus and, thankfully, saw that the other men had already retrieved their trunks and proceeded to their own assignments. Exhaling sharply, Nora grabbed both ends of her trunk and began to pull it off the bus, propping it against her body to get a better grip on the handles. She wished she had brought a suitcase instead. She’d packed as lightly as she could, but this wasn’t a vacation. The trunk wasn’t all that heavy (after all, she’d been going through physical training with the other women at Fort Bragg), but it was unwieldy and took some talent to continue balancing on her heels as she lugged it in the direction the Private had pointed. She looked at the letters printed on the buildings and worked her way toward building “F.”
At one point, she had to pass one of the men’s barracks, and to her chagrin, the men were in between duties and stopped to watch her. The surprise and interest was evident on their faces. A few let out whistles and one or two offered to help her, but she refused, throwing an effortless smile over her shoulder in spite of her burning arms. When she rounded a corner and found that her quarters were just one building away, she put her trunk on the ground and walked around to one end, dragging it the rest of the way.
The building was small, containing a room with a tiny bed and desk, and a bathroom attached. Nora sighed in relief when she saw that the bathroom contained both a toilet and a shower. She hadn’t been apprised of the shower situation before coming. She picked up the skirt of her dress and dabbed it against her face to get rid of the moisture. Georgia, if possible, was even more humid than North Carolina. Pulling open the trunk, she grabbed the stack of papers she’d placed in the top and left her new abode, heading for her first meeting with Colonel Robert Sink.
“Come in, Lieutenant Price.” A thick southern accent called from inside the office. Nora entered with chin held high and stood at attention, saluting the Colonel. There was a certain warmth in his chocolate brown eyes, and his gray mustache twitched a bit as he spoke:
“At ease.”
Nora relaxed and offered her transfer papers to the man before shaking his hand, “Nora Price, of the WAAC. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, sir.”
“Same to you, Price. I’ve heard a lot of good things about you and the other WAAC women. General MacArthur says you ladies are the hardest working, most disciplined soldiers our country is producing, and if that ain’t a compliment from the general, then I don’t know what is,” Sink carried on.
“It certainly is, sir.” Nora replied. The briefing wasn’t really necessary. She knew exactly why she was here. Despite the fact that the vast majority of U.S. citizens judged and ridiculed the Women’s Auxiliary Army Corps, the Army itself was impressed. Well, those in charge, anyway. Many generals were already pushing to turn the Women’s Auxiliary Army Corps into the Women’s Army Corps and eventually integrate them with the men’s forces.
However, this was a delicate and controversial topic for the general public, so the higher-ups needed to tread softly. For that reason, they selected five women from the WAAC -- officers that had progressed quickly into leadership roles and showed the most promise -- to test integration in various military divisions. Nora was chosen to join the paratroopers, which was a new concept for a division anyway, so she was like an experiment within an experiment. If the women were able to successfully complete their training, blend in, and build trust with their units (and that was a big “if”), the generals would discuss the possibility of allowing them overseas in combat situations on a trial basis.
“I’ve decided to place you in Easy Company. They’re my best group of men, and they have a record of excellence. If anyone can set new and higher standards for the U.S. Army, it’s them. This’ll be another opportunity for them to break ground,” He explained, rather pleased with himself.
“Of course. I’m excited to be a member.”
“There is a condition, though,” He told her, his expression growing serious, “I have orders to have you trained as a medic.”
Nora’s eyebrows rose in surprise. A medic? There was a reason she signed up for the WAAC instead of becoming a nurse. How was anyone “breaking ground” by sending her in as a nurse?
“Sir, I--I don’t understand. I’m a second officer; I thought that translated to a Lieutenant,” She expressed, doing her best to remain calm. Lieutenants were not medics. She’d been to officer’s school through the WAAC, and she’d worked hard for her title.
“Now I know it’s not ideal, but we’ve got to take what we can get. We can’t put you in a command position over these men and expect good results. Unfortunately, you’re in a position where you’ll have to earn their respect. Now you can keep your title. But on the field, the brass wants you wearing that medic badge. It’s the only thing that might keep you from getting shot and making this whole thing blow up in our faces. You’re gonna start your medic training tomorrow, and you’re going to become the best damn medic in this division. Do you understand?” He finished, the stern tone of his voice clashing with the stubborn approval in his eyes.
“Sir, yes sir.”
“Good. Now Easy’s about to start PT. Find your CO, Captain Sobel, and hook up with the others. There should be uniforms and gear in your room. You’re dismissed, soldier.”
Nora saluted and exited the office, stepping into the stifling heat. She sighed, pushing the fact that she was now a medic out of her mind as best she could. The hardest part was yet ahead. It was time to meet the men.
Nora attempted to comb her crunchy, overly-sprayed hair into a bun at the back of her head and soon decided that she was glad her new abode didn’t have a mirror. She didn’t have time to worry about her appearance, and it needed to drop lower on her list of priorities if she was going to make it at Camp Toccoa. She did, however, pull subconsciously at her PT clothes for a minute, trying to get used to them. The black shorts were short and obviously not meant for a woman’s hips, and the white t-shirt, which felt a bit tight in the chest area, was an accident waiting to happen the first time she got caught in the rain. She made a mental note to speak to someone about at least trading the shorts in for a larger size that she could cinch tight at the waist if needed. For now, she would have to make do.
Shielding her eyes from the sun, she stepped out of her cabin and began walking in the direction of Easy’s barracks. By the time she found the correct building, the men were already lined up at attention outside, facing the man she assumed to be her new CO.
If she had been asked to make a list of how she would prefer to be introduced to her new comrades, this wouldn’t have made the list at all. Except, perhaps, in her nightmares. She stopped for a moment before approaching, taking a deep breath and reminding herself that there was a reason she had made it this far. Feeling a fleeting surge of confidence that only could’ve come from God himself, Nora squared her shoulders and stepped up to the end of one of the lines, standing at attention like the others. As the CO was laying into a man on the opposite end of her line, she hoped beyond hope that she could go largely unnoticed during this address and introduce herself to the CO one-on-one later.
No joy, Nora thought to herself. Like dominoes, the men had shifted their gaze toward her, and the man with the slicked-back hair and the bloodthirsty gaze quickly searched for the source of their rebellion.
“Do you children know what it means to stand at attention?” He shouted, jolting most of them back to their original stances. The man’s narrowed eyes trained on her as he marched down the row.
“I take it you’re our new nurse,” He said in a low, challenging voice. He spoke close enough to the side of her face that she felt vapors hitting her cheek and temple. Great, she thought to herself, resisting the urge to flinch away.
“Medic, sir. Lieutenant Nora Price, sir.” She corrected, keeping her posture and gaze straight. The CO, Captain Sobel, she remembered, snorted. She didn’t need to be a genius to see that it didn’t take much for this man to feel threatened.
“Medic. I see. Well, Price, we’re about to run that mountain,” he explained as he gestured over his shoulder to the wilderness that sat behind the camp, “I’ll give you a chance to go back to Sink now, if you’d like.”
Her eyes flicked over to meet his for a moment, and she resisted the urge to smack the gloating look right out of him. Not dignifying the taunt with a response, she simply trained her eyes forward again, remaining at attention. He stood there watching her for an uncomfortable amount of time before turning to address the entire company.
“Alright, men! Currahee! Three miles up, three miles down! Anyone who stops loses their weekend pass. Let’s go!” He exclaimed, causing the company to break up and begin jogging toward the base of the mountain. Although the men sent curious glances in her direction as they passed, their eyes were more wary than friendly. Nora sighed and followed after them. She was so much expecting to be ignored that she jumped when someone appeared next to her and offered her a quiet “Lieutenant.”
She glanced sideways at the man, who stood at least six inches taller than her, with ginger hair and a light complexion. He didn’t smile at her, but his mouth quirked slightly in what she interpreted as reassurance.
“I’m Lieutenant Dick Winters,” He introduced himself quietly, obviously not wanting Sobel to notice that he was speaking during the run.
“Nora Price,” She told him, careful not to let her words interfere with her breathing as she reached the foot of the mountain and began to run at a gradual incline. He didn’t respond, and Nora got the feeling that he wasn’t any more comfortable than the rest of the men, but perhaps saw it as part of his duties as second in command to establish some kind of ground with her and lead by example. Nora decided that he was probably a good man.
“Welcome to Easy,” he said simply, before pulling ahead to run to the front of the group, encouraging the other men as he passed.
Currahee was certainly Nora’s newest hell. She had run six miles before; at Fort Bragg she’d run much farther. However, the base at Fort Bragg wasn’t exactly hilly. The incline of Currahee was the worst kind -- it was gradual for the majority of the distance, building a slow burn in your thighs, and then the incline deepened in the final stretch, turning your muscles to jell-o. The pressure to prove herself was palpable, and anger drove Nora onward as powerfully as the men’s pride drove them. She had no problem keeping up, but she was constantly at the back of the group. Every time she successfully passed one of the men, they would practically cough up a lung in an effort to pass her back. She was the last one to slap the plaque at the top and the last to hit flat ground at the bottom, but she didn’t dare let the group gain distance on her. Afterwards, her jaw worked in frustration as she paced back and forth near the gathered group of exhausted men, trying to gain her breath back.
“Better, Easy,” Sobel addressed them, “but not good enough. Perhaps it’s time to start running in full gear,” He taunted, causing a few groans to erupt from the crowd. He quieted them with an icy glare and then reluctantly dismissed the group for dinner. The men began leaning on each other and helping each other up, some of them really not looking so good. Nora had thought she might throw up when she stopped running, but the feeling had passed after a minute or two, and besides, her stomach wouldn’t have had much to contribute. She hadn’t eaten since breakfast that morning, before she got on the bus.
“That was good for your first time on Currahee,” Winters said, approaching her. He barely seemed tired, and Nora gave him a skeptical once-over.
“Thanks,” She replied, biting back 90 percent of what she wanted to say. She was still frustrated that the men had been so determined to outrun her and had, in her mind, made her look worse than she already did to begin with. Winters, however, seemed to pick up on her frustration.
“That’s the fastest we’ve ever run it,” He added with a knowing little smirk, holding up the timer.
“Good for us,” She replied in a flippant tone, although her mood lightened considerably with the admission. After all, she had made the company look good, like Colonel Sink wanted. Winters continued walking with her in silence, showing her to the mess hall.
In the end, Nora was thankful for Winters’ sense of duty, because, as childish as it sounded, it gave her a place to sit in the mess hall that first night. After getting her food, she settled in at a table with Winters and another man. He had dark hair and the kind of mischievous look about him that every young girl’s mother warns her to steer clear of. Her suspicions were confirmed when he opened his mouth and nothing seemed to pour out but charm.
“Lewis Nixon, ma’am,” he introduced himself, standing as she approached and only sitting again after she settled on the bench next to Winters.
“Lieutenant Nora Price,” She replied in kind, offering him a hand over the table that he shook gently.
“Tell me, Nora, are your ears burning?” Nixon added with a smile, referring to the tables full of men that all seemed to be ‘discreetly’ rubber-necking.
“Constantly,” She replied, returning his smile. The humor was a relief, and she immediately felt more comfortable with the situation. She was tempted to ask them what the men were saying about her, but chose not to put them in that position. Besides, she knew. WAAC women were often judged as promiscuous or as lesbians. It was a simple case of society mocking or, worse, trying to explain, what they didn’t understand. She was used to the assumptions, sure. She still had no idea how to combat them, though. She would need to stay on her toes and actively work to change the men’s perception of her. One wrong move, and she would give men like Sobel a reason to do what they’d already decided to do: get rid of her.
“Easy Company are good men,” Winters assured her, seeing the cogs moving in her mind, “It just might take them some time to get used to you.”
“What’re the chances that this is some kind of prank?” Frank Perconte asked, glancing over at the table where the new addition to their company sat with the officers.
“Nah, I heard about this,” Skip Muck replied, stabbing his fork into the meat on his plate. “Buddy of mine at Fort Bragg told me that the higher-ups over there are always trying to find ways to involve the WAAC ladies more.”
“The WAAC?” Johnny Martin interjected, a skeptical look on his face. They had all heard about the Women’s Auxiliary Army Corps.
“Well duh, where else did you think a woman in the army would come from?” Bill Guarnere retorted, rolling his eyes.
“You know what they say about the women of the WAAC, right?” Liebgott said, his voice low and conspiratorial. “They make good company,” He finished, wiggling his eyebrows. Much of the table erupted with laughter, and Malarkey shoved Liebgott in the shoulder.
“Okay, okay,” Carwood Lipton cut in, attempting to calm the men down, “I’m sure she’s just a normal woman, trying to serve her country like the rest of us.” The table quieted for only a moment before Luz started it up again.
“I heard she’s an officer,” He told them.
“She’s a medic. Medic’s ain’t officers,” Perconte reminded them.
“She’s a woman. Women ain’t officers,” Guarnere corrected, causing the men to erupt into fits of laughter once again. Their rowdiness was beginning to draw attention from the rest of the mess hall, and Bull Randleman shifted uncomfortably when he noticed the young woman glancing over at them.
“She damn near beat your ass up Currahee, Perconte,” He spoke up for the first time, causing the men to hoop and holler and turn their attention on the short, cranky man.