On the Saturday that Norma and Rosa went to visit the airfield they doffed their uniforms and put on their civies.
“All the same,” Norma said, “we’ll take along our identification cards, just in case—”
Airplanes, especially those flown by the Army Air Forces, had always interested Norma, so she was more than delighted when shortly after their arrival at the field, a flight of small, sleek fighter planes came winging in out of the blue.
“Look, Rosa!” Norma exclaimed. “Aren’t they wonderful! Like a flock of beautiful white pigeons!”
There was no need to say “Look” to the little Italian WAC. As if in a hypnotic trance, she stood with eyes glued on the flight of planes.
“See how they circle!” Norma herself was entranced. “This is like war. This is how they will come sweeping in after escorting a bomber squadron in Africa, or China, or who knows where. That’s the way they’ll look when we watch them beyond the seas.”
“Yes, this is war,” was all that Rosa said, as one by one the fighting planes taxied across the field intoposition.
Like a troop of boys the fliers came walking across the field.
“Bill is in flight training right now,” Norma said, all excited. “If only he were in that group!”
“Who’s Bill?” Rosa’s eyes left the planes for an instant.
“Oh, he’s just Bill.” Norma laughed. “But he’s not here.”
Always interested in any person in uniform, Norma moved closer to the joking, laughing group.
“How young they seem!” she said, half aloud. It shocked her to think that some day, perhaps not too far away, from the blue sky, shot out of his plane, Bill would come hurtling down, tumbling over and over like a stick thrown into the air crashing at last to earth.
“This is war,” she thought, with a shudder. “We WACs must do all in our power to make it end. And we will! Now we are a hundred and fifty thousand. Next it will be three hundred thousand—half a million—a million WACs marching away to win the war.”
Looking up, she allowed her eyes to sweep the field. It was an inspiring picture—the men, the planes, the flag floating in the breeze.
“Oh!” she whispered. “Oh! How I wish Dad were young again!”
And then, with a sudden start, she realized thatRosa was gone from her side.
“She’s vanished!” she thought, with a sudden sense of panic, as her eyes sought the girl in vain.
Just then, as if moving of its own will, one of the fighter planes began gliding toward the center of the field.
At once the quiet scene became one of action. A young pilot close to the plane made a running jump to grab the tail of the plane. He had just reached it when, in the midst of shouting and sound of rushing feet, the plane’s motor went silent, and the plane itself came to a sudden stop.
Norma was thunderstruck when, from the pilot’s seat of that plane, none other than her companion, Rosa, the little Italian WAC, was dragged out.
“Rosa! Rosa! You little dunce! Why did you do it?” she screamed as she raced forward.
By the time she reached the side of the plane Rosa was on the ground. A stalwart member of the Military Police had her by the arm, and was saying:
“Come along, sister. What’s wrong with you? Drunk? Or just plain nuts—or nothin’ at all?”
“It’s the guardhouse for her,” a second M. P. predicted loudly.
Realizing that for the moment nothing could be accomplished, Norma joined three grinning young pilots as they followed the M. P.’s and Rosa across the field.
“What’s the matter with that girl?” one of thepilots asked in a friendly tone.
“I don’t know,” was all Norma could say.
“She was with you, wasn’t she?” a second pilot asked.
Norma made no reply.
“She really had that plane going,” said the first pilot. “One minute more, and she’d have been right up in the sky.”
“And there’s secrets in those planes that nobody but us are supposed to know,” put in number three. “By George! Maybe she’s a spy!”
“Hush,” said Norma. “She’s no more a spy than you are. She’s a WAC.”
“A WAC!” the first pilot exclaimed. “Well I’ll be jiggered! And I suppose you’re one too?”
“Sure I am,” Norma agreed.
“Well, all I got to say is you’d look swell in any uniform,” was the final rejoinder.
Just then the flight commander, a very youthful-appearing major who had come across the field in long strides, caught up with the procession.
“Caught this girl trying to steal one of your planes,” said an M. P.
“Yes,” said the other. “We’re taking her to the guardhouse. C’mon, sister.” He gave the weeping Rosa a gentle push.
“Wait a minute. Not so fast. Those are our planes. I’m flight commander. Let the girl go. She won’t run away, will you, young lady?”
Rosa tried to speak, but no words came.
“Here’s a young lady who was with her,” said a pilot, moving Norma gently forward. “She says they’re both WACs.”
“WACs?” said the officer. “Hmm! Where are your uniforms?”
“We’re on leave.” Norma swallowed hard, then threw her shoulders back. “Saturday afternoon and Sunday we can wear what we please. And—and Major,” she stammered, “I don’t know why Rosa did it. I—I think the plane charmed her.”
“Charmed her! Hmm! Now let’s see.”
“She’s one of the best little WACs in our squadron,” said Norma, half in despair.
“And are you the squadron’s leader?”
“No, but I drill the entire company. And that’s not all!” Norma exclaimed, gathering courage from the major’s smiling eyes. “I’m the daughter of Major John M. Kent, who fought in the World War—”
“John M. Kent!” The major studied her face. “You do look like him. You’ve got his eyes.”
“Then you know him?” Norma exclaimed.
“Quite well. He’s a splendid man.”
“His eyes are not all I have,” said Norma. “I have his picture.” She fumbled in her billfold.
“Here—here it is.”
The officer studied the photograph, and, across the bottom of it, he read:
“To my beloved daughter Norma.”
“Norma,” he smiled. “That’s a pretty name for a pretty girl. So you’re a WAC? A chip off the old block. Shake.” He held out his hand. She seized it in a good, friendly grip.
“And here’s a picture of our squadron,” Norma said half a minute later. “There’s Rosa, right there, uniform and all. You know we wouldn’t do anything wrong. I guess Rosa just lost her head.”
“Yes, lost my head,” Rosa sobbed.
“All right, boys,” said the major. “You may let the young lady go. You can’t put a WAC in the guardhouse. It just isn’t being done, especially not here.”
To Norma he said: “If I’m here long enough I’m coming to visit your camp. Yours is a grand outfit. We’re going to need you all before this scrap is over.”
“Oh! Please do come!” Norma exclaimed. “I—I’ll get you the keys to Boom Town and to every other place in old Fort Des Moines!”
“Well, I’m jiggered!” exclaimed one of the pilots, as Norma and the still silently weeping Rosa hurried off the field.
Once she was safe on the streetcar and headed for the city, Rosa ceased her weeping, but every now and again Norma heard her whisper:
“Why did I do it? Oh why?”
What was back of all this? Hidden away in the little Italian girl’s mind were secrets. Norma wouldnever be able to doubt that from this day on.
“I’d like to go exploring in that mind of yours,” she thought. That this type of exploring often leads to disaster she knew all too well. So, for the time being, she did not explore.
Arrived at the city, Norma at once sought out a restaurant with a little nook in the wall where lights were subdued and where delicious foods were served.
By the time they had gone all the way from soup to ice cream and were sipping good strong black tea, the little Italian girl’s eyes were shining once again.
“Was that after all so terrible?” she asked.
“Of course it was,” Norma replied instantly. The question surprised and shocked her.
“I did no harm to the plane.”
“You might have killed someone, wrecked the plane, or even flown away in it.”
“Oh, no, I—” For a space of seconds it seemed that Rosa was on the verge of revealing some important secret. “But—but I didn’t do any of those terrible things,” she ended lamely.
“The secret must wait,” Norma told herself. To Rosa she said: “There were secrets in that plane.”
“I didn’t want their secrets,” Rosa’s cheeks flushed.
“How could they know that?” Norma was a little provoked.
“You Might Have Wrecked the Plane,” Norma Replied
“You Might Have Wrecked the Plane,” Norma Replied
“You Might Have Wrecked the Plane,” Norma Replied
“I’m a WAC. When they knew that they saw it was all right.”
“It was I who got you off.” Norma’s voice rose. “They thought you were a spy.”
“I, a spy?” Rosa stared. “Yes, that is what they said, but they were joking.”
“They were not joking.” Norma was in dead earnest.
“But I’m a WAC! How can a WAC be a spy? My record, it was checked. My fingerprints—”
“Yes, I know all that. But even in a WAC uniform you might be a spy. My father told me once that during the World War many spies in France wore Y. M. C. A. uniforms. They were very hard to catch. Believe me, the Mata Haris of this war will be wearing WAC uniforms, too. We have to be careful, very, very careful.” Norma settled back in her place to study the Italian girl’s face. It was indeed an interesting moving picture of lights and shadows. But from it Norma learned little.
Twice Rosa seemed on the point of replying, but in the end no words were spoken.
By this time their group, though still together, had moved to newer and more comfortable quarters in Boom Town. That night Norma lay staring at the darkness for a long time before she fell asleep.
She was thinking of Rosa and Lena. Rosa’s actions on that day had started her thinking things all over again and her thoughts were long, long thoughts.
Once again she caught the gleam of light from Rosa’s cot and saw Lena sit up in her place at night as she whispered three mysterious words.
The picture of Lena and the Spanish hairdresser standing in the moonlight again fascinated her, and once more she felt that terrifying grip on her arm as a man’s voice said, “Oh! You are one of them!”
A chapter or two had been added to Lena’s story. Betty was responsible for this. One night she had come in rather late, but had remained up long enough to whisper to Norma:
“Who do you think I saw tonight down by the big gate? Lena and the Spanish hairdresser!”
“Is that so strange?” Norma had tried to seem indifferent.
“But there was a man with them.” Betty’s whisper rose. “He had a small mustache that turned up, and sort of staring eyes.”
“Did he?” Norma’s voice betrayed her excitement.
“Yes; and he said to Lena, ‘You must!’ Only his ‘you’ sounded like ‘Du’.”
“And Lena has her hair done every other day by the Spanish hairdresser. That costs money. Do you think she always pays?”
So Betty too had a spy complex! Well, let her have it. She wasn’t going to be drawn into it. For all that, some things did seem very strange.
At that Norma turned over and fell asleep.
The period of their basic training at old Fort Des Moines was drawing to a close. Three more days and they would be scattered far and wide. Some, it is true, would remain for further training in the Motor Transport School, and Cooks’ and Bakers’ School. Some would take up officers’ training, but out of the thousand who had been in training for nearly four weeks, the greater number would be scattered to the four winds.
“Just think,” Betty sighed as she and Norma stepped out into a glorious springlike morning. “To leave this lovely place for some Army camp!”
“But that’s why we came here!” Norma protested. “I’m eager to start doing some real work.”
“Yes, and you’re just the one who is most likely to be kept here to enter officers’ training.” There was admiration in Betty’s voice, and a suggestion of envy. “Lucky girl, to have such a grand Dad.”
Then Norma made a strange remark. “I’m not sure that I want to be an officer—at least, not yet.”
“Don’t be silly!” Betty exploded. “Who wouldn’t like to be an officer? When you arrive at your Army camp you’re right up there with the rest of the officers.”
“Bill’s a buck private, and he’s good enough for me. Besides—Oh! Come on. Let’s get our morning coffee. This is the day of the big parade.”
Yes, this was the day. And such a glorious day! For weeks it had been too cold for a parade. Snow had lain on the parade ground. But now the snow was gone. The ground was frozen, but the sun was bright.
“Six thousand women!” Norma thought as a thrill ran up her spine.
Then suddenly her heart skipped a beat. She was to lead her own company. She was the only basic on whom such an honor had been conferred. She would do her best. Would it be good enough? Then there was that other—that very special thing. She shuddered afresh. And that morning for the first time she dropped her big handleless cup with a bang and a splash on the table.
“Nerves,” suggested Betty.
“A bad omen.” Norma frowned.
“No, a good one,” Betty countered. “Shows you’re sweating them out right now. You’ll be cool as a cucumber when the time comes.”
At one-thirty that afternoon they assembled on the parade grounds. Slowly they formed into companies and took their places in line.
Since this was to be a gala occasion, a military band from an Army post had been imported.
Each company had its flag and its leader. Norma thrilled to her finger tips as she stepped out before her “Hup! Two! Three!” Company.
“If only Dad were here!” she thought. “Why? Oh, why didn’t I ask him to come!”
By the time they were all in their places, the reviewing stand was all aglitter with officers’ insignia and decorations.
A hush fell over the ancient parade ground.
As the band struck upThe Star-Spangled Bannerthey stood at rigid attention. When this was over, Norma glanced hastily over her company. It was perfect. Never, she was sure, had there been such a group of girls.
Suddenly the band struck up Sousa’s stirring march,The Stars and Stripes Forever, and the parade began.
To Norma it was all a glorious dream. The flags, the music, the bright sunshine, great officers—some young and dashing, some subdued and grave, standing in review.
“But this is only the beginning,” she told herself. “There is more—much more.”
This was true, for once as she drilled her own company at dusk on the ancient grounds, having chosen a dark corner, they had put on something very special. It had been great fun, and gave them a thrill as well.
They had, however, made one mistake—the redbrick officer’s home facing that corner of the parade ground was occupied by the commanding officer.
Hearing the rattle of drums, she had slipped on her fur coat and had stepped out on the veranda.
“Thrilled and charmed,” as she expressed it, by their performance, she had come down off the porch to congratulate their officer.
When she found a private at their head, she was amazed, for Norma was putting her company through an intricate drill.
“My dear, it is marvelous!” she enthused, when it was over. “And this little—ah—specialty of yours is charming. Let us keep it a secret, shall we? Until the day of the parade?”
“You mean—” Norma stared.
“Your company shall do this as something extra after the parade is over.”
Norma gulped as she recalled the stirring words.
Without a word she saluted the commanding officer.
And that was why a chill sometimes ran up her spine, as the grand little army of WACs swept down the field. That certain “something extra” was yet to come.
The parade, with its marches and counter marches, in close formation and open formation, following the band down the long field and back again, was an inspiring sight. There were thosethere that day who realized as never before what war could do to a nation and her people.
Since it had been announced by megaphone that an extra feature would follow the grand parade, the WACs, once their formation was broken, joined the onlookers at the side, all but Norma and her company. These hastened to one of the barracks.
Marching in close formation they were soon back on the field. However, three of their members had undergone a speedy transformation. Or were they members of the company at all? The spectators were unable to tell.
Leading the trio was what appeared to be a tall, gray haired man. In his hand he carried a drum. Behind him marched a mannish figure carrying a fife, and after him came a boy, also with a drum. Hatless, the man with the fife wearing a bandage on his head; and the other two lined up behind their leader, Norma, and behind them marched the khaki-clad company.
Suddenly, at a signal from Norma, the trio snapped to attention. Instantly the roll of drums and the shrill whistle of a fife greeted the listeners’ ears.
Then, electrified, the audience knew. The three figures represented a picture they had known from childhood,The Spirit of Seventy-six.
Led by these three, the khaki host marched with perfect rhythm halfway down the field and backagain.
An awed silence followed. Then rose such a cheer as the ancient barracks had seldom echoed back, even in the old Indian days.
Frightened—all but overcome by her sudden triumph, Norma tried to hide among her now broken ranks, but all in vain.
She was searched out and led to the grandstand. The first person she met was a distinguished-looking, gray-haired man with one empty sleeve.
“Dad!” she cried.
Soon she was being greeted by high-ranking officers and other honored guests.
“I shall recommend you for officers’ training,” the commanding officer whispered in her ear.
“Oh! But I’m not sure that I want to be an officer!” The cry escaped unbidden from Norma’s lips.
“We shall see,” was the reply.
Lieutenant Warren, her beloved Lieutenant, who was standing near, said:
“I would like to have you and your father at my house for dinner tonight. You know my house?”
Norma nodded.
“Will you come?”
Norma looked into her father’s eyes. Then she said, “Yes, thank you. That will be fine.”
As she stepped from the platform, Norma felt that she had lived a whole week in one short hour. But her day was not half done.
Oddly enough, when Norma had conceived the idea of depictingThe Spirit of Seventy-six, and had gone about the task of selecting her fife player and drummers, she had discovered that in all the company there were but two drummers, Rosa and Lena.
At first she hesitated to ask Lena to play the part for, to say the least, their relations had been none too cordial. In the end she had swallowed her pride and made the request.
“Oh, sure!” Lena had agreed. “I think it will be loads of fun!”
In the end, with her long legs encased in knee-length stockings and short breeches and with a white wig, she had played the part of a Revolutionary grandfather superbly. As for Rosa, she had been every inch a boy. A girl named Mary played the fife.
And so it happened that it was in the company of Lena, Rosa, Betty, and Millie that shortly after the breakup of the parade Norma found herself tramping toward the main chapel. Her father had been taken on an inspection of the grounds.
The company in which these girls at last found themselves was a thousand strong. These girls hadall completed their training and in two or three more days would scatter north, south, east, and west to take up the tasks for which they had been trained.
“It’s going to be swell!” Lena exclaimed. “We’re headed for the coast!”
“The coast!” Norma stared. “How do you know?”
“Haven’t you been told?” Millie exclaimed. “We’ve all been told. We’re to be part of an Interceptor Control—catch planes that are coming to bomb us.”
“Or spies that try to land from submarines,” Rosa exclaimed. “It will be thrilling and dangerous, I guess.”
“Only thing is,” Millie pouted, “I’m afraid there won’t be many soldiers there.”
“Soldiers?” Norma stared at her.
“Well, you do like a date now and then,” Millie drawled. “You get awfully lonesome when you don’t.”
At that they all laughed.
“Honest, haven’t you been told?” Betty asked when she had Norma by herself.
“Not yet,” was the slow reply.
“Oh! I know!” Betty exclaimed. “They’re going to send you to officers’ training school! Some people have all the luck!”
“Do they?” Norma said. Truth was, she was tired.
The thousand WACs now streaming into the chapel were being assembled for a final word fromthe top-ranking officers of the camp before they went out to their work.
“Where do you suppose we’ll be sent?” Norma heard one girl ask as she took her seat.
“Perhaps North Africa,” someone whispered.
“Surely not just like that!” was the surprised reply.
“A lot of WACs landed there just last Sunday. I saw it in the paper. And did they have thrills going over! Heard the siren telling of prowling subs, felt the thud of depth bombs, and—”
“Shish!” the girl’s friend whispered. “You’re almost shouting!”
“All the same they had a grand time! Danced with soldiers on deck, and all that. Right over there in Africa now. Girls! Tell me how I can get to go!”
Then all at once the khaki-clad throng was silent. The ranking officers were mounting the platform. In a silent salute, the girls all rose. When the Lieutenant Colonel in charge of the post, the commanding officer and two officers Norma did not at once recognize were seated, they all sat down.
The Lieutenant Colonel rose. “Fellow soldiers of America,” she began. Norma was thrilled. “You have assembled here in order that we may give you a final greeting and farewell. During your four weeks of training you have conducted yourselves like soldiers. You will shortly be going to your various posts of duty. Your country looks to you forservice, faithfulness to your task, and loyalty. We know you will not fail.”
“No—no—no. We will not fail!” came in an inaudible whisper. Had one woman, or a hundred, said it? No one knew. It was enough that an electric thrill passed over the room.
“On such an occasion as this,” the Colonel went on, “it has been customary for the commanding officer or myself to give you a brief talk in an effort to acquaint you with that which lies ahead. This afternoon we have delegated that task to one who, not so many months ago, went through her baptism of fire in Flanders Field.
“Lieutenant Warren,”—she turned about—“will you be so kind as to tell these young women what it really means to be a WAC?”
As Lieutenant Warren rose, the Colonel said:
“Some of you know Lieutenant Warren. To those of you who do not know her, may I say that during the fall of Holland, Belgium, and France Miss Warren drove an Ann Morgan Ambulance, evacuating old men, women, and children from those unfortunate lands, and that the medal pinned upon her breast is a Croix de Guerre presented to her by a grateful nation.”
There was a rustle in the audience. Someone sprang to her feet. Instantly they were all on their feet in silent tribute to a member of their own ranks who had seen service on the bloody fields of France.
“My Lieutenant!” Norma whispered chokingly. At that instant she knew that she would gladly follow this leader round the world.
“Tonight,” she thought as she sank again into her seat, “Father and I are to dine with her. What a privilege!” She wondered what would be said at that dinner. And then the speech began.
Lieutenant Warren spoke slowly, distinctly. Norma caught every word and yet her voice never rose to a high pitch. She spoke at length of what she had seen, little of what she had done. Speaking of the enemy planes she said:
“They swooped low over roads that were crowded with carts drawn by horses or weary old men, and two-wheel carts pushed by women and children.
“These people were refugees. Driven from their homes, they were trying to save a little of that which they had once owned, for they had always been poor.
“But those enemy pilots!” There was biting anger in her low voice. “They came swooping down to shower machine-gun bullets upon these defenseless people.
“What did they want? To clog the road with helpless and innocent women and children so their armies might more easily destroy the defeated soldiers.”
As the speaker paused for breath, Norma stole a glance at her companions. Millie and Rosa were leaning forward, lips parted, eyes wide, drinking inevery word. Betty sat well back in her seat, listening as one listens who has heard many rare speeches, yet there was on her face a look that said:
“This is real, though it is terrible. I shall not forget it.”
But Lena? Norma was startled. There was on her face a look as cold as marble.
Without knowing why, at sight of that face Norma suddenly felt terribly afraid. This mood passed quickly, for again Lieutenant Warren was speaking.
“We worked hour after hour, day after day, without sleep. On our ambulances we carried white-haired men whose legs had been shot away, mothers whose children had perished, children who had lost their mothers forever, and babies—tiny babies in cribs, in blankets.” Her voice broke.
Then standing tall and straight, with the medal gleaming on her breast, she said:
“Hate! Terrible hate did all this! It is for you and me to take the places of brave young men who are eager to help put down this terrible enemy and to silence their machine guns forever. Are we going to do it?”
Instantly there came a cry that was like the roar of the sea. “Yes! Yes! Yes!”
But Norma stole a look at Lena’s face.
Then, as if afraid she might leave a picture too terrible for all these young minds, Lieutenant Warren went back to the days before the defeat ofFrance. She painted pictures of friendly villages in France. The grocer, the baker, the aged shoemaker, and all the little farmers—they were all there.
“These,” she went on quietly, “are the people we are fighting for—the good, kindly, simple common people. In France, Belgium, the Netherlands, in Poland—all over Europe they are starving slaves today. We are fighting that they may be made free and that our own people shall never be enslaved.”
Then she told of those good, brave days in unoccupied France, when a great general had pinned theCroix de Guerreon her blouse and all the good people had wept.
All in all Norma thought it the grandest speech she had ever heard.
Once again as the speaker resumed her seat the audience rose to its feet in a silent ovation.
Then someone swept her hands softly over the organ keys, and they sang as they had never sung it before: “Oh say, can you see!”
As the last note died away, Norma stole a look at Lena’s face. It was cold, gray, and hard as steel. She had not been singing.
When, at last, dry-eyed but determined, Norma left the room she whispered, “Betty, I’m afraid.”
“Afraid? Why?” Betty asked.
“I don’t know—just afraid, that’s all.”
At seven that evening Norma found herself in a place of great enchantment. Since her father was with her, the fear of mid-afternoon was gone, and joy reigned supreme.
Those ancient officers’ homes that lined one side of the parade ground had always intrigued her. Now she was really inside one of them, and it was indeed charming.
The mantel above the huge living-room fireplace, as well as the walls on all sides, were lined with fascinating objects of art which she realized must have been brought by her hostess from France.
“Yes, they came from France, all of them—except these.” Lieutenant Warren indicated a small group of photographs. “These,” there was a change in her voice, “these are my people—my mother, my sister, my grandfather. They are from home.”
“Yes, I know how you feel about them.” Norma smiled. “You might be interested to know what I did on my first weekend here.”
“That is always interesting,” replied the hostess. “Girls are so different.”
Norma told how she had rented a hotel room andhad put up all her pictures. In her eagerness and excitement she came very nearly going right on, telling of her mysterious and startling experience following Lena and being trapped in a repair shop at night. Just in time she caught herself.
“These things are important,” the Lieutenant replied in a quiet tone. “Don’t let those feelings escape you. When you realize to the full what home and loved ones mean to you and when you contrast America and France as it is today, it makes you want to fight!”
“I am sure of that!” Norma’s father agreed heartily.
“But all these beautiful pictures, these tiny statues, all carved in marble, those silver candlesticks, these etchings!” Norma exclaimed. “How could you afford them?”
“These, my dear,” the Lieutenant beamed—“these all were gifts from those kindly and grateful French people. When I protested they said: ‘But yes! You must take them! You really must! All France will be overrun. The Boche will get them. A thousand times better that you have them.’
“There are names on all of them,” she added. “See? Pierre. Jeanne. Margot. When this terrible war is over many of them shall go back.”
“How wonderful!” Norma murmured.
“These etchings are from that last war. I saw themin Paris,” said Mr. Kent. “They are wonderful.”
“Wonderful and terrible,” Lieutenant Warren murmured.
One etching pictured a huge cannon belching forth hate in the form of black smoke, and emerging from that smoke was a beautiful woman. Her hands had been turned into claws, and on her face was a look of unutterable rage.
“And yet she is gorgeous,” Norma whispered.
The second etching showed a valiant French pilot falling from his wrecked and burning plane down to certain death. But beneath him, hands locked, waiting, ready to catch him and bear him away, were two beautiful angels.
“Yes,” said the Lieutenant who had been through so much in France. “This is war. It is beautiful and it is terrible.”
“This is war,” the gray-haired man agreed.
“And he really knows,” Norma thought.
“Come,” invited the hostess. “Dinner is about to be served.”
There were busy and exciting times in Norma Kent’s life when she ate a meal and enjoyed it to the full and yet, two hours later, she could not have told what she had eaten. This was to be just such a meal. The food was delicious, the silver and dishes charming, but the conversation absorbed all her attention. Little wonder, for it seemed to her that her whole future hung in the balance.
Somewhere between soup and roast chicken Lieutenant Warren said all too casually:
“Did I hear them say you had been asked to enter officers’ training?”
“You may have heard that,” Norma flushed. “It has been suggested by a lady in high position.”
“It’s quite an honor, don’t you think so, Mr. Kent?” The Lieutenant turned to Norma’s father.
“Yes, indeed. It’s the first step up.”
“And you deserve it,” Lieutenant Warren said, with a bright smile. “We’re proud of you. Please accept my congratulations, and allow me to wish you all the luck in the world.”
“Wait a minute!” Norma exclaimed. “Put on the brakes! I haven’t said I would accept.”
Her father gave her a quick look. The smile on Lieutenant Warren’s face appeared to light up a little as she said: “Do you mind telling me why you said that?”
“Not a bit,” was the quick response. “It’s because I want to come up the hard way, Dad,” she said. “That’s how you climbed up in that other war.”
“Yes.” A rare smile spread over the gray-haired man’s face. “However, I had no choice. With me it was that way or not at all.”
“All the same,” Norma insisted, “I want to get out and do some real work. I was in college for four years, and now at the Fort for a month. What I want to know is, can I really do any worthwhile work?”
“Good!” exclaimed Lieutenant Warren. “I hoped you would say that. And now may I serve you some of this chicken while it is hot?”
“But why areyouglad?” Norma asked in a puzzled tone, after the chicken had been served.
“Because I am leaving here in two days and I want to take you with me.”
“Going where?” Norma asked in surprise.
“To the coast. I can’t tell you the exact spot because I don’t happen to know, and because if I did know, I would not be permitted to tell. It will be somewhere on the rugged coast of New England, rather far north, I imagine. I am to be given a station of the Interceptor Control, and—”
“Interceptor Control!” Norma exclaimed. “Those words charmed me from the first. They somehow seem to suggest dark night patrols, intrigue, mystery, and perhaps real danger.”
“Perhaps you are making too much of it. That depends,” Lieutenant Warren drew a deep breath. “Be that as it may. I’m in for it, and I am to select a squad to take with me. It’s a relatively small station. One squad will be enough at first.”
“She’s asked my squad to go,” Norma thought. “She didn’t ask me because she thought I might want to take a step up, join the officers’ training school at once.” Then she asked a question on impulse:
“Are you planning to take all my squad—all tenof them?”
“I had hoped to, if you cared to join us.”
“Bu—but—” Norma caught herself. She had been about to betray her secret—her spy complex. What she had wanted to say was, “But how about Lena?”
“It is for you to choose,” the Lieutenant said quietly.
“Oh, I want to go!” Norma exclaimed. “Count me in. Please don’t leave me out, only—” There it was again.
“Only what?”
“Only nothing. Please forgive me,” Norma begged.
And so it was settled. Norma was to be given a two-day leave to be spent at home with her father. Then she was to meet Lieutenant Warren and the squad in Chicago. There they were to board an eastbound train for fields of fresh toil and adventure.
Norma stirred uneasily in her place by the car window. She was on her way—had been for some time. Two or three hours more and she would be looking at the place she and her fellow WACs would call “home” for some time.
“I should be thrilled,” she told herself. “But I’m half scared, that’s all.”
Lena and Rosa were together, five seats ahead of her. They had been together all the way. Nothing strange about that, really. They had shared a Pullmancompartment, just as she and Betty had. All the same, it disturbed her.
Suddenly she made a great decision—she would tell Betty all about it. Betty, like as not, would laugh the whole thing off. Then she’d be rid of the spy business for ever.
“Betty,” she said in a low tone, “There is something I want to tell you—a whole lot of things.”
“Okay,” said Betty. “I’m listening.”
“Betty, do you remember the first night we slept in that stable at Fort Des Moines?”
“Do I?” Betty laughed. “First time I ever slept on a cot, and with fifty other girls! That was one nightmare!”
“Well, on that night Lena sat up in her bed and whispered. ‘Gott in Himmel,’ and Rosa flashed a light in her cot, where no light is supposed to show. That got me going.”
“Going? How?” Betty stared.
“I thought they might be spies.”
“Spies? Nonsense! But then—” Betty paused for thought. “I did see Lena down by the gate once. She was talking to that Spanish hairdresser and a strange man, who said, ‘Du must!’ There have been whisperings about that hairdresser. Three days before we left the Fort she disappeared.”
“Betty!” Norma exclaimed softly. “You’re no help at all. You just make matters worse.”
“How? What do you mean?”
“I was hoping you’d rid me of my spy complex—just laugh it off, and here you are, taking the thing seriously. What’s more, I haven’t told you a thing yet.”
“Well then, tell me the rest,” Betty invited. “Then perhaps we’ll both have us a good big laugh.”
“And perhaps we won’t,” Norma added gloomily. “But all right. Here goes.” She leaned over close, talking low. “I saw Rosa’s light three times. One night I asked her why.”
“What did she say?”
“She said her mother had asked her to read a prayer from her prayer book every night.”
“That was nice,” Betty murmured in approval.
“Yes, if it’s true.”
“How could you doubt her?”
“You have to doubt when you don’t really know. Besides, how about this? We went out to visit the airfield one day, and Rosa, without anyone seeing her, climbed into a fighter plane and started across the field with it.”
“She did?” Betty whispered in astonishment.
“Absolutely.” Norma laughed in spite of herself. “And did that start something! She was almost arrested! You see, they were trying out some secret devices in those planes.”
“How did she ever explain that?” Betty was filled with astonishment.
“She never explained it.”