Authors Note: I know the boys didn't make an appearance last chapter, but we'll finally be able to see a glimpse of them this time around. As always, I'd love to hear from you, so please let me know what you think.
Authors Note 2: I don't own Band of Brothers, The Office of Strategic Services, or any of the non-fictional individuals portrayed. I also do not own Howard Stark or Stark Enterprises. I do own Aramis Stark, and all fictional characters otherwise portrayed. That said, I'm not making any money, so ownership hardly matters.
Authors Note 3: Just in case anyone is unfamiliar with the pronunciation, the main character's first name should read as the following: Air-Uh-Miss.
Enjoy!
All We Cannot See: The Adventure
She sat on the train as it traveled south, the Virginia countryside passing her by on her route to Prince William Forest Park, the official but never recorded training grounds of the Office of Strategic Services. She felt reinvigorated, like she had a renewed sense of purpose as the fields rolled past her periphery. She glanced at the folder that occupied the seat next to hers. She had read over its contents so many times she could recite them from memory, but she still got excited every time she thought about opening it.
She accepted General Donovan's offer on the spot. Her father was less than pleased, even more so when she reminded him that his only statement was "join the war effort," and that he had not made any stipulations as to what capacity. Her mother protested and cried. Her father threatened to cut her out of the will and disband her trust. She called them both on their bluffs, and they caved, vowing that they would make every phone call they could in order to ensure she was assigned only to the best (a.k.a. safest) assignments possible. They put her on a train 2 weeks later, terrified of what lay ahead, but beaming with pride at her choice.
Of course, they couldn't tell anyone what she was actually doing. As far as the rest of the world was concerned, Aramis had accepted a position with a prestigious biochemistry laboratory at the University of Toronto in Canada. They found a graduate student who was happy to have his living expenses paid for in their entirety in exchange for putting her name on all of his papers, which would, of course, be amended as soon as her term of service with the O.S.S. concluded.
She felt liberated, as though she had broken herself free from bonds she hadn't noticed until they were gone. The chains that tied her to the obligations and expectations of her life in New York were dashed away, and she finally had the freedom she had so unknowingly and desperately been craving. The irony of the situation was not lost on her, that her liberated feeling stemmed from the ability to leave civilian life and join a quasi-militaristic agency. She mused that the hierarchy of the latter would be more visible, but likely less constraining than the former, a transparency that she found refreshing and exciting.
The train was fairly empty now. Most of the passengers had disembarked in Washington D.C., Arlington, and Alexandria, leaving her alone with her thoughts and her excitement. She gazed out over the Potomac River, and caught a glimpse of the estate and outlying farms of Mount Vernon as she passed. She heard the conductor call for her stop, and she rose from her seat, collecting her bags as she moved to the train doors at the back of the compartment. One of the conductors helped her with her valise as she stepped onto the platform, and she pressed a $1 bill into his hand with a smile and a thank you from behind the dark aviator sunglasses that adorned her eyes. She had dressed casually for the journey, donning a pair of structured, navy, high waist trousers, a matching navy blue tee with thin white stripes, and a white blazer draped over her shoulders, her mother's pearls wrapped around her neck. Her hair was pulled back into a bun at the base of her neck with a few curls springing free to frame her face. She looked down the platform and saw a driver holding a sign with her name inscribed upon it, and she made her way towards him. His eyes perked up when he saw her and he walked forward to help.
"Ah, Miss Stark. So happy you made it. I trust your journey was pleasant?" He said cheerfully as he approached. She narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously; unaware of how he already knew whom she was, as she had never seen him before. He took her bag from her hand, and she saw the sign again out of the corner of her eye. Her name wasn't alone on the placard. She pushed her sunglasses on top of her head and looked the driver in the eye.
"Yes, it was fine. Thank you, Mr.…?" She responded.
"Culpeper. Sam Culpeper" He finished for her. She cocked an eyebrow.
"Uh huh." She said. He smiled. She didn't think the use of the codename of one of the first American spies was a coincidence.
"Miss Crawley, welcome." Culpeper's attention diverted from her gaze, and he leaned to the left to address someone who was walking up from behind her. Aramis turned and saw the object of his attention.
A young woman was approaching, clutching a suitcase and juggling a rather large purse simultaneously. Her dark brown hair was swept behind her in an elegant chignon, the light catching the deep gold and chocolate hues as she moved. She was clad simply in a pair of black, cropped trousers, a white polo shirt and a cream colored sweater, a thin rope of diamonds sparkling at her throat to match those in her ears and adorning her wrist. She wore very little makeup, save for a light dusting of blush and some mascara to lengthen her already dark eyelashes. Her frame was slim, but athletic, and Aramis could see the muscles of her forearms as she clutched the suitcase in her hand.
"Yes, thank you." She said as he took her suitcase from her hand. She seemed slightly out of breath, and relieved he had taken it from her. She smiled brightly as she noticed the other woman standing with their driver, and she turned toward Aramis and stuck out her hand.
"Diana Crawley." She said confidently. Aramis smiled back politely and took her hand.
"Aramis Stark." She responded, surprised at how firm Diana's handshake was. They released their hold after a few moments, and Diana reached into the large purse slung over her shoulder.
"Glad to know I'm not the only one who got roped into this madness. I was worried I had traveled all the way from Los Angeles only to come and find it was all one big joke!" She exclaimed as she drew a slim cigarette case from her bag. She offered one to Aramis, which she accepted gratefully. Diana offered a lighter, and Mr. Culpeper gestured for them to follow him as he took their bags to the awaiting car.
"Los Angeles? That would be one expensive joke…" Aramis mused as Diana fell in step next to her.
"And how!" She agreed. "Stark… I've heard that name before... Stark Enterprises, right?" Aramis nodded.
"Do you make a habit of knowing companies in the field of defense contracting?" Aramis joked as she stepped into the backseat of the Ford Culpeper was holding open for her. Diana laughed.
"No, no, nothing like that. Stark Enterprises provides the blank rounds they use on the film sets. I've seen the name on the invoice sheets as they come through the studio." She slid into the seat next to Aramis and set her back on the floor as Culpeper closed the car door behind them. They rolled down the windows to allow some air into the vehicle. It was quite warm, and the black car sitting in the sun had a stuffy air.
"Are you an actress?" She asked.
"No, my father is one of the executives with Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer." Aramis laughed aloud.
"Ah yes, and how is old Louis?" Diana side eyed her as she blew a column of smoke out the window.
"Still the saltiest old bastard I've ever met." She muttered. They laughed aloud together as the car pulled away from the curb and they set off into the Virginia wilderness, laughing and joking as they continued toward the single greatest adventure of their lives.
The car turned off the main highway that led them along the Potomac River, merging onto a smaller road that would lead them west and deeper into Southern Virginia. The trees were brilliantly green, the lush foliage blocking the sunlight that tried to pass through the canopy as they continued deeper into the forest. Aramis' brow furrowed as they continued down the road, which seemed to get more remote the further they went. It was newly paved; the dark black asphalt in stark contrast to the earthy tones of the forest and filled the air with a distinct smell of tar. They came around a large bend, and the vehicle slowed. Both Aramis and Diana leaned to the center of the car to look out the windshield, and saw a large gate before them. They passed through quickly after Mr. Culpeper gave the guard a wave and a smile. The women looked at each other with similar faces, conveying confusion and suspicion as the car entered the facility and continued down the road. They stopped in front of a large building, newly erected, which bore the name "Main Hall." Mr. Culpeper opened the door next to Aramis briskly, catching her off-guard, and he offered his hand to help her step from the vehicle. She pulled her sunglasses down the bridge of her nose as she took in her surroundings, her left eyebrow arching as she surveyed the base in front of her. She heard Diana emerge from the car, and the two of them stood there silently as they tried to make sense of the environment.
"Ladies, if you'll kindly step into the Main Hall, Orientation will begin in approximately 20 minutes. I'll have your things brought to your rooms for you." He said with a commanding kindness that was difficult to argue. They thanked him and watched as the car drove down the small road and out of sight. Aramis turned to Diana, her sunglasses still resting low on the bridge of her nose.
"Well that was interesting…" She said sarcastically. Diana shrugged.
"Interesting. Moderately terrifying. Potayto, Potahto?" Aramis laughed aloud and took off her sunglasses.
"Shall we?" She said as their laughter died down.
"Something tells me we don't have much of an option." Aramis started toward the front entrance of the main hall, placing her sunglasses in her purse as she hiked it onto her shoulder, Diana hot on her heels. There were signs in the lobby that directed them to the "Main Assembly," which led them down a brightly lit hallway and toward an auditorium of sorts, which was very reminiscent of a classroom at a University. They were among the first to arrive, with a few other unfamiliar faces occupying some of the seats. Aramis and Diana sat in the second row and watched the others as they filed in one by one, each female, and each with the same anxious and curious look on their face. Aramis estimated there were approximately 30 of them in the hallway as a familiar figure entered her view. General Donovan strode across the front of the room to approach a podium, followed by two men she didn't recognize. The room fell quiet as he took his position, and he looked at the main assembly with a small smile on his face, almost beaming with pride as his gaze passed over them. He cleared his throat and shuffled some of the papers in his hands before he began to speak.
"Good morning, ladies." He began, his voice familiar and welcoming. "Good morning, and welcome to Prince William Forest Park, your new home away from home for the next several months. I've had the opportunity to meet with each of you, and I'm so happy to see you all here together, sitting in front of me patiently while we embark on an incredible journey. I'd like to take a moment to thank you for your bravery, and express my appreciation for your willingness to help your friends, your families, your government, and our allies in this most unsavory endeavor, as we fight once again to ensure there can be peace in the word. The Office of Strategic Services is a brand new landmark in the field of intelligence, and we intend to make a lasting and poignant impression upon those who are privileged enough to know who we are." He said with a wink, inciting the group to chuckle. "President Roosevelt has seen fit to appoint me as the Coordinator of Information for the United States of America. As such, the Office of Strategic Services and all units therein fall under my command. This agency is classified as non-military, though most of its commanders have an array of military experience. There are similarities in the structure of our hierarchies, including titles, but the rules and regulations are not at all the same, and there are vastly different expectations of conduct by which we abide.
"The O.S.S. was formed with the intention of consolidating the procurement of intelligence during war-time, and is charged with engaging in intelligence work on behalf of the United States Government. We will act as a single, unified body to gather and relay information to the various branches of the armed forces to give our boys the best and most complete information possible. We are mirroring the work of our allies The British, by taking their best practices and molding them for our purposes, so that we may produce high functioning units to achieve our goal of defeating the Axis Powers. We have learned several things the hard way, and we intend to leverage these lessons to achieve our goals. After the harrowing circumstances of the Great War, we know war is evolving. War is deeply entrenched in politics, something of which the Fuhrer has incredible command. War is also contingent on preparation, and the side that is better prepared will always have the advantage. We understand that war is not won merely through assaults, occupation, acquisition of territory, and numbers of casualties inflicted on the other side. War is won through tactics, strategy, and a mastery of the human consciousness. At the core of each of these things lies one central common thread: they are predicated on information. This agency will engage in a variety of activities, including acts of sabotage, coordination of strategy and execution of propaganda wars in and outside of enemy territory, spying, and most importantly, the acquisition, training, and maintenance of intelligence assets and networks in enemy territories.
"You ladies, this collection of extraordinary women, have been assigned to the division of Secret Intelligence, Unit Code X, Unit # 66. SI-X-66, the first and only coalition of women across any and all government agencies of the United States. If you attain field agent status, you will be going deep under cover, across enemy lines, to gather and synthesize intelligence from the enemy and from the resistance networks that have been established. Our friends across the pond have taught us that it is easier to reports directly to the units on the ground rather than reporting back to the home office to let it filter down the chain of command. If you are in the field, you will also liaise directly with the different divisions of the military that are nearest to you, providing them with real-time intelligence that may very well be the difference between life and death. If you are not chosen to go into the field, you will work directly with our strategic teams in one of our many home offices by coordinating all the logistics for our field operatives, synthesizing and distributing intelligence as it comes in from the field, as well as coordinating and orchestrating the acts of sabotage and wars of propaganda I mentioned earlier. Regardless of which positions you occupy, you will be part of a revolutionary new concept in American warfare. You will help our allies to reclaim their lost homes, vindicate our losses, and bring the men who are still out there fighting the best possible chance of returning safely.
"At this time, I'd like to introduce David K.E. Bruce, diplomat, attorney, and the Director of the Secret Intelligence Division. He is your commanding officer of sorts, and my right hand." One of the men Aramis didn't recognize stepped forward and nodded to them curtly. His hair was light gray, almost white, and brushed back in the sleek style the gentlemen of society were favoring. His black suit was crisp and well pressed; his white shirt adorned with a gray tie and brushed silver cufflinks. He was everything Aramis remembered of the diplomats her mother entertained at the many galas, and she hoped he would have the same penchant for honesty and brevity for which he was known. He stepped back against the wall, falling in line with the other man she didn't recognize. General Donovan spoke again. "I'd also like to introduce Vaughn Craft, who will be indirect oversight of your unit. Anything and everything you do will flow through him, to David, and hopefully not up to me." He joked again, a sly small crossing his face as the group of women chuckled again. David Bruce and Vaughn Craft seemed unfazed by the humor, continuing to survey the women critically. "Captain Craft comes to us from the Secret Service. Formerly a Special Officer, he was charged with managing the end-to-end security for the First Lady Eleanor Roosevelt, which positions him perfectly to work with all of you. Captain Craft…" General Donovan gestured. The man named Vaughn stepped forward, his arms crossed over his chest as he looked out over the group before him.
He was, as Aramis would have expected a secret service agent to be. His face was stoic and unreadable, his eyes calculating and discriminating as caught each of their gazes individually. His form was strong and lithe, his movements sharp and cat-like, bordering on predatory. He was intimidating, and for the first time since her arrival, Aramis' suspicion began to turn to anxiety, the change slipping into her stomach like an ice-cube, chilling her from the core.
"Good morning ladies." He stated, his voice gruff and commanding. "As General Donovan said, my name is Vaughn Craft. I have been given command of this Secret Intelligence unit, and will oversee all of your operations from this point forward. This includes your training, and your activities in the field. I will reiterate, this is NOT a military organization. The rules and hierarchy here are far less strict than that of the Army, Navy, or other divisions of the armed forces. You do not have to salute me, ask for permission to speak, and I would appreciate it if none of you referred to me as 'sir.' You do have to follow the commands I give you promptly, respect the rules and parameters I set, and treat me with the same respect you would show to a boss or superior. From this point forward, all of you are considered to be in training, which is where you will remain until I say otherwise. This training will be grueling, extremely difficult, and many of you will not make it past the first round. I am going to be very hard on you, I will not pull any punches, and this will likely be one of the hardest things you will ever experience. Know that anything I say or do is not personal; it is to prepare you for what lies ahead. You are extraordinary individuals, each with a rich background in academics, athletics, language proficiency, and hard science. You come from some of the most affluent families in the country, and you are undoubtedly accustomed to a very specific and elevated standard of living. You have spent your lives in some of the most beautiful dining rooms, at the most exclusive society events and galas, and mingling with some of the Nation's highest-ranking individuals, all of which prepares you perfectly for many of the tasks General Donovan described earlier. That said, our missions are not parties, or galas, or society events. Our missions are quite the opposite, and you deserve full disclosure before you agree to go into the field. Hit the lights please." Vaughn said, gesturing to a person in the back of the room.
The fluorescent lights went out, casting the room into darkness as a projector flicked on, illuminating the white wall behind the commanders. The first slide clicked into place. It was a black and white photo, the resolution grainy, as if the exposure had been rushed. There was a collective gasp that passed across the room as they took in the subject of the photo. It was an image of a man, though his humanity was barely recognizable. He was tied to a chair, his hands pulled behind his back and tied with a thick rope. His face was disfigured, as though he had endured hours of incessant beatings. There was a pool of darkness around his feet, and Aramis recognized the blood without needing to see the hue. It covered his clothes, sticking to the canvas of his shirt and dripping down his fingertips as his body slumped in the seat.
"Next slide, please." Vaughn's voice called sternly. The images rotated, and another clicked into place. The scene was grim, conveying another victim of brutal torture. The images rotated again and again as the photos became increasingly more gruesome. Each person was horribly disfigured their wounds and causes of death excruciating and horrifying. There were men attached to electrical cables, individuals whose skin had been flayed from their bones while they were still alive. Some of their fingernails had been removed, others were missing entire limbs. Their throats were cut, and there were clearly defined bullet holes in different parts of their bodies.
"When you go are in the field," Vaughn started speaking again, his voice breaking the hushed and terrified silence that gripped the room. He stepped back into the center of the room, the light gray of the projector illuminating his figure as he paced back and forth slowly. "…Make no mistake, you are not going to galas. You are not attending dinners. You are not having polite discussion over champagne and caviar with a handsome officer. You are entering lions' dens." The slide show continued as he spoke, the images made more poignant by his words. "The Germans will not care that you are women. They will be unimpressed by your family's riches. They won't be concerned that you are well connected. They will pay no mind to any threats you try to throw at them. The only thing they care about is that you are a spy. And this…" He turned his body to point at the image imposed on the wall behind him. "…Is what they do to spies." He stopped in the middle of the room, the gray tones of the horrific image bearing down on him. "This will not happen to any of you. It is my personal mission to make damn sure of that. So we will train. And we will train hard.
"You will hate me. You will want to quit. You will have moments where you feel like you can't get up, mornings where you can't get out of bed, and instances where you think that death would be a preferable alternative to facing another second of the hell I will put you through. Your job is to rise above that. If you can't do it here, you can't do it there, and none of you will go anywhere near our side of the front line, let alone behind enemy lines, until I say you're ready. So you'll be ready, or you'll be out, because I'd rather have you out than have you dead." The projector turned off and the lights came back on. He stood there, in the center of the room, his eyes studying each and every one of them as they sat before him. "Now that you know what you're facing, anyone who wants no part of this is free to walk out the door now, no questions asked. You're all volunteers, and there are plenty of jobs with the home office that General Donovan needs to fill with smart capable people such as yourselves. This is an incredibly dangerous game we're about to play, and there is no shame in choosing to work on the back-end." He stopped speaking and waited, giving them the opportunity to excuse themselves. No one moved. The silence was tense, and every woman moved her eyes around the room to see if anyone would take him up on his offer. The room was quiet, and no one made to stand from their seats. Aramis saw a small half-smile play over the left corner of Vaughn's mouth as he watched them stay in their seats. "Good." He said, his voice far more jovial. "Let's get started."
July 31st, 1942
Dear Howard,
I'm so sorry I didn't write to you sooner. The last few weeks have been literal hell, and I've just now found a spare moment to get some chicken scratch down on a sheet of paper before I fall unconscious for the next few hours before getting up to do it all again. Please excuse me if this letter is incomprehensible.
Where do I begin? Your sarcastic voice is ringing through my thoughts, telling me that the beginning is likely a good place. And you'd be right; except so much has happened I can barely remember where the beginning is. I know I told you about the first day, about meeting the commanders and hearing exactly what we're going to be doing during our tenure of the war. It has been non-stop since then. Vaughn wasn't kidding when he said he would put us through hell. We started out with running. But not just any running, 6 miles of running. At the beginning. Up hills. With obstacle courses in the middle. With Vaughn constantly yelling after us to keep moving. I never thought I would say this, but I'm suddenly very grateful for my grueling conditioning sessions during gymnastics, as it's probably the only reason I've been able to keep up. We're up to 10 miles a day now, usually first thing in the morning, and we're finally starting to be able to keep up with each other.
Speaking of gymnastics, it's been a pretty integral part of our training. Donovan must have told Vaughn about my career as a gymnast, because he's been relying on me a lot to help the other girls with learning and executing some of the exercises. He says they "aren't really his forte," which I find hard to believe as he's one of those really obnoxious people who's just really good at everything. Everyone is very capable, and they've been able to pick up the basics quickly. They're starting to walk on their hands with little difficulty now, though I think that likely has more to do with the strength training we've been doing than it does with my abilities as a coach. We're starting aerial exercises next week, so we'll invariably lose some people to injury as we progress through that.
As you might expect, attrition is high. We lost 6 people after the first day, and another 3 after the first week. We lost 2 last week, but one was because her father came to collect her. Apparently, she neglected to tell him the truth of what she was doing, and he wasn't happy about it. That brings us down to 19 people, and I imagine the numbers will keep dwindling, especially considering how little sleep we're able to get. I think exhaustion has taken out more recruits than the physical exercise. Though, when your vision is so blurred from lack of sleep, sometimes it's hard to tell.
Other than training, everything is going very well here. Though he's tough on us, I get the distinct feeling that Vaughn cares very deeply for our welfare. He's sarcastic and witty, and has an ace in the hole for every snarky comment we can drum up for him. You'd love him, although I shudder to think what kind of trouble the two of you would get into if you ever did meet. Remind me to never introduce the two of you. Surprisingly, I have made some friends here, and you'll be pleased to know that they're women. I know I described Diana to you in my last letter (and no, I will not tell you if she's single, because she's off limits, you philandering playboy), but there are a few others I've managed to connect with through this ridiculous experience. Esther is kind of similar to Nix. She calls people on things in that dry, sarcastic way that we've become accustomed to. She has a big personality, and the beauty to match. Some of the men around base have started calling her "Rita" because she looks kind of like Rita Hayworth. Rose is something of an airhead. She's quite capable, but she provides us with a lot of unintentional comic relief, if you get my meaning. Claire is sweet enough and sharp as a tack, but she's kind of reserved, and she follows Katherine around like a puppy. Katherine is an interesting character. In my last letter, I think I told you that she's been kind of cold towards me, almost unnecessarily. That hasn't stopped. She has an air of haughtiness about her, almost like she thinks she's better than the rest of us. She sucks up to Vaughn like it's going out of style, which he regards passively. She's the typical girl, and you know how much I adore typical girls. According to Diana, she and I are the rivals in the unit. That said, I've been a little busy trying to keep my head above water, so I really have no idea what she's talking about. I can sense that she's competitive with me, but I'm not sure why. I was under the impression we were all on the same side.
Speaking of our childhood friend, have you heard from Lewis? I've been trying to figure out where to respond to the letters he's sent me, but he's an idiot and didn't leave a return address. The only one I have is for the Officer's Candidate School, but I know he's been reassigned to his unit already, and any mail I send to the OCS won't reach him. He said something about paratroopers in his last letter, but made no mention of which division, regiment, or company. If you hear from him, will you please ask for me?
As you can probably see, my handwriting has gotten progressively worse as this letter has continued. I'm barely able to keep my eyes open at this point. I love you dearly and miss you terribly. Please write soon and tell me everything that's happening at Stark Enterprises. I'm sick of you yelling at me via letter for being uncommunicative.
Love,
Aramis.
P.S. Please burn this after reading. Especially the part about my gratitude for my gymnastics conditioning.
August 25th, 1942
Dear Howard,
I'm so pleased to hear you've finally started taking work more seriously. Dad must be very proud of you (and very relieved he doesn't have to start training someone else to take his job). I'm so happy you promoted Leon and asked Trudy to be his assistant. I was so worried about her, and I really appreciate you taking such good care of her for me. I'd be lost without you. Please tell them I say hello, and give them my love when you see them. Tell them my "biochemistry lab" is difficult, but it's very fulfilling and I'll write as soon as I can.
Things haven't changed much here. They've modified our training away from basics and more toward refinement. We've lost 5 more women since I last wrote you, some of them from exhaustion rather than by choice, but we're all getting used to the lack of sleep now. The bags under my eyes are likely going to become permanent fixtures before this is over. I think it adds a certain je ne sais quoi to my face. Don't tell Mom. She'll send boxes of creams I have neither the time nor the inclination to use. You know how she is. We've started climbing, and have been learning the best techniques for scaling different apparatuses. At first it was just trees in the forests behind the base. We've moved on to ropes, both with and without knots. You should see my hands. I don't think I've had this many calluses since that summer Mom couldn't get us off the monkey bars on the playground. I've seen some of the male operatives on the base scaling some of the buildings. I'm sure that's what we're headed for next.
Now that I'm thinking about it, there has been one interesting change. Just after I sent my last letter, we were introduced to our combat trainers, and they have very interesting backgrounds. Some of them are from Japan (born in the U.S.), some from China, and some from Brazil of all places. Vaughn says they'll be teaching us how to execute close-quarters moves, how to disarm our opponents quickly and quietly, how to subdue the enemy without killing them, and the easiest way to kill them without making much of a mess. Before you panic, Vaughn says that killing is the least ideal way to deal with an enemy in our line of work, and that it should be avoided at all costs. He says it leaves a body behind, and therefore more evidence we were there, which is exactly the opposite of what we're aiming for. We haven't gotten there yet. So far, the training with them has been kind of strange. We do a lot of standing very still, punching things like blocks and boards at random intervals. They say the drills are to enhance our focus and our precision, which is critical groundwork for the movements we'll be learning later on. I'm not going to complain. It's a welcome break from running 15 miles up and down a mountain and across an obstacle course.
You'll be happy to hear that gymnastics training has been going well. The other women are picking things up really quickly, and Vaughn said he's been very impressed with ability to coordinate the training on such short notice. Needless to say, Katherine was none too pleased when she heard that, and she's been glaring daggers at me ever since. She ignores my comments, as though she can't hear me, but pretends to be sugar and sunshine the second Vaughn comes around. It's mind numbingly boring, but I have no choice. Vaughn has high expectations. Personally, I think it was his plan all along and that this whole thing has been a test, but that could just be my paranoia. It feels like everything we do every day is a test of some sort. Vaughn and the other commanders are constantly observing us. I see them whispering, making hand signals to one another, and watching us out of the corners of their eyes. I'm still working on deciphering what the hand signals mean, but I'm getting close to figuring it out. As I said, it's entirely possible I'm just being paranoid. This place has a tendency to do that to you.
We've also started having lectures on the weekend. Since the German invasions of the low-countries and France, they've been trying to work with the British Intelligence services to establish networks of resistance groups there, but they're still in the infancy stages. I think that might be where our group does the most work, but it's hard to say at this point.
Thank you for getting me Nix's address. I'm going to send him a letter as soon as I'm done writing to you. If you can, please tell Mom and Dad I love them and miss them. They have yet to return any of my letters, and I'm not sure if they've even opened those I've sent. I know they're afraid, but please tell them not to be. You shouldn't worry about me either. I know all of what I've described sounds terrible, but I'm having so much fun. I feel like I've finally found something that gives me a true purpose, and has put me with people who are similar to me and understand me. This is the happiest I've been in a very long time, and it's everything I could have hoped for and more.
I love and miss you terribly. Give my best to Leon, Trudy, and the Parents.
Aramis
P.S. Please burn after reading.
P.S.S. Any confirmation on Vaughn's qualifications from Marshall? Donovan said he worked closely with him at VMI. I know you were planning on meeting with our favorite General at some point, but for the life of me, I can't remember when. Just checking in.
September 2nd, 1942
Dear Nix,
Congratulations on your promotion! I couldn't be more proud of you, Mr. 1st Lieutenant! If they've moved you up to headquarters, does that mean you're no longer with the same company? Or are you still attached to Easy? This whole business of promotions is very confusing, and you're going to have to explain it a little further as I have no time to research it on my own. I'm sorry to hear about your training. It certainly does sound like you and I are in similar situations regarding the brutal physicality. Though I have to say, I certainly can't empathize with your leadership problem. Vaughn is proving himself to be nothing short of a saint.
You would be very proud of me, Nix. I've actually managed to make a real female friend. Before your head explodes, let me explain. Her name is Diana Crawley. Her father is an executive in the film industry in Los Angeles (I guess he works with Louis B. Mayer?), and he's the spitting image of Senior. It's almost as though our lives existed in complete tandem on opposite sides of the country. She attended UCLA and earned her degree before her father gave her the same ultimatum Senior gave me. Her brother was also recruited by the O.S.S., though I think he might be working in another division. He introduced her to the recruiter, and now she's here. You'd obviously love her, and not just because she's beautiful. I would say it's a shame you married Katherine, as Diana is definitely your type. Long, golden brown hair, dark brown eyes, slight tan to her skin, slender, president of her junior league, well mannered, soft spoken. She's basically Mom's dream daughter (minus that whole 'joining the O.S.S.' thing…). Then I remember what a scumbag you are, and any regret I might have had is immediately erased from my mind.
All joking (but was I?) aside, I've created a little family of sorts here. There is another girl I've developed a strong relationship with named Esther. She's from Pennsylvania, and an absolute riot. She kind of reminds me of you; she always calls people on their B.S., she has a snarky comment for everything anyone (read: Vaughn) says, and she's incredibly observant. She's also infinitely better looking than you are, much nicer than you are, and not an intolerable bastard, so it's any wonder why we're such good friends. To make matters worse, she kind of looks like Rita Hayworth. I'll let that sink in for a few minutes before I continue. And to answer your question, yes. She's off limits. So don't bother asking me to introduce you.
I've also become quite close with Vaughn. After helping him to develop the gymnastics training and then co-leading it with him, I've been able to see a side of him that's less operative and commander and more peer to peer. Unlike your Sobel, it's clear that he genuinely cares about each of us, and he truly wants us to be safe in the field. I guess he worked with the Secret Service for a while, specifically with the First Lady, and before that with General Marshall at the VMI. I'm still waiting on confirmation on that from Howard, as he promised to ask at his next meeting with the Army in D.C. So you can stop sending me nasty grams about taking care of myself, and being careful, and not trusting my higher-ups, and all that other nonsense. I'm very well looked after.
I will say, getting close with Vaughn has had its drawbacks. Some of the women are complaining that I've been getting preferential treatment from him because we have a good rapport. One woman in particular, Katherine Parr, has even gone so far as to start a rumor that he and I were sleeping together. Which is laughable, as he's married I'm clearly not interested. You'll be unsurprised to know that this Katherine has quickly turned into a sort of rival of mine, though it's very one sided. We can barely find time to sleep and eat, so I'm not entirely sure how she has time to compete with me so ardently. The rumor mill has had the opposite effect of its musings, and Vaughn is pushing me harder than anyone else by making me lead the runs (up to 15 miles now), calling me out for minor infractions, and making me hold conditioning positions longer than anyone else.
According to the grapevine, we might be transferring to another base temporarily to do some kind of specialized training in the next few months. I've heard whispers (read: Vaughn has a big mouth) that it might be parachute related. Who knows? Maybe we'll get to see one another before Christmas! Your family is joining us in wine country, I hope. I need my drinking buddy and as much buffer between my mother and myself as I can get.
Hopefully all is well with you, and Captain Screwball isn't torturing you too much (just enough).
Love,
Aramis
P.S. Please burn after reading.
September 15th, 1942
Dear Howard,
Thank you for sending me the care package from Trudy and Leon. I'm not entirely sure what I'm going to do with a custom set of test-tubes, and I'm positive the cookies will be taken away before I have a chance to smell them, but I'm sure I'll find some way to make them useful. I'll write a thank you letter as soon as I'm able. That was very sweet of them. Hopefully all is well at the office, and things aren't too hectic with the war ramping up and all.
Thank you for the information on Vaughn. It's good to hear that General Marshall thinks so highly of him. I didn't need a confidence boost, but I'm happy to hear that my opinion of him is well founded. I'm sure Nixon already told you as you gossip like old maids, but there's been quite the rumor mill plugging away regarding he and I. It's even prompted an investigation from my higher ups, which was really exciting (read: terrifying and infuriating) to go through. Apparently, the "rivalry" with Katherine has escalated to the point where she now finds it appropriate to spread rumors about me, implying that I'm getting preferential treatment from Vaughn because he and I are sleeping together. Were it true, both he and I would have been kicked out of the agency, and we had to meet in General Donovan's office once they heard. They took one look at us together and started laughing, as neither of us have any interest in one another beyond the professional and the platonic. He's kind of like another older brother to me, and his wife is quite literally perfect. He takes really good care of all of us, and the thought of anything other than working with him makes my skin crawl. Now that it's been settled, we're trying to focus on continuing our training, which has been incredibly difficult, and only getting harder.
The close quarters training is picking up now. We've moved on from our focus and precision, and into the real deal. I'm so full of bruises, it's amazing I can get out of bed in the morning. Vaughn wasn't kidding when he said he wouldn't pull punches, and our trainers hit hard. You'd barely recognize me, Howard. It's almost incredible.
I'm sorry this letter is so short, I have to run to training. I just barely found some time to get these few updates on a sheet of paper. All is well here. Please write to me with more updates. It makes me feel better to hear about the outside world.
Love you,
Aramis
P.S. Please burn after reading
October 1st, 1942
Dear Howard,
I knew you wouldn't stay out of the grind for long. It was only a matter of time before some agency recruited you and swallowed you up. I have to say, I'm a little saddened to know you won't be inventing our weapons anymore, and I'm sure Stanley Lovell will miss you dearly. Tell me more about this clandestine project you're getting involved with! You said it was a science project, but I'm intrigued to know what kind. What kind of experiments are they running? I miss the lab and all the equipment, and you were the closest thing I had to a release. Tell me what you can, and I'll try to infer the rest.
Things haven't changed much here. All we do is train. I can throw knives now. So that's exciting. You'll want to reconsider banning me from your hunting trips, too. I'm probably a better shot than you are now. We've lost a considerable amount of recruits since I last wrote to you. We're down to 12 now. Our attrition rate has been almost two thirds of the original group, which has to be a new record of some kind. All my friends (and apparent nemeses) are holding strong, though. Diana, Esther and I are hanging on, getting each other through it one day at a time.
I'm going to close there, as an attempt at holding other information about myself hostage until you agree to tell me everything about your new project.
Spill the beans, Kid.
Love,
Aramis,
P.S. Please burn after reading.
October 12th, 1942
Dear Nix,
Can you believe Howard is holding out on me? He's not telling me anything about his new project. What has he told you? I know you know. He could never keep secrets from you. Tell me everything, or I swear to god I'll buy every bottle of Vat 69 currently in the United States and dump it down the drain.
I never thought I would say this, but I actually feel kind of bad for you. If you're telling the truth, I'm a little surprised Sobel is still in command of the unit. Can he really just kick people out like that? I thought once you signed up for the Army, you were there for good. Once again, Nix, you've got a little more explaining to do. You forget, my unit is non-military, I don't have to follow the same ridiculous rules you do.
Speaking of, things have gotten very interesting around here lately. I'm sure I sound like a broken record, but our training is ramping up even further, and they've just now started to mention the particulars involved in the "final test" that will determine whether or not we are granted field agent status. I had a chance to speak with some of the other agents on base, and they said the final test is also used to determine positions within the team, and will establish our hierarchy. Naturally, this has sent everyone into overdrive, and has sent Katherine into quite the tizzy about how to "beat me" at the test. I'm just hoping I pass and don't get stuck in London the whole time.
We're told we might FINALLY have some time to socialize in a few weeks. Vaughn said he would let us go into D.C. for one of the Halloween Masquerades, but we have to wait on the General's approval before it's confirmed. I'm not sure I'll go, you know how much I hate those things. Plus, I'm kind of sick of masks and costumes. It's all we seem to wear these days, and I can't tell you how nice it is to just sit around in comfortable clothes and do nothing sometimes.
I'm sorry this letter is rather boring. I'm so tired I can barely keep my eyes open, and I'm not entirely sure any of what I've said makes sense.
I love you, big brother, and I miss you dearly. I doubt I'll make it home for Thanksgiving, so don't count on seeing me if you do, but I hope you and Kathy are able to come to wine country for the holidays. My mother finally saw fit to send me a letter informing me of the plans, but I'm sure you already knew. Hopefully you're able to make it.
Love,
Aramis
P.S. Please burn after reading
November 15th, 1942
Dear Howard,
I'm sorry to report that I won't be able to come up to the city for Thanksgiving. Our training has gotten pretty intense, and no one is getting weekend passes at that time. Please don't come down here, as you're terribly embarrassing, and I couldn't stand to have you destroy my carefully crafted reputation. That said, dinner will very likely be far less awkward and uncomfortable without me there, so consider it a blessing and enjoy the quiet holiday. Or go out and party with your bevy of girlfriends. Personally, I think the latter sounds like a better option. Either way, please write and tell me about it. I'm dying to hear more news New York from someone on the inside.
It's more of the same here. AS I said, our training has intensified a great deal since my last letter. We've started drilling with the male recruits in hand-to-hand combat, using the techniques our instructors taught us. Since we're all so small, we've focused a log on how to use our size and speed to our advantage, evading brute strength and recognizing the body's weak points to take down an enemy in a more targeted and precise way. Mom would kill me if she could see me. My body is so black and blue, it's like being a kid with you and Nix all over again. Except they punch harder than either of you ever could, and they don't have to apologize afterward. We're all improving though, and it's getting easier as the days go by.
We've also started doing submission training. Before you panic and start to think I've actually been shipped off to an S&M dungeon, let me explain. You'll recall when I told you Vaughn's logic that subduing an enemy is a better strategy than killing them because there's less evidence to find later? We've been mastering all the techniques that go along with that. You would be impressed with some of the technology Stanley Lovell has been able to come up with, though I imagine you probably had a hand in some of it yourself. Over the last month, we've been training with tranquilizer darts. The idea comes from some of the indigenous tribes of South America and Australia, and they've used acupuncture needles to ensure that they're undetectable by the victims until it's too late. While it's fun to train with them, it's not so fun to wake up in a pile on the floor with everyone staring and laughing at you. It's becoming a game involving all the different units, and it's quickly spiraling out of control (but my team is obviously in the lead).
We've been having lessons in anatomy to learn the different pressure points of the body that we can use to knock someone out cold for various lengths of tie depending on the amount of pressure you apply. While I might be full of bruises and tiny holes, I will say that this has been one of the more restful periods of training, simply based on how many times we've knocked each other unconscious. I think this may have been one of the first times I haven't woken up more tired than I was before I went to sleep since I got here.
You'll also be happy to know that we've been using the silencers we presented to General Donovan at our first meeting in D.C. With all the firearms training we've been doing, each of us has developed pretty incredible accuracy, even on the move and with moving targets. However, this is the first time we've been using them in a stealth capacity. I shudder to think how many poor pigs have lost their lives so we can use their carcasses to train. That said, we have been eating a lot of ham and bacon lately, so we can't complain all that much.
According to Vaughn, we will be heading out to one of the other bases next month to start doing parachute training. I guess it's one of the best ways for us to slip into a country undetected, but the process for "getting your jump wings" (as the Army calls it) is pretty brutal. Vaughn's been surprisingly tight lipped about where we're going, but I think Nix might be doing the same training soon. With any luck, we'll be able to do so together, as I miss that little shit more than I care to admit. It's been strange writing letters to the two of you separately, and not being able to banter with you both in person. I'm still waiting to hear if the Nixon's will be joining us in wine country for the Holidays. You would know better than I. If you can, would you please use some of your dangerously powerful charm to try and persuade them to come? I desperately want to spend time with the two of you together before we all dive off the precipice of war. I know how confident we all claim to be, you in your super secret project (which you still haven't told me about, by the way), Nixon in his parachute regiment, and me in the agency, but I've been watching footage of the Nazi movements in the occupied territories, and sometimes my confidence begins to waver. I don't want to have my last communications with my brothers be via letters.
I'll stop being morbid. Everything and everyone is going to be just fine, and we'll laugh about this in 10 years in a Germany that only speaks English and French.
I love you, brother. Convince the Nixon's to come to Christmas.
Aramis
P.S. Please burn after reading
November 25th, 1942
Nix,
You're a pathetic excuse for a person for failing to respond to my last letter. Don't you love me anymore? Don't you care about my incessant ramblings and ridiculous complaints? I feel neglected, and I won't stand for it. The next time I see you, you're going to find yourself lying face first on the floor, with a sore neck and no clue as to how you got there. Just Kidding (or am I?)
Vaughn made the mistake of letting us test this new serum Stanley Lovell devised a few days ago with him as a guinea pig. I suspect Howard may have also had something to do with it, though like you, he's been conspicuously silent on the communications front. This serum makes people much more chatty than they normally would have been otherwise, and Diana and I were able to weasel the name of the base we're transferring to in a few days out of him. It's escaping me for the moment, as he has graciously given us the night off and we are passing the time by having a party in our "dorm." I'm sure you can tell by the state of my handwriting that I'm not entirely sober, but I missed you and realized that I hadn't heard from you in over a month, and I wanted to tell you how upset I am about it. I think we're going to be somewhere in the South, but I don't know. I'm sure I'll remember as soon as I drop this letter into the outgoing mail. I'll figure it out later.
Write me a letter, you miserable old bastard. Surely you haven't lost so many brain cells at the hands of Captain Screwball that you've forgotten how to write.
Diana says hi.
She also wants to know why you haven't written back to me.
She also says you're mean.
She said something else, but I'm not sure what it was. She too is quite drunk. I'm not sure why I'm still writing to you. I think I've lost my mind.
Tell your family to come to wine country. I can't drink the Mondavi Estate dry by myself.
You're a butthead,
Aramis
P.S. Burn after reading
Nix smiled as he folded the letter back into thirds. His eyes narrowed as he saw a few discolorations of the paper, as though it had been exposed to liquid and then dried. He smelled it, inhaling the familiar scent of dried bourbon. He laughed again, drawing the attention of his friend Dick Winters who stood beside him.
"Something funny?" He asked casually in his soft voice. They were standing outside one of the barracks of Fort Benning, enjoying the winter sunshine on the cool, crisp morning.
"Just a letter from a friend." He said, flipping the letter around in his fingers with a wry smile.
"Aramis again?" Dick asked. Nix nodded, and Dick chuckled. "Anything interesting?"
"You know I couldn't tell you if there was." Nix replied slyly. "Though, apparently, she was pretty tanked when she wrote this." He held out the letter, extending his hand toward Dick's face so it was level with his nose. He obliged, taking a cautionary whiff of the crumpled paper and drew back in disgust almost instantly causing Nixon to laugh aloud.
"Good lord, that smells worse than your footlocker!" Dick exclaimed, his tone joking. Nix shoved his friend with his elbow playfully. They righted themselves and leaned back against the barrack once more.
"She keeps pestering me to bring the family to wine country for the holidays this year. I think I can convince Kathy to meet us there. She hates New York at Christmas." Dick nodded silently.
They had arrived at Fort Benning just a few days prior, and they were still getting themselves set up. The men would be starting the grueling process of jump training in a few days, and the air was thick with tension. The situation with Sobel had gotten progressively worse since Toccoa, and the only thing holding the company together was the strength and resolves of the NCO's, banded together by a mutual hatred of their commanding officer. As an intelligence officer, Lewis was generally spared the wrath of Sobel and his ridiculous standards, spending most of his time with Colonel Sink and Major Strayer at Regimental HQ. It didn't, however, stop him from being dragged into running Currahee on an interval that was far more frequent than he would have liked, and the state of the men was a frequent topic of conversation for the two Lieutenants.
"Come on." Winters clapped Nix on the shoulder. "We should assemble the men. General Taylor wants to address the Division at 0930." Nix sighed and pushed himself away from the outer wall of the barrack where he had been leaning.
"Let's go see what the old man has to say this time." He said with feigned excitement. He put a cigarette to his lips, lit it, and followed in Winters' footsteps.
The assorted regiments of the 101st Airborne stood at attention in the main assembly area of Ft. Benning as General Maxwell Taylor, Colonel Robert Sink, and Major Robert Strayer mounted the podium. Sobel stood at the head of his company with an arrogant smirk on his face as he watched the high command. The General gave the "at ease" command, and the man moved with a synchronization that was almost deadly. The general stood in front of the microphone and surveyed his men, a genuinely proud smile on his features as he looked at them.
"Men, today is a very special day. The parachute infantry established here is a brand new concept in warfare, one you all have so bravely volunteered and trained ardently for. We are writing history, and will continue to do so as you move into the pinnacle of elite training to earn your jump wings. But today stands out among other days, as we will make history yet again. Over the next few weeks, as each of you acquires the necessary skills to become a certified army paratrooper, you will be joined by a special contingent of non-infantry individuals. They have requested to take part in this training specifically for its difficulty, and with full recognition of the incredible advantage it provides. These individuals are not in the army, and as such operate outside our rules and our hierarchy. They have, however, assured us that they will make every effort to assimilate to our environment as closely as possible. They are to be treated as honored guests, and you will show them the same respect you would bestow upon any of your superiors, families, or loved ones. Any misconduct on the part of any man in any regiment will be met with immediate expulsion from the division. I expect all of you to be a shining example of your company, your regiment, your division, and the Army as a whole. Understood?" Every man in presence responded immediately, shouting "Yes sir!" with their eyes straight forward, and a strong conviction in their voices. General Taylor smiled again.
"Make us proud, gentlemen. I'm counting on you." He saluted his division and stepped away from the stage, the men snapping to attention and saluting back as he exited. Sobel turned to face his company and called for them to fall out. The men filed out and in the direction of their barracks, their minds buzzing over the sudden announcement, each wondering what the General could have meant. They stood in front of their barrack, standing at attention while Captain Sobel and Sergeant Evans conferred. He turned to Lieutenant Winters and gave the order for the platoons to reassemble in 20 minutes for physical training. They were dismissed, and filed back into their barracks to get ready.
"Non-infantry individuals?" George Luz said when they were finally able to speak. "Not in the army? What do you think that means?" He asked, elbowing Don Malarkey softly as they walked through the door.
"Probably some group of Air-Force rejects who were too stupid to fly their god damn planes." Bill Guarnere joked. The men within earshot chuckled as they switched out of their dress uniforms and into the shorts and T-Shirts of their P.T. gear, taking care to hang the pieces nicely in their small closets before they left.
"Why would they send the Air Force here, Gonorrhea?" Luz asked sarcastically. "They have their own planes. They don't need to use ours."
"Who else would it be?" Bill fired back.
"Tell you what." Luz said as the sly look he always had just before he started to hustle someone crossed his face. "If they are in the Air Force, I'll take over your latrine duty for the next week. If it's not, I get your cigarette rations for the next week." He held out his hand to Bill, offering to seal the deal. Bill looked at him through narrowed eyes, considering the offer, and took his friends hand gruffly, shaking with a little too much gusto.
"You got yourself a deal, Luz." George smiled.
"Alright Gentlemen, let's go! P.T. formation! Move out!" Lipton called out suddenly, bursting through the door of their barrack and herding the men outside.
"Just once, I'd like to have a day to relax…" Perconte said as he jogged out the door. Lipton shook his head and laughed, following the forlorn private to the training grounds while surreptitiously sharing his sentiments.
The afternoon dragged on as they moved through their drills. Jumping jacks, sit-ups, push-ups, pull-ups, and all the other calisthenics movements their C.O. loved to watch them do. It was late when they finally got the call to relax, and they slumped to the ground with heaving chests as they relished the break. They heard the distinct rumbling of a vehicle approaching, and they were soon breathing in the dust from the unpaved road. They watched the black bus drive by and park itself in one of the newly constructed barracks a short distance from theirs.
"What do you think that's all about?" Dick asked casually. Nixon shrugged at his left and wiped some of the sweat from his brow.
"Probably those honored guests Taylor was going on about earlier." He said with a sarcastic smile. Dick snickered and continued to stretch his arm muscles, trying to work out the lactic acid.
"There goes your private shower, Joe." Bill joked, throwing a clump of grass at his friend as he overheard his Lieutenants conversation. Toye turned and glared at him, elevating his middle finger, and causing the rest of the men to laugh.
"Moment of truth, Gonno…" Luz called out. The men watched silently as the engine of the bus stopped, and the doors opened. A few moments later a man clad in all black stepped down and took in his surroundings, his eyes covered by black sunglasses.
"Those don't look like Air Force colors…" Don teased. George's face broke into a wicked smile, and he held out his hand to Bill expectantly, indicating that he would need to pay up.
"Zip it, Malark. This don't concern you…" Bill said over his shoulder. He turned his gaze back to the bus, and a collective gasp passed over the company before each of them went completely mute. They sat there in silence, mouths gaping, staring straight ahead in shock. Luz collected himself quickly, shaking off his surprise.
"That's DEFINITELY not the Air Force!"
She stepped off the bus just behind Vaughn, thankful she had remembered to pack her sunglasses. For December, it was surprisingly light out, and the doors of their transport put them directly in the low-hanging sun. She blinked a few times as her eyes adjusted, and she stood in front of Vaughn expectantly, waiting for the others to emerge so he could give them their orders. She saw Diana out of the corner of her eye, standing at her left as she took in their surroundings. Aramis followed her gaze, resting on a group of men sitting in the grass just behind Vaughn. She pulled her sunglasses down the bridge of her nose and cocked an eyebrow.
"More boys…" She mumbled to Diana under her breath.
"They've assured us they'll be on their best behavior." Diana said reassuringly.
"Oh, right…" Esther chimed in sarcastically. "Infantry men behaving themselves. That's an entertaining thought." The three of them giggled as Aramis slid her sunglasses back up onto her face.
"Alright ladies, listen up." Vaughn called for their attention. "We'll be taking barrack #8 just behind us. Get yourselves comfortable. We re-commence training tonight." They groaned, causing him to purse his lips and roll his eyes at them. "Go." He said, motioning them toward the building they would be occupying. They turned to collect their things that had been unloaded by the bus driver while Vaughn spoke.
"Comfortable?" They heard Katherine say haughtily. "Is he kidding?" Esther scoffed and rolled her eyes, moving to pick up her bag. Claire giggled obediently, and the rest of them took their things and made their way toward their makeshift residence.
They watched them as they emerged from the bus, stunned into silence. Non-Infantry, Non-Army was right. Not only did the armed services not make a habit of recruiting women, the idea of them participating in Parachute Jump training was a total non-starter, as they wouldn't have been allowed anywhere near the front lines, let alone behind those of the enemy. They were clad in the darkest black, the thick wool coats not entirely necessary for the temperate Southern Winter. Their hair was done casually, mostly up in ponytails or in simple buns, their hands covered in slick black leather gloves.
Nixon heard Luz make some exclamation about not being in the Air Force, and he turned his attention to whatever it was that had his men so fully captivated. He too was stunned for a moment, from which he quickly recovered upon seeing a familiar pile of swooping brown curls.
"Wait a second…" Dick heard his friend say. Nixon's brow was furrowed, and he started jogging toward the bus. They had just been addressed by someone and were moving to gather their things as he approached, and he slowed as he neared them.
"Stark?" Nixon said when he was a few feet from them. The brunette whipped around, her ponytail flipping the other side of her face.
"Nix?" She questioned. She pushed her sunglasses on top of her head to get a better look. "NIX!" She exclaimed. She ran toward him and jumped into his arms, laughing and giggling melodically as he picked her up, lifting her a few inches.
"What the hell are you doing here?!" He asked, squeezing her tightly. She extricated herself from his arms, landing on the ground silently. He felt her fist connect with his chest, and he stumbled back slightly at the force behind the punch.
"Why haven't you been responding to my letters, you little shit?!" She demanded, feigning menace.
"I've been a little busy, Boo." He said as he reached forward and ruffled her hair.
"GAH!" She exclaimed, diving away from his hand. "NIX!" She swiped at him instinctively, causing him to smile and chuckle at her.
"Woahhh… Someone's gotten strong!" He teased, grabbing at her biceps as she tried to dodge his hands.
"What… what… Stop it! What are you doing?!" She said, scooting away from him and laughing. He continued to grab at her, poking and prodding as he did when they were children.
"You were right, Boo. Your mom IS going to kill you." He teased. She rolled her eyes and groaned.
"And I was living so blissfully in my ignorance. Thank you for reminding me that I have to see her in a few weeks." She said sarcastically. She looked behind her and saw Diana standing there, holding both their bags and waiting for her friend before she went to the barrack. Aramis waved to her friend, inviting her over. "Nix, meet Diana Crawley, one of the few women on planet earth I can stand. Diana Crawley, meet Lewis Nixon, a family friend and the other older brother I never wanted." Diana and Nix laughed at Aramis' introduction and shook hands.
"Pleasure to meet you, Lewis." Diana said politely. He smiled at her coyly.
"The pleasure is all mine, Diana." He said in his smoothest voice.
"Ohhhh no you don't…" Aramis interrupted, glaring daggers at Nixon. "Diana knows you're married, Nix. They all do. They're not interested. Leave my friends alone." She warned. He looked at her innocently; as though he was shocked she would make such an accusation.
"I'm just smiling! I can't help what my face looks like!" He defended. She pursed her lips at him knowingly, daring him to continue defending himself against what they both knew he was doing. He smiled wickedly and winked before reaching up quickly and ruffling her hair again.
"Stop it!" She exclaimed. He and Diana laughed. Nix turned around and waved at Dick, who had been standing by and watching the exchange with bemused interest.
"Aramis, I want you to meet Dick Winters…"
"Dick! Right! I've heard so much about you! I'm so pleased to finally meet you!" She said, shaking his hand. He laughed.
"And I you." He said politely.
"Stark! What are you doing?" an authoritative voice called out from the front of the bus. Vaughn approached, his eyes narrowed and moderately suspicious.
"Vaughn! I want you to meet someone!" She said jovially, waving him over. He cocked an eyebrow and approached, standing next to Aramis with mild disapproval. "Vaughn Craft, meet Lewis Nixon. He and I grew up together. He's the one I told you about, remember? I said we might see him here when we arrived for jump training?" Vaughn looked at Nixon, his stern features softening as she spoke. They shook hands, and Nix could detect the smallest hint of recognition in his eyes.
"Yes, Nixon. Intelligence officer if I'm not mistaken?" Nix nodded affirmatively. "I have a feeling you and I will be getting to know one another quite well over the coming months." Vaughn said amicably.
"Looking forward to it." Nix said, a little confused. "This is Richard Winters, 1st Lieutenant of Easy Company, 506th Regiment of the 101st Airborne Division." Nixon introduced his friend, and they shook hands.
"Pleasure." Vaughn said.
"Likewise." Dick responded. "So what brings you to Fort Benning?" He asked after a short pause.
"Jump training. Apparently parachuting is all the rage in military strategy these days." Vaughn said casually. Nixon and Winters paused, sensing the disconnect in Vaughn's words.
"I thought you weren't military?" Dick asked.
"We aren't." Vaughn said with a wink. "Nevertheless, here we are." The look on their faces was priceless, and Vaughn fought back a chuckle. "They can handle it." He said, gesturing to the women next to him.
"I'm not worried about them." Nix replied, pointing to Aramis and Diana. "I'm worried about them." He said, turning his body to point at the company of men still sitting on the grass behind him. Vaughn smirked again, this time allowing the chuckle to escape from his lips.
"I would be too. Stark, Crawley, get yourselves settled in. We've got a lot going on between now and Monday morning." Aramis rolled her eyes and waved at Dick and Lewis.
"See you around Nix. Nice to meet you, Dick." She said.
"See you, Boo. Nice to meet you, Diana. And you Vaughn." Nix replied. Vaughn shook both their hands again and turned to follow the women toward the barrack, allowing his stern gaze to fall over them once again. They stood there and watched them disappear into barrack #8, confused by the interaction that had just taken place. They turned toward their men who were standing and getting ready to head back to their barracks.
"You want to explain what just happened?" Dick asked. Lewis looked at him out of the corner of his eye and shrugged his shoulders, tracing his thumb and forefinger across his lips to rest at the corner of his mouth.
"Sorry, Dick. My lips are sealed."
"Woah, woah, woah!" Joe Liebgott exclaimed as they continued to watch the newcomers. "Boys! Looks like Lieutenant Nixon has the keys to the kingdom!" He said, keeping his eyes firmly on the intelligence officer as he embraced and teased one of the women. The rest of them watched carefully.
"I thought he was married?" Joe Toye said.
"They look more like family to me" Came Shifty's soft voice.
"He's an only child, though, isn't he?" Bill added.
"Doesn't matter boys." Lipton called as he stood up, brushing the grass from his shorts. "You know those girls are off limits, no matter what Nixon's relationship with them might be." He gestured to them, indicating they should stand.
"Come on, Lip. You know we were just joking around." Liebgott said. Lipton looked at him sternly.
"You heard General Taylor. Those girls are honored guests, and any misconduct is automatic expulsion. Don't give Sobel any reason to kick you boys out. We've come too far for that. You hear me?" He said in his gentle, but commanding tone. They responded with choruses of "Yeah," and he hoped they would hold to it. "Good. Go get showered and changed. We've got dinner and the Friday night march. You know the drill. Fall out." The men who were still seated rose from the grass, making their way to the barracks to get ready for dinner service. They were abuzz, chatting away like gossipy old women, trying to figure out why 10 women had just gotten off a bus at Fort Benning to complete jump training in order to become certified paratroopers.
This chapter covers the last of the real "groundwork" and "context" of the story. From this point forward, the real story can start to develop and take shape. Thanks for your patience.
Hope to hear from you!