The jeep rattled along, stirring up dust and making a good bit of noise. Sad Sack, in the front seat, was buffeted about by the wind we were riding into, and began to come undone. First her hat fell off, luckily caught by the private just behind her. Her bright red hair, always hard to contain, simply fell out of its bun and dangled down to her collar. Her tie came out of her shirt and dangled down her chest. Only a few minutes out of the compound and she was already out of uniform!
Prima Donna, on the other hand, was the picture of perfection. Not a hair was out of place. Her makeup was perfectly applied and she rode with a scented handkerchief to her face, to screen out any unpleasant odors or dust. How she did it I will never know.
As for me, I began to enjoy the ride. We were getting dusty, to be sure, and my allergies were going full blast, but we were clearly going toward some town somewhere, and I hoped we would have the pleasure of an overnight trip on a train. I hadn't yet learned that riding a train during wartime was an ordeal, rather than an adventure. But where were we going? What would be our assignment? Oh, well, time would tell. Maybe more than we wanted to know. But as they say in novels, the die was cast! No turning back now, we were on our way.
It wasn't long beore we reached the train station, and were hustled onto a clanking old passenger train, what was known in those days as a "milk train." It stopped at all whistle-stop stations and waited there, belching black smoke and cinders, and then with a whistle, chugged forward once again. We did not get sleepers. We were squeezed into hard, crowded seats where we sat all through the long night, now and then dozing where we sat. Most of the other passengers were civilians, who cast suspicious glances our way, obviously thinking the worst. We were escorted by another sergeant, as before, and got bologna sandwiches for dinner. Stale and dry, they were harly gourmet fare. But if you are hungry, just about anything tastes good. Or so they say.
I should pause here briefly to comment on the fact that it was widely believed that women in uniform, in our case WACs, were recruited for the sole purpose of servicing the men in uniform as prostitutes. It was a rumor that was even spread around basic training, as a sort of practical joke, I suppose. Being an independent thinker, I didn't really fall for that trick, but many of the recruits shed tears night after night over the mistake they thought they had made.
Still, there was always that nagging little fear in the back of my mind. I don't think I slept at all, Morning finally came and we at last found out where we were. The sign in the station said "Washington D.C." and to our delight, we realized we were to debark. Stumbling down the little steps to the platform, we were a bedraggled and grimy sight. Being herded onto a covered troop truck, along with our duffel bags and once again escorted by a sergeant, didn't help a bit. Even Prima Donna had slipped from her usual standards and though she had managed to put on fresh lipstick, her usually immaculate hair-do was lacking its usual array. But she didn't seem to care, probably too tired to rally. Sad Sack had of course come completely apart and I wasn't much better. We slumped down on the wooden benches arrayed at the sides of the truck, and rattled off once again.