Time passed and as I said, we found ourselves being given a battery of tests to see which category best fitted our talents. I am sure I got the lowest possible score in the mechanical and carpentry series. Some of my fellow recruits actually found a niche in the motor pool and some went into clerical and cooking positions. But I still had not been placed and went on and on doing my best while not knowing what I was doing. Actually, I rather enjoyed the interlude. Since there were very few of us left in the barracks, we no longer stood inspection, nor did we do barrack duty. I like to take tests and moved right along, enjoying myself. Every day a list was posted on the bulletin board and we all rushed to see if our names and destinations were displayed. Finally my name appeared, along with Sad Sack, the Prima Donna and one other soldier from another barracks. Our category – signal corps. Our destination – not listed. There were four of us and we still didn’t know where we were going or what we were going to do when we got there.
We were the last out of the barracks. With great trepidation we stuffed our things into our bags, put on our dress uniforms, tied our ties and waited outside the barracks for our transportation. Sad Sack Cupcake was her usual calm, cheerful self, rosy face all smiles. Prima Donna was aloof as always. Our fellow traveler from the other barracks was a friendly little extravert, and introduced herself readily. I no longer remember her name, but she seemed ready for anything.
I tried to hide my apprehension under a calm exterior. Laughing on the outside, cringing on the inside. That was me. I don’t know what I expected, but my Mother’s warning still rang in my ears. We were going to be humiliated and used for the amusement and gratification of the soldiers at some unnamed base. Signal Corps, indeed! I knew nothing about radios, Morse code, secret messages, how could they possibly use us in the Signal Corps. I knew from my brother’s experience how hard Morse Code was to master - God forbid that I was going to be trained in that!
I scanned the faces of my fellow travelers, but they gave no clue as to their innermost thoughts. But I cheered myself up by thinking that we hardly fit the stereotype of a prostitute or mistress. Poor lumpy Sad Sack was already rumpled and disheveled. Prima Donna would never stand for such a fate. I, at a scrawny 105 pounds could hardly be considered alluring. No, perish the thought, that was not to be our fate. But where in the world were we going, then?