The K-Rations

She Could Do It...

         She could do it.

         "Momma, I'm hungry."

         Never mind she had worked the graveyard shift from 12a.m to 8a.m, and that her legs and arms were sore as hell.

         "Momma."

         "Okay, Benjy, give momma a minute."

         Still she lay supine on the narrow cot, an arm over her closed eyes to block out the harsh July sunlight that filtered through the lace curtains. She could hear Mr. Barley's radio blaring out 'Retreat' - that song that was used to help motivate and encourage the boys overseas - from the next apartment. She felt her throat tighten with sadness and remorse, knowing that when she opened her eyes again, those dreams of sitting with her David and just holding hands beneath the moonlight would be just that. Simply a dream.

         "Momma." The whine was incessant and only emphasized as Baby Sarah began to wail from her crib.

         Still half-asleep, she swung her legs out of bed and shuffled to her feet, nearly falling to the floor as a muscle cramp seized her right calf. She held on to a chair and bit her lower lip hard, not wanting her children to hear her cry out loud in agony. Her hands were raw and blistered, though she wore those thick heavy gloves at the factory, and even holding the chair was a lesson in tolerance.

         "Mrs. Snow, didn't give us breakfast, momma," Benjy informed her as he tugged on the hem of her skirt. "Momma..."

         "I said I was coming!" She immediately regretted raising her voice as Benjy took a step back and then ran to a corner of the tiny apartment to bury his face against his raised knees. "Oh, hon," she began, only to wince as a heavy knocking on the door signaled a visitor.

         Lifting Sarah into her arms, shushing her at the same time with soft words of comfort, she limped towards the door and opened it - only a crack. She was wary of the government workers who came asking her to buy more war bonds or sell her false ads. for the war effort. There were so many scams out there, one couldn't tell where truth and fiction merged to become one.

         "Mr. Helms," she gasped in surprise as she noticed the man standing in the corridor. He took off his hat to reveal his well-coiffed white hair.

         "Mrs. Melvin. I came at a bad time, didn't I?"

         She blushed and shook her head, now embarrassed at how dirty and unkempt she must look. She dared not invite him into the apartment, which was cluttered and untidy. She had no time to keep things in order.

         "Oh no, it's...it's fine." Actually it wasn't. Seeing the owner of the factory was not a good sign at all.

         "Well, I won't take up too much of your time then, Mrs. Melvin," Helms said with a warm smile. He pulled out a piece of paper from his jacket. "We just got an order from the government, you see."

         She felt her stomach churn at the news.

         "They need more landing crafts for the invasion, you see, and we need all the help we can get." Mr. Helms looked sorry. "I sure wish I could find more hard working people like you, Crissy. And I know you've got them kids to take care of, but..."

         Crissy held up a hand to stop him from going any further. "I understand, Mr. Helms. When do you want me to come in then?"

         He looked relieved. "Well, I reckon we could use you in about three hours. That should give you plenty of time to get ready, eh?" He reached out to tickle Sarah's chin, and the baby seemed to approve of it.

         "All right, Mr. Helms." She thought of bringing up the topic of a raise in her pay - the twenty-odd dollars a week she was getting was barely enough to feed her children, buy more war bonds, and pay Mrs. Snow for babysitting when she was gone - but she held her tongue. If the other women at the plant weren't complaining, why should she? It was all for the war effort after all.

         For all her misgivings, she held the romantic notion that for each bolt she fixed into a machine or welded, her husband would eventually ride in it. She would love to imagine that he was benefiting from all the endless hours she put in at the factory, and that her products would keep him safe and sound. She wrote him letters about it when she could, letting him know of her decision to sign up for the program, take the night classes and crash courses offered. She could now build anything from machine guns to tanks. He would be so proud of her.

         After feeding Benjy and Sarah, she reluctantly dropped them off at Mrs. Snow's apartment. She explained her new work shift to the elderly woman and promised to pay her as soon as she had saved up enough. She wished there was someone else she could rely on to take care of the children, but Mrs. Snow had proven to be invaluable help over the past few months.

         She dressed quickly in a pair of old jeans and plain print blouse, tying her black hair in a ponytail, before grabbing her lunch box and heading out to the bus stop. She recognized several other women who worked at the factory, and they chatted about the news of the invasion at the ETO.

         "My Frank's there," Cecile Miller gloated proudly of her husband who had been promoted to Major during his tour of duty overseas. "He says they'll take the beach for sure."

         "Well, my Joey's going to be Lootenant," Maggie Smith countered with a smug smile. "He told me that in his letter. What about you, Crissy? How's David?"

         Crissy smiled weakly. Her husband was still only a Corporal, but she knew how proud he had been the day he had gotten his uniform. "He's okay...I think. The last letter I got, he says they're going to be shipped out to Normandy." She gripped her lunchbox tightly, struggling not to break down into tears before the women. She knew that despite all their talk and loudness, deep down they missed the presence of their men just as much as she did.

         Sometimes, while working, she'd notice a few of them wiping their eyes, not from the stress of the work or the grime and grease from their foreheads, but from the silent tears they shed over the ones they loved. Several of the women had even received letters of condolences, having lost their husbands, fathers, brothers or uncles in the war. Whenever a fellow worker got the news, all the women shared in her grief and would do their best to cheer her up. Last week, Sally Polanski had the misfortune of learning about her husband being killed in the line of fire at some unpronounceable German town. Her wails of anguish had torn through Crissy's heart. Sally was simply unable to work any more and had to be taken to a hospital. Crissy couldn't help wondering if there'd come a time when her name would be called; so much so that she began to dread the sight of the mailman even though she longed to see him at the same time.

         The familiar choking smell of soot, hot metal and smoke filled her nostrils as she punched in and picked up her gloves. The loud talk from the bus stop and ride had dwindled into quiet murmurs. It was time to work for a cause they all believed in, no matter how difficult and tedious it was. Mr. Helms' assistant called all the women together and ran through a list of things they were to do today and what machines they were assigned to.

         Crissy picked up her blowtorch and placed the protective visor over her head and face. She stared at the bottom of the steel deck for a long moment, willing the weariness and thoughts of her children to be replaced by the determination on her husband's handsome young face. He was an ocean away, but still and always so very close to her heart.

         "This is for you, darlin'," she whispered and fell to her knees to begin her job; the fiery sparks of her equipment, now matching the fire blazing within her.