Dishonoring Jack

Chapter Four

 "Loretta, check those shells a little faster, honey! We have a quota to meet today!" Jack hollered over the buzzing sound of the munitions factory.

The long day was finally drawing to a close, which meant Jack's work as floor supervisor at the factory would soon end and she could return home. Loretta, her thick dark curls covered with a bandana, grimaced as she lifted a shell casing onto one of the giant hooks descending from the ceiling and Jack checked her clipboard. They had a few more minutes and still many shells to check for quality before they were loaded onto the trolley cart and then taken to the train station.

"Dorothy, come help Loretta!" Jack called, motioning for a honey blonde woman at the filling station. "I'll take your spot."

Jack discarded her clipboard and zipped her gray jumpsuit uniform to her chin. Before starting the machine that would allow her to fill shells with TNT, Jack checked herself carefully to make sure no hair or material was loose. Jack put on her gloves and took the first shell on the tray and pushed it into position, then pulled the lever. The TNT poured into the shell and Jack jerked the lever upright again once it was filled, setting it into the tray next to her to have the detonator added by the next girl on the assembly line. The pungent odor of the explosive liquid filled her nose, and she stifled a cough, forcing herself to continue working with no delay.

Pushing the next shell into position, Jack fell into a quick routine, filling and loading the shells as quickly as she could. She had worked here for over a year now and had become adept at balancing efficiency and caution. Some of the girls--those who were too careless with the TNT or were left at the filling station for too long--were called "Canary Girls" for the yellowish tint of their skin after too much exposure to the chemical. As floor supervisor, Jack tried to make sure the girls switched positions enough that they would have time to rest at the easier jobs, like checking the shells or assembling detonators.

Someone tapped on her shoulder, and Jack finished the shell she was working on before turning around. Dorothy took over her spot again and Jack retrieved her clipboard and continued her walk through the floor. A few older men joined the women here and there, doing the heavy lifting of loading the trays of shells into the trucks to be taken to the train station, but too many were incensed by the War Commission allowing women workers in positions previously held by men alone. They often refused to work alongside women as "equals." Jack found it difficult to be considered an equal when her pay was so much less than the men's, but at least she had a job and she was paid for it. Her position was the highest available for a female in the entire factory, so she should not allow herself to complain.

"Miss Harrison, may I have a word?"

Jack spun around, wiping her stained hands on her uniform. The look on Walter Cartwright's face indicated that Jack didn't have much of a choice in regards to whether or not she would lend him her ear for a moment. The older man was the supervisor of the munitions factory, and ever since it burned down last year due to mismanaged explosives, he had grown increasingly rigorous in ensuring that every instruction was followed to the letter. Jack had earned her own place at the factory thanks to her heroism in saving a few of her coworkers from the fire and thus attained Walter's approbation.

"Mr. Cartwright, how may I help you?"

Walter stroked his tanned, weathered face as he motioned for Jack to walk with him. "I understand production was down again yesterday?"

"Yes, sir," Jack answered, hurrying to catch up with him. "It's the Spanish Flu, sir. A few more women were out to take care of their families. Many of them have husbands fighting in the war."

In fact, Jack knew that several of the women had already lost feeble children to the disease; she wished she could provide them with longer leave to mourn properly, but they would all lose their jobs if the factory failed to produce its quota.