At the turn of the year 1943/44, temperatures dropped below freezing in Iowa. It was too cold for a Mexican woman and I had to wear several layers of cloths to prevent my boody from contracting permanent goose bumps. Long underwear, and two undershirts did the job, but the worst part were my toes. One pair of socks was all that fit into the boots and I was even wearing 2 pairs at night in bed. When we were outside, my toes always felt cold and the only way to prevent them from first degree frostbites was to keep my feet moving. Keep them moving all the time and it was exhausting. When we had to stand in line, I had to move my toes back and forth in my shoes and when we were standing around burning time, which happens too often in the military, I was rocking up and down with my lower legs. Outcome was, that I got painful cramps in them at night. Heavy snowfall set in in January 1944. Every basic army training, has to include a survival and evasion exercise = SERE. Now, the bastards of drillmasters could have set it up in early December already, but no, they had to set it up in January, after all of Iowa had gotten covered in a thick layer of snow. We had received a packing list for our Haversacks. That piece was heavy with all that stuff in it. Before we took off, the trainers randomly checked if we really had everything. What I had to painfully learn during this SERE: our M-1928 Haversacks were loaded with stuff we did not need and lacked stuff we would have really needed. So the cutlery and the field crockery, socks, toiletry, water bottle, shirt, underwear, pouch and a spade had to get packed. The assembly process of the Haversack was a nightmare in itself. The Haversack consisted out of several pieces. Strings and hocks had to get fiddled through a gazillion holes so to hold all the blasted pieces together. Why could they not just give us a simple backpack? Making matters worse, packing the Haversack was bloody complicated. If you did not do it right, everything fell out. The guy who had invented them must have had a psycho fidgeting and tinkering condition.
Lucky us women, we did not have to carry rifles and bayonets. So by trucks we got transported somewhere into the boonies and ten of us got dropped off in one spot. One of us received a compass and instructions and another one had to copy a map with a pencil and a shaggy piece of paper. Then the trucks drove off and we were on our own. Young, beautiful, innocent chicks, left to their own devices, somewhere in the woods of Iowa. It had to go wrong. Apparently, we had to find some stupid tent in the middle of nowhere, where we would get further instructions. The one of us, who had gotten the compass, was the first to lead. She used the compass to figure out the direct direction to the tent and started to walk into the snow. The poor girl, had to trample the snow down for all of us and after a mile, she was finished. Another one took the lead and after another mile, she was finished, too. One suggested, to deviate from the direct route and use country roads or highways if possible, but the stupid girl who had drawn the map, had done a very shaggy job and there were no roads in her map. Well, she was not so stupid, but she had no experience with this and our training had not been very thorough either. What I learned later in flight school: when you copy a map, take your bloody time and do a very, very thorough job or you will fucking regret it.
A third one took over and paved the way for another mile until she too was finished. The fourth one took over and she led us into a forest. There was less snow, which made walking a lot easier, but navigating between all the branches was much harder. An hour later, it was clear, she had no idea, where we were? Without much of a clue, she carried on until we came to a section of the forest, where there were no trees for about 6 yards. It was like an uneven cut through the forest. That stretch/cut was covered with snow. I should have been wary about it, but I had not. I, like everybody else, had been exhausted. None of us paid enough attention. The leader made a couple of steps into the cut and then she vanished. The ground had swallowed her up. Well, not entirely, but she was in the snow up to her waistline. Two comrades stepped next to her in order to help her out and vanished as well. So now, we had three, young, beautiful women standing in the snow up to their waistline. The leader yelled: "This is a fucking creek and it's fucking cold. Pull me out!" So this had been a creek, frozen on the surface and then covered with a thick layer of snow. While the rest of us were trying to figure out how we could pull the three out without getting swallowed up as well, the three had already managed to work their way back onto solid ground. OK, now we could continue, but where to? We waited for the current leader to make a decision, but she just started to whine, that her legs were so cold and that her feet were frozen. Apparently, the three who had gotten swallowed up, were wet up to their knees. Shoes wet, socks wet and trousers wet, wet from ice-cold water. One suddenly stated: "This is all a fucking bullshit. We have to go back and hit the road on which we had come from." Now, a fruitless debate started. Some refused to go back at all. Others argued that we still would not know where to go, after we had reached our starting point. I just knew, that my fine Mexican boody was getting cold by standing around. Another one must have felt the same and she stated: "I'm going back, this is no good." I followed and the one who had the idea to go back in the first place followed as well. It took the remaining women a couple of seconds, until they followed suit. However, we were not even out of the forest, when one from the back commanded us to stop. All three, who had stepped into the creek were on the ground and had removed their shoes and socks. Their feet were dark red, about to turn blue. While the three were whining about their feet, I removed my Haversack and got my shirt out. I wrapped it around the two feet of one and started to rub. She complained that it hurt, but I told her she would soon have first degree frostbites, unless we warmed her feet. The other two were treated the same way by other comrades. A couple of minutes later, the feet of the three were Ok again, but they could not put their shoes back on. These shoes were already frozen, not even wet anymore. Making a fire and trying to dry those shoes would have come in real handy now, but apparently, the packing list did not include a Zippo and kindling. One of us had the only idea, which did get us out of the predicament. We had to rotate the wet shoes and socks. So three of us wore the wet shoes and socks for five minutes then another three and so forth. What sounds easy, is not easy at all. First, you have to find women with roughly the same shoe size. Second, changing shoes in the snow without filling them with snow in the process is not an easy task. Third, it was very hygienic to slip into another woman's stinky boots and wet, tinea infested socks. Making matters worse, these wet socks turned slimy when they dried. Fourth, those cold boots, could not be worn for much longer than 5 minutes, because one's feet got painfully cold. After 5 and a half hours, we were back, where we had started and we were all exhausted and we were hungry. A real smart ass must have put that packing list together, because we had cutlery and crockery, but no food. I would have paid $1 for a dry piece of bread, but instead, I had a useless, empty field crockery in the Haversack. Demotivated, some of us put the Haversack on the ground and laid on top of it and it did not take long and we all followed the example. 10 minutes later and everyone of us was butt freezing cold. We had to get going again and so we followed the road on which the truck had brought us. The road had gotten cleared of snow and was much easier to ply. For ten long miles, we followed that road until we came to a T-intersection. At that time, we were fucking wasted and the sun was about to set. Should we go left or right? None of us had an idea. Truck tracks in the snow were moving either way. Some started to debate again, while others including me laid onto their Haversacks again. Meanwhile it had gotten entirely dark and I fell asleep.
I was in our bed in our sleeping room in our apartment in Mexico City and every muscle of my body ached. First Alejandro brought me a hot water-bottle and a few minutes later a warm chicken soup. Never before in my life, did I have such a mouth-watering and tasty chicken soup. I cherished every spoonful of it. Something hit my side and I poured the tasty chicken soup all over me. What a bloody waste? Pinche, what shite did hit my side?
"Wake up! We continue! Move your ass, Maria!" One of my comrades had put her boot into my side and rudely waken me up.
No, please not! Why was this lovely experience just a dream? My warm bed, a tasty chicken soup and a hot water-bottle... Why did life punish me like that? What terrible sin did I commit?
While some of us had been sleeping, a democratic decision 3 against 2, had been made to turn left. Everyone was just too tired to argue and we went left. It was dark and the road was not well illuminated, by the stars. We could not see the ground and we had to walk carefully. Every step was heavy and our brains were operating at only 10% processing power. Here and there one of us slipped and sometimes fell painfully. After about 3 miles, we reached a tent. We almost missed it, at the side of the road, between two trees, but one of us luckily spotted it. Besides us, there was nobody here. Was this the tent, we were supposed to reach? It was an army tent and there were army signs in the ground, but we could not read them in the dark. Why did our packing list not include a flashlight or a Zippo? A Zippo would have casted enough light to read the signs. What the fuck should we do now? Should we hang out here until tomorrow morning? Or continue walking? I did not mind cram packing into that small tent and get some sleep. A debate started again. I had no idea, where these women took the energy from to start an argument in the middle of the night after more than 10 hours on their feet. Suddenly, we were in the beam of the headlights of a jeep. Seconds later, someone yelled at us out of the jeep: "Where have you morons been? You should have been here like 7 hours ago, already."
Like I wrote, when you copy a map, take your bloody time and do a very, very thorough job or you will fucking regret it.
They had brought food with them. Wonderful! I was very hungry and I could have eaten a whole pig. To all of our delight, the soup was cold and the sandwiches were frozen. The sandwiches could just not be consumed that way, so we ate the rest of the soup, which did not sate us.
Making a fire and warm that food would have come in real handy, but apparently, the packing list did not include a Zippo and kindling.
We got orders to copy another section of the map and the one who had done it the first time was not allowed to do it again. Saying that, it was not easy to copy a map on the hood of a jeep under a weak TL-122 army flashlight, that had been used by the drillmaster for hours already.
Apparently, we had to walk another 6 miles to another fucking tent in the middle of nowhere. The jeep soon took off in direction where we had come from. We had to go back the same way, so we had to walk all the way back to the T-intersection. At the T-intersection, it was my turn to lead. The others made it clear: "Listen Maria! We will kill you, if you deviate as much as an inch from the road." The map was entirely useless without a flashlight, but as I was not allowed to deviate as much as an inch from the road, there was only one way to go --- back in direction to Des Moines. Unfortunately, after another 2 miles we came to cross road. Where to now? Signs on the road read: Des Moines 15mi. Pinche. Des Moines was straight ahead so I almost wanted to go that way, but then heard something towards my left. It was very faint, but eventually I recognized what it was: a generator. There was a forest to the left just like two hundred yards away. I turned left and followed the cross roads in that direction, when the reprimands already came from my comrades. "Des Moines is straight on, blind Mexican moron!" Some seconds later I heard: "Eh, sleep walking bitch!"
I was too exhausted and tired and hungry to argue with them, even too exhausted to say anything. I just continued down the road in direction to the forest without another word. "Maria, come back here or we will rip your ovaries out", I heard one yelling.
"She might have to pee", another one said.
Two followed me and when I reached the forest, it was clear, that there was a military camp. Tents and camouflaged lights and a running generator. There was a bright light in one tent and we entered and it was a field kitchen and cantina. Spotting us, one of the cooks crawled out from a camp bed and greeted us: "Finally, you arrived. You gals must be hungry?"
At least one of the three of us managed to open her mouth and responded: "Very!"
Now, now, finally, we received chicken soup, hot chicken soup. It was the most mouth-watering and tasty chicken soup I ever had. Even Alejandro's imaginative chicken soup had been second in line after that one. Surprisingly even the potatoes and the schnitzels were still warm. A bit later, 4 more of our party came into the tent and immediately started to eat. So three of us were still missing. After we had eaten, the cook showed us camp beds, where we could sleep. Our sleeping bags were in duffle bags on a truck bed. They were butt freezing cold, but I was just too fucking tired. I laid down with all my clothes on me and just used the sleeping bag like a duvet. The other 6 followed my example.
No matter, how late you go to bed, the army has no mercy with young peacefully sleeping maidens (ok, admitted, none of us was a maiden anymore) and wakes you up early. It must have been like 6:30 am when the wakeup call came, but I gave a shit. My whole body hurt and it was stiff like a log. However, all the other groups, who had not gotten lost and who had arrived in time and slept long enough, had eaten well enough and had not taken a dip in a sexist, female flesh swallowing, inhumanly ice cold creek, made such a noise, that one could not sleep anymore. When most of the women had been to the bathroom already and had properly gotten dressed one of my comrades kicked into the camp bed and commanded: "Maria, get up! Otherwise you will miss breakfast."
OK, breakfast was a motivator to get up. Pictures and smells of a hot cup of coffee and warm toast with butter appeared in my imagination and magically made my stiff and aching body to operate. Forcing my stiff limps to move, I made it into the kitchen tent after some minutes. What shall I say? The coffee was lame, but hot, the toast was cold and there was jam, but no butter. While I was sitting there trying to read my fortune in the bottom of the cup with just one eye open, another comrade of mine told me: "Maria, you look like shit."
"I feel like shit as well", was all I could respond to it.
Our group was still missing 3 women. Pinche, I had been the leader and I had lost them. I just did not have the power to keep the group together in the night anymore. Our drillmasters were mad and they instructed us to not show up in Fort Des Moines without a complete group. Pinche. Why did they had to go missing during my lead? Why did this shit have to happen to me again? Now, where could we find the other three? They had continued walking in direction of Fort Des Moines and that was the only direction, we could look at. I just hoped they survived the night and had not fallen prey to a pack of wolfs or a dark demon of the night. And if the wolfs and the demons were scoffing unwashed sweaty army women, then maybe our comrades had fallen into another creek and turned into icy bitches. Their doom would become my doom. Pinche!
All we could do, was walk along the road to Des Moines. Our feet and legs hurt and every step was a fight with one's body, not to collapse onto the snow covered road and wait for the grim reaper to redeem you from the burden of SERE. 10 miles closer to Des Moines, a Ford F-100 passed by us and there were three WAC soldiers on the truck bed, who were happily waving at us. The truck stopped and the three jumped of and one gave the young truck driver a kiss.
"Where have you gals been", was the first question I asked?
"Ah, after you had gotten lost, three farm boys passed by us and offered us a lift. Hearing our sad story, they took us to their farm and their mother made us food. We were exhausted and we slept long and now, after hot coffee, scrambled eggs and bacon, they drove us here."
"We did not exactly get lost, it was rather you gals who got lost", the one right behind me lectured.
"So you gals had a good night's sleep and an even better breakfast", yet another one wanted to know?
"Very much so. Warm and cozy bed, entertainment, great food and transport", she answered.
"Entertainment", one emphasized like a question?
The three could not hide a broad smile on their faces and the one behind me asked: "Did you shag?" They did not deny it.
The world is just so unjust. The ones who do the right thing, get little sleep, bad breakfast and a long way to walk, while the ones who don't do things right, get a nice and cozy bed, good food, transport and get nicely shagged by cute Iowa farm boys, who were still too young to get drafted, on top of it all.
Our group eventually made it back to Fort Des Moines. As we were reunited, we were allowed back in. For the following three days, I was more limping than walking. As a highlight, I had to do extra cleaning, because I had lost part of my group. Why did they had to get lost during my lead? It was my bad luck!
First, I thought 5 months is a long time, but it flew by very quickly and I left Ford De Moines as Second Lieutenant after having finished my cadet training.
I was proud about myself. I the Mexican girl had become an officer, a lieutenant second class, in the US Army. Should I write about it to my parents? Nay. My father would probably value it, but my mother would go ape shit about me being in the army and call me an estupido mocoso again.