Silver Stars (Front Lines #2)(109)

“That said, I am a man of reason. I follow the facts. Women soldiers are on average almost but not quite as effective as the male—they fall out for exhaustion at a higher rate. And we’ve got the new problem of soldiers getting in the family way, or at least claiming they have so they can catch the bus home. And needless to say, army doctors are not gynecologists. On the other hand,” he says, pursing his lips and frowning, “the females get in fewer bar fights, catch a lot less clap, and never desert, at least not for long.”

Rio adopts a deliberately blank expression, concealing her guilt at the mention of bar fights.

“As for you, young lady, Corporal Richlin, I have the great honor to inform you that you have been recognized for valor.”

Rio doesn’t know what he means by this, but she feels certain it demands a “Thank you, sir.”

“Don’t thank me.” He pushes his plate away, hauls a leather briefcase up onto his table, fiddles with the buckles, and then searches through papers within. And finally says, “And here it is.” He lays the paper down and taps it with his forefinger. “Don’t thank me, thank the captain, the two lieutenants, and the two sergeants who have all attested to your actions in Africa, in Sicily, and now here in Italy.”

Mystified but staying cautious, she says, “Yes, sir.”

Then he smiles. “You don’t understand what I’m saying, do you? Your kind never does. Richlin, by order of the President of the United States, you have been awarded the Silver Star for gallantry in action. And by God, having read the record on you, I don’t doubt you deserve it.” He stands, and so does she. He sticks out his hand, and she stares at it for a few seconds before reaching, almost frightened, to shake it.

“Sir, I . . . The platoon, the whole outfit . . . Stick, I mean, Sergeant Sticklin . . .”

He waves her to silence. “Like I said, your kind never does understand why they’re getting a medal. I’ve had the pleasure of handing out a few such, and I’ve never yet had one where the soldier didn’t try to throw all the honor onto his brothers.” He dipped his head. “Sisters too, now.”

She nods and means to say Yes, sir, but a lump has formed in her throat, and, to her horror, there are tears in her eyes.

“This is the first time for one of your, um, sex. You and a couple others. They want to make a bit of a show out of it, I’m afraid, so you’ll find orders waiting for you to take transport to England, and there you can have the whole kit and caboodle.”

The dreaded tears spill and run down her cheeks, and Valdosta, noticing, says, “Well, so you are still a female, I see. I suppose I’m old-fashioned. I’m used to female tears, but I freely confess I had not known females had it in them to be so fierce: I’d have been much more cautious around Mrs. Valdosta and not slept nearly so soundly back in Missouri.”

Rio can’t help but smile at that.

“You’ll be made sergeant, of course, probably should have been by now, but better late than—”

“Sir! General, I . . . I’m sorry, sir. Permission to say something?”

“What is it?”

“Don’t make me a sergeant. Please. I’m happy . . .” That word stops her because of course she is not happy, but now she’s stuck with it. “I never even wanted to make corporal.”

He stares at her for a long while, and Rio can see that his mind is elsewhere, remembering, reliving. He shakes his head at last. “Don’t like the weight, eh?”

She shakes her head. “I just want to do my job.”

“Well, young lady, this is my division, the one-one-nine. And it’s been hit pretty hard.” He’s heaving the words up, sighing, pushing past his own emotion. “Pretty hard. It has taken terrible casualties, casualties taken because I sent it into battle and kept it there. The ‘job’ you speak of isn’t just going in harm’s way yourself, it’s sending others there too. People you know, maybe even friends. You’re brave, you’re tough, you can fight. I guess now we’ll see if you can lead.”

Rio heads out into the dark, out under an eerie and surprising sight: the clouds have cleared, a little at least, and she sees stars overhead, actual stars!

And in the distance the impossibly steep massif of Monte Cassino, and the tall, forbidding walls of its monastery.

Jack is waiting for her, and Jenou and Cat are awake.

“So?” Jack says.

Rio shrugs.

“You’re an official hero, and all you can manage is a shrug and a look like you swallowed Geer’s cat?”

Miss Lion has been retrieved from the quartermaster, who fed her while Geer was on the line. She lies atop a snoring Geer, glaring at everyone around her as though she’s a watchdog and she doesn’t like the look of any of them, no, she definitely does not.

Hansu Pang comes up and extends a hand. “Congratulations, Richlin.”

“Thanks, Pang, but—”

“Come on, Richlin,” Cat says with a groan. “Cut the humble act, we have important business to deal with.” At that she produces an almost-full bottle of brandy. “It’s a damn celebration, whether you like it or not.”

“They’re talking about making me a sergeant,” Rio says wonderingly.

“About time,” Jack says.