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“I’m not married, as you can see!” She holds up an empty ring finger.

“Cough.”

“What?”

“Cough. Cough, cough, cough. Are you going to make me repeat every question and instruction? Cough!”

Rio coughs.

“Turn your head left. Now right. Now look at the chart on the wall behind me, cover your left eye, and read the top line.”

“E, G, R—”

“Now the other eye.”

“E, G, R, Q—”

“Quiet.” He holds a cold stethoscope to her chest. “Now prop your leg up on this stool.”

Rio does, and the doctor snaps a triangular rubber mallet against her knee, causing her leg to twitch.

“Well,” the doctor says, “at

least you two are big, strapping country girls.”

“Excuse me?” Jenou demands archly.

“The Depression took a toll on the size and health of recruits. If this were 1922 instead of 1942, there wouldn’t be many females up to par. But a lot of males are undersized and understrength. If you only knew how many young men I have to reject for lack of sufficient teeth, or bowed legs, or . . .” He realizes he’s complaining to a pair of recruits, stops himself, and quickly stamps their papers.

Then it’s time to retrieve their boxes of clothing, dress, and proceed through one more door, where they merge again with the men and boys.

And there a final corporal stands waiting. As soon as twenty recruits have filled the room, he yells, “Attention!”

All twenty people in the room execute something that vaguely resembles the sort of attention they’ve seen in movies.

An officer strides into the room, barely glances up, and reads from a wrinkled and coffee-stained piece of paper.

“I, state your name.”

“I, Rio Richlin” melts into a sea of voices pronouncing names.

The oath is dry and formal but has the effect of silencing the last whispers and titters in the room.

It’s happening. Right now, it’s happening.

“Do solemnly swear or affirm that I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States of America against all enemies, foreign and domestic; that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same; and that I will obey the orders of the President and the orders of the officers appointed over me, according to regulations and the Uniform Code of Military Justice. So help me God.”

The captain shoves the paper back into his shirt pocket and says, “Congratulations. You are all now members of the US Army.”

Rio turns slowly to meet Jenou’s unusually serious face.

“Just like that,” Jenou says. “We’re soldiers now.”

Rio looks past her friend and finds an even more serious expression on Strand’s face. He is at the far end of the room and has forgotten to lower his hand after taking the oath.

Then he spots her, realizes his hand is still up, lowers it, and smiles a sheepish smile.

Rio thinks, We’re soldiers now.