Eight Years of Frost
Language: en
My division commander’s son, Arthur Sterling, told me that if I wanted to marry him, I had to become a regimental commander first. "Eventually, this division will be handed over to us." So, I worked my life away for eight years. Reconnaissance company, artillery regiment, operations and training section—wherever it was toughest, I went. I earned several third-class merit citations and shed layers of skin from the sun. This spring, I thought my promotion to regimental commander was a sure thing. But suddenly, the division dispatched me to the remote Northern Wasteland for construction…