The chill of the March air wrapped around me. The rain lightly tapped the shelter I was going to call home until the war came to an end. The rain in this part of France never seemed to stop. As I watched the rain drops race down the window in front of me, Nettie nudges my arm and nods her head to the Chief Operator who has been giving us a briefing on our duties and her expectations for us at the switchboards.

“Remember, we are the life line for our men fighting on the front lines. They cannot win this war without constant communication. We will be taking calls from soldiers informing us of their positions. These locations will be in code so it is essential for you to keep up with all codes as we update them daily” our Chief Operator, Louise Hart, was as meticulous and unwavering as the perfectly slicked back bun on her head. She had one goal and one goal only, be the hand that helps win the war.

She continued, “It is also essential for us to translate, connect lines, and communicate command orders. You must be ready for any and all information that comes your way. You will be answering hundreds of phone call a day. If for any reason you cannot do this at a one-hundred percent each and every day then go home while you still can. There are plenty of other women I could call upon to take your seat at the switchboard” she glances around the room in search of anyone who was ready to change their mind. The threat of a war zone can do that to people, but no one said a word. Instead we were given the go-ahead to take our seat at the switchboards and put our professional skill of telephony to good use.

I nestle in my chair, Nettie on my left and Marie-Emma on my right. One from Virginia and the other from Tennessee.

My phone rings, “Hello” I said happily waiting for a response.

“Hello? Is this a woman?” A soldier asked. Clearly the news of women in telecommunications had not yet hit his unit.

“Yes sir, this is a woman. What can I do for you?”

“Uh-hm” the man cleared his throat and then continued, “This is Lieutenant Marshall, connect me to an artillery coordinator. I need more ‘blankets’ at the ‘podunk’. ”

“Certainly, please hold as I connect you now” Blankets, I thought, that is code for, machine guns and podunk is— I scan through my code book and discover this unit is in Toul. I connect my line to an artillery coordinator and Lieutenant Marshall repeats, “This is Lieutenant Marshall. More blankets at podunk.”

“Received, more blankets to podunk”

“Your message was received” I confirmed again to the Lieutenant to which he responded, “Our men thank you, ma’am” and then swiftly hung up.

My phone rang again, “Hello?” I said chirpily. And continued my day listening, connecting, and translating. I felt a strong sense of pride for my duty toward the war efforts. With each phone call I knew I was making a difference. What I didn’t know was how impactful a simple conversation could be.

Our shift had eventually come to an end and Nettie was the first to stand.

“I’m going to close my eyes for a few hours” Nettie said.

“I’m going to eat something and then sleep” Marie-Emma responded also getting up from her chair.

“I’m going to wait here a little longer I think. I’m not tired yet” I said lighting another cigarette to starve my hunger for just a few more hours.

“Don’t stay up too late, Celia. The boys will still be there in the morning” Nettie said.

I nod and gave a half smile as the girls walked away together. The thing is, is that they may not be there in the morning. That’s the horrible thing about war.

Five minutes into my volunteered overtime, the phone rings.

“Hello” I start, “Operator here, what can I do for you?”

“Hello operator—” there’s a pause like he’s waiting for something, but I’m not sure.

“Yes, operator here, is there someone I can connect you to?” I ask.

“I’d like to call home, but that doesn’t seem to be an option out here” the solider says.

“No, I’m sorry I can’t help you there”

“Sure you can. You’re voice sounds like Sunday dinner back home” the soldier admits.

I let out a light laugh and wonder if he can tell I’m smiling.

“Well, I’m glad my voice can be of service to you. What’s your name?”

“Nino, Nino Vivona. Though the boys of Delta Company call me Vino. What’s yours?”

“I’m Celia Mae Martin” I happily reply. I’m thankful for this semi-normal conversation. Nino’s voice sounds tired and I wonder what he’s been through in France and how for how long. But I know I can’t ask these questions. So instead I ask, “So Vino, what’s on the menu for Sunday dinner back home?”

“I’m so glad you asked” he lets out a laugh and continues, “Ma’s homemade sauce and fresh spaghetti. Bread from the Italian bakery on 98th and links from the butcher on the corner of Park and 105th” he recites like we are about to go run errands.

“You’re from New York I see. I’m from Jersey. Well, I’d like to bring Ma something for this Sunday dinner. What does she like, red or white wine?” I ask playing into this memory hoping it’ll give him the comfort he needs to keep pushing on.

“Nonna makes her own red, she won’t accept anything less” Nino’s voices drifts away, probably to the thought of his family back home.

“It sounds like you have a wonderful family waiting for you” I say.

“Yeah” he starts, “I sure do Miss Celia Mae Martin and I wish like hell I could be with them right now.”

“I’m sure they miss you too” I say. There’s a long pause before he says, “Well thanks for bringing me back to New York for a moment. I needed that more than you’ll know”

“Of course, I’ve always wanted to visit New York City so I thank you for inviting me on your trip back home. Even if it was just for a moment” I respond.

“Well, I better go. Bye now” Nino says.

“Bye for now” I say back. I stand from my chair and decide it’s about time to get some rest.

Heading into the cold barracks, I see about a dozen women already asleep. A few others were writing letters and a couple stragglers were making their way to the next shift at the switchboards. I find an empty bed and quietly remove only my shoes before slipping beneath the scratchy government issued bedding. Although it was little compared to the warmth of home, it was enough to keep the draft at bay.

As I lay there trying to sleep, I can’t help but think about Nino. Where he was, what he was doing, if he was still okay. I turn to my side and realize Nettie is asleep in the cot next to mine.

“Psst” I whisper, “Nettie are you sleeping?”

There’s no answer, so I try again.

“Pssssst. Nettie.” I whisper a bit louder, “Can you hear me?”

Nettie turns to her side and whispers, “Nearly everyone can hear you Celia. Why are you waking me up?”

“Because I just had a strange phone call with a soldier”

“What do you mean strange?”

“Well, we just talked. There was no work to do, no line to connect or anything. It was like talking to a friend at home” I say.

“Better not let Louise catch you chit-chatting, she’ll tell you cushy work is not for the war” Nettie said.

“You’re wrong Nettie” Marie-Emma’s voice chimed in the darkness, “It’s not cushy work and Louise actually insists on talking to our soldiers like their mamas, or sisters or girlfriends. You two are still a bit green around here. Don’t ever underestimate the importance of a simple conversation. Louise says that we are here to take on every call that comes our way. Even if it is just a simple ‘Hello, how are ya’ because you never know if this day or the next will be their last” Marie-Emma explains.

We all lay there in the silence pondering. A sense of relief rushes over me. I didn’t want to get into trouble, but I sure did enjoy my conversation with Nino. A piece of me hopes to hear from him again but the odds are slim.

“I once talked to a solder named, Arthur Phillips, who loved to talk about his farm back home. He had half a dozen horses, forty acres of land and too many chickens to count. Being able to think about the home that’s waiting for him, gives him hope. Wars may run on guns and grenades, but they are won by faith” Marie-Emma says.

“Have you talked to Arthur since?” I asked.

“I haven’t. I’m not sure where he is, but I trust he is still alive and fighting for his way back home” she says. Marie-Emma gets quiet. I wonder how many soldiers she’s talked to like that. How often calls like the one I had with Nino come in. I finally decide to let my heavy eyelids close and rest up for tomorrows continued work.

Delete

The girls and I start our days with black coffee and Lucky Strike cigarettes. It’s almost become a bit of a ritual. There was one morning we smoked Camels instead of Luckys and we nearly lost a whole battalion. After that we agreed, no changes to our morning routine. Before I even hit my chair, my phone rings.

“Hello, operator here what can I do for you?” I say still standing.

“À l’aide, à la cascade ! Le gaz brûle ! Il nous faut des secouristes tout de suite!” the soldier is frantic on the line.

My eyes grow wide as his message replays in my head, Help at the waterfall! The gas is burning! We need rescuers right away!

“Le gaz brûle ?” I repeat for confirmation. I hadn’t heard that phrase before, the gas is burning, and I didn’t know what the code meant. I scramble through my code book and there is nothing about gas or burning. I do know that waterfall means Passchendaele which is in Belgium so I connect him to a nearby unit.

“Vous êtes connecté” I confirm connection and the soldier isn’t speaking. I repeat, “Vous êtes connecté”. What just happened? He was just there?

“This is Lieutenant Haskins with Alpha Company, what is the message?”

Again no response from the solider so I decide to relay the message myself.

“This is Operator Celia Martin, a French solider said “Help at the waterfall. The gas is burning. We need rescuers right away” I state.

“Message received ma’am” Lieutenant Haskins says.

“Excuse me sir” I say.

“Yes ma’am” he says.

“Is gas burning code ? I don’t understand?”

“No ma’am. It’s not code. The Germans are using a chemical that burns skin, clothing, everything. That solider is either dead or trying to survive with just a gas mask”

“Oh” I say, “Message received. Ending the line now, be safe”

“You too miss” he returns.

I end the call and notice Nettie staring at me. She must have heard the conversation because she says, “Burning gas?”. I give her a nod and say, “Seems so” and we both take a look at our own gas masks and helmets hanging over our chairs. We had known there may be gas used in war but not one that burns through clothes. I take Nettie’s hand as a reminder that we are not on the front lines and we are safe. Her lip quivers but only for a second before the sight of Louise finds her gaze. Nettie and I both straighten our backs, stiffen our lips and get back to work.

Delete

It’s been days and the calls about burning gas, infantry ambushes, trench mortar causalities, and trapped tunnelers never lightened. When I first began, it felt as though I was simply relaying information about locations and equipment, but as the war continues and calls skyrocket all I hear is the Angel of Death on the phone.

“Hello, operator here. What can I do for you?” I say in the happiest tone I can muster.

“ ‘Mornin’ miss, this is Private Linden at Post 12. Bacon broke the ruler” he says in code and I feel a sense of relief that this is just a call for arms and ammunition.

“Connecting you now” I say and connect him to an artillery unit so he can receive more rifles, mortars, and hand grenades.

Private Linden confirms his message and the call comes to an end. Without a moment to spare, the phone rings again.

“Hello, operator—” I don’t even finish my sentence before I hear an explosion on the other line. “Hello?” I say again. I hear rustling on the line and wait. For a moment I feel lost in the war as I picture the explosion that I almost smell the smoke.

“Op?” I hardly hear the man’s voice on the line, “Op, you still there?”

“Yes sir, operator here. What do you need?” My heart is pounding in my chest as I pray he can tell me at least where he is so I can help him.

“Delta Company is surrounded. Mass causalities. Medics needed” his voice was loud and direct. Another explosion in the background and it’s like I’m there. A gray haze surrounds me and I definitely smell something burning. I connect Delta Company to medics on the front, but no one is picking up the line. My arm is being pulled. I turn and see Nettie’s arm intertwined with mine and flames on the other end of the operating room quickly making their way to us. Many of the women have left already, but a couple are still connecting calls and taking on the heat and threat of the approaching fire.

I look at Nettie and say, “I can’t leave. Delta Company needs medics and they aren’t picking up. I have to keep trying”

“Celia, if you don’t leave you’re gonna die and we can’t help anyone if we’re dead”

“Yeah and what if an entire company dies Nettie. What then?” We stare at each other for only a second before she let’s me go and escapes. I refocus on connecting to medics. I put on my government issued army helmet, just in case, and try another medic base.

“Operator here, Delta company are you still there?” I ask desperately.

“Here” is the only thing he says.

“I’m going to try another medic base” I say firmly. The smoke is heavy now and the flames feel like they could melt my clothes right into my skin. I try another base and hear the ring. Please, please, please, I pray.

“Medic and Ambulance Corps—” he starts and I rush to interrupt, there’s no time for introductions.

“Delta Company—” I cough, “You’re connected”. I should be running to freedom, but I can’t until I know they have received the message. The flames grow and are now blocking the door. I couldn’t leave even if I tried. There’s no way out. I don’t even hear the commands being said over the line, I’m not even sure they are done speaking before I gasp, “Celia Mae, trapped—” I cough again, the smoke invading my lungs, “Paris, Hart, help”. The lines are ripped from the board as my body hits the ground. My sacrifice to the war.

Delete

I wake up in a white tent laying in a cot with white linen sheets. I can’t remember how I ended up here. I look around and see the rest of the beds filled with broken men. The agonizing groans of burns, the cursing of missing limbs, the silence of those likely on opium. The atrocity of war was something I didn’t think I was blind to until now.

A nurse came over, “How are you feeling?” she asked me.

“Fine” I said, “It’s important I get back to work. Can I go now?” I ask.

“Yes ma’am, you’ll be able to return to work, but not today. You’ve got burns on your right arm that still need tending to” she says.

“How long have I been here?” I ask.

“You got here yesterday, but we didn’t treat your arm completely until we knew you would survive the night” she said. My face must have turned because then she said, “Don’t take it personally dearie, we just can’t waste medical treatment on corpses” she smiles as if that wasn’t slightly insulting. But here I am, not a corpse and that’s when it hits me.

“Delta company, did they make it out?” I ask in a panic, my eyes welling up at the thought that this was all for nothing.

“Sunday, is that you?” I hear from a few beds down.

I look around to find who is talking and he continues, “I thought I was home for a second” he laughed, “but the sound of Sunday dinner just a few feet away is a close second”

“You are such a flirt, Nino” the nurse lets out a giggle.

“Vino?” I sit up and look toward the direction of his voice. He is sitting up, his arm and leg both in a sling. His dark chocolate hair match is eyes and his smile is intoxicating. I smile back and say, “That was you on the line?”.

“Sure was” his smile not letting up.

“I can’t believe you made it out of there” I said with tears in my eyes.

“I could say the same to you. I couldn’t have gotten out without you, Sunday” he says.