Eight Years of Frost

Summary

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.