Summary: Just another day at the shipyard for our Rosie the Riveter.
Notes: Canon, but may or may not appear in Shirley’s chapter so can be considered a spoiler.
Word Count: 434
Shirley examined the row of rivets with a critical eye, running her gloved hand along them as she did so. The last one wasn’t up to her standards, so she flipped her welding shield back down over her face before relighting her welding torch and began touching up the spots she wasn’t satisfied with.
A loud clanging noise caused her to turn her attention away from her work. The foreman, an older gentleman who had two boys in the Navy and a third in the Marines was calling everyone over to the door of his office. She cut the fuel to her torch and went over to join the rest of her shift.
“Okay, ladies, I need you to listen up for a minute. We got a big order from the War Department today. We need to build ten more destroyers, and the Navy wants them pronto.”
“How pronto?” one of the women standing nearer to the front of the crowd than Shirley was asked.
“They want them before Christmas.”
A collective groan rose from the crowd before individual complaints began to emerge.
“But it’s already mid-October!”
“Are they insane?”
“We’d have to work round the clock if we even wanted to have a shot at making that goal.”
“It can’t be done.”
Shirley’s head jerked up at that last remark. “Excuse me?” she practically shouted, her voice silencing the grumbles. “’It can’t be done?’ What kind of an attitude is that?”
“A realistic one,” someone mumbled.
“No, it’s a defeatist one, and I don’t like it,” Shirley said, squaring her shoulders and shooting a glare in the direction the mumbling voice came from. “Now, I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’ve got a sweetheart overseas in SimEurope. I’m working her to make sure that he and his fellow soldiers have got what they need to lick those Simman bastards and come home so we can get married and live happily ever after. If the War Department wants more destroyers, then we build them more destroyers, even if we have to work overtime to do it.”
Shirley looked around the crowd, daring them to contradict what she had said. When all she was met with were looks of determination or downcast eyes, she looked at her boss. “Mr. Griffin, I’ll volunteer to work extra to help the shipyard make the deadline.”
The corners of the older man’s mouth lifted upwards ever so slightly. “Thank you, Shirley. Any other volunteers?”
Slowly but surely, hands around the group went up one by one.
“That’s the spirit, ladies!” Shirley cheered. “We can do it!”