To Hell and Back
Copyright© 2025 by Megumi Kashuahara
Chapter 1: Iowa Soil
PART ONE: BECOMING
The morning sun broke over the rolling hills of Decorah, Iowa, painting the Roberts family farm in shades of gold and amber. Kirstie Roberts stood in the barn doorway, her hands wrapped around a mug of coffee that had long since gone cold, watching her father guide the tractor across the east field. The rich, dark soil turned over in neat rows behind him, the same soil that had fed her family for three generations.
She was eighteen years old, and she was restless.
“You planning on helping, or just standing there looking philosophical?”
Kirstie turned to find her older brother Sam grinning at her, hay bale hooks in hand. At nineteen, Sam had their father’s build—broad shoulders, strong back, hands that knew work. They’d been partners in crime since before Kirstie could walk, double trouble according to their mother. But lately, something had shifted between them. Sam seemed content with the rhythm of farm life. Kirstie felt like she was suffocating.
“Just thinking,” she said.
“Dangerous pastime for a Roberts.” Sam dropped the hooks and leaned against the barn wall beside her. “What’s eating at you, Kirs?”
She didn’t answer right away. How could she explain it? The feeling that there was something more out there, something beyond these hills and fields? That she loved this place, loved her family, but felt called to something else entirely?
“College acceptance letters came yesterday,” she finally said.
Sam’s expression shifted. “And?”
“Iowa State. Full acceptance.” She paused. “No financial aid. Not enough, anyway.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah.”
They stood in silence, watching their father work. The Roberts farm was successful enough—they weren’t poor by any means—but college tuition for even one kid was a stretch. With Ellie, their fourteen-year-old sister, still in school and looking at college herself in a few years, there just wasn’t enough to go around.
“You talked to Mom and Dad?” Sam asked.
“Not yet. But I know what they’ll say. They’ll try to figure it out, stretch themselves thin, maybe take another loan...” Kirstie shook her head. “I can’t let them do that.”
“So what, you’re just gonna give up on college?”
“No.” Kirstie turned to face him, and Sam saw something in her eyes he’d never seen before. Determination. Resolution. Maybe a little fear. “I’m going to enlist.”
Sam straightened up, his easy smile vanishing. “Come again?”
“The Marines. I’ve been researching—”
“The Marines? Kirstie, what the hell—”
“Listen to me.” She grabbed his arm. “Six years active duty, I get the GI Bill. Full tuition, housing stipend, books—everything. I serve my country, I get my education paid for, and Mom and Dad can focus on keeping this place running and getting Ellie through school.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“I’m completely serious.”
Sam ran his hand through his hair, the same sandy blonde as hers. “Kirs, we’re talking about the military. You know, guns and war and—Jesus, we’re still in Afghanistan, Iraq—”
“I know exactly where we are, Sam. That’s the point. People are serving. Why shouldn’t I?”
“Because you’re my little sister and the thought of you in a combat zone makes me want to throw up?”
Despite everything, Kirstie smiled. “I’m only a year younger than you.”
“Doesn’t matter. You’re still little sister.” He was quiet for a moment, then: “What does Ben think?”
Ben Walton. Her boyfriend since junior year, the boy who’d promised to wait while she figured out her future. Sweet, safe Ben, who’d already taken over his father’s insurance agency in town and had their whole life mapped out—marriage, house on Elm Street, kids, Sunday dinners.
“I haven’t told him yet,” Kirstie admitted.
“Because you know he’ll lose his mind.”
“Because I’m not asking his permission.”
Sam looked at her for a long moment, and Kirstie could see him trying to reconcile the sister he’d grown up with—the one who’d climbed every tree on the property, who could outwork most of the boys at harvest time, who’d stood up to Billy Henderson in eighth grade when he’d bullied a smaller kid—with the reality of what she was proposing.
“You’ve really thought this through,” he said finally.
“I have.”
“And you’re sure?”
Kirstie looked out over the fields, at the land that had shaped her, at the life that was good but not quite hers. “I’m sure.”
“Then I guess you better go tell Mom and Dad before I do.”
Eleanor Roberts was in the kitchen, elbow-deep in bread dough, when Kirstie found her. The kitchen smelled like yeast and honey, like home. Her mother looked up, flour dusting her dark hair, and smiled.
“There you are. Can you start peeling potatoes? Your father’ll be in for lunch soon, and—” She stopped, reading Kirstie’s expression. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong, Mom. I need to talk to you and Dad. Is he coming in soon?”
“Should be.” Eleanor wiped her hands on her apron, her smile fading. “Kirstie, you’re scaring me.”
“Don’t be scared. I promise it’s not bad news.” Not exactly, anyway.
James Roberts came through the door twenty minutes later, boots caked with the good Iowa dirt, to find his wife and daughter sitting at the kitchen table in unnatural silence. He’d been a Marine himself, twenty-five years ago, and he’d learned to read a situation.
“What’s happened?” he asked, his voice level.
“Sit down, Dad,” Kirstie said. “Please.”
He sat, and Eleanor reached for his hand. Kirstie noticed how weathered they both looked, how hard they worked just to keep everything together. Good people. Strong people. But tired.
“The college letters came,” Kirstie began.
Eleanor brightened. “Oh! And?”
“I got into Iowa State.”
“Kirstie, that’s wonderful!” Eleanor started to rise, but Kirstie held up her hand.
“Mom, wait. The financial aid package ... it’s not enough. Not nearly enough.”
Her parents exchanged a look, the kind that came from twenty-three years of marriage. James spoke first.
“We’ll figure it out, sweetheart. We can take a loan, maybe refinance—”
“No.” Kirstie’s voice was firm. “You’re not going into debt for this. Not with Ellie still to think about, not with the farm, not with everything else.”
“Kirstie, your education is important—” Eleanor began.
“Which is why I’m going to earn it myself.” She took a breath. “I’m enlisting in the Marine Corps.”
The silence that followed was deafening. Eleanor’s face went pale. James went very still, his jaw tightening. When he finally spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper.
“Say that again.”
“The Marines, Dad. Six-year enlistment. When I get out, the GI Bill pays for my entire degree. Tuition, housing, books—everything. And I get to serve my country. Like you did.”
“That was different,” James said, his voice rising. “That was peacetime, mostly. We’re at war, Kirstie. Do you understand that? We’re at war in two countries, and you want to—”
“I understand completely.” Kirstie kept her voice steady, even as her heart hammered. “And yes, I want to serve. I want to do something that matters. I want to earn my future instead of putting us all in debt for it.”
Eleanor was shaking her head, tears already forming. “No. Absolutely not. James, tell her—”
“You can’t stop me.” Kirstie hated the way her mother flinched, but it needed to be said. “I’m eighteen. I don’t need your permission. But I want your support. I want you to understand why I’m doing this.”
“You want to get yourself killed,” Eleanor said, her voice breaking. “That’s what you want.”
“I want to have a future! I want an education and opportunities and to not be a burden—”
“You’re not a burden!” Eleanor was crying now. “You’re our daughter!”
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