| All Combat! Names and indicia are licensed to: ABC entertainment company, and Selmur Productions… I think COMBAT! Copyright, September 28, 2004, Jessica A. Worley Dear Littlejohn It’d been two weeks since anybody in their squad had gotten something in the mail. The mail was slow in war, but it seemed especially so to the 1st squad of second platoon, King Company. Kirby’d been waiting for a birthday card for a long time, and there wasn’t a man there who wasn’t waiting for some form or another of letter from a loved one. They each waited every day for some word from home, some piece of news to make them remember a time when they weren’t involved in the war, when life was simpler, and they didn’t have to worry about getting killed every day, and when it didn’t come, it made their stay there seem even longer. Billy put his gun over his shoulder as they walked into camp. It had been a long, arduous hike to get to where they needed to go on recon, and he knew he wasn’t the only one glad to be back. The squad broke up to either go take a shower or get some chow, and Billy wasn’t sure which he wanted to do first. Finally he decided to follow Littlejohn, his best friend, to the mess tent, and get a bite to eat. It wasn’t long before William Nelson noticed that his large friend wasn’t eating. “What’s the matter Littlejohn?” he asked him. Littlejohn looked up from the peas he’d been pushing around on his tray. “Just tired, that’s all Billy.” He knew Littlejohn was telling the truth when he said he was tired, but he didn’t believe him when he’d said that that was the only thing bothering him. Littlejohn saw the look his friend gave him, and knew it was worthless to try and keep it from him. He was too tired to do so anyway. “It’s nothing really, I just…” he trailed away for a moment, “It’s just that, well, it was my mom’s birthday a few weeks ago… and I sent her that card and everything… I just don’t know if she got it… I mean, if she liked it or not.” Billy sighed. “She’s your mom, she’ll like anything you give her.” “I know it,” Littlejohn said, “but, it’s just that,” he lowered his voice, “I wrote her a poem, and well, I don’t know. See, I never wanted to worry her about me here, so I always wrote nice things about this place. I guess I just don’t know if she still worries about everything or not. The poem was supposed to cheer her up on her Birthday at least.” Nelson looked at his friend. It wasn’t often that he acted like this. “Don’t worry Littlejohn,” Billy said, placing his hand on his shoulder from across the table, “It’ll come.” Littlejohn knew he was right, but began to push the peas around on his tray again anyhow. It was dinnertime before the truck pulled in that made the squad happy. A Corporal jumped off and shouted, “Mail Call!” Before he’d taken two steps forward, he was surrounded by a dozen men, all waiting eagerly to see if they’d gotten anything. “Jenkins!” he shouted, throwing a small parcel over their heads to a Private from another squad. “Hanley!” Lt. Hanley stepped forward to accept a letter, “Kirby! Kirby! Kirby!” “Happy Birthday to me!” Kirby shouted with glee as he took two small packages and a letter. “Nelson! Nelson!” Billy stepped up and took two letters of his own, but didn’t look at them. He was instead watching Littlejohn, who was eagerly waiting to see if he’d gotten what he’d been waiting for. Finally, right at the end, the Corporal called Littlejohn’s name, and he seized up the letter before the Corporal got a chance to give it to him. He tore it open, and Billy watched his friend’s eyes going back and forth over the page quickly. Finally, a smile came over his face, and Billy knew he’d be all right. “Well?” Billy asked. Littlejohn grinned and handed him the letter to read. It read: Dear Johnny, Thank you for your wonderful poem Johnny. I can’t tell you how much it meant to receive it right on my birthday! Thank you for your other letters as well son. So many other mothers I hear about that don’t hear from their sons at all. You’re so considerate. I wish you could have been here to celebrate my birthday with us, and we there to celebrate yours. Out of all the presents I got this year, yours was the best. It means so much every time the mail man stops by and delivers another of your letters. I enjoy hearing about the many things you and your friends do there on the base. I wouldn’t have thought there would be that much to do for a clerk… Billy looked up. “A clerk?” Littlejohn nodded. “It worked. She thinks I’m a clerk at the back.” He gave his friend a look and wondered what he wrote home to his parents. “I just can’t stand the thought of her worrying about me all the time, that’s all,” he finished. Nelson smiled and nodded. He understood his friend’s plight. Littlejohn nodded too, smiling, and said, “I’m gonna go read it again and then write a couple of letters back.” He walked off quickly to go find some paper and something to write with. Billy shook his head. How many other guys did like Littlejohn and lied about what they did in the war? Billy walked all the way back to the mess tent before he remembered that he himself still had two letters to open and read. He looked down at them as he sat down at an empty table. One was from his little brother, and the other… the other one was from the very last person Billy ever expected to hear from. It was from Littlejohn’s mother. He looked at it uncertainly for a moment, and then opened it carefully, unsure of what he’d find inside. Finally he managed, and unfolded the letter. Dear Private Nelson, I’ve heard so much about you from my son Johnny. He writes about you in almost every letter. I know it must be odd for you to be receiving this letter from me, but I wish to tell you something, and then ask a favor of you. You see, my son writes to me often, though the mail is slow. He tells of all the duties he has as a clerk, and all the friends he has that come through his base. I know he doesn’t want me to worry, so he writes things like this to put my mind at ease. I let him think that I don’t know he is an infantryman at the front, because I just couldn’t bear to have him worrying about what I think all the time. He’s a good boy. I know that you must be a good friend for him to write about all the time, and you must be loyal as well. Please do not tell my son that I know what he does for the war. It is his choice to write to me what he does, and he does not need to be worrying about his mother out on the front lines when his life is in jeopardy. Again, I know this must be strange for you to be hearing, but I must ask of you a favor. Would you please write to me if ever Littlejohn gets hurt. Even if it is minor, I wish to know, because he is my son, and no matter what he does, I will worry for him, as I know your parents do for you. I will not ask you to look after him, because I know you two must already take care of each other to be such good friends. Thank you for being there for him, and in advance, thank you for keeping in contact. May God bless you all, and may you all have a safe journey home, -Mrs. Mary Julie Baker Billy looked up when he’d finished reading. “Well I’ll be,” he said to himself under his breath. He shook his head in amazement. Both Littlejohn and his mother had such respect for each other to worry about the other one worrying. “Hey Nelson, get a letter?” Billy looked up. Sarge had just sat down at his table with a fresh cup of coffee. “Uh, yeah Sarge.” Saunders nodded. “Yeah, me too,” he took out his own piece of tattered paper that looked as if he’d already read over it a hundred times. “Anything interesting?” Billy shook his head. “Nah, you know, the same old thing you get in every letter Sarge… just words from worried parents.” Saunders looked up from his own letter, and nodded slowly. “They just care about you, that’s all.” Billy nodded as well, as he stood and gathered the letter from Littlejohn’s mother, and then the unopened one, surely from his own. “They care about all of us Sarge,” and then he walked out of the tent, off to read his own letter, and then write two replies. He had a lot to write. Saunders watched the young Private exit the mess tent, and then looked back down at his letter. It held just what Nelson’s must have: News about home, and pleas for him to watch out and take care of himself. “I will ma,” he said under his breath, “I will.” End |
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