We Happy Few | Band of Brothers

Chapter 48: Gory, Gory

With the mail having finally arrived that day, many men and women spent the night going over piles of letters that they had been waiting for during the past few months. Everywhere you looked there was at least one trooper huddled up in a corner with a paper in his hands and his eyes moving back and forth across the page rapidly. 

Margot was almost positive that somewhere, Annie was reading through what was probably a stack of letters from home. The blonde medic's family never failed to send something every few weeks or so, whether there was news to tell or not. 

Margot had gotten used to tuning out the sound of Vest calling out names when he was handing out envelopes and packages. Since leaving home she hadn't gotten a single piece of mail and as days passed she was sure the likelihood of her ever receiving some was only dwindling. That was until she sauntered past the building that Vest had set himself up in that evening, her head low as she tried to avoid getting soaked by the rain.

"Sergeant Kessler!" Vest called her name, but the machine-gunner was too focused on getting somewhere dry to hear him. "Margot!" he tried again, but nothing.

Darting around the counter and out into the rain, Vest caught up with the woman and tapped her on the shoulder. "Sergeant Kessler." He smiled as he pulled out a single envelope from underneath his jacket—an attempt to keep the mail dry. "This came for you."

Margot looked down at the letter and then back up at Vest. "It can't be!" She had to raise her voice as the water began to fall harder from the sky. "I don't get letters! Haven't gotten a single one since this whole war started!"

"Well, there's a first time for everything." Vest flipped the envelope over and pointed to the writing on it. "Look, your name, right there. It's for you."

Confused, Margot took the letter and tucked it away safely into her jacket pocket. "Thank you," was all she could think to say before turning and heading toward her billet for the evening. 

After entering the confines of the dry and subsequently warmer building, Margot shed her damp jacket and hung it up to dry—not before plucking the envelope back out of the pocket, however. She turned the white paper over in her hands and examined the writing. There was no return address, no sender name, no indication of who it was from. All that there was was her name scribbled onto it.

Letting out a confused sigh, Margot sat down at the nearest table and set the mystery mail down in front of her. She tried for the life of her to figure out who it might be from before opening it. At first, she thought maybe her dad, but no, the writing didn't look like his. She went through a couple more people—mostly acquaintances from back home—but after five minutes she was still none the wiser. 

Finally, after the curiosity got the better of her, Margot ripped open the envelope and unfolded the paper inside. Her eyes scanned the writing for a second before she began to read. It wasn't until she was about a paragraph in that she realized who it was from.

Dear Margot,

Bet this letter is a slight surprise since you never get any mail, but in a way, it kind of makes me feel special for being the first one to write to you. I was planning on writing sooner—really, I was—but every time I sat down to do it my head just went blank. I have so many things I want to say to you and yet I can't think of a single word. So, I guess I'll just pretend like you're right here with me and talk to you. You always were a great listener.

Bill and I are doing okay. We're both half a leg down and still sitting in this damn hospital, but to tell you the truth, it's not so bad here now that I actually have someone to talk to (even though I wish it were you instead of Bill—not that I wish you had gotten your leg blown off too. You know what I mean). Bill does a pretty good job at keeping me from losing my mind though. Sometimes the days just blend together and before I know it a week has passed and I don't feel like I've done anything with myself. Weirdly enough, sometimes I wish I were back on the front lines with you and the rest of the guys.