The Letter That Will Return

A young soldier rubbed his numbed, callused fingers against the worn, stained parchment of the folded envelope he’d pulled from his leather boot. He didn’t open it; he didn’t need to, he knew what was on it. It was the letter that would return to his fiancée if he could not.

“Hey, Ricky-boy—” the tan, uniformed man paused when he saw the oh-so-familiar paper packet in his subordinate’s hands. His voice softened as he laid a firm hand on the junior’s shoulder. “That letter’ll be nothin’ but kindlin’ when we get home…and we are gonna make it home.” He added matter-of-factly.

Ricky returned the letter back into the safety and warmth of his army boot. “Yeah,” he whispered, “I hope so.”

His commander helped him up with one gloved hand, and tossed him his weapon: a fully loaded, bolt-action Enfield Rifle. With a pat on the back, his general went ahead, rallying up his comrades and leading the way into war. Mumbling the only pray he knew – “If I should die before I wake...” – he followed the men he might never see again onto the hill overlooking the battlefield. As he awaited the fight of his time, he recalled his girl’s perfect face – as many did before such a battle – and wished to kiss her one last time, for he feared this battle would inhibit him from ever come home again.

As the small unit saw their enemies drawing nearer over the horizontal valley, they raised their guns, clicked off their safeties, and aimed at faces so far in the distance they were only blurs atop moving bodies. Then their commander rose from his place in the lead, held his hand high and firm, and ordered them: “Do not shoot until you see the whites of their eyes. It is clear that once the first shots are taken to engage the enemy unmoving on the field.” He began with a speech. “You are all brave men. Today, there shall be no running and no cowards; today we fight, and today we win. We are the last line of defense—”

Ricky and his ‘mates stumbled back in awe as their commander fell forward, his head blown nearly clear off his shoulders and his speech unfortunately, forever unfinished. Ricky was still in shock as the second in lead – a small boy, younger than him, by the name of Bennie – rose slightly and re-cocked his rifle. “This is war everyone.” He stated, “Now let’s go make sure these bastards don’t even get close to the soil our families are on!”

There was no hesitation to follow when he sprung up from the hill, or when he began his descent to the battle coming below. Ricky was in the second line, rushing forward after the first and being rushed by the third. It was about halfway into their decline when it happened. He’d felt something was wrong by the way the enemy hung back from the field, standing almost lazily opposite them. He’d tried to voice his concern, but the excitement from his team smothered his attempts. And then…BOOM!

It was like thunder from the sky, only it came from beneath them. The grounds themselves shook and exploded with the power that had erupted within their soil. Bennie was the first to vanish, having detonated the head of the mines. Then came the chain-reaction. The first line was consumed as more and more mines set each other off in sweltering surges. Ricky’s line was next struck, becoming lost in the smoke and explosions. And then the third and final was reached as they’d turned to retreat up the way.

Ricky lay sprawled on the bare land, dazed and confused. His ears were numb, unable
to perceive any of the rocking sounds around him; but his eyes, they worked. They saw the coming army – death’s army, it must have been – through the smoke, cutting down any who’d survived their tactic (there’s weren’t many). Just as he watched, a soldier hovered over him, his gun at the ready to take Ricky’s live; there and then, Ricky knew it was his end. All he could think of was his sweet girl waiting, waiting for him to come home, waiting forever for a day that would never come…

BANG!

The letter arrived by personal delivery. It was labeled: From Ricky; and given to a girl named Victoria. She accepted it with reluctant hands from the uniformed man whose duty it was to inform her of her fiancé’s expiry. With a pull of his cap, the man was off, carrying with him letters from all the others in Ricky’s rank.

As the mail carriage moved on, Victoria grasped the envelope she never wished to received. Her heart sank as the carriage grew farther and farther away. Just as it reached the distant end of the horizon, she knew this was no mistake.

She back-stepped and entered into the house Ricky had built for their new life together. She closed the door with numb fingers before escaping back to their—her bedroom. With shaking hands, Victoria dared to do what she never imagined she’d have the courage to do. With the curve of her nail, she opened the fold of the envelope; a half sheet of bent parchment lay fresh in its belly. She fished it out; and then, in the dying breeze of her open window, she read the simple, printed words:

My dearest Victoria,

If you are to read this, then you know what has become of me. I am sorry I won’t be able to come home to hold you one last time. I love you.

- Ricky

A sob tore from her raw throat as she read and re-read the three sentences that swelled her heart, and at the same time, broke it apart. Her mind was so trapped on the final image of her fiancé walking away in his pressed uniform, and her ears was so occupied with her own cries, she didn’t hear the front door open, or the heavy-booted steps tapping the fine wood of the halls. It was only when an ashen hand passed her golden locks and wiped away her running tears did she notice and turn.

Ricky stood before her, his bag sagging on his shoulder, uniform charred black, and face in blisters. “I told you,” he whispered, pulling her head to his, “I’d come back.”

BANG!

Ricky pinched his eyes shut and waited for the fresh pain that never replaced the old. The smell of gun powder touched his nose, but that was all. There was no hole in his body, nor was there gushing blood from a wound. In a cautious move, Ricky pried one eye open. The enemy soldier that had once stood so proudly above him was dead beside him. With his mind ecstatic, Ricky almost failed to his the familiar voice.

“You gonna go, kid.”

Ricky twisted onto his stomach and spied Bennie a few feet away, a gun, still smoking, in his only hand.

“Bennie!”

Bennie tossed his gun to the unharmed soldier and ordered him to take it. “You’re gonna need it.”

Ricky grabbed the firearm and began pulling himself slowly over to Bennie’s crippled form.

“No point.” He cried, lifted up his arm, revealing what little remained of his body. “You gonna go, gonna warn the rest of them before it’s too late.”

Ricky pushed himself up as pasty tears marked his face. “Yessir.”

Bennie smiled his final smile. “We may have lost the battle, but you can still make sure we win the war. Now go!”

“Yessir!” Then, Ricky was off, off to warn the coming parties, off to complete a final order, and off to return before a little letter could…