1. Camp Lehigh, 1942
Dear Bucky,
I know you said not to do anything stupid until you got back. I told you that you were taking all the stupid with you, but I really should have asked you to define 'stupid'. Because you and I have always had very different ways of rationalizing what's stupid and what's not.
I know you'll never understand why I need to go to war so badly. I know people are dying, Buck. I know what war does, and that's exactly why I need to be there. I told you that I have no right to stay behind, so… I'm doing something stupid. But only by your definition.
I'm writing to you from Camp Lehigh. Yeah, I know, Jersey. That night of the expo, after you left, I went in and I thought they caught me. You'll be glad to know that I had a momentary flash of you saying "I told you so," and I almost ran. Almost. I'm not proud of that. But a man named Abraham Erskine came to talk to me. He's from Germany, but working for something called the Strategic Scientific Reserve, some sort of secret branch of the military. He said he could give me a chance.
That's all I've wanted, Buck. Just a chance. Just someone to see beyond the sickly skinny kid who needs his bigger friend to fight his battles. I know you always had my back and always meant well, but honestly, I wanted you to give me a chance, too. I know you wanted to protect me and you'll probably think that this defines 'stupid', but I took him up on it.
I've been here for about a week, and it's not so bad. I remember the stories you told me about boot camp, so I'm not completely green going in. Fine, I'm greener than spring leaves. I know you're probably laughing reading that. Heck, I'm laughing writing it. And I know the other guys, all bigger and stronger and faster than I can ever hope to be, are laughing at me too. But it doesn't matter. I want a chance. I've been given a chance. I'm taking this chance for what it is. Just a chance.
At the start of the week Colonel Phillips (did you ever meet him?) said they'd choose one person. Looking around, I don't know that I'll be in the running. But you know me, stubborn as a mule. You told me once you think I liked getting hit. I don't really like it, no; but I can't stand aside and let a bully walk all over me. I can't run away. Do that enough and they'll just expect you to.
Everyone seems to expect that Gilmore Hodge will be Phillips's pick, and Hodge seems to agree. I see the way they look at me, like they don't know why I bother trying. Some would call me stupid for sticking around, when I'm half the size of the next smallest guy here. I can't lie to you, Buck, it's hard. The days are long. I'm sore, and I don't know if I'm even capable of building muscle at this point. Phillips looks at me like he's afraid I'm going to keel over. Sometimes I think I might. I just tell them, "I could do this all day."
I guess I miss Brooklyn, but getting beaten up in back alleys just isn't the same without you around. Not that I expected you to help me, but… I guess it was nice that you did. I love your family; they've been so good to me since my mother died. But when Dr. Erskine offered me a chance I took it. Why? Because Brooklyn just isn't home without my best friend there.
Listen to me, going on like your sisters do, getting all sappy. I imagine that you're over there having a grand time. That you're not giving it your all, because you know you can't win the war until I get there. I know you do that, don't pretend that you don't. You hold back, and think you can make me feel better about how lousy I really am doing. Well, this time I'll meet you over there, and we won't hold back. We'll give 'em hell together.
Time to rest though; more running, more PT in the morning. Just another day or two until Phillips makes his choice. I've held out this long, I can keep going. I can do this all day. You'd be pretty proud of me, Buck.
Best,
Steve
