Disclaimer: I do not own anything from Saving Private Ryan, although I wish I did. This is just a tribute to that movie. All original characters are my own or are built off of briefly mentioned characters.
"You want to explain the math of this to me? Where's the sense in risking the lives of the eight of us to save one guy?," Reiben had asked.
"Anyone wanna answer that?" Miller asked the group of men.
Wade quickly replied, "Hey, Reiben, think about the poor bastard's mother."
"Hey, Wade, I got a mother, you got a mother, the Sarge has got a mother. Shit, I'll bet that even the Captain's got a mother," Reiben said and then looked at Miller. "Well, maybe not the Captain, but the rest of us have got mothers."
One
"You two quite down will you?" the man said. "I'm trying to listen to the news." He went back to listening to the news. He managed to hear a bit about the storming of the beaches of Normandy before the two voices started bickering again. He sighed, stood up, and then went into the kitchen. "What are you two fighting over now?"
The two teens looked at him and went quiet. Then the older boy said, "It's his turn to do the dishes because I did them last night."
"No that isn't fair! You promised me that you would do the dishes two nights in a row if I did them last week. I did, so now it's your turn!" the younger one insisted.
"You can't prove that," the boy told him.
"But you promised."
The boy looked at his brother and said, "No I didn't."
"Quit that you two," their father told them. "Ian I heard you promise your brother that you would do them, so get to it."
His son let out a groan but didn't argue, he knew better.
"Now I'm going to go back to listening to the news. Please be quite," the man said and left the room. His other son followed him and sat down in a chair next to his. They listened to the news in silence for a few moments. It wasn't nothing new yet. D-day was a success but one with a terrible loss. Many of their American boys were dead now. All he knew was that his eldest son hadn't died there. He had received a letter from his son saying that he made it and that he was being sent on a new mission. He and seven other men were going to find another man who had lost all of his brothers. Personally he thought the mission his son was going on was stupid. It didn't make since that they were risking eight men to save one and what made it worse was that his son was one of those eight men. It was stupid.
"Dad when do you think he will come home?" his son asked drawing him out of his thoughts.
He sighed and shook his head before he said, "I don't know son I don't know."
"I miss him," the boy said.
"So do I," the man replied.
"Chores have gotten so much harder since him and sis aren't here anymore," his son said.
It caused the man to chuckle and then he said, "That wont change when he does come home. Your sister has a family of her own and your brother is getting married to his girlfriend. He is going to be moving out as soon as he finds a place for the two of them."
The boy sighed and asked, "So Ian and I are stuck with them aren't we?"
"You are," the man said while trying to hold back his laughter. It was cut of when he heard a knock on the door. He stood up and went to the door. He really didn't know who it would be because anyone they knew would just come inside and they didn't usually get visitors. When he opened the door he immediately knew something was wrong and wanted to shut the door again. They were clearly from the army and there was a priest with them.
"Mr. Caparzo?" one of the men asked.
He just nodded but couldn't say anything.
"Mr. Caparzo I regret to tell you this that your son Private Adrian Caparzo was killed in action," the man told him.
He suddenly felt like he couldn't breath and clutched at the door frame for support. It was too much of a shock to him. Hearing this was too hard on him.
"Sir these are for you," the man said and then held out a few things. He managed to take them before the man spoke again. "Would you like to speak with our priest?"
He shook his head and began to close the door. Before it was all the way closed he heard the man say, "I am truly sorry for your loss."
It barely registered as he made his way back to the living room and sat down. The radio was playing but he no longer wanted to hear anymore of it.
"Adam turn that off," he told his son as he looked down at the stuff in his hands. It appeared that there were a few letters as well as some other things. The rest of his son's personal things would probably be sent later when his body was brought home.
"Dad what's wrong?" he heard his son ask and it caused him to look up. Both of his boys were there looking at him worried.
He sighed and closed his eyes again before he finally said, "Adrian isn't coming home boys."
"What do you mean he isn't?" his youngest asked.
He sighed again and then said, "Your brother was killed."
Both of his son's broke down then. They screamed in denial and they cried. He tried to comfort them the best he could but he was falling apart as well. This was his worst nightmare come true.
Finally after the boys had calmed down and were upstairs in their room they both shared he looked back at the letters. The first one he opened was informing him that his son was dead. He quickly discarded this one and then looked at the next one. He didn't recognize the handwriting but the letter had seemed to come from his son. When he reached the end the strange handwriting was explained. A man named Irwin Wade had copied this letter from one that he had already written. It was his son's last request and also the last thing his son was worried about. He was thinking about his father when he died. His father could only hope that it had gave him some comfort.
A/N: Okay the idea for this just came into my head and I had to run with it. It shouldn't take very long for me to do, probably only a few days and shouldn't take away from my other SPR story. I was going to make it into just one long one shot but I thought dividing them into chapters would be a good idea. Maybe I'll write one for each day. I hope you like it. Please review.