A/N: I've been gone for too long. TIME FOR A RESURRECTION!
DISCLAIMER: Me no own SWAC. Me wanna go—PURGE THE UNCLEAN HEATHEN! BURN THE HERETIC! SCOUR THE FILTHY XENOS! PRAISE THE EMPEROR AND HIS MIGHTY WARRIORS!
Mrs. Monroe,
We regret to inform you that your husband has been killed in action during a counter-offensive in Somalia against the rebels…
Connie already knew what the letter said before she even opened the envelope. She couldn't bring herself to open the damn thing; she didn't want to. Yes, she knew that getting a bullet through the head was a daily risk her husband took every day for the good ol' red, white and blue, but she would rather not think about it right now.
No, anything but that. Anything but the dreaded letter home, telling her that her husband was now no longer among the living because of some "lucky" shot the enemy took.
Timmy…why? Why did you have to go now? Your daughter is a super-star, she's dating a nice boy at work who gets some bad press; you've got a home in Hollywood because of Sonny's job…I'm still working at the law firm, but we have a new office now…
Why did you have to go? Why?
Biting back tears, Connie slowly opened the envelope. The soft chinkkink of her husband's dog-tags was the first thing she heard that hit the wooden, stern, oak table. The tears started to well up as she unfolded the letter, the dreaded piece of paper that spoke of the doom that befell her husband overseas.
…Funeral arrangements have been made at Arlington National Cemetery; we would kindly ask that you attend (along with any family members/friends) at the following date below…
…On behalf of the United States Military (and its branches), we regret the loss of your husband. Enclosed (with this letter) are the following:
-One (1) pair of dog-tags
-One (1) firsthand account of the events that led to your husband's death, written by SgtMaj. Avery Junior Johnson, 18th Riflemen Brigade…
Connie's heart plummeted. Avery wrote the account? Oh, no. This could not be good, not at all. She remembered that Tim and Avery were best friends through high school and through the Marine Corps…she was suddenly assaulted by a memory that she suddenly wanted to repress…
"Hey, Avery, can I ask you something?" PFC Timothy Monroe was suddenly nervous, something he rarely ever felt. He kept that thought on the backburner, though, for Connie's sake. Damn, did he miss her right now…though she was only at the grocery store, he still missed her.
"Yeah, Tim? What do you want?"
"If…anything happens to me, I want you to write the Account that goes with the Letter Home, alright?"
"WHAT?! You crazy, man! Crazy as hell! The hell I'm gonna write that—"
"Please, Ave. It's important to me. Hell, it's important to Connie."
Connie could almost smell the stale beer through the wall that separated her from her husband and his friend. She had to bite back the tears as she kept her ear pressed gently to the wall, that cold, uncaring, unyielding wall. She got home not twenty minutes earlier when she heard her husband and his friend talking in the kitchen.
Sonny was still at kindergarten, Connie realized. How could she pick up her daughter soon without all of this weighing on her mind?
"You think I'm gonna do that for you?! How much did you drink?!"
"I'd do the same for you, man. You think I'm joking about this?"
"You think that you're really that sober?"
"Beer might've done something to influence this, yeah, but that isn't the point, man."
"Shit, man. You're scarin' me now."
"Hey, I'm scared, too. It's a scary thing to think about, but you and I both know how it is, 'least with our line of work."
"Damn straight…though, y'know…aw, hell, now I can't take another beer without this weighin' on my mind."
"Look, you gonna write the damn thing or not?"
A sigh. "Fine, man, I'll write it. You want me to…embellish it a little? Y'know, make you look good?"
Tim chuckled. "Whatever floats your boat, Ave. Whatever floats you boat…"
Sure enough, as Connie read Avery's account, she couldn't help but smile sadly at all the exaggerations, the purposefully inaccurate details that made her husband look like a defiant god of war, refusing to bow at the enemy's feet. She cried at little bit, a mix of both sorrowful and joyful tears running down her cheeks. At least something made this ordeal a little more bearable.
Connie knew that Sonny would come in through the door at any moment now; it was almost time for her to come home, anyway. Wonder if Chad's giving her a ride home…well, you know what they say, Connie. Ain't no rest for the wicked.
Time to make a few calls to the rest of the family…here we go.
Connie got up from her seat, went to the den, picked up the phone, and started dialing her parents-in-law's number, back in Iowa.