Trooper's Morale: Pen Pals and Treats

During the nights were a great time to write letters as well, if you had the light, and could get away with it. But that was a usual way to keep the spirits up on the line if you weren't counting in the day. Again, any second could be interrupted by the shots of a ranger or shout from a trooper, but I spent that time keeping up with my "Pen pals" or patriotic/lovelorn people.

Troopers usually have plenty of people to write to, and contact is especially frequent if they were recently assigned to Forlorn Hope. I heard stories of people forgetting they even had families when they were assigned to McCarran and were able to frequently enjoy the famous "Strip." Apparently that changes when they get to Forlorn Hope because then they start apologizing for things they never did or write a love letter every single day. I was somewhat proud to consider myself a Forlorn veteran, and instead did what most troopers who've already written their wills, didn't have families to write to, or already accepted the situation did: Try to make things a little less scummy.

I've seen too many new troopers letting tears dot their ten thousandth letter (That day) to Dearest Sweetheart. I was more interested in PFC Mickelson who was writing to his favorite New Reno prostitute and about how she should've added more cigarettes to the care package. I had no real friends outside of Camp Hope, but did feel lonely. Luckily, just before losing the Trench line, morale was still in the dirt, and LT told us about the new "Forlorn Fighter" list. A trooper could add his name to the Forlorn Fighter list, and whatever else he felt like adding about himself, and the thing would be sent back to NCR for women (Or men) to offer distant companionship. I was a prime candidate for that sort of companionship, but the thing was quickly exploited by everyone who felt like they could get something… I was one of those people as well.

"PFC E. Harton.

Single and a long ways from San Fran. I enjoy time with my mates off the line, watching the sunrise, and I can't wait to meet you. Though I love serving the unfortunate people of this desert, my first love will always be the ocean around the bay area. A Beach Bum at heart, I knew I had to do my part for the republic before sitting beside you hand in hand with nothing but each other and a Pacific sunset. Maybe with a drink or two? ;)"

After a fantastic bio like that under my heading, it wasn't too long before I got the attention of a few patriotic NCR women with a thing for soldiers… and one guy. I'm not sure if the Forlorn Fighter List mentioned to the public that there were only men at the camp, or if this list was for all Mojave troopers, but I got myself a boyfriend as well. What a guy he was. He definitely got me the best stuff, and wrote some of the… Nicest?… letters.

If troopers weren't awaiting death, or getting what they could from people back home, most of them had New Vegas on the mind. Alongside the "Forlorn Fighter" another list was added by the duty roster. That one listed a number of the best prostitutes around the strip supposedly made by the MPs there. I suppose it was helpful to those who were ready for leave. Some of those letters exchanged were negotiating prices, asking for pictures, and what was "allowed." If the average trooper spent as much time planning for attacks as they did for potential leave trips to New Vegas, we would've beaten the Legion a long time ago… I again wasn't much different.

It was hard keeping up with two girlfriends and a boyfriend, and sometimes too much. I eventually became one of the guys in the company that even the sergeants asked if I could request something for them. I don't mean to sound ungrateful or like we were exploiting people back home, but I and we at Forlorn Hope really did appreciate the morale boosts from people in NCR, whether their gifts were great care packages, or just a few nice words.

I didn't hold the camp record for juggling the most pen pals, but I was useful to people who wanted something in our company. My girlfriend, Andrea Walker from Redding, was a rancher's daughter who definitely sent the best jerky or food items. My boyfriend, Damien Torres worked an accounting job for some big company in the Hub and hated sending my chewing tobacco, although I insisted they were for my friends "I was just content with his words." Then there was Stacy Paisley, who was one of them "Followers of the Apocalypse" (Some charity organization that was even in the Mojave) and she sent some fun or interesting books or magazines. I never really got Incredibly educated growing up as a crew member of Pop's fishing boat, and that fact was acknowledged by the Boneyard Follower member who described my spelling and grammatical errors as "Cute."

So, they sent me good treats that came in about twice a week. There was no real contraband so there were no delays. The food, chaw, and books were great, but things were always tense when some private or sergeant requested something unique. I didn't have the guts to ask Stacy for a crate of "Cat's Paw" dirty magazines, so I'd ask for something like a "Decent Home Maintenance" magazine that occasionally had pictures of pretty prewar women doing something or other… Anyways, I always read the letters that accompanied whatever treats, and really liked all three of them. Although, things did get strange when they seemed to unanimously decide they wanted to meet me in New Vegas on leave.

I stalled Andrea by saying that I wasn't due for any leave… Which was true, but more on that later. Then both Damien and Stacy said they'd make the trek to New Vegas and await me after doing the math about how likely my potential leave was by this point. Every trooper, especially troopers at Forlorn Hope dream of leave (Again: More on that later) but the last thing I wanted was to go to New Vegas and have to introduce one of my "Girlfriends" to my "Boyfriend" when it finally happened. I would've rather been captured by the folks at Nelson than explain that mess. So, I broke up with my "Boyfriend" to alleviate some of the stress.

I initially wrote a letter to Damien saying that I was heading into no man's land in a month (Plenty of time to get a response and maybe explain a thing or two). The letter was sure to emphasize how likely it was that I'd be killed or captured, which was also fairly true. As I calculated the response, I considered faking my own death, but realized how karma would actually get me. Realizing that "PFC E. Harton" wouldn't be in the public casualty papers (Hopefully) I decided to come clean. I wrote an eloquent letter (Courtesy of Stacy's grammatical criticisms) explaining that I was in fact, Not a woman of the NCR military. I never said what the E in "E. Harton" stood for, and appreciated all the nice letters he sent me, and great packages. I sent That letter.

Not long later, I was on alert duty in a ranger post when a runner handed me the letter. After reading the letter, I was more puzzled than anything. Mr. Torres back in NCR knew that I wasn't a woman, and couldn't figure out why I sent that letter… I wasn't sure what to make of that.

I told the ranger the situation, and his static laughter behind the gas helmet didn't help. I was just about ready to turn myself in at the nearest Legion cross when I decided to write a letter coming legitimately clean. Although, for some reason, I scrapped that idea because I didn't have the heart to tell the poor man that I didn't swing that way, and that I'd been using his incredible kindness primarily for tobacco products. I wrote a letter to the guy saying that I was thankful for all his kind gifts and words, but I simply wasn't… ready?... for a relationship?... Later on, I got the response saying that he understood, and that was surprisingly that.

A lot of the lads relied on me for the regular tobacco treats from my "Boyfriend back home" and laughed at the situation, or said I should "Get back together with him" with minds solely on regular chaw… Absolutely zero regard to my personal orientation or exploitation of a poor lonely man back home...

So, I kept it going with the two other women for a long time. Stacy the Follower eventually talked about moving to the FOA outpost near New Vegas, and sent nice thoughtful letters. She never got the relocation approved, but she was great to write to. Andrea still sent the best food items from her ranch, but wasn't the same conversationalist. I think I liked Stacy the best, but Andrea sent the best treats, and wasn't the most talkative like I mentioned. The two differed in a number of ways, but I think the biggest difference between the two aside from the treats was how they wrote.

Andrea had a really foul mouth (In her letters) and took pride knowing her "Man in the Mojave" was on the frontline. I don't swear, even as the troopers around me cuss up a storm, and even when I write about the last dreadful thing the Legion do. I suppose she was rough from ranch life, and most of her profanity towards the Legion was explained when she mentioned her older brother dying at Hoover Dam. Every trooper in the Mojave, conscripted or not, was there primarily because of that big battle back in 77. She again wasn't the most descriptive in her letters, but she let loose when talking about that big event. So, the really interesting part of hearing Andrea's story was how Forlorn Hope was bolstered with some veteran officers of that battle shortly after I got the letter.

*My Tinder bio looked nothing like Ed's heading when I was in the Marines... Promise*