Hawkeye sat on his bunk, staring out the mesh screen into the dark. He
shook his head as he unlaced a boot and tugged it off of his left foot.
His foot, big toe poking through a hole, slowly found the ground, then, in
a flurry of motion, he slammed the boot down on the floor and leapt up,
hobbling around the periphery of the cot to sit down on the opposite edge.
"How can you sit there writing a letter, after all that?" he demanded of his nonchalant-looking tentmate sprawled over the next bunk.
"I'm writing a letter," B.J. explained in his best Daddy-tells-a- story voice, "/because/ of all that."
Hawkeye shifted forward, his hands clasping in front of his spread knees, his back nearly hunched double. "She wasn't bad, Beej. You know that. A little naïve, yeah, but, a really sweet girl. Not exactly the type you'd take home to your mother--"
"Or your local homeless shelter--"
Hawkeye gave B.J. a cold look at that comment, but lifted his hands in defeat. "Fine. I see. Our priest murders somebody, and we're supposed to turn the other cheek."
B.J. looked up silently, his eyes met Hawkeye's, and their obvious disagreement on the topic clashed like waves against rocks, the unending waves of Hawkeye's optimism and cherishment of life against the unyielding boulder of B.J.'s protectiveness for his family. The conversation ended. Hawkeye threw down his other boot and shut off his light, turning to face the screen and try to sleep over the noise of pencil against paper.
'Dear Peg:
'It's been three days since my last letter-- no, make that my first letter-- home. I know I said I'd write you every day, but I figure, what with the army being run by vampires and all, you probably won't get the first one until the first Friday of June. 1960.
'No, darling, I'm not bucking for a section eight, like Klinger. I think I mentioned Klinger last time? Yes, the one who wears women's dresses to get out of the army. He's not doing very well, our Corporal Klinger. But I'll come to that in turn.
'I mentioned before that things were settling down pretty well around here. Colonel Potter and I arrived about the same time, replacements sent in for the 4077th's former C.O. and surgeon, who had both been shipped home. I know Hawkeye misses Trapper (the surgeon), and not a day goes by I'm not regaled with the glorious times they had together here before I came. About Henry, though (the C.O.), nobody really seemed to say much. It was a while before I pieced together that he hadn't made it home.
'So imagine my surprise when he comes back to camp the other night, nearly kills Hawkeye in a state of uncontrollable need for blood, complete with speed and strength like I've NEVER seen. And you should have seen some of the marines I did physicals for before taking this post.
'Since that night, there has been an outbreak of supernaturals wandering around this place. You can tell Erin that there ARE such things as fairies. And not just the type that they don't like in the army. Though I suppose if they knew about these, they'd be pretty against it, too.
'Not that they're as dangerous as the vampires, who call themselves 'kindred,' and belong to an organization called the 'Camarilla.' Radar (our company clerk and resident pooka) is just a sweet kid with a penchant for practical jokes. Remind you of anyone you know?
'Though I've got much less evidence to back up Radar actually being a fairy than Henry actually being a vampire (a fact fairly well proven by now by his allergy to sunlight and penchant for blood, as well as the arrival of a small troupe of other vampires after him), I'm taking it on the word of someone who might be a third kind of... oh, I don't know what I'd call Father Mulcahy. He's our priest. Whether this sight, and these powers over the undead he seems to have are simple tools of the trade, I'm not sure. But I'd figure with Christianity being so widespread, if every priest knew about this Camarilla, the entire world would be yelling about it by now. Whatever he is, he's trying his best. Perhaps a little harder than his best.
'The casualties that have rolled in since I've been here have already been too numerous to count. But in our own private little war, taking place in a suspicious lull in the first one, we've got our own casualty list: Corporal Klinger, who seems to have suffered from the vampiric equivalent of a swift blow to the head, and a young woman (vampire, I guess really not that young) called Meg, who fell to our Priest, as we've all just learned. It's been quite a past few days.
'Keep Erin indoors after dark, and see what you can do about staying in the house after sunset, too. I love you both so much, and I can't believe how much it's going to hurt not to be able to send you this letter. But I'm not quite sure who's reading the mail.
'Love,
'Daddy (B.J.)'
B.J. took the letter, folded it, folded it again, ripped it in half, and then ripped it in half again, putting the pieces under his pillow and lying down to cry himself to sleep for the first time since the first night he inhabited this place and dreamt of his family, far off in the mythical land of the real world, where things were sane and no creatures prowled the nights.
"How can you sit there writing a letter, after all that?" he demanded of his nonchalant-looking tentmate sprawled over the next bunk.
"I'm writing a letter," B.J. explained in his best Daddy-tells-a- story voice, "/because/ of all that."
Hawkeye shifted forward, his hands clasping in front of his spread knees, his back nearly hunched double. "She wasn't bad, Beej. You know that. A little naïve, yeah, but, a really sweet girl. Not exactly the type you'd take home to your mother--"
"Or your local homeless shelter--"
Hawkeye gave B.J. a cold look at that comment, but lifted his hands in defeat. "Fine. I see. Our priest murders somebody, and we're supposed to turn the other cheek."
B.J. looked up silently, his eyes met Hawkeye's, and their obvious disagreement on the topic clashed like waves against rocks, the unending waves of Hawkeye's optimism and cherishment of life against the unyielding boulder of B.J.'s protectiveness for his family. The conversation ended. Hawkeye threw down his other boot and shut off his light, turning to face the screen and try to sleep over the noise of pencil against paper.
'Dear Peg:
'It's been three days since my last letter-- no, make that my first letter-- home. I know I said I'd write you every day, but I figure, what with the army being run by vampires and all, you probably won't get the first one until the first Friday of June. 1960.
'No, darling, I'm not bucking for a section eight, like Klinger. I think I mentioned Klinger last time? Yes, the one who wears women's dresses to get out of the army. He's not doing very well, our Corporal Klinger. But I'll come to that in turn.
'I mentioned before that things were settling down pretty well around here. Colonel Potter and I arrived about the same time, replacements sent in for the 4077th's former C.O. and surgeon, who had both been shipped home. I know Hawkeye misses Trapper (the surgeon), and not a day goes by I'm not regaled with the glorious times they had together here before I came. About Henry, though (the C.O.), nobody really seemed to say much. It was a while before I pieced together that he hadn't made it home.
'So imagine my surprise when he comes back to camp the other night, nearly kills Hawkeye in a state of uncontrollable need for blood, complete with speed and strength like I've NEVER seen. And you should have seen some of the marines I did physicals for before taking this post.
'Since that night, there has been an outbreak of supernaturals wandering around this place. You can tell Erin that there ARE such things as fairies. And not just the type that they don't like in the army. Though I suppose if they knew about these, they'd be pretty against it, too.
'Not that they're as dangerous as the vampires, who call themselves 'kindred,' and belong to an organization called the 'Camarilla.' Radar (our company clerk and resident pooka) is just a sweet kid with a penchant for practical jokes. Remind you of anyone you know?
'Though I've got much less evidence to back up Radar actually being a fairy than Henry actually being a vampire (a fact fairly well proven by now by his allergy to sunlight and penchant for blood, as well as the arrival of a small troupe of other vampires after him), I'm taking it on the word of someone who might be a third kind of... oh, I don't know what I'd call Father Mulcahy. He's our priest. Whether this sight, and these powers over the undead he seems to have are simple tools of the trade, I'm not sure. But I'd figure with Christianity being so widespread, if every priest knew about this Camarilla, the entire world would be yelling about it by now. Whatever he is, he's trying his best. Perhaps a little harder than his best.
'The casualties that have rolled in since I've been here have already been too numerous to count. But in our own private little war, taking place in a suspicious lull in the first one, we've got our own casualty list: Corporal Klinger, who seems to have suffered from the vampiric equivalent of a swift blow to the head, and a young woman (vampire, I guess really not that young) called Meg, who fell to our Priest, as we've all just learned. It's been quite a past few days.
'Keep Erin indoors after dark, and see what you can do about staying in the house after sunset, too. I love you both so much, and I can't believe how much it's going to hurt not to be able to send you this letter. But I'm not quite sure who's reading the mail.
'Love,
'Daddy (B.J.)'
B.J. took the letter, folded it, folded it again, ripped it in half, and then ripped it in half again, putting the pieces under his pillow and lying down to cry himself to sleep for the first time since the first night he inhabited this place and dreamt of his family, far off in the mythical land of the real world, where things were sane and no creatures prowled the nights.