My Dearest Fallon

TATE

Dear Bear,

I don’t know what your real name is,but that’s what my father says they call you.

Hi, I’m Fallon. I’ve been told towrite to you whenever I need to reach my father, so please do me a favor andpass my letters along to him.

Hey, Dad.

How are you? How is it over there? Areyou eating properly, or are you surviving on those terrible meals you keepcomplaining about whenever you call home? I hope you’re getting enough sleep,too, although I doubt that’s possible with the kind of work you do.

Mom says I shouldn’t worry too much,but you know Mom. She could watch the entire house burn down and still tell meeverything is fine.

Anyway, I miss you.

And before you start getting allemotional about that, no, I’m not crying. I just thought you should know thatyour favorite baby girl misses you. Don’t tell the boys about the letters,though. They already think you love me more than them, and I don’t need to givethem any more evidence.

Tell Bear I said he better take goodcare of you. I don’t know him, and I don’t know why everyone calls him Bear ashis callsign, but I’m trusting your judgment on this one. If anything happensto you because that man isn’t doing his job properly, I’m holding himpersonally responsible.

Okay, that sounded a littlethreatening. Tell him I’m kidding.

Mostly.

Write back when you can, Dad. Or call.Or send a carrier pigeon if that’s the only option you have out there. I’lltake anything.

I love you. Be safe.

Your favorite daughter,

Fallon.

****

The sun today meant business.

It was hot as hell, and I couldn’t remember how many times I’dcursed since stepping outside that morning.

By 0500 hours, we were already out of bed, getting ready formorning physical training. Reveille had barely stopped ringing when the entirebarracks came alive with the sound of soldiers moving around, pulling on theirPT uniforms, lacing their boots, and rushing to get outside before thesergeants started screaming. There was always that one idiot who thought hecould squeeze in an extra five minutes of sleep, only to come stumbling out atthe last second with his shirt inside out. Today, that idiot was Mason.

Again.

By 0530, we were lined up on the training grounds, standing atattention while our platoon sergeant inspected us before leading us through ourmorning exercises. We started with stretches, push-ups, and sit-ups beforemoving into the running drills. The sun hadn’t even fully risen, and I wasalready sweating like I’d been thrown into a damn swimming pool.

After the run came more exercises, followed by a quick cooldown andthe usual reminders about discipline, readiness, and maintaining our physicalstandards. Nobody complained out loud. Not unless they wanted to volunteer forextra laps, and none of us were stupid enough to give Sergeant Miller a reasonto extend our suffering.

By 0630, we were dismissed to clean up and get ready for the day’sactivities. I showered, changed into my uniform, made my bed, and checked thateverything in my locker was where it was supposed to be. We had a few minutesto grab breakfast before morning formation, and I used mine to stuff down eggs,toast, and coffee that tasted like someone had filtered it through a dirtysock.

At 0730, we assembled for formation. Our platoon leader went overthe day’s schedule, passed along the command updates, and reminded us of theupcoming field training exercise. We were expected to inspect our equipment,check our communications gear, and make sure our weapons were in propercondition before heading out. The exercise would test our coordination,endurance, and ability to follow instructions under pressure, which wasmilitary language for prepare to have the worst day of your life and don’t embarrassyourself while doing it.

By 0800, we were in the staging area, checking our gear under thewatchful eyes of the sergeants. I went through my equipment methodically,making sure everything was accounted for and properly secured. It was a routineI’d repeated so many times I could probably do it in my sleep. Out here,forgetting something wasn’t just inconvenient. Depending on what it was, itcould put you or someone else in danger.

The morning passed in a blur of drills, instructions, and movementacross the training grounds. We practiced communication between teams, workedthrough simulated field scenarios, and repeated certain exercises until theinstructors were satisfied. The heat grew worse with every passing hour, and bymidday, I was beginning to question every decision I’d ever made that had ledme to this particular patch of hell.

Lunch was brief. We ate, refilled our water bottles, and gotstraight back to work.

The afternoon was spent finishing the training exercises before wereturned to base, where we had to clean our equipment, account for everythingwe’d taken out, and report any issues. After the debrief, we were finallydismissed from our duties for the evening.

By the time I got back to the barracks, my entire body ached, myuniform was soaked with sweat, and all I wanted was a shower, a decent meal,and a bed.

Preferably in that order.

I dropped my bag beside my bunk and reached for the towel hangingover the edge of my locker when I noticed the white envelope sitting on mytable.

My name wasn’t on it. It didn’t need to be.

I knew exactly who it was from. Fallon Pierce.

The General’s daughter had been sending letters twice a week forthe past six months, and somehow, I had become the unofficial postman between atwenty-something girl and her father. Every Monday and Thursday, likeclockwork, another envelope would arrive, usually addressed to Bear, withinstructions to make sure her father received it.

The first time it happened, I’d nearly laughed. General Pierce hadhanded me the letter himself during a brief visit to the base, telling me hisdaughter had a habit of writing whenever she missed him. He’d asked me to makesure the letters reached him whenever our schedules allowed, and I’d agreedwithout giving it much thought.

I hadn’t expected it to become a routine.

Nor had I expected to recognize her handwriting from across a room.

I picked up the envelope, turning it between my fingers. There wassomething almost ridiculous about how familiar this had become. I couldn’t tellyou what General Pierce’s daughter looked like without checking a photograph,and I’d never heard her voice, but I knew she worried too much, missed herfather terribly, and had absolutely no problem threatening a man she’d nevermet if she thought he wasn’t doing his job properly.

Her first letter had made me laugh.

The second had made me shake my head.

By the third, I’d started looking forward to seeing what she’dwritten.

Not that I’d ever admit that to anyone.

I pulled out the chair, sat down, and carefully opened theenvelope. I wasn’t supposed to read her letters, technically. They wereaddressed to her father, and I had no intention of making a habit of invadinganother man’s privacy.

But Fallon had a way of writing that made it difficult not to catcha sentence or two while checking whether she’d included anything that needed tobe passed along separately. Besides, she’d practically introduced herself to mein that first letter, and I still remembered her warning that she’d hold mepersonally responsible if anything happened to her father.

I shook my head, folded the letter back along its original creases,and placed it inside the envelope. Whatever Fallon had written to her fatherwas between them, and I had no business sitting around reading theircorrespondence.

I tossed the envelope onto my table and grabbed my towel beforeheading for the showers.

Twenty minutes later, I returned feeling considerably more human.I’d changed into a clean T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants, and my stomach wasreminding me that the sandwich I’d grabbed at lunch hardly counted as a propermeal. I could have gone straight to the mess hall, but the letter on my tablecaught my attention again.

General Pierce was still on base, and if I didn’t deliver it now,I’d probably forget about it until tomorrow.

I picked up the envelope, slipped it into the pocket of mysweatpants, and headed out.

The walk to the administrative building took about ten minutes. Bythe time I reached the general’s office, the corridors had quieted down, withmost of the personnel either finishing their evening duties or heading to themess hall. I knocked twice on his door.

“Come in.”

I pushed it open and stepped inside.

General Pierce sat behind his desk, a pair of reading glassesresting low on his nose as he examined a stack of documents. His uniform wasimmaculate, as always, and he looked as though the day’s activities had barelyinconvenienced him. I’d spent the better part of the afternoon sweating throughmy clothes, while the man had somehow managed to remain perfectly composed.

“Ellison,” he said, glancing up. “What can I do for you?”

I reached into my pocket and pulled out the envelope.

“Mail delivery, sir.”

His expression changed the moment he saw it. The stern lines aroundhis mouth softened, and he leaned back in his chair with a quiet sigh.

“Another one?”

“Yes, sir. Arrived this afternoon.”

He held out his hand, and I crossed the room to place it on hisdesk.

“Thank you, son.”

“No problem, sir.”

I turned to leave, but his voice stopped me. “Bear.”

I looked back. “Sir?”

He tapped the envelope against his desk, a faint smile tugging athis mouth.

“You know, I think you’re the only man in this entire unit who getsmore regular correspondence from my daughter than I do.”

I raised an eyebrow. “With all due respect, sir, I’m just thedelivery service.”

That earned a quiet laugh. “Of course.”

“I’m not reading them, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I didn’t say you were.”

“Just making that clear, sir.”

He shook his head, still smiling, before carefully opening theenvelope. I should have taken that as my cue to leave, but something about theway he handled the letter made me pause. He unfolded the paper with the samecare I’d seen him use when examining important documents, as though thehandwriting itself was something worth protecting.

For a moment, the general wasn’t a commanding officer or the manwhose orders could send an entire unit scrambling.

He was simply a father reading a letter from his daughter. I knewbetter than to intrude on that moment.

“Anything else, sir?” I asked.

He glanced up from the first line. “No. You’re dismissed, Ellison.”

“Yes, sir.”

I was halfway to the door when he spoke again.

“Bear?”

I turned. “Thank you for making sure these reach me.” There wassomething different about his voice this time. Less formal. More personal.

I nodded once. “Anytime, sir.”

Then I stepped into the corridor and closed the door behind me. Ihad barely made it a few steps before I heard the general laugh from inside hisoffice. I couldn’t help smiling.

Three nights later, General Pierce was dead.

He’d saved the life of a kid who’d wandered too far outside thecamp perimeter and accidentally stepped on a landmine. The boy couldn’t havebeen more than twelve. From what we’d been told, the general hadn’t hesitatedwhen he realized what had happened. He’d gotten the other personnel to safety,then tried to help the boy before the situation turned fatal.

He’d saved the kid. But he hadn’t made it out himself.

I lay awake while everyone else slept, my eyes fixed on thedarkness above me. The barracks were unusually quiet, broken only by theoccasional rustle of someone turning in their sleep and the low hum of the airconditioning.

I couldn’t stop seeing his face.

General Pierce had been a good man. A damn good soldier, too. Hewas the kind of officer who knew the names of the men under his command, whonoticed when someone was struggling, and who never asked his soldiers to dosomething he wouldn’t do himself. He’d earned his rank, his respect, and everyounce of loyalty his men gave him.

He didn’t deserve to die. The thought kept repeating in my head,useless and infuriating.

I’d seen men die before. I’d stood beside men who’d been laughingone minute and gone the next. I’d learned the hard way that there was nofairness to any of it, no invisible hand keeping count of who deserved anotherday and who didn’t. Sometimes, a man did everything right and still didn’t makeit home.

Knowing that didn’t make this any easier. I rolled onto my side anddragged a hand down my face. The general had once told me that the hardest partof being a soldier wasn’t learning how to fight. It was learning how to livewith the people you couldn’t save.

I’d never understood what he meant quite as well as I did thatnight.

But now, it sure made a lot of damn sense.