Chapter Text
Morale Correspondence Initiative
Recipient: Penpal (TBA)
From: Lt. R
C Squadron, 22 SAS
BFPO 15
Date: 12/01/2008
Hello,
I have been "strongly encouraged" (read: told under threat of another evaluation) by both my CO and a therapist to "practise empathy" and "re-establish human connection" by partaking in the "Morale Correspondence Initiative" (or whatever your squadron has elected to call it). Apparently, my therapist will do some kind of cursory glance at the letter to make sure I have written something of "substantive length" without actually reading any of the content before sending it off to you.
I really hope you have also been forced to do this by some kind of higher-up and are not doing this out of a genuine desire to connect with another soldier because if that is the case you are shit out of luck. I do not expect much from this. I assume you do not either. Keep this simple. No need for fluff. No need for backstories. You can tell me what the weather is like. I will tell you if the food still tastes like sand. That kind of thing. I do not do small talk. Or big talk. Or really any kind of talk.
Do not send any glitter or scented envelopes or I will have us both court-martialled.
"Yours",
Lt. R
Morale Correspondence Initiative
Recipient: Lt. R
C Squadron, 22 SAS
BFPO 15
From: J.
B Squadron, 22 SAS
BFPO 291
Date: 26/01/2008
Hi Lt. R,
I am doing this voluntarily, actually. Figured it might be nice to talk to someone who isn't in my unit, or at least someone whose idea of conversation doesn't involve comparing heat rash, but don't worry, your letter has successfully bullied me out of any sincere expectations.
I'm somewhere hot, flat, allegedly important. The sun hates us. We are betting on how long it will take for the sandstorm to come by and eat our tents.
Postmark says BFPO 15, so you're all cozy and holed up in Hereford, aye? I picture you writing me this letter in a recliner with a biscuit in one hand and a pen in the other, pretending you're not enjoying yourself. Speaking of, you seem to get a real kick out of quotation marks, don't you?
Looking forward to your next scowl in letter form. Continue as you are and I'll send you three letters a week.
Sincerely (no air quotes),
J.
Morale Correspondence Initiative
Recipient: J.
B Squadron, 22 SAS
BFPO 291
From: Lt. R
C Squadron, 22 SAS
BFPO 15
Date: 04/02/2008
Dear J.,
I feel we are a bit on unequal footing here, as I (maybe stupidly) wrote "Lt. R" on my envelope, revealing at the very least my rank to you, and you've elected to not return the favour. So, "J.", to balance out the playing ground here, I think it's only fair you tell me at least that. If nothing else, so I can address your next letter with the appropriate amount of derision.
Right. First off: I was not writing from a recliner. I don't own a recliner. You think just because I'm in Credenhill right now, I'm lounging about like I'm on sabbatical. They're doing renovations on the barracks, so my ceiling is leaking. I'm sure your sand-covered tents are cosier. The food is still shit. Someone tried to toast a cheese sandwich in the ammo shed using a blowtorch.
Re: quotation marks, I use them to indicate where language has gone to die, which includes therapy jargon, morale initiatives, and now, apparently, this correspondence.
Good to hear you're not dead of heatstroke yet. Sorry to hear the weather has developed sentience (and a grudge). Be sure to write if your tent has been eaten.
By the way, your handwriting is very legible, so kudos on that, but all capitals? Really? Are you a blueprint? My eyes hurt.
You wrote yours on the 26th. Took nine days to get here. Not sure if I should be impressed or worried about the military postal service.
"Yours",
Lt. R
Morale Correspondence Initiative
Recipient: Lt. R
C Squadron, 22 SAS
BFPO 15
From: Capt. J.
B Squadron, 22 SAS
BFPO 66
Date: 16/02/2008
Lieutenant,
Wow. That was a lot of words for someone who claims not to care about this. I'm touched, really.
As for the rank thing… Sorry. Not a deliberate power play, just forgot. I'm a captain since you're keeping score. I'll give you a minute to make peace with that. I'd say "try not to let it ruin the dynamic" but I think it absolutely should.
Weather update: still shite. We had a power outage yesterday and someone tried to cook rice on a radiator. We're all very proud of him. Morale's high.
You'll be pleased to hear I have resisted the urge to send glitter. But know this: if you keep up with that snarky "Yours," shite, I will escalate to something scented.
I do appreciate the update from sunny Hereford. It must be exhausting being so emotionally constipated all the time. Thank you for informing me of your lack of recliner, I have updated my mental image to you leaning dramatically against a windowsill, brooding.
Also, you used quotation marks again. Several times. Just saying.
Also also, don't complain about the fact that I write in capitals. Have you ever tried reading a mission brief where the lowercase Ls and capital Is were interchangeable? I have. A man got on the wrong aircraft. Capitals avoid that. I am efficient.
Was it you with the blowtorch sandwich? No judgement. Just want to know who to promote.
Eagerly awaiting your next emotionally distant novella.
Sincerely,
J.
Morale Correspondence Initiative
Recipient: Capt. J.
B Squadron, 22 SAS
BFPO 66
From: Lt. R
C Squadron, 22 SAS
BFPO 15
Date: 24/02/2008
Captain,
Right. So that's how it is, then.
If I had known I was being paired with someone higher in rank, I might've opened with fewer threats of court-martial and more forced pleasantries. A performative "sir." Maybe a crayon drawing. (You felt like a sergeant. I say that kindly.)
Yes, I wrote a lot. It happens. I had time. You should not mistake verbosity for enthusiasm.
One of the new lads decided to deep-clean the kettle with what turned out to be toilet cleaner. Several of us have been spiritually unwell ever since. Your op should be coming to an end soon, so you have that to look forward to once you return to base.
Your threat to escalate to scented stationery is being taken very seriously. (Bergamot suits me.)
I believe you that it's efficient, but that doesn't mean I'm used to your handwriting quite yet. Like an engraving on a tombstone. Why are you always shouting?
Sandwich was not my doing.
This is all ridiculous. The initiative. The letters. You. (As a reminder: I am doing this because I am obligated to. I feel you have lost sight of that.)
" " " " " " "Yours" " " " " " ",
Lt. R
Morale Correspondence Initiative
Recipient: Lt. R
C Squadron, 22 SAS
BFPO 15
From: Capt. J.
B Squadron, 22 SAS
BFPO 15
Date: 05/03/2008
Lieutenant,
Oh, so I'm 'Captain' now? I liked being J. Mysterious, youthful, humble… I am flattered, though. Closest thing to a promotion ceremony I'll be getting this year.
If it helps, I won't pull rank unless you send another paragraph about how you "had time" like you're not actively enjoying this. Which, for the record, you very obviously are. Your last letter had structure. Transitions. Emphasis. At one point I think you even made a joke. Just own it, lieutenant. You're halfway to fond already.
On my end, the sandstorm won. The tent was partially tent, partially modern art. One sergeant declared it "a statement on impermanence." He was also severely concussed, so I'm not sure how much stock to put in that. Morale remained weirdly high. I suspected heatstroke. It's possible I've started finding my squad endearing. Don't tell anyone, I've got a reputation to uphold.
Note the BFPO number, I am back in Credenhill. Won't use the kettle, thanks for the warning, hen.
I wasn't going to say anything, but you've insulted my handwriting twice now, so I think I've earned the right. What is that cursive? It's like reading a Victorian love letter written by a tipsy debutante. Loopy little Fs, slanted Os… the whole thing looks like it's sighing wistfully at me. Honestly, I'm impressed. Where'd you learn it? A girls' boarding school? Don't change it.
Also: you sure do like parentheses, don't you? Don't worry. I think it's sweet. A man of hidden asides. You're like an angry footnote.
With fondness,
Your captain
Morale Correspondence Initiative
Recipient: Capt. J.
B Squadron, 22 SAS
BFPO 15
From: Lt. R
C Squadron, 22 SAS
BFPO 15
Date: 12/03/2008
J.,
I'll have you know my "structure" is not due to anything like you are suggesting. It's called paragraphs. They're standard in written communication. As is punctuation. Sorry if my "emphasis" offended your more freeform sensibilities. And I'm not "halfway to fond." That's not a thing. You're imagining that.
The tent anecdote was something. Glad to hear your squad remains unshaken in spirit. Or just shaken in the brain, depending on the concussion count. Please don't catch whatever that sergeant had. I'm not convinced you haven't already.
You being back in base is noted. It feels weird knowing you're wandering about. I wonder if we ever walk past each other in the halls and nod at each other politely.
Re: "hen" - Are you serious? Further question—are you Scottish? You keep saying shite too. Your response will seriously affect our correspondence going forward.
I'll admit I did not foresee this experiment in "re-establish[ing] human connection" devolving into whatever this is. What you have to say about my handwriting is beyond hurtful considering you write like you're drafting schematics for a skyscraper. I still feel like I need clearance to open your letters. I've been writing like this since I was twelve. It's just how my hand moves. I can't help it. And it's not "sighing wistfully." That's just how Fs look. Piss off.
And finally, I'll thank you not to call me sweet. That's defamatory.
Anyways. You mentioned in your first letter you signed up voluntarily. Why?
That's not personal, by the way. Just statistical curiosity. Morale metrics. Strategic insight. Whatever makes it sound least like a question. Don't read into it. Also don't pay attention to things like the fact that I overuse parentheses. It's quite frankly bizarre. I have made an effort not to use parentheses in this letter. Let me know if you miss them.
I'm being deployed next week. Just letting you know in case letters are delayed.
Your nothing whatsoever,
Lt. R
Morale Correspondence Initiative
Recipient: Lt. R
C Squadron, 22 SAS
BFPO 15
From: Capt. J.
B Squadron, 22 SAS
BFPO 66
Date: 21/03/2008
R,
Oh, so now you're wondering if we've passed in the halls. How romantic. Have you tried to guess what I look like yet? Don't worry, I've done it too. Throw a dog a bone, aye? Hair colour? Height? Eye colour?
To answer your questions: Yes, I'm Scottish. Sorry you had to find out this way. I ken how emotional these moments can be.
And look at you, asking a personal question. Voluntarily. What would your therapist say?
I signed up because I'd started to feel like the only part of me that mattered was the bit that pulled the trigger. And I thought maybe, just maybe, writing something down, even to a complete stranger, might remind me I've got more than just orders in my head.
You said "why" like you expected some silly reason. It was a dare. Maybe I'd lost a bet. Sorry to disappoint.
Now, since we're not being personal, I've got a question for you. What do you do with your days when you're not writing letters you pretend not to enjoy?
And before you say "I train, I eat, I sleep" No. A non-military related hobby, please. Or even just a quirk.
I'll go first, with an annoying quirk: I whistle when I walk. Drives the lads mental. Can't stop.
As for hobbies, I draw. Not the manliest thing for a captain. No one in my squad knows.
If you want to talk about your deployment, again, purely for statistical morale metrics, you ken where to find me. And yes, I did miss the parentheses.
Yours,
J.
Morale Correspondence Initiative
Recipient: Capt. J.
B Squadron, 22 SAS
BFPO 15
From: Lt. R
C Squadron, 22 SAS
BFPO 237
Date: 30/03/2008
J,
Right. Thank you for being emotionally vulnerable in your letter. Sorry. I don't really know how to talk about things like that. I'm glad one of us does. Have you gotten that? From me, I mean. What you wanted from signing up. Don't know if I'm making sense.
I'm not guessing what you look like. That would be ridiculous. (Dark hair…?)
I'm not interested in giving you any physical description of my person. We share a base. That is asking for trouble. I'm willing to tell you I'm 180cm because I think just about everyone here is.
Drawing isn't unmanly. Don't say things like that. We both hold guns, you're allowed a pencil. You can send me a sketch if you like. The parcels have space for more than just a letter. (I'm not saying I want one. I'm saying you could.)
I don't have any quirks. I don't whistle. I find noise for noise's sake unbearable. I also don't pace. I run perimeter laps when I'm stressed. I used to play guitar before the military. Now I read. Library here is dismal. I'll read anything in there with the pages still attached.
Deployment is bleak. That's the summary. It's dry and cold and I'm sleeping badly. We're not doing much. "Observation." Which means standing in dust for twelve hours and remembering what your hands looked like clean. Mail arrives once a week. I check for your letter first. So much dust in my eyes I can barely see what I'm writing.
—Lt. R
Morale Correspondence Initiative
Recipient: Lt. R
C Squadron, 22 SAS
BFPO 237
From: Capt. J.
B Squadron, 22 SAS
BFPO 15
Date: 08/04/2008
R,
I'll spare you the full physical description, since you're clearly very busy not being interested. But you were right. Dark hair. Also, 180cm is suspiciously average. You're really not giving me anything. I'm 200cm. Chew on that.
You have to tell me about the guitar. Electric? Acoustic? I reckon you stopped since you can't exactly have a guitar on base. It's a shame. You still read, though. What are you reading now? It's poetry, isn't it?
The kettle's been replaced. Something to look forward to when you come back. We're doing night drills again. One of the lads walked straight into a tree in the dark and claimed it "wasn't there yesterday."
I'm sorry deployment's shite. Sounds lonely. I won't try to make it better with something twee. But I'm thinking of you. And I'll write.
I will admit I smiled at the part about you checking for my letter first. Even if you buried it under a paragraph about dust and poor sleep. You're not subtle. It's alright. I like that about you already. And R—just in case you were serious when you asked: Yes, this is what I wanted from signing up.
Now tell me, is R the first letter of your name or your surname? Been killing me.
You said I could send a drawing. Not that you want one, of course. Perish the thought. It'll be in the parcel. Nothing fancy. Just something I thought you might recognise. A little reminder of home.
Yours,
J
[hand-drawn sketch of the Hereford Cathedral enclosed, charcoal on notebook paper, edges frayed]
Morale Correspondence Initiative
Recipient: Capt. J.
B Squadron, 22 SAS
BFPO 15
From: Lt. R
C Squadron, 22 SAS
BFPO 237
Date: 19/04/2008
J,
You're not 200cm. Christ. How do you fit in the barracks? Do you duck through doorways? Is that why you're always whistling? Some kind of sonar? A bit miffed, to be honest. I have to radically adjust my mental image of you now.
I played electric. Used to be in a couple of bands as a teenager. Enlisted at 18. I didn't stop because of base restrictions; I stopped because it didn't sound right anymore. Not much else to say about it. I'm not reading poetry. Stop saying things like that. I'm reading some Virginia Woolf right now. Let's not discuss it.
You don't have to say things like "thinking of you." I don't know what to do with it. I liked the drawing. And it's of Hereford. Recognised the cathedral instantly. You even got the slope of it. The paper was frayed. You tore that out of a notebook. I don't know why I noticed that. I've folded it into the back of my copy of The Waves. Thank you. Please never acknowledge the fact that I said any of this.
R is the first letter of my surname. You'll have to earn the rest.
We did a supply run so I was in town. Saw these little nippers running about, the mum looked run ragged. I've always liked kids. What were you like as a kid? Just curious.
Since we're sending things other than letters in these godforsaken parcels now: Don't go overboard. But… there's a brand of biscuits they have in the mess back home. Blue packaging. Some kind of oat thing. Don't ask me the name. You'll know it if you see it. If not, I'll survive.
In return I've sent you something awful. It's all I have on me. It's slim pickings on deployment, you understand.
Yours (in the loosest sense of the word),
R.
[enclosed: a coverless book of Scottish folk songs, with a post-it note that says 'Page 12. You'll hate it. Awful lyrics. Don't whistle it.']
Morale Correspondence Initiative
Recipient: Lt. R
C Squadron, 22 SAS
BFPO 237
From: Capt. J.
B Squadron, 22 SAS
BFPO 15
Date: 27/04/2008
R,
You don't get to deny reading poetry and then say you're reading Woolf. That is poetry-adjacent and you know it. Wanker.
I read them out loud in the breakroom and got booed. One of the lads begged me to stop. So naturally I've committed the chorus to memory. Will be whistling it down the halls. You've only got yourself to blame. Maidens crying at lochs. You know me too well.
You don't know what to do with "thinking of you"? You don't have to do anything. That's the point. It's mine to give, yours to keep.
For the record, I like knowing what you used to do. Bands. Electric guitar. No wonder you're so repressed. That's a tragic backstory. Let me guess: leather jacket, ripped jeans, hair a little too long, "we don't do covers" and you have to tell me: eyeliner or no eyeliner?
So. R is your surname. I'm narrowing it down. Slowly. I'll have to start taking bribes from your squad. Or start guessing. Reynolds? Reardon? Something severe and Protestant-sounding?
You asked what I was like as a kid. I was the youngest. Three older sisters. Which means I didn't own anything without glitter on it until age ten and I was constantly being dressed up and shoved into dance routines against my will. They gave me my first haircut. Botched is putting it lightly. In short, I was disgustingly loved. My ma ran a bakery and my da was a lorry driver. My house was very loud and affectionate and opinionated growing up. Wouldn't trade it for the world. Was pretty fucking lucky, I think.
What about you? What were you like?
Bit of news from my end: someone tried to shave a smiley face into the side of a sheep and now we're banned from interacting with livestock. It wasn't me.
Yours (to the dismay of everyone within earshot),
J.
[enclosed: one (1) packet of Hobnobs, crushed slightly at the corners, and a note taped to the top reading "If this isn't it, lie to me."]
Morale Correspondence Initiative
Recipient: Capt. J.
B Squadron, 22 SAS
BFPO 15
From: Lt. R
C Squadron, 22 SAS
BFPO 237
Date: 06/05/2008
J,
Yes, eyeliner. One time a girlfriend lent me hers because I forgot mine at home and I had no idea it was waterproof. Got home late and damn near died of fear trying to get it off before my dad got home. Used half a bottle of turpentine, I think. My eyes have never recovered.
Alright, that's a bit unfair. How am I meant to equal that? You sound like you were raised in a BBC Christmas special. I was alright. I was a quiet kid, kept to myself, read a lot. Used to hide under the kitchen table with books I got from the library. I swear you couldn't hear anything under there, no matter how loud. My little brother used to crawl under there with me. I'd read to him. He was small enough to fall asleep in my lap if I timed it right. Sometimes I'd make up stories about us running away to Salford and becoming spies or smugglers or something ridiculous, just so he'd laugh. That was probably the nicest bit, actually. Making him laugh.
I reckon we would not have gotten along. Loud and Scottish sounds like little me's nightmare.
Noticed the BFPO number hasn't changed. Either you're too stubborn to deploy or someone's finally locked you in admin where you belong. I don't judge. Paperwork suits you. Bet you've got the most legible handwriting in your unit.
I'm back at base soon. Shame about the livestock ban. I had plans.
I wish I had funny stories for you. I don't.
Not Reynolds. Not Reardon. Not Protestant, though that accusation makes you sound Catholic. It's Irish. Anglicised, though.
JPA says I'm posted to Cyprus and I am very much not. Bit ominous. Also the MTP kit roll-outs have been delayed. Again. I'd be well chuffed if the SAS could stop taking the piss.
I got the biscuits, by the way. They were the right ones. Thanks.
Yours (reluctantly),
R
Morale Correspondence Initiative
Recipient: Lt. R
C Squadron, 22 SAS
BFPO 237
From: Capt. J.
B Squadron, 22 SAS
BFPO 15
Date: 12/05/2008
R,
Don't worry about JPA claiming you're in Cyprus, I was on it this morning trying to check my payslips—which didn't work because nothing on JPA does—and it said that from September 2007 until December 2007 I was stationed in both Belize and Poland at the same time. Between you and me, I was stationed in neither. We can't have civilians finding out this is what their tax dollars are funding.
I know you didn't say it for this effect, but I've been thinking about that what you said about getting the eyeliner off before your dad got home. You say it like it's funny, but it's not, really. Is it?
Don't act like it's impressive to guess I'm Roman Catholic. You already ken I'm Scottish. It would've been a statistical anomaly if I'd been anything else.
And no, I'm not in admin. Wanker. They've just decided I'm "a stabilising influence." So I get to stay here and keep morale up. I'm not saying they made the wrong choice, but people weren't shaving sheep before I came.
That bit about hiding under the kitchen table, reading books out loud, telling stories just to make your brother laugh. I've been thinking about that a lot. It really got me. In the kind of way that makes me think the world's luckier than it deserves to be, because you existed in it, doing that. You said it was the nicest bit. I believe that.
I understand you're bad with the whole vulnerability thing, but I just need you to read this and internalise it: This place will have you believe bravery means running into burning buildings and dodging bullets, but it doesn't have to be. Sometimes it's staying very still and very small so someone can sleep on your lap without being afraid, telling stories you don't believe just so someone else can. You were good to him, I can tell. You were a good kid too, even if you don't think it yourself.
For what it's worth, you may not have liked me, but if we'd met when we were ten I would've made you a daisy chain or plaited your hair or any of the other inane things my sisters trained me for.
Glad the biscuits were the right ones. There's more where that came from. You only have to ask.
So you're Irish then?
Write soon.
Yers in Catholicism,
J
Morale Correspondence Initiative
Recipient: Capt. J.
B Squadron, 22 SAS
BFPO 15
From: Lt. R
C Squadron, 22 SAS
BFPO 15
Date: 18/05/2008
J,
I'm sorry to hear you were in Central America and Eastern Europe at the same time. That must've really complicated your laundry rotation. I hope JPA at least gave you bilateral teleportation and a cloned version of yourself to split the workload.
I'm back in base now. You weren't kidding about the livestock thing. Someone's graffitied Free the sheep in the showers, but you've probably already seen that. Being back is strange. Everything's too loud and too clean. Caught myself still eating like I've only got three minutes. Someone replaced the kettle again. (It's not the same without the scorch marks.)
I keep telling you things you already know (like the kettle, the graffiti, whatever else) and I don't know why. Maybe it's not about telling you something you don't know. Maybe it's just about telling you. Like if I say it to you, it's real. Or it's shared, somehow. Even if you'd already seen it. Maybe I do like small talk. God help me.
Are you still Catholic? I was raised kind of Anglican by my mum, though it didn't seem like her heart was really in it. Lit candles at Christmas, went to Easter mass if she felt guilty enough. My father was an atheist, and an arsehole about it. I reckon I am too now. Not an arsehole. Atheist, I mean. (Though I reckon the first part's up to you.) I suppose that's the military's fault. I always thought Catholicism was much "cooler" (can think of no other suitable word right about now, cut me some slack) than what we had though. I liked your churches more, they're much prettier. And I liked the candles. And I liked the idea of praying to Mary.
I'm not Irish. Irish surname was a red herring. I'm boring English. Guess where. Might even give you a hint or summat. Buzzing for your response. Nowt else to do. Ta for the biscuits, luv. Positively madferit. I'll stop now. Swear down. (Sorry again.)
What you said about me as a kid. It's very kind. I don't really know what to say. I'm just awful with this kind of thing. I wasn't being brave, I just didn't want him to be scared. He was only little. It's just how older siblings feel, there's nothing really noble about it. I'm sure each one of your older sisters would've done the same for you.
Glad to hear you're considered a stabilising influence. I suppose it makes sense. You're steady. Even when you're annoying.
Cordially,
R
Morale Correspondence Initiative
Recipient: Lt. R
C Squadron, 22 SAS
BFPO 15
From: Capt. J.
B Squadron, 22 SAS
BFPO 15
Date: 23/05/2008
R,
Please tell me you've seen the posters. They're properly illustrated and everything. Laminated, no less. And NCOs don't have access to colour printers, so these are being produced by someone who graduated Sandhurst. Somebody with a commission and a postgraduate diploma in leadership and logistics has been spending their lunch break designing sheep liberation posters. I haven't seen this kind of strategic initiative since Telic.
Anyways, speaking of blind devotion. I'm glad you think Catholicism is "cool". Good to know the aesthetic made an impression. Was raised RC through and through. Mass every Sunday unless you were on fire. I actually enjoyed Lent. My ma's side are the fervent ones, if she ever heard me say I wasn't religious anymore she'd drop dead on the spot and haunt me into next year.
Can't say exactly when it faded. There wasn't a moment where I decided, I just felt more and more uncertain as the years went on. The rituals stayed, for a while. I kept praying, carrying the rosary. I still do sometimes to be perfectly honest. My dog tags still say RC. I've never been bothered to change them. Maybe superstition or cowardice or something similar.
I still pray sometimes, even though I'm not sure who I'm praying to. Some days it's like muscle memory. The military has a way of shaking the mystery out of you, doesn't it? Of making everything a bit too loud to hear God in it.
But I still light candles. Still cross myself sometimes, when I'm scared. So who knows.
Also, you can tell me about the kettle any time you like. And the graffiti. And the sheep. I'm not going to complain if I get to see the world twice, once with my own eyes, and once how it looks when you write it down. God forbid you start enjoying basic communication.
About you not being brave, because you only wanted him to not be scared. You were only little too. Maybe my older sisters would've done the same, but they're not exactly low standards to reach, you ken?
Alright, alright. You're Northern. Got it. Probably Manc, if the repressed nature of every letter you've sent me thus far is anything to go by. Explains the attitude. And the fact you can't say anything nice without following it up with an insult, just so no one thinks you've gone soft.
Red or blue? Be honest. I just need to know if I should start emotionally distancing myself.
Yours,
J.
Morale Correspondence Initiative
Recipient: Capt. J.
B Squadron, 22 SAS
BFPO 15
From: Lt. R
C Squadron, 22 SAS
BFPO 15
Date: 28/05/2008
J,
I half-thought the sheep posters were your doing. Still not entirely convinced they're not. You are the resident artist, and captains usually have some kind of resentment for the quartermaster, it seems fitting. If this is your version of throwing them off your trail, there's no need. I'd take it to my grave.
I've become very fond of seeing sheep around base, which is probably a sign I'm not coping. Every time I see one of those sheep skulking around the fence line I feel a strange sense of solidarity. God, maybe I do need leave.
I don't think it's cowardice, by the way. Keeping the RC on your tags. I think it's human. I think we all hold on to something that doesn't make sense anymore just because it used to. It's not stupid if it ever made you feel safer. And I don't think the mystery's gone from you either, not completely. You draw too beautifully for that. There's still reverence and awe in you, even if you don't know where to point it anymore. Anyways. Keep lighting candles or whatever. Someone ought to.
As for your little swipe at the North. Yeah, alright. You got me. I'm from Manchester. I'm a City fan. I don't want to talk about it. No one chooses suffering like this on purpose. I grew up near Moss Side, you think I had a choice? It was practically doctrine. Family might not have cared about much, but that one they made sure of. Don't talk to me about United either. I know you're a Celtic fan, don't even tell me. I like them better than Rangers at least.
I'm getting sent out again soon. Won't say where on paper, I think that's illegal. Wouldn't be our first time violating OPSEC, I'm sure. You'll hear about it in the news if it goes to shit. Where were you when you got your first deployment order? I think I was too young to be scared. Just excited to leave.
—R
Morale Correspondence Initiative
Recipient: Lt. R
C Squadron, 22 SAS
BFPO 15
From: Capt. J.
B Squadron, 22 SAS
BFPO 15
Date: 04/06/2008
R,
City? Really? No wonder you sound like you're used to disappointment. I admire the loyalty, I do. You're like a Victorian ghost clinging to a cursed manor house insisting that you like the mold. Yes, Celtics. Say what you will. At least I know heartbreak properly. You've not lived until you've cried into a pint at Parkhead after a draw with Inverness.
What you had to say about me losing my religion or whatever dramatic shite I wrote in my last letter to you. I don't know what I expected. You have this way of putting things, quietly, no fuss, but it lands like. I don't know. Like a prayer might've once. It was weird, reading it, like you were seeing me. Properly. Thank you for that.
You asked where I was when I got my first deployment order. I remember it exactly. I was in the kitchen. My ma was making lentil soup and my sisters were arguing about something, I think it was the Belle & Sebastian album that had just come out. The letter came through the door and I just knew. I said, "Well, that's me then," and my ma went quiet, but she didn't stop stirring. She knew it was coming obviously; I was set on it. Maybe it didn't feel real until that moment though. One of my sisters nicked the envelope to read it out loud. They all started fussing over the name of the place. Like saying it out loud might make it safer somehow.
I wasn't scared, not really. I think I was proud more than anything. But it did hit me all at once that I was leaving something good behind. Not because I had to, just because I chose to.
They sent me to a place where the sand got in my ears and I immediately got food poisoning. So, glamour all around.
I was walking past the engineers today and it got me thinking. What would you be if you weren't doing this?
When I was younger, I thought I might go into chemistry. I liked watching things react. Mixing two still, boring substances and getting smoke or light or sound. That felt like magic. Then I realised I liked blowing things up more than I liked balancing equations. Now I'm here. No regrets.
Thought about art school for a while. But I don't paint, I don't do colour and I don't draw anything outside of landscapes, people, and mission plans. Not really enough to get into RCA.
Anyways. Your turn. If not this, then what?
Yours,
J
Morale Correspondence Initiative
Recipient: Capt. J.
B Squadron, 22 SAS
BFPO 15
From: Lt. R
C Squadron, 22 SAS
BFPO 44
Date: 10/06/2008
J,
That sounds nice. The kitchen. The soup. Your sisters. Your mum pretending she's not upset. I don't think I knew families could be like that. Like a place you'd leave and immediately want to come back to. I'm glad you have that.
As for "If not this, then what?" Not sure how to answer that. No one's ever asked me before.
I worked at a butcher's for a bit. Apprenticeship. Didn't mind it. Learned how to slice things clean. I was good with the knives, actually. Still am. But it wasn't the sort of job that made you think you were meant for anything. Just paid enough for the bus.
Then 9/11 happened, which I know is absolutely ridiculous. It's so cliché and makes me sound like a Yank. But it wasn't about justice or revenge or nationalism or anything noble. I just saw it happen on telly and thought, oh. Military's a thing you can do. It's like that had never registered for me before. After that day I thought about it a lot. You can sign up and then you leave forever and that's that. (In retrospect, that's not that. Yes, you get to leave forever but there are quite a few pitfalls. Just a few.)
Anyway. I enlisted. Got out of the house. Didn't look back.
I think the question you're asking is: what would I be if I could have been anything? I haven't got an answer for that. Maybe someone else.
I'm writing this from a half-collapsed schoolhouse with holes in the ceiling and goats in the stairwell. We've got no kettle, but someone MacGyvered a decent one out of a mess tin and a coil of wire. I've had worse tea. Our section's taken to rating MREs out of ten. The lamb stew got a 2.5 until someone realised it was actually the vegetarian pasta, and we'd just misread the packet. Saw a kid on a rusted-out bike the other day, riding in figure-eights behind the wire. He waved at us. I waved back, obviously. I really like kids.
That's the news from here. Hope base is cosier.
XOXO,
R
Morale Correspondence Initiative
Recipient: Lt. R
C Squadron, 22 SAS
BFPO 44
From: Capt. J.
B Squadron, 22 SAS
BFPO 15
Date: 18/06/2008
R,
I've been thinking about you working in a butcher's, which is a very sharp image, if you'll forgive the pun. You behind a counter, quietly terrifying. Customers getting extra polite just in case. Did you wear one of those stripy aprons? Don't answer that. Let me keep the image.
I don't like "Maybe someone else." Not because it's not honest—it is. I get it. I get the feeling. I understand that life hasn't been kind to you. But I like the person who came out of it.
You think there's no answer to the question "What would you be if you weren't a soldier?" But you've already been other things. A boy who protected someone smaller than him, a lad who took a job and showed up on time, and a man who writes me letters with a hell of a lot of heart that's keeping me company in this job that's usually pretty damn lonely.
If we're sticking to jobs, I think you'd be a good librarian.
Also, "I really like kids", you said, as if I wouldn't immediately fold that into my mental dossier on you. That's it. Game over. I've seen through you. All the sarcasm, the stiff upper lip, the "don't compliment me or I'll bite" business—utterly demolished by one small boy on a bicycle. It's alright, I like kids too. Let the record show I am not calling you sweet, you've already scolded me for it once so I wouldn't dream of it. You're clearly a big scary soldier. Just one that waves at kids and gets emotionally attached to kettles.
So you're telling me if I handed you a baby you wouldn't immediately become a complete liability? You write like a man made entirely out of scar tissue, then write things like "I waved back, obviously" and expect me not to melt a little.
Pardon for harping on ancient history, but there's a line from one of the letters letter you sent me back in May that I've been thinking about. The one about the guitar, about how the reason you stopped isn't because of base restrictions, but because it "didn't sound right anymore". I'll give you an eye colour in exchange for an elaboration.
Write soon. You always manage to say some shite that sticks with me somehow.
Yours,
J
Morale Correspondence Initiative
Recipient: Capt. J.
B Squadron, 22 SAS
BFPO 15
From: Lt. R
C Squadron, 22 SAS
BFPO 44
Date: 25/06/2008
J,
Alright. Well. Thanks for that. Not in a weird way. Just. You didn't have to say any of that, and you did. So. Cheers.
Here, to make sure your mental image of my butcher shop job is accurate: I was seventeen. I had to wear that stupid striped apron you mentioned. It smelled like raw meat and vinegar and bleach. It wasn't a bad job. I liked how quiet it got near closing time. I liked cleaning the blades. There was something peaceful about it. Just me and my hands and the steel.
I used to imagine leaving town. Sometimes I'd look at the plastic meat displays in the window and think: I bet no one else has to stare at this every day. I bet there's somewhere with real things in the windows. I don't really know what I meant by real things. Maybe art or books or something.
So yeah. I wanted out. Still do. Funny thing, wanting to get away from the thing that got you away in the first place. That doesn't read well. Sounded better in my head. Like, the very thing that saved you becomes a trap in of itself. Is that better? Anyways. It's not so bad, writing to you. That part's alright.
About the fact that I said I liked kids: It was one line. One line. You wrote two paragraphs about it. That's not a normal reaction. There's something wrong with you. I waved at a kid because he waved first and I'm not a monster. I didn't cradle him in my arms and sing him lullabies. I waved. That's it. You need to get out more, I'm serious.
And no, I would not become a liability if handed a baby. I'd hold it like a normal person. Steady grip, proper neck support. I'm fine with babies. Had to look after one for a bit. Ages ago. Not mine. Long story.
As for the guitar thing: I started playing for myself, but I only kept at it because my brother thought it was the coolest thing in the world. He had abysmal taste, think typical 14-year-old boy shit. I used to take his CDs when he wasn't home, learn the chords in secret, then play them and pretend like it was no big deal. He'd run in grinning like I'd conjured it out of thin air. I always said I was playing it by ear. Total lie. I couldn't play anything by ear. Might be tone-deaf, actually. (What's the drawing equivalent of playing by ear? Sketching without reference?)
He talked about me to his classmates like I was the second coming of Kurt Cobain or something. I was already 10 by the time Cobain died so the reincarnation timeline didn't exactly line up.
I was promised an eye colour.
Faithfully,
R
Morale Correspondence Initiative
Recipient: Lt. R
C Squadron, 22 SAS
BFPO 44
From: Capt. J.
B Squadron, 22 SAS
BFPO 15
Date: 31/06/2008
R,
Ten when Kurt Cobain died. I hope my math is wrong, because if it isn't, you're 24. Does your squad know? Do they realise they're being ordered around by someone who probably still has baby teeth?
You write like someone who's already had to claw their way through a lifetime. It's not a bad thing, you're just much younger than I thought. I'm 29. Turning 30 in a little over a month. Find a way to sing for me over letter, would you? Tell me you're turning 25 soon at the very least.
What you said about wanting to get out of the thing that got you out—that wasn't badly written. It was very honest. The world shrinks to whatever saves you, doesn't it? Until you wake up and realise it's caging you now. I'm glad writing to me is alright. Writing to you is alright too, you know.
You learning his shitty CD tracks just to impress him is adorable. You really were good to him. Yes, I guess sketching without reference would be the art equivalent. A lot of guesswork and self-delusion. I'm shite at drawing anything that isn't right in front of me, but I've been getting better at it more recently.
I've been rereading your old letters. You're awfully good at avoiding questions, you know that? You mentioned coming home with eyeliner on once. said you used turpentine to get it off before your dad came in. I remember telling you that didn't sound very funny, and normally you respond to every little thing I write like you're ticking off a checklist, but that one you left alone. And the kitchen table. The way you described it, like it was some kind of shield. Said you couldn't hear anything under there, no matter how loud, and your little brother used to crawl under with you. And it sounded like you were protecting him from something. And the guitar, you told me how it started, which was lovely, and how much he adored you, which did something terrible to my chest, but you never said when it stopped sounding right.
I'm not asking because I need to know. But if there's something you've never said out loud, and you wanted someone to hear it, then I'd listen. That's all. I have a feeling you don't want to talk about the baby either.
I was serious about the eye colour. They're blue. Fairly standard. Don't go pale in the light and dark and stormy when I'm angry. Sorry to disappoint.
Yours,
J
Morale Correspondence Initiative
Recipient: Capt. J.
B Squadron, 22 SAS
BFPO 15
From: Lt. R
C Squadron, 22 SAS
BFPO 44
Date: 06/07/2008
24 isn't that young. You make it sound like I turned up at Sandhurst in nappies. Joined Paras in 2001. Passed SAS selection. Applied for a commission and went to RMAS. Officer by 2007. It's rare, but not impossible. You make it sound illegal.
You're turning 30? That explains the tone. Practically a pensioner. Shall I send you one of those big number balloons? A Victoria sponge? A bottle of joint oil? Maybe a pair of those socks with the little grips on the bottom so you don't fall over in the shower.
I'm happy to know your eye colour. I want to tell you my first name. I don't know why. It's not like it'd give anything away. No one in my squad knows it anyway. Not like it could be traced back to me.
I liked what you said about the world shrinking. I think you're right. You always make what I'm saying sound coherent, so thanks for that. Writing to you helps with the whole cage thing though. Anyways. I really need to stop saying things like that.
Last night I dreamt you had a nice voice. That's stupid, right?
As for your questions: Yes, you're right about the eyeliner. It's not a funny story.
The guitar stopped sounding right because my brother is dead.
No, I don't want to talk about the baby.
That's all.
—R
Morale Correspondence Initiative
Recipient: Capt. J.
B Squadron, 22 SAS
BFPO 15
From: Lt. R
C Squadron, 22 SAS
BFPO 44
Date: 07/07/2008
Forget the last letter. In fact, forget all of them. Or don't. Whatever. I don't care. Shouldn't have written it. Shouldn't have written any of this. This has gotten completely ridiculous. You are a stranger. I do not know you. You do not know me. You never will. This is a stupid fucking morale programme and we were never meant to keep this going past a couple letters. Whatever you think this is, it isn't. Whatever you think you're doing, just fucking stop. You're not my confidant or my friend, you're a man I've never met. I don't know what right you think you have to pry and prod at my personal life like this. I'm not interested in your questions or your stupid drawings or your bullshit about keeping morale up at base or whatever the fuck, like you're some therapist. Maybe you are a stabilising influence. Maybe you keep up morale. Good for you. That's your job. What's not is sniffing around here like I'm something you can fix. This isn't anything. We're not anything. I was assigned this. That's it.
Don't write back.
[enclosed: the Hereford Cathedral sketch, carefully re-folded. Mint condition except for some fingerprint smudges around the edges, like someone has been running their fingers over it, over and over.]
Morale Correspondence Initiative
Recipient: Lt. R
C Squadron, 22 SAS
BFPO 15
From: Capt. J.
B Squadron, 22 SAS
BFPO 15
Date: 13/07/2008
R,
Alright.
I got your letters. Both of them. And my drawing. I'm not going to argue. You've made it very clear what you want. I'll respect that.
It stung. That's what you wanted, right? You wrote to me like I was an idiot. Like I imagined everything. Like I should be embarrassed. You want to scare me off. I get that.
And if that's what you need, fine. You don't owe me anything. Least of all your past. You didn't owe me anything. Not your stories, not your brother, not your name. I hope you never felt like you did.
But you don't write like someone talking to a stranger. You never have. We did connect, whether you like it or not. And it doesn't vanish just because you've decided you hate that it happened. I've kept the rest of your letters. I'm not getting rid of them. Wanker. I'm not ready to pretend this didn't matter.
I'm not here to make you feel small. I'm not here to therapise you. And I'm not here to be spat at just because something scared you.
I liked writing to you. I liked the way you wrote back. And I meant everything I said.
That's all.
You don't need to reply, I won't bother you again.
Yours still,
J.