FicWad

“Dear Liam,

“I do not understand how you were able to tolerate these barbarians for so long. I have been here for nearly eight months now, and I’m amazed that I haven’t killed any of my tent mates. I probably haven’t told you that this unit’s divided by ethnicity. The camp has five different groups of men, and they never mix. It’s even divided into five different sections, so the men don’t have to see each other. There are the Irish, the Anglo-Irish, the English, the Scottish, and the Scots-Irish. So much as offering the wrong man a drink could get you killed around here. They’re also obsessive about rank. If I even thought about offering a sergeant a drink, I’d be brought before the colonel for fraternizing with the enlisted men and conduct unbecoming an officer. The entire Northern Army can’t be like this. I know for a fact that Senatorial General Volkov isn’t. Maybe it’s just northerners.

“I’m sick of fish. All winter, it was salted fish. Since then it’s been mostly cod. I’ve had so much fish I think I might become one. The only break from cod is crab. You have no idea how much I want a meat pie right now. I don’t know whether I’ll be taking leave in Bridgeton over Yule this year or whether I’ll be here or in Crosspoint then. Either way, the first thing I’m going to do when I get off the train in either Crosspoint or Bridgeton is go to the nearest tavern and get five of whatever they’re serving with meat in it. I’d kill for a steak right now.

“It’s not all bad. There’s one man in the entire unit who’s decent company. His name is Lt. Andrew Hackett. He’s currently serving under me, and he’s requested a permanent transfer to the Southern Army, with a special request for the Thirteenth Bridgeton. I wrote your father a letter about it, and I don’t think he’d mind doing me that favor. Drew’s father was from Bridgeton, and most of his family is dead, so he has no reason to stay up north. He’s a capable lieutenant, Anglo-Irish, an excellent swordsman, and a likable sort of fellow. He stands no chance of promotion here, which is why he’s coming south with me. The only thing not to like about him is that he talks like a northerner, but he’s not quite as bad as the rest.

“The Sixty-Ninth is out of a city called Newport. It’s on the coast. You know how most men in the Thirteenth Bridgeton grew up with fathers who taught them how to shoot and salute? Well, up here, most of the men have fathers who are fishermen. They do their five years to honor the Revolution, maybe making sergeant, then they retire from the army and fish for the rest of their lives. A few stay on longer and become officers, but most of the officers come from towns further inland in District Six. I’m probably the only man here who’s never weighed anchor, and I don’t intend to. One of the sergeants went on his first whaling voyage at twelve. Even Drew Hackett talks like a sailor, by which I mean that he doesn’t say the “t” in “captain,” insists upon telling me to “keep a weather eye open” if someone’s drunk too much and looking for a fight, and says “fair winds and following seas” every time he leaves to go to town to get a drink. I will never get used to the words “avast,” “belay,” and “scupper” used as commands on dry land, nor will I get used to “hands” as a term for soldiers or directions like “aft,” “alongside,” “windward,” and “aloft.” What’s so wrong with “back there,” “over here,” “behind,” and “up,” may I ask?

“The other odd thing about them is that you can tell their fathers’ trades by the way they talk. The ones who came from fishing families don’t curse much and are lightweight drinkers compared not only to the whalers, dockers, merchant sailors, privateers, and especially the pirates, but even compared to me. There’s more kinds of alcohol than I can name in this camp, but there isn’t a single bottle of poitín to be found, since these men are from the coast, and all the moonshining goes on a little further inland. I sent you a crate of vodka that should arrive shortly after this letter. Send me a barrel of poitín in return. I want a quiet night, and drinking them to sleep is about the only way I’ll get it.

“I’m sorry I didn’t write you sooner. Being the outsider, they give me all the shit jobs, and that keeps me stupidly busy. I mentioned that these men are from Newport, but we’ve been in Stankirk in District Eleven the entire time. The area’s mostly Russian, Polish, Ukrainian, and Scandinavian, with just enough Germans so I can’t identify a single one of the eighty or so kinds of sausage in the shop windows, not that the shops are ever open when I’m in town and not that a single butcher speaks English. Everything here closes at dark except the taverns. Most of the bartenders only learned the word “whiskey” when the war started, and apparently I look Polish or Russian or German or something, because the locals all think I might speak their language. It’ll never happen.

“I’ll be traveling for the next couple weeks, so you probably won’t get another letter for a while. In two days, I’ll be going to Newport with some of the officers. Drew promised to show me his favorite pub while we’re there. He says it’s called The Skull and Bones. His only surviving brother said we could stay with him while we’re there. We’re actually going up to Newport to fetch supplies they won’t ship to us, like cigarettes and alcohol, but nobody takes anything serious around here, and me and Drew are the only two going who don’t have wives, and therefore houses, in Newport. After I return from Newport, I’ll be going to see Miss Kerrigan. She’s traveling to visit the Volkovs, and the rumor is that she’ll bring her baby. She wanted an escort from Stankirk to the Volkovs’ summer estate, so she wrote my colonel, and I’m going to be assigned to her to serve as her traveling companion for a few days. I’ll tell her you said hello. I know you’d want me to.

“How is everyone in Crosspoint? I haven’t heard from anybody except Emmy twice and Doctor Sparrow about once a month. By the way, he’s doing alright. His wife hates traveling and went back to Bridgeton ahead of him. Still no word as to whether he’ll have a job come winter. I don’t know how you can go thirty years without sex. One is killing me. I can’t wait until I’m back with normal people, and meat, and reliable subordinates, and a colonel who makes sense when he gives orders, and poitín, and surgeons whose first idea isn’t amputation, and no threat of bears at night, and cities where things are actually open when you get there, and green uniforms, and tent mates who understand what “bedtime” means, and the hope of promotion, and normal talking, and men getting their sons and brothers promoted, and people who don’t assume you sleep with men if you wash up after battle, and most of all my Emmy. I’d kill to be with her right now.

“I can only hope that I survive this ordeal and see all of you again, but it looks like all you’ll get back are my bones. The only reason I can write this letter now is that I was shot six times a couple weeks ago and have been resting. I’ve been asleep most of the time. The surgeon is a complete amadán, so I had to take out three bullets myself with only Drew to help me. For a great swordsman, he’s not real useful with a knife. Never stitch yourself up with a shaving kit mirror, a razor, a needle borrowed from the nearest housewife, and a glass of whiskey. The two in my leg weren’t too bad. They missed the bone and didn’t go in too deep. I was wearing armor so the three that hit me in the chest and stomach weren’t too bad since they didn’t actually pierce the armor, but I was sick for a week afterward and all bruised up. The one in my left arm did the worst, though. I’ll be in a cast for the next six weeks. I have to fight with the one arm. They only gave me two weeks’ rest, but I’m traveling for the next two weeks, so I’ll only be a month or so with the one arm In combat. I hope you’re better off than me, but it’d be pretty hard to have worse luck than I do. I’ve rambled on long enough, and it’s time to go drink myself to sleep.

“Capt. Wm. Fitzmaurice.”

“Dear Billly,

“I sent you your poitín and some salted smoked meat. I hope it helps. The jam is from the Colonel’s mother. So’s the scarf. I know it’s odd to get a scarf this early, but it’ll be cold enough to need it before you’re out of that cast. Mrs. Boland sent the bread. She made more than we could use, so we sent you the rest. It’ll be a bit stale before you get it, but it should be alright as toast.

“I’ve been to The Skull and Bones. Tell me what you think of it when you get back. I knew Drew Hackett when he was little. His dad went to Newport during the Revolution, but I knew Franklin Hackett from when he was a smuggler. There was a price on his head when his wife got pregnant with their first, so he ran to Newport so he could raise his son and not go to jail. I went up there a while back when Drew was only little and stayed in Newport for a year or so. I left before he was four, so I’d bet he doesn’t remember his uncle Liam.

“I hate to tell you this, but most of us aren’t well either. Boland’s been real sick. No idea what he’s got, but he’s in his own tent in case it’s catchy. His wife and child are fine, though. Lieutenant Coffey got cut up pretty bad. By the time Doctor Hayes got here to stitch him, he’d been bled near dry. We need Doctor Sparrow back as much as we need you back. Lieutenant Morrison got beat in a bar in town. Five locals cornered him and beat him because he had a little money. His jaw and nose are broken, and his eye socket is shattered. You’d barely recognize him, but he wouldn’t want you to see him anyway. Colonel Callahan was shot in the hand. He lost two fingers, but Doctor Lawless reattached them. He still can’t move them, and his hand is in a big cast. Major Moynihan has a broken skull. I got shot in the leg a while back, but I’m well enough now. My father removed the bullet himself. About the only good news I have is that he has a horse for me. It will be a long time before he can ride him, but he gave me a colt named Ghost.

“The worst news I have is about Conan. There’s no easy way to tell you this. Your replacement, who snores and keeps us up all night, by the way, shouted at Conan for coming to the tent to find me to go out to the still. Conan was helping me write this, and I was teaching him to make poitín. Jack is helping me now, since Conan can’t. Jack says he can only spell good when he’s halfway sober, so this will be a short letter. The bastard that’s here in your place told Conan that he wasn’t good enough to even look at officers, let alone speak to them, and that he’d never be anything worthwhile. He also hit Conan pretty hard with his rifle butt. I was at the river washing up at the time, and I heard this all from Boland, who was in his tent at the time and overheard. Conan ran off. When I got back from the stream, that bastard told me Conan came for me. I went looking in camp, and Boland told me he was headed for town. I took Boland’s horse and went looking.

“By the time I found him, Conan’s mouth was blue and he wasn’t breathing too good. He died in my arms twice while I was bringing him to the doctor, but I brought him back a little with blood. When the surgeon undressed him, I found a note. I have it in my trunk. It says he was going to drink himself to death and that he’d lost everyone who’d get why. He said he knew Boland was dying, and I was hurt too bad again, and you were gone. He probably got the idea from what happened to me last year. I had to tell his father and brothers. I’m spending nights with him. We have our own tent for now. He comes to town with me when I see Jack. Morrison’s been with him days. He also lost his girl a while back, and she was his first. Right now, I just hope we can keep him alive long enough for you to see him one more time, but I doubt it.

“Tell me about Kerrigan’s baby if you see him. My father told me she had a boy back in July, but I haven’t see him. He said Kerrigan said he was early but alright, if a little small. Does he look like her? Is she alright? I haven’t seen her since Yule.

“Everyone here misses you. We wish you never left.

“Liam.”

“Dear Liam,

“I’m truly sorry that so much time has passed since I last wrote you. I was staying with the Volkovs and Kerrigan. Her baby doesn’t look like her exactly. He has her dark hair but blue eyes, which I assume he got from her husband. I’ve never met the man, so I wouldn’t know. When I was at the Volkovs with her, he was in her lap always fussing for attention. The only quiet we got was when he took his naps and when Var offered me the chance to escape with him and his father-in-law.

“Miss Kerrigan looks a little different. I don’t know how to describe it. She’s her, but she isn’t the same. She seems a little more normal or alive or something. There was a reason why she was here. I’m certain she’ll be in Crosspoint soon. She was here to ask Lord Miternowski about Mary Jameson for you. She found her. Mary was working in the Volkov’s summer home as a maid. Kerrigan told me to tell you that she’ll be in Crosspoint as soon as Mary’s paperwork is finished. Because there’s paperwork saying that Mary died, Kerrigan wants to have her paperwork changed and filed before she brings her to you so you don’t have to deal with it when you file marriage papers.

“The food was very much appreciated, and I already need the scarf up here in the mountains. Please pass on my thanks to the Colonel’s mother. I hope everyone’s doing better now, especially Conan. He’s so young and idealistic. I hope this war doesn’t break him. It pains me to hear that he would kill himself, but if I ever meet the bastard who did that to him, I’ll strangle him with my bare hands. Tell Conan I promise I’ll be back. It’s early October now, so it’ll only be another couple months.

“By the way, I wasn’t expecting a ship resting in a foundation at the end of a pier to be the Skull and Bones when I went to Newport. Despite being surrounded by northerners and not being able to find meat, I had a good time there.

“As for my orders, I don’t have them yet. I don’t know whether I’ll meet you in Crosspoint or Bridgeton and whether I’m leaving before or after Yule. Doctor Sparrow will be visiting me for a few days next week on his way south. He hasn’t heard whether he’ll have a job come the new year either. Up here, the fighting is getting much worse. There have been night raids on both sides, and our mess hall was lit on fire. Finally, there was a week without fish. My tent mates blamed me, since I’m the outsider, but we all know the enemy did it. You have no idea how good pork tastes after nine months of nothing but fish. Then again, maybe you do, since you lived in District Six for a while.

“I hope your wedding goes well. Mary is a beautiful woman. I’m surprised she didn’t marry one of the young gentry around here. I can see why you’d wait for her, but you thought she was dead, and she thought you were dead. I’ll never understand it. The two of you are perfect, though. I sincerely hope you’re happy together, and I hope you don’t mind if I give you your wedding gift a little late. There’s no market here, and all the shops close at sunset. Honestly, the colonel trusts the privates who got here last week and are only sixteen more than he trusts me. I’m out of cigarettes and whiskey, but he won’t let me leave camp for an hour on Saturday to go to town to get more. Luckily, I have Drew to go for me. If I never see this place again, it’ll be too soon.

“Capt. Wm. Fitzmaurice.”

“Dear Billy,

“Mary is a beautiful woman, indeed, but we won’t be getting married for some time. We’re legally married, but we haven’t had the ceremony yet, and we won’t be having it for a while. We decided to wait until you’re back. We’ve waited over thirty years, so what’s another couple months? She got here three days after your letter did, and we’re just getting to know each other again after so long apart. Down here, it’s been bad too. Because of the raids, Kerrigan got Mary a room in town. She can’t stay in camp with me. It’s too dangerous. Kerrigan won’t tell my father where Mary’s staying. She really doesn’t trust him. Anyhow, I see what you mean about Kerrigan. It’s something in her eyes. She looks happy. My father said it’s because her husband is nicer to her when she has a child around, but I think it’s also because she isn’t taking care of my father too. He must be more work than a child who can’t walk or talk yet.

“Boland’s still sick. I hope Dr. Sparrow stops here. Boland’s close to death. We’ve tried all the remedies we know, but he’s still not well. Morrison still can’t eat, and he’s getting sick as well from not eating. He’s lost thirty pounds or so since you left because he can’t eat anything. Conan’s still out of combat. He tied his belt around his neck and went to bed the other night. I was asleep before him, and I’m a very sound sleeper. We almost lost him. We would have if not for Boland’s hacking cough, which woke Morrison, who went to the stream for a drink. When he came back, he fell in the dark and swore, which woke the Colonel, whose brotherly instinct caused him to check on Conan before going back to bed. The Colonel woke me, and between us, we brought Conan back. The Colonel’s thinking he might discharge Conan over this.

“I do have some good news for you, though. You’ll be a major when you get back. Major O’Donnell resigned his commission after getting shot in the leg so he could go and have a normal job in Bridgeton and be with his wife and start a family. I was offered his place, but I talked to Colonel Callahan, and he agreed it was best to keep it open for you. You’ll be back as soon as you can get here. Your orders are to come back with Dr. Sparrow and Lt. Hackett as soon as you can. Capt. De Lacey died in a fight. He insulted you, and a certain someone, I won’t say who, accidentally bashed his skull in with his own rifle. Morrison’ll become captain, and we’ll need a lieutenant. Major Moynihan is taking O’Donnell’s men, so you’ll have us.

“I saw Lt. Barrett in town the other day. I didn’t know it, but she’s been in Bridgeton for the past few months on medical leave. She said she broke her leg falling off her horse on her way to town a few months ago and went home until it healed. I didn’t hear about it. Then again, I have to mind Conan all the time and can’t go to town very much. We’d all love to see you again.

“Liam.”

“Dear Liam,

“My orders arrived the day after your letter. I should get there a week before Samhain. Dr. Sparrow is thrilled to be returning as well. His wife won’t like it at all, but this war won’t last forever, and he’s needed in Crosspoint until it ends. Lt. Hackett can’t wait either. He’s already packed. He does remember uncle Liam, and he wants to see you again. He also wants to get away from the northerners. As he puts it, he’s never worked aboard ship in his life, and neither did his father. The Colonel doesn’t want him to go, but he has no choice, since Lt. Hackett has his orders. Dr. Sparrow’s parents are sending my regular uniforms to meet me in Crosspoint. Please tell Col. Callahan that, in case he tries to send them here or they don’t get there in time.

“I hope I make a good major, but I’ll at least have good captains and lieutenants to rely on. I’m glad to be getting out of this godforsaken place two months early. I’m not that fond of Crosspoint, but at least it’s more like Bridgeton than this place is, and Bridgeton is, and always will be, my home. I’ve even missed having my contract gambled. I can’t see him losing that habit until he’s not a colonel any more. Maybe this tragedy involving his little brother will force the Colonel to change his own ways a little. He shouldn’t have given you the job of watching Conan. You’re not his brother. The Colonel is, and so are a major and a lieutenant, or have they been promoted since I’ve been gone? You can’t be his father. That’s his father’s job. You need to worry about your men in battle, not whether Conan will be there when you get back. The Colonel is a damned fool if he thinks what he’s done to you will help the unit in any way.

“That being said, I don’t want to see Conan discharged, and I’m sure you don’t either. He’ll become a beggar if he goes back to Bridgeton. If your name’s Callahan, there’s nothing for you but army life, and he knows it. He’s known it since the day he was born, and the tattoos he has prove it. If he goes back, he wont go home. He won’t find work either. He’ll end up a beggar, and we both know what that means. I doubt he does, but I know he won’t last long. He’ll end up dead on the street from the cold, the drink, or a knife, or he’ll end up in the river somehow. He’s not like us. He comes from a good family and a proud one but a poor one. I hope the Colonel knows what he’s doing if he discharges his brother.

“All told, it could have been worse up here. Despite the fact that nobody bathes enough and that nearly everyone has an obsessive amount of tattoos all over themselves, not just on their arms like most of the Callahans, at least a few men were decent and acted normal, like Lt. Hackett. My subordinates were capable enough, even though they were always late and didn’t listen to orders. The officers were intolerable bastards, but aren’t we all? At least I didn’t die like I expected to. That isn’t saying much, but up here, even though I’m with a unit, I’m alone. You get used to trusting other officers with your life. Up here, I can’t trust anyone like that. They’d sell me to the enemy for a single copper if they had the chance. There’s no loyalty here.

“The doctor and me have been drinking out in town all weekend. The Colonel finally let me out of camp. Finding good whiskey around here isn’t easy. Most of the taverns and inns have some form of whiskey, rum, and gin, but that doesn’t mean they have a good one. None of these places had any of those before this war started. This is vodka country. They even have their own form of poitín here. Some of them call it “spirytus rektyfikowany,” and others call it “Primasprit.” Theirs is all made in distilleries, though, not like ours which could be made in a distillery, your barn, or some place in the woods. I’ll bring you back some of this stuff. You’re the only man I know crazy enough to drink it. I don’t mind Stankirk itself, but I wish I could have seen more of it instead of just the inside of my tent for ten months.

“If all goes well, I’ll see you very soon. Best of luck to you.

“Capt. Wm. Fitzmaurice.”