We spent two more days drilling around Clécy before boarding trucks and rolling out to the outskirts of Cherbourg, where we linked up with my immediate superior, Lieutenant Colonel Langford.
"Ha! My dear Captain Carter, you've finally made it back!" the colonel exclaimed, sweeping me into a bear hug the moment I stepped inside.
"Yes, sir—Colonel, I'm back," I replied, trying to sound both respectful and relieved.
Langford gave me a long, appraising look, then gestured for me to sit on the sofa beside him. He lit a cigar and offered it to me. I shook my head; truth be told, I'm no fan of cigars. They're a dangerous habit for soldiers—one inhale, and you can easily lose yourself in them.
"Captain, you've done outstanding work," Langford announced as his aide, Miller, stood by. "You're the pride of our Rangers. You've made me look very good these past days."
"It's all thanks to your support, sir," I replied, trying to sound humble. "At Clécy, if you hadn't sent those armored cars from elsewhere, I never would've held out that long."
Langford pointed at me, then turned to Miller with a triumphant laugh. "See? I told you our Captain Carter would say exactly that!"
Miller gazed at the colonel with admiration. "Sir, you're unmatched. I didn't believe Carter would say it, but by golly—he was right on cue!"
I couldn't help smirking. I glanced at Miller, who, flush with pride, was shamelessly flattering Langford. The colonel, for his part, seemed to savor every bit of it. I leaned over, thumb-sup to Miller, silently congratulating his slick tongue.
If he weren't someone I trusted, I'd worry he'd stab me in the back for such gall. But with Miller, I knew the risk was nil. He shot back a playful eyebrow-raise, as if to say, "Hey, why don't you try it yourself?" I stifled a laugh.
"What's so funny, Captain Carter?" Colonel Langford asked, puzzled by our silent banter.
"Just a memory of our first meeting, sir," I improvised.
"You haven't forgotten that, have you?" the colonel mused. "Bringing you back here wasn't just for show—we've got another big fight coming."
"Cherbourg?" I asked.
"Exactly. The storm-damaged Omaha port facilities—our supplies are snarled. We need a major port, and Cherbourg's our best shot."
"I heard the Germans have quite a force there." I frowned.
"True, intelligence estimates three infantry divisions and an armored division—around fifty thousand men. But we've cut off their retreat. They're sitting ducks. With six Allied divisions, we'll encircle and destroy them with ease."
"That sounds… manageable," I said, forcing a convinced nod.
Langford shrugged. "Our Rangers will support the infantry and armored units in the siege and eliminate the German coastal defense batteries. Then the Battleship Texas can safely close in to bombard the enemy—and finally we'll destroy the German headquarters! Simple, right?"
I frowned. "Not exactly a walk in the park."
"That's why I pulled you back from Clécy at a moment's notice," he said.
"When do we strike?"
"That depends on the other units. I'll let you know."
He paused, then grinned. "By the way, good news—your mother sent you a letter. Miller, bring Captain Carter's mail.Left drawer. No, sorry—the center one."
"Look at that—an honorable mother you have," Miller teased, handing me a folded envelope with a mix of envy and respect.
My mother? The woman in this life I'd never met, yet somehow now "my" mother? I hesitated, staring at the letter.
"I see you don't quite believe it's real," Langford chuckled.
"Thank you, sir," I said, awkwardly accepting the letter.
Thinking I was overcome with emotion, he turned to Miller. "Escort him back so he can bask in the glory of his mother's love!" Then he went back to his cigars and reports.
Once outside, Miller clapped me on the shoulder. "Captain, always live for your mother's sake. Stay alive—for her."
"Thanks, Miller. You too," I said sincerely.
"Speaking of which," he leaned in, lowering his voice, "I know where to find ladies 'round here tonight. Interested?"
I laughed. "I'm broke."
"So am I," he admitted, shrugging. "But I'd cover for you if I had the more cash."
"Don't worry—I'll find a way," I lied cheerfully. "I owe you for the lead."
Miller grinned. "You're a good friend. Bound and determined, I see." He walked off before I could ask the details.
Back in my single-man tent, I finally dared to open the letter and photo. The envelope had been vetted by our security officers, so it lay open. Inside was a neatly typed letter and a family portrait: an elderly couple and a long-tongued shepherd dog named Bailey staring into the camera. Though I knew these couldn't be my true parents, there was an inexplicable warmth about their faces that made my heart ache.
I unfolded the letter:
My dearest son,
How are you, my sweet boy? Your mom and dad miss you more than words can say. Every single moment, we worry about you — our hearts ache, longing for this terrible war to end soon, so we can finally hold you in our arms again.
My child, do you remember Bell? He was just like you — answering the call to serve. I heard he fought against that little Japanese soldier, and only recently, his body was brought home. His mother… she cried so hard, and everyone who came to mourn did too. Even your strong, brave dad couldn't hold back his tears. We're all scared, you know — scared for you.
But enough of that sorrow. Our dear Sweetheart is lucky, and your dad and I pray every day to God, asking Him to watch over you and keep you safe. And even though we cry sometimes, it's always with hope.
Let me tell you a bit about home. The cows on our ranch have been giving plenty of milk, and we sold some at a good price — I bet that would make you happy. Also, there's a girl in town named Erica Taylor. Maybe you know her? She's a fine girl — just the other day, she asked about you. It seems she's fallen for you, our Sweetheart with good taste indeed. And we like her too — Erica is a lovely girl, and your dad and I think she'd make a wonderful wife. When you come back, promise us you'll take her out, and if you want, bring her home to be part of our family. That would make us very proud.
Oh, and your precious pup, Bailey is doing well. Though, that silly dog spends all day sitting by our front gate, probably waiting for you. But don't worry about him — he's strong, just like you.
Before I end this letter, remember this: once we defeat those Germans, you must come home soon. We want you here with us. We miss you so much it hurts. We know war is cruel and merciless, but for your mom and dad — please, live well. Live strong. Promise us you'll survive. Because we love you. We love you more than anything in this world.
With all our hearts,
Mom and Dad
As I read, tears spilled down my face—something I never thought could happen. I'd seen horrors no man should endure without shedding a drop, yet a simple letter broke me.
"Mom… Dad…" I whispered, my voice catching in the tent's darkness. No matter whose soul I truly was, these everyday people—strangers who'd never known me—had given me a gift my real parents never could. For their love, I vowed silently: I would protect this life, this family, at all costs.
My grief for the world I'd lost—my real home in the twenty-first century—surged like undercurrents in the deep sea, threatening to pull me under. Only the next battle kept me afloat. But in the dead of night, loneliness rose like a tide, and I remembered the life I'd once had.
I traced the photograph of Bailey, imagining his happy dash toward me. Then I tucked the letter and photo into my undershirt—against my skin—where they'd stay safe.
A distant horn blared. Miller was waiting outside in his jeep—no doubt about tonight's plans.
"Damn," I muttered, standing. I placed the letter beneath my pillow for a moment, then hesitated and slipped it into my shirt instead. With a final breath, I stepped out into the fading light, ready for whatever came next.