The Letter

"The Letter"

Author: CdnJAGScribe

E-mail:

Rating: M

Classification: Harm/Mac; Animal/Meg

Spoilers:

Summary: (A Part of the new Meg/Animal Story-line) Harm and Mac help Animal get a letter to a grieving parent.

DISCLAIMER: The characters Harm Rabb, Jr., Sarah "Mac" Mackenzie, Meg Austin, AJ Chegwidden, Bud Roberts, Harriet Sims-Roberts et al. belong (in concept and visual form) to CBS/Bellisarius. Animal and all OC characters are the property of Heather and Hugo Chikamori. No profit is being made from this story, nor is any infringement intended.

Author's Note: This is a fic idea that came from reading Mission: Jimmy Stewart and the Battle for Europe.

Review Replies:

Steamboat - thank you for the mascot correction. I will however be keeping LTJG Wainright a Husky as per stated - University of Washington boasts an in-house NROTC program as WSU has to go traipsing across the border to the UofIdaho.

fictionalmike: Thanks for the correction on the weight. When I'm writing, sometimes with no access to the internet in the car, it's very hard to keep accuracy to as high a level as I prefer. Thank you for the catch and it has been duly correct. Now will also check the thrust as well.

Dear Mr and Mrs. Wainwright;

Captain Toshio "Animal" Nakamura, United States Navy, sat in his seat thinking for a long moment as he wrote the next lines that would go into a letter that would be the worst letter that Mr. Stanley and Mrs. Eda Wainwright would ever receive in their lives.

As your son's air wing commanding officer,

Was he as good a commanding officer as he should have been considering he wasn't going to be bringing all his men and women of the airwing home with him on this cruise? With what was going on in Kosovo, the Navy was on a wartime footing. Missions over Serbia and Bosnia were around the clock. Missions that his squadron for the first time were doing; first to strike. Carrying two 2000lb Joint Direct Attack Munitions in the tunnel. Just 1000lbs short of the destructive bomber payload of a WWII B-24 Liberator.

There was going to be no way that he would be able to bring everyone home as long as humans devised more horrific ways and reasons for blowing each other off the face of the planet. Peacekeeping. Was that what they were really doing? People just found reason after reason, it didn't matter what, to kill their neighbors, mainly because they didn't either agree with their ethnicity or their religious or political belief systems.

It is my deepest regret to inform you...

Thirty five hundred men in the air wing, Ninety two air crews, twelve squadrons in the air-wing. Did he really have enough regret to go around to express it for each and every single soul in the air wing? How many would go down from operational accidents; from a crew being lost at sea due to any of the multitude of things that could go wrong in an F-14 Tomcat to a member of their ground crew in the squadron dying from a multitude of flight-deck related mishaps.

There were squadrons that came back stateside having lost a third of their contingent through a combination of operational accidents and combat related casualties. War was not an antiseptic tabulation of figures. It was a messy business of gory wounds, spouting blood, limbs being torn from bodies, devastating chest wounds and decapitations. All of which combined to get listed without fanfare or detail as x number of dead and wounded in a neat tabulated total ready for the assessment of post battle number-crunchers.

...that your son, Lieutenant JG Willard Philip Wainwright, was declared missing in action during a crucial mission in this war.

Animal shook his head. That was a white lie to cleanse the truth that the Wainright's son flying Fast Eagle 115 had taken a full on 23mm flak burst from a ZSU-23 ground to air anti-aircraft mobile gun emplacement at 600-1000 rounds per minute to his port nacelle and his F-14 had gone up like the Fourth of July fireworks scattering bits and pieces of Fast Eagle 115, naval aviator and RIO over a five mile radius of the explosion site.

Was it a crucial mission? Moving clumps of dirt from one spot to another by means of explosive force? Was it crucial that they, as human beings, strap on 30-ton hunks of air-grade aluminum bolted to air fuel mixers emitting 50,200 pounds of thrust at full afterburner propelling them at Mach 2.4 maximum speed and loaded with 4000lbs of explosives to go and deal death to other living human beings?

This would be something that Animal could never really truly reconcile. But orders were orders and as a serving officer in the United States Navy, there was no choice. You either followed orders during wartime or you were found in violation of the Uniform Code of Military Justice; a sentence for which if you were lucky under peacetime to be imprisoned for life. If you were found to be in contempt of those orders during a time of war such as now, you would after a certain amount of time and appeals be strapped to a gurney and put to permanent sleep with a three drug cocktail.

At least they didn't strap you to a chair now; pin a target over your heart and get six guys armed with M-14s loaded with one 7.62 round each, two of which were blanks to ease the conscience of the shooters, and just shoot you.

So they all followed orders. And sometimes circumstances meant that not everyone would come home hence the reason he was sitting here writing this letter as Carrier Air Wing Eight's commanding officer. Animal looked the locker containing his own personal effects. What would happen if he went down? They would gather up his belongings, put them into a box, address it stateside, send to Megan Renee Austin-Nakamura, his wife of barely four years along with their young son, not even an year old. There would be a solemn symbolic burial at sea for the members of his squadron to attend. And then a proper burial and interment at Arlington due to his Medal. And then life would go on.

Meg had already told him that he was her only; that if he went down, that she would spend the rest of her life alone - her choice, not his. She could not see anyone replacing him in her life, not ever.

Was Lieutenant JG Wainright married? No. Then he wouldn't have to write another painful letter to his spouse.

He took another deep breath and raised pen to paper.

Willard was a well-liked member of the squadron and a high-spirited, lively officer who excelled in the performance of his duties.

Animal took another deep breath, trying to remember the brown-haired and freckled young lieutenant JG. who was constantly running around doing all sorts of pranks during liberty and generally barely avoiding being reprimanded for his behavior; whether it was trying to ride on top of a sheep, being frantically told in Italian which Willard didn't know a lick of, down one of the narrow streets of Naples by his laughing junior officer squadron-mates or making a fool of himself around the young Italian ladies.

Willard was always a kind hearted soul according to his squadron-mates when Animal, as the CAG, had sat down to talk with them. Will never had a mean bone in his body.

He was a football player at the University of Washington for the Huskies, a corner back, wiry and tough, a candidate for recognition at the highest level of collegiate ball and a promising career ahead of him potentially in the NFL.

But the nation had come calling in 1996 and he'd answered his call. He was commissioned an Ensign and then after flight school and RAG had pinned on his silver bar.

Such a promising future and now, not even a body left to bury. Animal sought to try to find something else to fill in the space between the top and bottom margins but came up empty.

As Commander, Air Wing Eight, he always felt that letters back to next of kin shouldn't solely be shouldered by the squadron COs and thus he took the writing of condolence letters for those combat losses under his wing; he gave out the orders, he should be the one to write to the kin of those casualties.

He will be missed by the squadron with whom he served and by those who had the fortune to meet him during the course of his service with the United States Navy. His service and sacrifice will never be forgotten,

Sincerely,

Toshio Nakamura, Captain,

Commanding Officer, Carrier Air Wing Eight,

USS Theodore Roosevelt, CVN-71

Animal put down his pen and sat for a long moment thinking, his face drawn and weary. How many more letters, how many more losses? It seemed every mission over Kosovo, there was always at least one or two. The flak was nearly always thick enough to walk on and it was those missions that he knew someone wasn't coming home whether it was an Eighteen Charlie (F/A-18C) squadron or one of the A-6E squadrons or any of the squadrons under his command. He knew that as soon as his wheels touched no-skid trapping the third wire, his hardest job was soon to begin.

Nothing hit a harder punch to the gut than having to sit down to write a letter to tell parents or a spouse that their loved one wasn't coming home again.

He leaned back in his chair trying to think about how he was going to word the letter of Will's RIO Lieutenant Commander Mario Cantorelli, and shook his head. Out of the two of them he'd known Mario the most as Mario had been in the squadron since Animal himself had been a Lieutenant Commander. Mario first came into the Black Aces as a JG then progressing to O-4 himself as the years went by and as his experience grew. Mario was a straight-shooter; he wouldn't have flown with Wainright if he was dangerous but by all accounts, the cone was doing it right which meant that what happened was sheer bad luck, the ZSU-23 just had their number.

What a miserable way to go: here one minute and barbecue bits the next.

His macabre reverie was interrupted by a knock on the door.

"Enter!" He snapped out. He needed a break from this miserable task.

"You busy?" Harm asked as he craned his head around the door.

Animal sighed. "I need a break from all this..." he gestured at his desk and Harm's gaze towards the desk revealed to his line of sight the apparent letter, Animal had been working on.

"Air Wing lost another one?" There would only be two reasons for Animal writing a handwritten letter. Animal always wrote handwritten personal correspondence to his wife, Meg, which he kept private; or he was writing a personally written and signed letter of condolence to the next of kin of one of his air wing. Animal had always felt as though a word-processor typed letter was impersonal whereas a letter of condolence should be at the very least personally hand-written.

Animal nodded quietly. Harm didn't know what it was like to deal with this kind of thing. "Pull up a chair."

"Got a second one for me, sir?"

"Major, you're here too?"

Mac nodded as she followed Harm into the room, taking a proffered chair, she sat in it.

"We had a hell of a mission." Animal said; he flew regardless of the regs stating that CAGs were not to fly regular combat missions as their command position required their presence on the CAG Bridge. If Animal could bend that rule into a pretzel, he's already done it; giving the Medal of Honor Society fits and making his higher ups have migraines. No-one was going to chain him to a desk. "VF-41 lost an F-14. I flew flight lead for One One Five. He got tagged by a twenty-three five miles south of Radijkiew Village. One golden BB and he was bacon bits scattered over the Serb countryside. Don't know if it was a Serb emplacement that got him but the bastards have their Triple-A all over the goddamn landscape."

Mac winced and Harm knew that the Serbs had gotten a lucky shot. They must have hit a fuel line and the F-14 had exploded.

"Defence Department won't green-light a retaliatory attack on the emplacements that fire on us; says that Zsus are a low value target. Meanwhile they get to keep picking our boys off and..." Animal uttered a frustrated sigh as he got up and paced the cabin, "I get to keep writing these goddamned letters."

Harm could see the pain in his friend's eyes as he leaned his weight against the cabin window; reinforced glass. This was his private office on the CAG Bridge, not his quarters in the hull of the ship. He looked out onto the deck where the multicolored deck handlers were scuttling around like a rainbow of ants.

"Sir, you do what you do to help those families of those who you served with come to terms with the loss of their loved ones." Mac stood up, walking over to Animal.

"Every time, it just seems like it takes a little more to come to grips with it all." Animal said, his voice weary. "The responsibility of giving orders that send these men and women to their deaths."

"If you didn't feel that way..." Mac said quietly, "You wouldn't be who you are.".

"And who might that be, Major Mackenzie?"

Harm grinned as Mac replied, "A caring Commander who tries his best to bring everyone home again, no matter the cost, sir."

Animal snorted, "Well sometimes, my best appears not to be good enough.".

Harm said, "You can't win them all, sir" he looked over at Animal and Mac. "Sometimes the house wins." He paused, looking over at Mac, "what do you say you give us those letters and we'll deliver them to the families."

"Both families live in Virginia." Animal stated as he sat down again to write the second of two letters. Mac and Harm just lounged on the couch in the meeting area of Animal"s bridge cabin.

57136 Roosevelt Drive, McLean Virginia,

Harm and Mac dressed in their service dress uniforms, pulled up in their Navy Mercury and stepped out donning their service caps and stepping in step up the walk to the house.

On their knock an elderly lady came to the door. "Mrs Cantorelli?".

"Yes, how may I help you two, You're with the Navy, aren't you?". The official Navy people had been there notifying her of her son's death so she wondered why they were back so soon.

"Yes, ma'am." Mac said, this wasn't the time to differentiate between Marines and Navy.

"Ma'am, The Commander, Air Group Eight served with your son for a long time with VF-41. Since he is currently under orders and on deployment, he is unable to hand-deliver this letter personally, so we're delivering this on his behalf."

Mrs. Sophia Cantorelli took the letter from them hesitantly with brimming eyes.

She opened the letter and was only able to read a little before a paroxysm of grief hit her.

"Ma'am?" Mac asked. The late RIO's mother silently grasped a handkerchief and with shaking hand extended the letter to Mac.

Mac looked at the letter as Mrs. Cantorelli said between sobs, "Please...read the letter for me. It is too soon to read it myself."

"Dear Mrs. Cantorelli," Mac began, "It is with deepest sorrow and regret that I, as Mario's former squadron-mate and now Commanding Officer, Carrier Air Wing Eight, have to inform you of Mario's death in action over Serbia.

I was in the air with Mario at the time, flying as second plane in a two-plane flight when we were attacked. They had no time to eject so I know that they are no longer with us.

I can say that Mario and I knew each other as both squadron-mates and as friends. On liberty he was the life of the party and would always be finding lots of fun things to do with the rest of the gang. I can't count how much fun we had in ports of call as too many are drowned out in a haze of alcohol and good food.

Mario always appreciated good food and Italian folk music. Though I have to say, I didn't share his love of the music, I could be always assured of enjoying our liberty stops when Mario suggested a place for the squadron to go to.

Mario and I served together for nearly eight years in VF-41: five as squadron-mate; three as his squadron commanding officer and two more as his Commander Air Group. In all those years I can truly call Mario my friend.

The time that we served together bring back memories. As a friend, I mourn his loss and truly miss him. He will be remembered by me, by his squadron and his air-wing mates. His service and his sacrifice will never be forgotten.

Sincerely,

Toshio Nakamura, Captain, USN

Carrier Air Wing (CVW) Eight,

USS Theodore Roosevelt (CVN-71)

Mac put the letter down while Mrs. Cantorelli cried for a while. When she gathered herself back together. She said, "Now I feel like I can lay my Mario to his final rest. The Navy Department letter; it was so formal and... and" Mrs. Cantorelli tried to search for the words "so cold and impersonal. Mario's commanding officer; he brought back my Mario even if he couldn't bring back my Mario in person."

Mac was confused for a minute before she grasped the meaning.

"My Mario, he always lived for the moment from the time he was a little boy. He always was looking for fun. Always climbing trees or chasing neighborhood squirrels or kicking the ball around. That is the Mario I remember, not the officer Mario, the strait-laced flier. I wanted my Mario and I'm happy that his commanding officer got to know the real Mario. He brought my Mario back to me. You tell him that when you see him again."

Harm nodded, "I will. Ma'am."

She nodded, "The Navy said that they needed a time that they could do a closed casket burial. I told them. No, not yet. Now I feel Mario's soul has come home. I will call them tomorrow and ask them to give me a time when the Roosevelt is in Port and his CO can attend. There is no body so it shouldn't matter the time.". She reached out her hand to Mac who took it. "Thank Mario's commanding officer and thank you for bringing him home to me.".

When Harm and Mac stepped back out onto the sidewalk after completing their heavy duty, Harm gave Mac a wry grin. "You know, Animal may be on to something. Navy F-14 flier, deliverer of souls.".

Mac shook her head. This was a bit too deep of waters to tread. Seeing visions was one thing but transporting memories and souls of the deceased back to their loved ones was a bit much to take. "So, where to now?"

"No idea." Harm said.

"Just get me to a Beltway Burgers. I'm hungry. All this talk of souls is just making me want to appreciate being alive with a big fat juicy burger." When Harm attempted to say something Mac raised her index finger. "Not one word, squid"

Harm decided the better course of action was to do as Mac said.

THE END.