The Letter

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He’d been able to keep the animal at bay for the better part of the day.  Now fatigued and very low on ammunition Sgt. Gary Benson was having doubts about making it through the night.  His leg was swelling from the wound and he’d given his sulfur to a buddy.  He’d made a cut to relieve the pressure and rewrapped the wound.  He wondered if he’d die from the wound, infection from the dirty rag or the beast outside the cave.

There were a few scraps of tinder and firewood left behind from someone else who’d sought shelter here. It made him wonder about who it was and why they were here.  It might have been the enemy, someone camping or anyone.  There was nothing personal left behind.  Sgt. Benson clawed at the ground with his rifle to drag the kindling closer in preparation of the night.  He planned to wait as long as he could.

The hovering beast uttered a primordial growl.  Sgt. Benson decided he’d better get to it.  Once the fire was lit he felt a bit more confident and celebrated with a sip from his meager water supply. “Ah, that’s better,” he said under his breath and wiped his mouth with his sleeve.  The firelight warmed the cave while casting hypnotic shadows onto the earthen walls.  He moved to make himself more comfortable reminding himself not to get too comfortable, he didn’t dare fall asleep.

To pass the time he hummed a few tunes and reminisced about his boyhood days that seemed like light-years ago.  He picked up a stone and tossed it against the wall betting where the ricochet would send it.  Then he choosing another stone lobbed it out trying to hit the first stone on the first try.  Missed!  The Sgt. knew it was going to be a long night.

Nature called and he rolled away from the campfire some distance.  After relieving himself he struggled to stand.  He almost made it but the pain in his leg brought him back to his knees.  The Sgt. looked around to see if there was anything from which to fashion a crutch.  He couldn’t fire his rifle and use it as a crutch at the same time.  Farther back against the wall were a few poles hidden in the half-light.  Half crawling he managed to reach them.  He used his belt to bind them together.  What was that?  There was a satchel of some kind most likely burlap; dark, dirty and well worn.  This piqued his interest so he shoved it in his coat and buttoned up. 

Huffing and puffing he made it back to the fire.  Benson stuck the end of the pole into the fire to burn off some of the length and make it easier to whittle.  Then, he took the satchel out to inspect the contents.  There was a dried apple, more like petrified it was so old.  There was a colored stone about the size of a matchbook but it didn’t appear to have any value that he could determine.  A pocket rewarded him with some paper.  He unfolded it to find faint writing that had suffered the ravages of time and the dampness of the cave.  It had mildewed slightly but the warmth of the cave began to dry it out and now it crackled when he brought it close to read by firelight.

                                                                                                        September 16, 1933

Dear Unkle,                                                                                          
Sorry to not write for so long.  It has been too bad for us that we don’t have any money or food.

The Russian Communists are taking our farm goods and not letting us travel to other parts of Zaporozhye where we might find food. We would not cry for help if we were not in so much pain and losing our homes, our farms and have no food.

I can’t tell you much because it is too heartbreaking to describe.  Nearly half our village has expired.  There are many so weak they can not take care of themselves or their children and little babies with mother’s that cannot feed them.

Please tell someone in your new country that we need help.  All of the Ukraine is suffering.  You know powerful people in your New York City.  Tell them so they can help our people.

I know you will do your best for your family here. 

God Bless You.

You’re Niece,

Anna Petrovosko

The young Sergeant’s jaw dropped.  He looked at the date again and a tear began to roll down his cheek.  20 years!  What had happened to Anna, her Uncle?  The misery they must have felt when he never got their letter.  He was more determined now than ever to get out of here in spite of the wild cat near the door.

Then it struck him, what if I don’t make it?  Sgt. Benson composed himself and then used the back side of the letter, just in case.  He hoped the Petrovosko’s wouldn’t mind too much.

                                                                                                            January 21, 1953

My Dearest Ellie,

I’ve escaped.  Keeping my head down and slowly working my way back from the front.  As soon as I can I will send this on ahead.  I don’t know how long I’ll be wandering or how long before I can find transport in this backwoods.  I got separated from the others in a desperate snowstorm.  I don’t know if I will meet up with anyone from our side. 

Sweetheart, please wait for me.  I know this is a terrible thing to ask of you.  You are so young and so beautiful.  There must be so many other opportunities for you.  Still, I love you with all my heart and soul and I just hope I will get the chance to make you my wife.

You’re Loving Gary
Sgt. Gary Benson, USMC