Love and Ammo Cans

MARPAT desert uniforms blended into the sand like copperhead snakes that slither over the landscape. The Marines took a knee. Lieutenant Colonel Whitford used a handsfree microphone in the blasted heat. He spoke with his hands always returning to a stance with his feet shoulder width apart pointing out board and his left hand over his right almost in a praying display around his navel.

“Listen, Marines. All your doggone social media is secured. That means no cell phones, tablets, or PCs or anything of the kind will be used until further notice. Now, I know you want to communicate with Mommy and Daddy and see what Jody’s up to. So I am allowing all of you Devils the chance to do what you did as a Boot. That’s right, paper and ink stick. You’ll be able to send out and receive mail on the regular until the ban is lifted. Do, you understand that?”

“Yes, sir!” The Marines became speaker phones.

“Good,” Whitford said and turned to Sergeant Major Kepler. “Your go.”

“Alright, Marines. You heard what the Skipper said. This is a bummer, we know. But that’s life in the Corps. You’ve just got to suck it up and push forward. On your feet!” The Leathernecks shot to their feet at the position of attention like an ensemble of fireworks.

“Dismissed!”

Lance Corporal Alejandra Najera worked on a receiver. She possessed jet black hair that contrasted with her butter pecan skin. Bluish green eyes inspected and ensured that the communications device in her hand worked correctly. She then grabbed a clipboard and checked off the various spots where the apparatus could be improved.

Lance Corporal Hartford Andrews typed up a report on a typewriter with the greatest of ease and focus. The keys clacked like a concierto of correct keystrokes. He finished his work and went to chow with Lance Corporal Lockey and Corporal Hale. He kept his pen and pad in his left breast pocket right behind the Eagle, Globe, and Anchor insignia. During their meal, he whipped out the gear.

“What’s that Hart’?” Lockey asked.

“It’s a love letter for a young woman Marine.”

“Ha,” Hale said. “Hart’s got a WM. I guess that’s better than guessing what a girl is doing a world away. Let me see it.”

Andrews permitted Hale to preview the note. “It doesn’t even have her name on it.”

“Precisely. So you guys won’t even have a clue as to whom the letter is addressed.”

Once the work day had concluded, Andrews looked for a way to deliver his message without being noticed. This was difficult. Eyes on the base and cameras in the sky presented blockages to what he planned to do. Then he thought of it: ammo cans. These ammunition boxes that normally carried their namesake could be used to transport his letter to his love. He carried them from one shop to another about a hundred yards away. He remembered that the Marines physically train with these things, too. He folded the paper into a triangle and placed it in one of the boxes. As he journeyed to the other array of shops, he saw her. Alejandra enjoyed an e-cigarette away from all of the electronics that she just fixed at the smoke pit. She saw Andrews approaching her out of the corner of her eye.

“I haven’t got long. I’ve got formation. But here,” he slightly picked up the can with the letter.“In this you’ll find something new. We’ll continue this process until our next deployment where the ban on personal electronics is lifted.”

Alejandra drew in the clear vapor and exhaled. “Thanks.” That was all that she said. She winked and blew him a kiss.

Hartford tipped his cover towards her and went about his business to the barracks. When he opened the door to the living quarters, Lockey and Hale had already been reading aloud the messages that Andrews had jotted down earlier that week.

“‘...And you, Alejandra, you’re like a winter fox. You’re able to deal with the coldness of the world and prevail against the elements.’”

Andrews remained cool. “Keep going. It gets better.”

“We’re just ribbing you, Hart.’ You’ve got a strong vocabulary.”

Lockey chimed in, too. “Yes, you’re the poet laureate of the division.”

Andrews took hold of the pieces of paper and decided to keep them on display for all to see. He didn’t mind if these two read the missives. He had nothing to hide. At least from them….

One day, the ammo cans were being shipped to a new location. He had received only one correspondence from Alejandra. She had written, “You are strong, bold and wise. We don’t need cell phones or tablets to communicate. All we have are these cans to keep us in constant contact.” But that was last week and the cans had already been exported to outside the wire. This meant that the grunts would be holding onto these letters. They would be either incredibly understanding of the plight or relentless in their attacks on two POGs falling in love in a combat zone.

“What the hell is this?” Staff Sergeant Sievers said in the armored vehicle headed for battle.

“It looks like a love letter, Staff Sar’ent,” Corporal Miller said. “There’s another one.”

“Well, get them the hell out of my sight. Goddamn POGs in the rear. How dare they put their little heartfelt messages in our ammo cans.”

Word spread throughout the base that Andrews and Alejandra had been responsible for the ammo can fallout. They both reported to Gunny Feldman.

“You two really took that ban on personal tech stuff seriously. Look, I’m not going to NJP you or anything like that. The ammo can idea was kind of cute. But I’m going to have to restrict you from using ammunition boxes to send each other notes. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Gunny,” Andrews and Alejandra answered together. The two of them walked down the passageway, their cargo pockets full of each others’ notes.

*****

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