Until I became a trooper, I had never known what it was to make a physical difference in the lives of other people. A few weeks ago, I found myself face to face with a rapist who had hurt several young girls. He tried to escape, but I was able to chase him down on foot, and took him into custody. As I cuffed the beast, it felt as though I had just saved the lives of a dozen girls, maybe more. The feeling was good, very good.
I suddenly realized that this must be the same feeling you get when you defeat the kind of people you have been spending the past twelve years fighting. At that moment, I understood that the reason you couldn’t leave the Corps wasn’t because you didn’t love me—it was because you did love me, and so many other people, and that you wanted to protect us all from the bad things in the world. I think I finally understand, at least a little bit, of what you find in your Marine Corps.
Marcus, I’m writing this letter in hopes that you will know that I still love you. I want you, and am waiting, if you are willing, to come back to you. If you will have me, and the offer is still available, I want to reconsider my answer. Please let me know once you get this letter. I am waiting to hear from you.
Lonnie
April 2, 1998.
Marcus was stunned.
Lonnie.
He hadn’t heard from her in years, and now suddenly she was writing and acting as if almost no time had lapsed. What would he say? What could he say?
He had never stopped loving her. He had heard bits and pieces of her life’s happenings from Linus back in Salt Jacket over the years, but had not spoken to her in nearly five years. And now, she was practically saying she wanted to marry him.
Marcus was shocked at his own feelings. There was no anger, no resentment. When he was honest with himself, he acknowledged that in spite of the years and the hard, violent life he had led up to this day, he had been waiting for this letter the entire time.
He had not touched another woman, had not eaten a meal alone with a woman, had not walked down a street alone with a woman, had not made eyes with, flirted with, or fantasized about another woman since 1984. Even after Lonnie had refused to marry him eight years earlier, he had continued to wait for her alone, fully expecting that someday, just such a letter would come to him.
Now it had happened, and the only feeling that rose to the surface was explosive joy. The plane was nearly ready—there was little time, so he found a piece of paper and a pen and jotted a response to her letter.
Lonnie,
My dearest love,
I have received your letter; it took more than a month to get to me. I am very happy to hear from you. I want to you know that I have never stopped loving you. If you are serious, wait to hear back from me again soon.
Right now I’m with a contingent of British Royal Marines heading to a peacekeeping mission for a short time, and should be back in a week or two. Once I return, I’ll write more—maybe even call if I can.
Sit tight and wait for me. I’ve waited for you to come back all these years, and have kept myself only for you. I’ll write as soon as I return.
With all my LOVE,
Marcus
P.S. – A poem for you
The flowers of late summer
Their petals falling to the ground
Seem to die
Snow and ice bury them
Beneath a chill layer
Covers their colorful beauty
In a hard, cold blanket
Lifeless winter
But those flowers
At the rising of the sun
And spring’s warm caress
Again burst forth
From beneath the ice
And their blossom
Blesses all who see
Their glorious radiance
Draws the eyes of men
And the wonder of the flower
Spells again
The birth of a new summer
Such is the awakening of love
The reawakening of our love
My beloved one, let our flowers blossom
Till I return.
Marcus always carried at least two envelops with him in the event that he needed to write something to his parents or Linus while in the field. He pulled one out, penned his return address at Plymouth on the corner of it, and copied the address Lonnie had included in her letter. He called out to one of the ground crew of the C-130 who was passing by on his way back to the hangers.
“Hey, mate, can I ask you a favor?” Marcus said.
“Sure, Yank, what do you need?”
“Can you mail this for me? It’s a really important personal letter.”
“Sure. How fast you want it there? Post or FedEx?”
“Post is fine,” he said, and handed the RAF technician a five-pound note. “I have no idea how much the postage will be—it’s going to Alaska. But this should cover it, and get you a pint as well.”
“Alaska?” exclaimed the RAF man. “Whoa. I’ll be sure to get it started as soon as the post office opens.”
And that’s exactly what the RAF technician did. By 08:00, the letter was in the outgoing mail bin at the base post office, and by five that evening was being loaded on an airplane that began its journey to America’s farthest western frontier.
As the letter made its way across the world, the Royal Marines of 2nd Troop, Mike Company, 43 Commando did likewise, albeit in a different direction. When the letter passed out of Heathrow Airport, Marcus’s C-130 crossed the bulge of northwestern Africa and banked left on a bearing along the coastlines of Senegal, Gambia, Guinea
