Korengal Valley hadn’t changed much since my first visit all those years ago. We were still battling a man who had more aspirations than brain cells, carrying on a tradition passed down to him from an ancestor who made a fortune from the poppy fields. The players may have changed, but the rules had not and winning was still the goal of the game.

The unease in my gut started the minute Viper told us what our next mission involved. Getting the medical convoy across the valley wasn’t necessarily difficult so as much as it was deadly. Aarash Kumar was one of the players who had changed since I had last visited, he and his younger brother now controlled the crops being harvested. It was big money filling pockets from here to the middle of the US. Not a single member of this team hadn’t been personally introduced to Aarash and his brazen ways of doing things. For him, and his men, there are no rules. Which is why they have sent us on this mission, the rules of engagement aren’t found in any of our rulebooks.

As we sat against the hillside, the fresh-faced boys who would become men, hardened and irreversibly changed by what they see here, measure the six of us up. By the look in their eyes, they are trying to see if the rumors are true, if what they have read in books and seen on television is facts or Hollywood’s way of selling more tickets. I’ll leave them to wonder as the reality, the true story, would scare them more than the people who live in the shadows behind them. I listen as Havoc shares a little of what he knows, a decent enough warning to keep them safe, and yet not enough to give them nightmares.

I hear the rumble of the trucks a few beats before the rest of my team, a skill I always possessed, yet never admitted to. Ghost has been waiting on a letter from his girlfriend, or slut-bag as the rest of us call her when he isn’t around. When Aiden made Chief, we celebrated by going to a hole-in-the-wall bar just off base where we met Ryan Biggs the night before he reported to our team. He had been in a heated conversation with her on the phone as we walked into the bar. Chief made the comment how he didn’t miss the arguments of having a girlfriend, he and Jordan had exchanged a few letters but they were strictly in the friend zone. Years later, Ghost is still chasing after her like a dog searching for its tail. She has been caught more times than I can count in the bed of one producer or another, always with an excuse, managing to keep him trapped in her web of lies. I look forward to the day when a girl comes along and changes his world.

“Doc, this one has your name on it.”

Ghost hands me the white envelope, the postmark dated from late last year. Checking the return address, I’m confused as to who the hell Harper Kincaid was and why the fuck she was writing to me. Searching my brain, mentally checking off the list of girls I’d been with in the last few years. I’d always been careful with where I stuck my dick and even more so, with who I shared my real name with. There had been a number of attractive ladies to walk through my life, a set of best friends in Malaysia who wanted to have a vacation of firsts, a threesome included. I left them sated, wearing smiles on sleeping faces, but none of them had been named Harper. Just as those doe eyed men had dreams about becoming one of us, women around the world fantasized about bedding a SEAL. Being protected by the muscles under my uniform or provided for by the tiny paycheck the government deposited in my account twice a month. While I came up blank for any Harper, a light bulb flashed in my head at her last name.

“Hey, anyone know if Kincaid has a sister or a wife?”

“Both. Why do you ask?”

I met Ross Kincaid almost a year after I completed SEAL training. He had been captured by a pack of Guerilla rebels who had tortured and killed the rest of his team. By the time we reached him, death was trying to take him out the back door. I worked on him for hours after we drug him out of the jungle, tossing everything I had at him to keep him alive. We shipped him off to Germany to finish recovering, six weeks later he was back in his boots, joining me on another mission. Kincaid, and a friend of his, joined the military as a knee-jerk reaction to the Twin Tower attacks. Not long after, the pair was given different duty sections and Kincaid landed in a spotlight, which sent him back to the States for SEAL training. He helped us out when Havoc was shot in the chest and if what I suspected the military was about to do was true, he would replace him on a more permanent basis. On Havoc’s last exam, I found an area of scar tissue in the pleural space between his lungs and heart. To the average Joe it was no big deal, to the killing machines we were trained to be, it was a career ender. I never bullshitted Alex when I told him, looked him square in the eye as I explained what I found. In typical Havoc fashion, he laughed it off and made a comment about his momma being the death of him instead of Aarash Kumar and his illegal weapons.

“Because I got a letter from one of them.”

Chief sat down beside me, snatching the letter out of my hand, “You lucky, motherfucker. Harper Kincaid is the sister and one of the sweetest ladies to walk the planet.” Tossing the envelope back to me, he adjusts himself against the hillside.

“She works with the USO and Navy League to make sure single soldiers aren't forgotten during the holidays.”

Ripping open the letter, the elegant script on the envelope matched the writing inside. Long hand was becoming a lost art, tossed away with the invention of the typewriter and made ancient with modern computers.

 

Dear LT Forbes,

Please allow me to begin this letter by thanking you for your service. As the sister of an active duty, I know how difficult it can be going for long periods of time without word from the home front. Good news! We are still here. Sorry, my lame attempt at humor.

My name is Harper Kincaid and I currently reside in Chesapeake, Virginia where I own a small shop. As I mentioned before, I have a brother who is active duty, a SEAL to be more specific, excuse me for title dropping, I don’t do it to carry airs. I noticed when your name came across my desk, you had the same specialty code as my brother, who ironically is responsible for the idea behind the packages you will receive. When he first joined the military, I came across a flier for the USO needing volunteers for assembling Christmas packages for the single soldiers. I jumped at the opportunity to help. Hours later and hundreds of boxes stacked neatly in a warehouse, I asked the director when the next shipment would go out? My heart sank as she told me this was a once a year event. I looked over all of the boxes representing the faceless men and women who would be forgotten before the New Year came. Inspiration hit me as I collected all of the names we had assembled packages for, pinned them to a wall and, with a tried and true scientific method, I closed my eyes and tossed a wadded up tape ball at the sea of names on the wall. Every month for a year I package up specific items requested by the soldier I adopted, exchanging sometimes daily emails from each one over the course of the year. I do feel the need to give you a little tongue-in-cheek history on these packages, each soldier I have adopted has fallen in love with one of my friends. Now, I didn't really count my brother as being one of my special package recipients. My friends had called them a number of things over the years; love-grams, cupid packages, boxes of muscle. Sorry, getting ahead of myself there.

My first adoption was Asheton Dawson, a First-Class Petty Officer stationed in Djibouti, Africa. He and I exchanged information and I mailed a care package every month as promised. I included my phone number and address. He was so grateful he swore to me he was going to thank me in person as soon as he was back in the States. He was originally from Texas, but his parents told him if he joined the Navy he was dead to them, so he had no one. It was the same year my friend, Amanda, came to me asking if I knew anyone who was looking for a good hairdresser. I had been thinking of renting out the small space I had beside my shop, so I asked her if the person she had in mind, would like to rent the space from me. She said she would talk with her sister and get back with me.

Several weeks later, I was hanging up a new dress in my front window when Ross, my brother, came through the door. I dropped the dress and ran to him. We clung to each other for ten minutes before he put me down. Ross was about to leave when Amanda walked in the door. It was love at first sight for them and they married thirteen days later before he shipped back out.

Amanda's sister, Stacy, took me up on my offer and opened up a salon next door. A few weeks later, Amanda got in a heated argument with her boss and quit her job. She went to work for Stacy as a makeup artist. November of the same year, Asheton made good on his word and came into my shop. Stacy happened to be getting some coffee when he walked in. They made it nine days before he carted her off to the Justice of the Peace and got married.

The next year, I got a call from another friend of mine, Sarah, who had split with her long-time boyfriend. Sarah wanted a new start so I offered her a job as a seamstress in my shop. When she showed up, Stacy and Amanda took one look at her and dragged her off to the salon. When they were finished, Sarah cried when she looked in the mirror and told them she felt just like Cinderella. The very next day, we had a sign made for the salon; Cinderella's.

The same year, I selected Chief Mitch Riley in Okinawa, Japan. Mitch, as he preferred to be called instead of Chief, had more time on his hands and chose to call instead of write. More often than not, Sarah answered the phone. I had barely gotten two boxes sent to him when Sarah asked to take over. By the time the third box was due to go out, Mitch asked if she would consider visiting him in Japan. Sarah jumped at the chance and when she returned, she was sporting a diamond ring. Mitch was up for a promotion and if he didn't get it, he was going to retire from the Navy and move to Virginia. Everything changed six weeks later, when a tearful Sarah told him over the phone she was pregnant. He handed in his retirement letter the next day and five months later, he arrived in town, they married, and he opened an electronics store down the street.

I could go on and on, tell you of all the packages, which united a couple together, but I won't. What I will tell you is you can relax, as I am out of friends. You can let out the breath you may have been holding as this year the only thing you can count on is a package in the mail and a listening ear if you need it. I assure you this is not a joke, or some crazy Officer and a Gentleman fantasy. Consider it my way of serving those who serve.

Your friend,

Harper Kincaid

 

I read Harper's letter three times, unable to decide if she was telling the truth or was a professional bull-shitter. Since she wasn’t asking me for anything, I would see where she took this. I would however, need to talk with Blaze the next time I saw him, let him know I was corresponding with his sister. For now, I needed to get my shit together and get ready for this mission.

When we finally finished getting the medical team across the valley floor, after a brief encounter with Aarash, which opened a door for Chief and one of the nurses to get cozy. The smile she put on his face and holding him back long enough to make him run for our ride back home was a little too obvious if you ask me. Chief could be, and had been, a huge flirt; not going any further than what the lady was ready for. He gushed about the cute nurse, Rachel, but I don’t exactly get a good vibe from her. As long as all he does is talk, I’ll keep my opinion to myself, my friendship with him is more important than being right.

* * *

Arriving back at home base, I found a box waiting for me. Harper Kincaid practiced her own brand of magic as she defied the laws of physics with how much you can shove in a small box. I spent a good twenty minutes pulling out shaving cream, shampoo, body wash, cough drops, icy hot, several different magazines, a thumb drive, batteries, nuts, and even Cheez-Whiz.

 

TO: AlexGrl17

FROM: Logan.Forbes.LT@ OPS

CC:

SUBJECT: Hello

Dear Harper,

First and foremost, I cannot begin to thank you enough for your devotion to our service members. You are correct in thinking that many Americans think of us during the Christmas holidays, but sometimes forget us the rest of the year.

You did give me a much-needed chuckle with your claims of not being psychotic. I will have to have further contact with you before I can give you my full diagnosis. I would never, however, question one sibling as to the sanity of the other.

As you know, my name is Logan and I am, as you suspect, a SEAL. My reasoning behind joining the military would make you feel the need to sit down, so go ahead and take a seat.

After finishing my undergrad, I had been accepted to medical school. I’ve dreamed of being a doctor since I was a little boy. My family owns controlling interest in a fortune five hundred company and my parents were heavy into different philanthropy projects. They entrusted my uncle to run the daily operations of the company, which he failed to do, choosing instead to funnel large amounts of money into an offshore account. When a routine audit found the company's holdings hovering above bankruptcy, all of our assets were frozen—including my tuition. Funny thing about medical school, they expect payment in order to allow you to learn how to become a doctor. I was staring at failure directly in his condescending eye. A friend of mine had a relative who had served in the military as a physician, paying with his time the money they spent on his education. Having a family with money and power, you can imagine my father knew a few Senators and Congressmen. A couple of calls and a signature on my part and my tuition was taken care of.  A year later, the missing money had been found and returned to my family. I could have asked my father to make my contract with the military go away, but it wouldn’t have been the right thing to do. My last day as an intern was September eleventh. I woke up in a luxury apartment near Bethesda and went to bed in the back of a C130 headed for Kuwait.  A few months later, I was given the opportunity to go to SEAL training, it’s been an adventure with moments I wouldn’t trade for the world and others I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy.

I apologize for not writing sooner, as you may know my job keeps me busy and never knowing where I will be next. I am so happy your package found me. At the end of this letter, you will find not only my new address, but also my personal email so we won't have to worry about being censored.

I do have a confession to make; I know your brother, Ross. I served with him a few years ago and I consider him a true friend. I have always told my family not to send me anything as the military sees fit to give me my basic supplies. I will say, though, that you get a gold star from me when you sent me Cheez-whiz. I mean, who doesn’t love the stuff?

So please, tell me more about Harper Kincaid. What is your favorite candy? Or better yet, how about this, the next package you send to me, make it as if you were sending it to yourself. Pack it full of your favorite items, sans the tampons and lady razors of course.

I will share with you this about me; I was born in New York and lived there until I went away for medical school. I have no brothers or sisters, but I did date Lisa James in high school—yes, the Victoria's Secret supermodel. It was a long time ago, but we still keep in touch.

Waiting patiently to hear from you,

Logan