Mail Call
(3 weeks after this)
John Sheppard settled the box of mail onto a table in the middle of the mess hall and stood on a chair. He raised his hands to get everyone's attention, then began dishing out the goods, calling out names like a game show host announcing the big winners. It was the least he could do to help keep morale up, and later he'd hold an awards ceremony in the Gate Room for the people that had gotten shiny new hardware from the top Brass. Those little babies were currently sitting in his office where he had left them, the box addressed to him from the U.S. Military.
The letters and packages finally dwindled down to nothing, and only a single letter remained at the very bottom. Jumping down from his perch, John reached in and scooped out the envelope. He turned it over in his hands and raised a brow as he saw the addressee. That brow went even higher when he saw the return address.
"This one's mine!" he called out, pressing the letter to his chest so no one could snatch it away from him. He held up the empty box with one hand. "All gone, folks. See you next month!"
With a collective, yet high-spirited groan, the crowd broke up and John headed off to read his letter in private.
"Since when do you get mail?" McKay asked, falling into step beside him.
"Since now, Rodney. Go away."
McKay gave him a disbelieving look, yet decided to relent. He had a care package from Jeannie to attack, after all. "Okay then. I'll see you at dinner?"
"Sure thing," John replied, glad to be rid of the company.
In the privacy of his room, he tore open Mia's letter and read it, a grin spreading over his face.
"Well, whaddya know," he said softly.
He grabbed a pen and a pad of paper from his night table and flopped onto his bed as he began to scribble out his reply in the tell-tale sloppy-neatness of a Military Commander.
----------
To:
Mia
3341 Ansonia Street
Newark, New York 11206
From:
Lt. Colonel John Sheppard
Peterson Air Force Base
Colorado Springs, Colorado 80914
I make no such promises. Any hype generated about my horse story is entirely the fabrication of the listener. And you're right, I rarely disappoint. But when I do, it's always spectacularly.
J.
John Sheppard settled the box of mail onto a table in the middle of the mess hall and stood on a chair. He raised his hands to get everyone's attention, then began dishing out the goods, calling out names like a game show host announcing the big winners. It was the least he could do to help keep morale up, and later he'd hold an awards ceremony in the Gate Room for the people that had gotten shiny new hardware from the top Brass. Those little babies were currently sitting in his office where he had left them, the box addressed to him from the U.S. Military.
The letters and packages finally dwindled down to nothing, and only a single letter remained at the very bottom. Jumping down from his perch, John reached in and scooped out the envelope. He turned it over in his hands and raised a brow as he saw the addressee. That brow went even higher when he saw the return address.
"This one's mine!" he called out, pressing the letter to his chest so no one could snatch it away from him. He held up the empty box with one hand. "All gone, folks. See you next month!"
With a collective, yet high-spirited groan, the crowd broke up and John headed off to read his letter in private.
"Since when do you get mail?" McKay asked, falling into step beside him.
"Since now, Rodney. Go away."
McKay gave him a disbelieving look, yet decided to relent. He had a care package from Jeannie to attack, after all. "Okay then. I'll see you at dinner?"
"Sure thing," John replied, glad to be rid of the company.
In the privacy of his room, he tore open Mia's letter and read it, a grin spreading over his face.
"Well, whaddya know," he said softly.
He grabbed a pen and a pad of paper from his night table and flopped onto his bed as he began to scribble out his reply in the tell-tale sloppy-neatness of a Military Commander.
----------
To:
Mia
3341 Ansonia Street
Newark, New York 11206
From:
Lt. Colonel John Sheppard
Peterson Air Force Base
Colorado Springs, Colorado 80914
I make no such promises. Any hype generated about my horse story is entirely the fabrication of the listener. And you're right, I rarely disappoint. But when I do, it's always spectacularly.
J.