"Because you're in the middle of nowhere," Colonel Howard replies. "Too small to be cookies."
"Yeah." I glance at it again, not sure who would've sent me anything. I keep in contact with one of my foster families and the widow of the Marine who mentored me when I was a teenager. No one else, outside of military channels, sends me boxes. "Thanks, Smith."
The specialist gathers his boxes and leaves.
"Dr. Gomez recommended a couple weeks off at some point," Colonel Howard continues.
"Staffing is low over the holidays," I reply. "I can wait, sir."
"Don't wait too long, or I'll have to order you to take it."
"Understood, sir."
"Last convoy to Baghdad leaves in two hours, if you change your mind." He rises. "Happy holidays, Marine." He claps me on the shoulder.
"You, too, sir."
I wait until he's gone to pick up the box again. I'm not exactly excited about the idea of taking time off. Dr. Gomez has been telling me I should for a month. Guess she got tired of me brushing her off and went to my boss.
Damn civilians. I pull the knife on my belt out of its sheath and slice the tape on the box. Not sure what to expect, I replace the blade and open the package. A ring-sized jewelry box is inside, and my brow furrows. Did someone send me the wrong thing? Sometimes, we get care packages shipped to us by charity or volunteer organizations Stateside that collect donations and send everything from candy to socks to deployed service members.
Every once in a while, one of us will get something odd, possibly shipped by mistake.
I'm convinced this is the case, until I open the box.
For a moment, I stare at the golden Ruptured Duck nestled in the black velvet interior. There are only two people in the world who know the significance of this little pin to me, and one of them is deceased.
It doesn't seem likely that Katya sent this, not after the exchange of letters we had weeks ago. It seems even less likely that a dead man sent it, though.
I pluck it out of the box and study it. The one given to me ten years ago was beat up and worn with a colorful patina, an heirloom in every sense. This one is in mint condition, polished to a soft shine. I'm not a collector by any means, but I can assess that finding a flawless, nearly one hundred year old gold Ruptured Duck probably wasn't cheap.
Its light weight is familiar. I missed my good luck charm. My mentor gave it to me as a reminder for me to stay on the straight and narrow. I was not happy with myself for losing it. I always treasured it for what it symbolized - selfless, honorable, brave service. I understand the concepts better now after losing men and having my own command for close to a year. I think, somehow, it means more to me now than it did before that night that changed my life in so many ways.