A Day In Infamy (Part Four of the Darwin series)

A Day In Infamy

Author's Note: So here it is, the next work in the series. The in-between story I had hoped to write fell apart and refused to come back together again, so we've picked back up with the day that will live in infamy. Pearl Harbor.

September 3rd marks the 78th anniversary of Australia declaring war on Nazi Germany, thus entering World War Two.

November 21th, 1941

Alfred,

The sun is shining here. It's also hotter than hell, but I'll cope. North Africa is like home to a certain extent, and I and the other diggers sure as hell cope with the heat a lot better than the pommy bastard and his men.

He's about to drive himself insane, you know. He appreciates what you're doing for him with aide and money and such (not that he'll say it to your face, of course), but he wants you to join us in the war. Personally, I'd keep telling him to fuck off if I were you. I've got enough issues keeping my own head down. Don't need to worry about yours as well. I get why they ask for it. We really do need the help. But good God, if I can keep you out of this war, I will.

Apparently, the pom's decided it'd be best to keep me and Avery apart during this war. Can't say I blame him after the last time, but it sure as hell pisses me off a fucking lot. I've been burning my ass off in the Sahara sand while Zea's been flying planes with Scot and Norn, defending that jackass in his nice temperate climate. Wales is in India, trying to keep the crown jewel of the pommy's empire from open revolt. And no one envies that task, I'll tell you.

Thank God that Kraut's done bombing him for now, though. He's not doing too well on his recovery from what I hear. Of course, a lot of what Uncle Scot writes gets censored by that pommy bastard, but hey, it's better than nothing. But to be honest, I think the biggest sign of his injuries is that the last message I received from him had three misspellings. Three! That's a record for the pom, I'd say, and one I'm sure he's hoping to never break.

Anyhow, I've also gotten the sense that I might be heading home soon. Arthur's getting nervous about Kiku. And if he comes after either me or Avery, I've made it clear I'm heading back. I got my own home to defend. I won't be messing around here if my civilians are at risk. And he understands. Sorta. Well, you know me. I told him it was non-negotiable (along with a few other things that I won't repeat) and he finally stopped sputtering and agreed.

I hope you're doing alright. Letters are few and far between out here in the desert. Same with cigarettes and alcohol. God, what I'd pay for a cold beer, Yank... Let's just say if you showed up with a beer and a pack of cigs right now, I'd be dragging you into my tent and show you my gratitude. I'd say more, but I expect the censors would throw an absolute fit if they learned about what I'd do to you. Not that they get to see these letters, after all, but I'll pretend for the sake of my own dignity that I'm above writing that down.

Funny thing though. During the last war I missed you like the sunshine and home. This one? I'm missing you like the rain that comes after a good long drove, that turns my homeland green and blue along with the red and yellow. I could do with a little less sun right now.

Anyhow, Yank, write as soon as you can. I'll do my best to respond as soon as possible, but you'll forgive me if it takes a while. Not much post out here. I'm trying to see if I can convince Art to let me come visit. I've been bullshitting the excuse that I'm trying to raise sympathy for the war effort or something like that. I think he's on the verge of letting me go. After all, perhaps I can be more persuasive and convincing than he can, given that we have been a couple for twenty four years now.