Zig Zag is Copyright © Max Black Rabbit. Sabrina, Darke Katt and R.C. are Copyright © Eric W. Schwartz. James Sheppard, Marvin Badger, Rhonda Badger, Yohni, Alexi, Michael, Esteban, Mia, Wanda Vixen and Tamara Rabbit are Copyright © James Bruner. Alex O'Whitt is © Tigermark. The B-Team is © Silver Coyote. Jean LeBrun, Gabrielle Ryder, Timothy Bigglesworth-Farthington von Salzburg, Malcolm Grazer, Doctor Fox Jones, Peter Spermophilus, Miranda Spermophilus, Dina Spermophilus, Leo Leon, Miriam Redtail, Lizzy Doe, Emma Grey, Professor Moose Nicholson, Professor Erica Belge and Pethouse Magazine is © Joan Jacobsen, 2005. All other characters appearing in this story, except where otherwise specifically noted, are likewise © Joan Jacobsen.

Legal Notice: This story is Copyright © 2005 by Joan Jacobsen. This story may not be sold or used for commercial profit in any form or fashion. This story may not be modified in any way. This story may not be posted on a mirror site or any other Internet site without the written permission of the author. This story may not be distributed on print, magnetic, electrical or optical mediums.

Permission to use characters that are Copyright other individuals was obtained prior to the appearance of said characters.

The author, Joan Jacobsen, hereby asserts moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

This is an independent work of fiction with no connection whatsoever to Max Black Rabbit, Eric W. Schwartz, E.S. Productions or James Bruner and is in no way meant to imply any connection with Max Black Rabbit, Eric W. Schwartz, E.S. Productions, or James Bruner. This story contains characters created by Max Black Rabbit, Eric W. Schwartz, James Bruner, Tigermark and Silver Coyote. Events and characters occurring in this story should not be considered part of the storylines for either 'Zig Zag', 'Sabrina Online' or 'Sabrina Online - The Story'.

In fact, as far as 'Zig Zag', 'Sabrina Online', 'Sabrina Online - The Story' and 'Zig Zag the Story' are concerned, this story does not exist. The artists disavow any knowledge of and do not officially sanction the events in this story.er nodded. "I'm sure."

R&R

Saturday. The best day of the week, in Lizzy's opinion. She liked her job, and her colleagues were nice, but she did look forward to having time off. Since Leo had gone back to active service, she had needed that time more than ever. Running around Columbus, Ohio with a friend, looking at clothes and, since that friend was Emma, books...was just what she needed. There weren't too many furs about. It was late in the month, and everyone was waiting for payday before doing serious shopping again. It left the two femmes mostly to themselves, making the bookstores and clothes-shops of downtown Columbus unsafe. It was a lot of fun. To her great and honest relief, Lizzy had noticed that Emma was looking at clothes that were less conservative than what she had fallen back in the habit of wearing.

Generally speaking, Emma's self confidence could be measured by how she dressed. The first time she, Miriam and Jean had witnessed it had been a couple of years ago at that porn convention where they had done some voluntary work for ZZ Studios in return for a free trip to Los Angeles.

They had spent most of the morning shopping, and now they were looking for something to eat. The question was...what to get. None of them felt particularly in the mood for Burger Mac or the likes. They wanted something different.

The problem was that most café-owners had gotten delusions of grandeur, and by now those places were so overpriced that, as Lizzy would remark, it cost fifty bucks to talk to the Maitre D'. In short, café-eating wasn't really an option. Besides, Lizzy was ravenous. She realized she hadn't eaten enough for breakfast, either, and she needed to sit down and rest her feet in any case. Burger Mac was rapidly becoming the only remaining option, and since she was vegetarian, that meant she'd have to get by on French fries or salads that had seen better days. Not a pleasing perspective.

"Hey, look...what's that?" Emma asked, pointing to something.

Lizzy looked. It did look like a shop, but it was in a basement, down a short flight of stairs. It didn't look very busy.

"No idea," she answered. "Wanna take a look?"

Emma pondered that for a moment. There was hardly any danger involved in going into a store, after all. It just looked so out of the way. Like the kind of place you had to know about to go to.

"Can you smell that?" the doe asked, smiling. "Food!"

"You don't think it's some kind of café or restaurant or something?" Emma asked, slightly confused. "Down there?"

"No, I don't. Come on and smell it...it's like...all kinds of spices. I think there's a store down there. Let's check it out. I never knew of it."

Emma nodded and followed her friend down the stairs.

###

It was late evening in Afghanistan. Third platoon had a few furs out on guard duty, but otherwise, most of them were relaxing in the common room. Most of them. Leo wasn't. He had been invited...cautiously, since most soldiers felt awkward about inviting officers to R&R-evenings. He had declined, but only reluctantly. He had wanted to go, but he really had to answer Lizzy's letter first. He was sitting in his quarters, right off the sleeping barracks of his platoon, chewing the end of a pencil to shreds. He wasn't much of a writer. As much as he wanted to be an artist, his craft lay in shaping something out of nothing. Giving form to the formless. This was empty, white paper. How could he shape something out of that?

Perhaps a paper airplane?

An origami bird, maybe?

Words, however, were difficult to find when they were to be confined to paper. Like they resisted this form of captivity by refusing to show up in his brain. It was getting quite annoying, as the small stack of crumbled up, failed attempts in the corner clearly illustrated.

What would Lizzy say to something like this? Nah, that was no good. Lizzy was the one he was writing to. It wouldn't do him any good to consider what she would be thinking. What other furs did he know that were good with words? Emma certainly had a talent with the written word, but...somehow, he couldn't imagine what she would be writing in a situation like this. Miriam would be all peace-love-and-happiness...as always. He had to be a little deeper than that, for this letter. Esteban was good at being deep. But every time he tried to imagine the wolf writing this kind of letter, he could hear it spoken aloud, with Esteban's accent, and it made him laugh.

Jean then? She had certainly had to write serious letters, along the way.

Leo sighed and put his thoroughly-chewed-up pencil down on the table. He rubbed his face vigorously and tried to clear his mind. This wasn't easy by any definition of the word. He looked despondently at the stack of failed attempts. Just as he was about to pick up the pencil and make another attempt, he heard a resounding crash from the common room and he jumped to his feet at the sound of raised, angry voices.

The door flew up. Corporal Brock almost fell through. "Sir...might wanna come take a look at this. Don't think Sarge can do this on his own," the badger said, urgently.

Leo nodded and followed the NCO.

###

Jean looked like she was about to give up. Sometimes, life was terribly complicated and quite frankly unfair. Once in a while, she felt like sticking her head out the window just to scream at the bloody cruelty of the world.

Instead, she stuck to a loud, angry growl and kicking the dustbin.

"Ay...chica, what's the problem?" Esteban asked from the living room.

"I HAVE NOTHING TO WEAR!!!" Jean replied, angrily.

The only response she got was an amused chuckle. More like a giggle, really. Esteban appeared in the door to the bedroom. His ears were perked up and his tail was wagging furiously behind him.

"Does that mean I get to see you naked all eveneeng, then?" he asked, smiling ear to perky ear.

Jean narrowed her eyes and flung a random piece of clothing at her boyfriend. It landed unceremoniously across his face, blocking his view.

"Shaddap!" she muttered, though she couldn't conceal the mirth in her voice. "I'm being serious here."

"So am I!"

"Males...you're hopeless."

"Guiltee as charged," Esteban smiled and shrugged. "I'm sure you weell find sometheeng nice. Look, eet's Gabbee and Yohnee we're meeteeng. Eet's not like eet's deenner at the white house."

Jean shuddered. "Thank goodness. I think I'd decline in that case," she muttered and dug into the back of the closet. "Maybe there's something in here..."

Esteban headed back into the living room.

###

Lizzy looked at the roll in her paw and grinned crookedly. "Who would have thought it?" she asked.

Emma carried a full shopping bag in her right paw. The scent of spices still clung to their clothes and fur. The shop had been quite an experience. A poorly lit little room with spices and strange foodstuffs stacked from floor to ceiling. Behind the counter had been a very shriveled looking old femme, dressed in middle eastern fashion. She had been a little worried to see new furs there at first, but after she had realized that neither Lizzy nor Emma had any ill intent, and that they were in fact very interested in all the different things, she had opened up and practically welcomed them in as long-lost friends.

By the time they left, they had stocked up on home made humus, marinaded olives, half a dozen different, interesting spices, chickpeas and beans in all kinds of varieties and of course, some strange sausage that the old femme had called 'sučuk'. That, naturally, was one of Emma's purchases.

They were both holding a falafel roll in their paws. A large, soft, flat bread, rolled up with three falafel, spices, some kind of homemade dressing and the best pickled vegetables either femme had ever tasted. It was a taste explosion in a roll.

"How do they make this, anyway?" Emma asked and took another bite with every sign of pure enjoyment. "I've never had falafel before, but I have to learn how to make it!"

"I think it's pretty easy to learn, if you're patient enough to go on after the first two failed attempts," Lizzy said. "I know they make them from chickpeas, but that's about it. It's like vegetarian meatballs, only it tastes a lot better than the usual stuff."

"You can say that again. I'm going to have to become a regular at that store. Wow! Anyway...did you see her reaction when she realized we weren't hostile? You think...they've had to deal with all kinds of crap too after the bombings?" the mink asked and looked at her friend.

Lizzy nodded, thoughtfully. "I wouldn't be surprised. Most Middle Eastern furs in America have had to. It's stupid, though. Most of them...and by 'most' I mean the huge, vast, overwhelming majority...are completely peaceful furs who ran away from something terrible to get to safety. They try to make a living in a new place where they don't know the culture, and they try to make the best of it while staying true to who they are. But they look different, eat different food and speak a different language, and so...they're automatically labeled 'suspicious' or 'dangerous'."

"Why are we surprised, Lizzy?" Emma said, sighing. "We're historians, for God's sake. Think about it. Give me ten examples of how furs have behaved like that towards other ethnic groups, off the top of your head."

"The British treating the natives of India like second class citizens," Lizzy began. "The same British doing the same thing in Australia and New Zealand. The Boers in South Africa, treating African natives like they were barely worthy of breathing the same air as them. The French in Indochina. How about ourselves...towards the Native Americans? Spaniards or Portugese in every South American and Central American country? Germans during the Second World War, treating anything that didn't fit into their racial purity regulations as unworthy of life...gahh...I see what you mean."

The doe looked uncomfortable at the thought, Emma noticed. It wasn't an entirely fair comparison. There were no concentration camps in the United States, where Middle Eastern furs were shipped en masse. There had been, though. For the Japanese during the Second World War. Was it that unlikely that something similar could happen again?

"I swear, Liz...every religious nut is going to try to turn this into some kind of crusade..." she said, sadly.

"Heh, Bush already tried. He stood there on TV recently, if you recall, declaring that this was a crusade. Right until someone whispered something into his ear and he corrected it."

"Yeah, I remember. Do you think we'll ever see peace again, though? I mean...really?"

Lizzy looked at the rest of her falafel roll and sighed. "I honestly don't know. The problem, Emma...is that this country has gone to war out of necessity. Even I realize and acknowledge that we had to. I wouldn't dream of arguing against it. The criminals are in Afghanistan and we have to make sure they are found and punished. But the problem is that we have some weird notion that we can go out there, bomb the shit out of them, waltz in and introduce our way of life to them. Oh yeah, that'll work and if you doubt me, ask the Russians. They got their Vietnam in that country..."

Emma nodded, wearily, finishing her food. "Yeah, I know. A process of democratization of a country takes decades. Anyone working with political science, history or sociology can confirm that. It doesn't happen over night. It doesn't happen in a few months or a few years. You have to take a whole nation...every fur there...and make them unlearn everything they've lived by, socially, for as long as they can trace their history...then make them learn new things. And we expect them not to struggle against this? We expect them to just say 'oh yes, please, change my way of life!'..."

"Fifty years, Emma...that's how long I believe it'll take. Forty if we don't screw up too badly."

"Scary isn't it?"

Lizzy nodded and sighed, thinking of Leo. "Yeah. Very. Alright, enough nastiness for now. Let's go and do something fun and cheer up a little, eh?"

Emma smiled and nodded. "Sounds like a plan to me. A movie, maybe?"

Lizzy pondered that a moment, then nodded. "I'm game. Let's go."

###

"WHAT...IN THE NAME OF UNCLE SAM'S GOATEE IS GOING ON HERE??!" Leo bellowed, straightening his back to stand as tall and look as imposing as possible.

The furs in the room looked very ashamed. Leo realized that apart from his own platoon, most of first and about half of fourth platoon were present as well. In the background, a television set was going, but there was currently only static on the screen. The room was already in shambles. There were toppled chairs and one of the tables had gone upside down as well. There were soda-cans everywhere.

"I'm WAITING!" Leo growled, looking from face to face. "Corporal Mofeta, REPORT!"

"Well, Sir..." the skunk began, uncertainly.

Leo interrupted him before he even got started. "Corporal Twain, put those furs down. WITHOUT causing them further harm. Right now!"

The equine obeyed, immediately, putting down two smaller furs, as carefully as one could expect. To his credit, he looked slightly ashamed of himself. Just a little, Leo noticed though. Then he looked back to Corporal Mofeta and indicated that he wanted the rest of the report.

"We were just watching this video, sir...y'know...just having some fun and a few cokes. I mean...no beer. The Captain has forbidden alcohol on base since it offends the locals, Sir..."

"I'm aware of this, Corporal. What happened to start the fight?"

"Well, sir...Corporal Twain was commenting favorably on the looks of one of the femmes, and...well...I think one of the Fourth Platoon sucke...I mean one of the Fourth Platoon privates didn't agree with him. There were a few...ill chosen words, Sir."

"ILL CHOSEN?" Corporal Twain burst out. "That SHIT was making speciesist remarks, Sir."

Leo snapped his face around to look at the equine. "You, Corporal, are SEVERELY out of line!"

"Yessir!" the black equine responded and snapped to attention.

"Corporal Mofeta. Tell me...exactly...what those ill chosen words were, and who spoke them. And so help me, if you pull some 'enlisted furs cover for one another' crap on me, I'll have you scrubbing latrines with your own toothbrush for a week...you dig?"

The corporal nodded, swallowing and looking faintly disgusted. "Yes Sir...absolutely. It was Private Brown over there, Sir," he explained and motioned towards a lean looking hound. "His exact words were that..."

Leo nodded, waiting patiently. He couldn't help notice that Corporal Mofeta looked very uncomfortable at having to repeat what had been said.

"He...he said that equines were too dumb to be considered truly sentient furs...and..."

"Go...on...Corporal..."

Corporal Mofeta sighed deeply and slumped. "He said that he'd never seen an equine who didn't look like God had been drunk and on dope while creating them. That's...that's pretty much it, Sir."

Corporal Twain looked like he was itching to get to the hound across the room. Private Brown looked back, indifferently.

Leo nodded, calmly, then looked at Private Why-Seven-Minutes who stood nearest the buzzing TV-set. He scratched his cheek and nodded again, beckoning for the Private to turn on the television set.

"Go on, Private. Turn it on."

"Erh...Sir? Are you sure? It's...ahem...it's hardly the kind of thing officers are supposed to watch," Corporal Mofeta tried.

Leo rolled his eyes and snapped his gaze back to the skunk...who simply cowered and nodded, stepping backwards to show he had no objections whatsoever.

"Turn the damned movie back on, Private. Now!" the lion growled.

Private Why-Seven-Minutes turned on the movie with a trembling paw, then stepped sideways, looking very uncertain. The situation was clearly uncomfortable. Leo crossed his arms over his chest and watched as the screen flickered back to life. As he had expected, sounds of moaning was soon heard from the television as a porn-movie flicked across the screen. He nodded, calmly, waiting maybe a minute or so while he observed the...action...before he beckoned for it to be turned off.

Then he turned and walked up to Private Brown, looking very calm. He stood there, in front of the private, observing him for a short while before speaking again.

"So...you don't think equines are worth looking at?" he asked, calmly. "Tell me...do you feel that way about any other types of furs or is it just equines that don't do it for you?"

The hound straightened up. "A few others, Sir. It's not a crime thinking one species of fur is ugly, Sir."

"Private Brown...right now, I'm going to explain something to you. I'm going to speak slowly and in small words, so I can be certain you understand everything," Leo said, patiently. "I can't hit you. First of all, the United States Army does not allow officers to beat their troops anymore. At least not under circumstances like these. Secondly, I am indeed an officer, and therefore by definition a Gentlefur. And Gentlefurs, Private Brown...don't get their paws dirty with garbage."

A few mutters of consent went through the First and Third platoon furs, whereas most of the Fourth Platoon troops were grumbling. Leo was completely unmoved by either reaction and simply cleared his throat, before he continued, nonchalantly.

"Now you also have to understand something, Private Brown. Because I am an officer, I can make your life excruciatingly difficult. You think I was joking about making Corporal Mofeta use his toothbrush to clean the latrines? I can assure you...I wasn't. I am perfectly capable of being your worst nightmare...momma's boy. We're in Afghanistan. Surrounded on all sides by hostiles. And YOU...in your INFINITE STUPIDITY HAVE THE GODDAMNED GALL TO ANTAGONIZE YOUR FELLOW SOLDIERS, YOU SORRY PIECE OF SHIT!!"

The sudden change of volume clearly shocked Private Brown who started to protest. He looked insulted.

Leo cut him off with a snap of his paw. "Shut up!" he snarled. "I have no interest in anything you have to say about this. Now you are going to go over there to Corporal Twain. You will apologize to him for your insulting remarks. You will make him BELIEVE you are sincere. Then you will come back here, and apologize to me for insulting someone dear to me...namely the femme on that screen, whom I just so happen to be fortunate enough to call one of my best and closest friends, back home in Ohio. And then you can bloody well report to the gate where you will be on midnight watch...EVERY night for the next WEEK! The next time I hear that kind of speciesist BULLSHIT out of you, I won't be so lenient with you. Dismissed, Private."

Private Brown's eyes went as wide as saucers. "You...I mean...but...a friend...but..." he began, pointing to the screen. The look in Leo's eyes was one of steel, fire and pure determination. It was pointless to argue with the officer and instead, he hung his head and turned. He walked up to Corporal Twain and apologized. Leo noted with some pride that the equine was gracious enough to simply accept it and let the hound slink out of the door, followed by the rest of the Fourth Platoon furs.

"Sheeeeeet, Sir..." Corporal Mofeta finally said, exhaling heavily. "Whoa. Remind me never to get on your wrong side again, eh?"

Leo nodded, calmly. He didn't speak. He was still trying to calm down. It was bad enough having actually had to watch one of Gabrielle's movies. It wasn't that he minded what she did. Not for a moment. It was entirely her choice, but as her friend, he didn't really want to see her movies. He preferred Gabrielle with clothes on.

"Erh...Sir?" Corporal Twain chimed in. "We'll clear up this mess in a second, don't worry, Sir. And...sorry for the fight and all."

"Damned straight you'll clean it up. And you First Platoon furs...don't think you're getting away easy. You'll help. I want this place so clean you can eat your breakfast off the floor tomorrow morning. After that, you will all turn in for the night."

"YES SIR!"

The shout was unanimous, as was the sound of heels snapping together. Leo was about to turn around and head back into his quarters when he heard someone clear his throat behind him.

"Yes, Corporal Twain. What is it now?"

"Sir...do you really know Gabrielle Ryder?"

"Damned straight I do, and I consider myself a fortunate fur for it."

"Sir?"

"Yes Corporal?"

"D'you think...you could get us something with her autograph or something on it?"

Leo straightened his back and looked at his door. Better to look at the door than at his troops. That way, they wouldn't see that he was about to break down laughing.

"I'll write her and ask, Corporal. No promises," he said, managing to keep his voice straight and even.

Then he went back into his own room to write his letter.

###

Gabrielle smiled and adjusted her dress. Just for once, she had decided to go all out and dress to the nines. Yohni hadn't said a word all the way to the restaurant. She had stared a lot, though.

The equine was dressed in a long, black velvet evening gown, with an asymetrical, rhinestone-set slash up one long leg. It was deeply cut in the back, while still showing enough cleavage to make the most of her considerable bosom. Around her neck rested a simple, gold necklace. Her long hair was set in a loose, elegant hairstyle, falling easily around her face and neck.

She had deliberately gone for the vampy look and she'd succeeded, spectacularly. Sweeping through the door, she smiled crookedly, enjoying the attention. Quite a number of heads turned.

It wasn't even as if she'd overdressed. 'Parthenon' was quite a fancy place. The dress code was pretty strict.

Yohni caught up at last, smiling to the femme asking if they had a table reserved. The mongoose explained that they were meeting two friends. After some quick checking with the book, they were led to Jean's and Esteban's table.

Esteban immediately got up, pulling out the chair for newcomers with a smile. Jean looked relieved in a way.

"Thanks Gabby..." she chuckled.

The equine smiled. "What for, dear?"

"Taking attention away from anyone else within a two mile radius. I feel like I'm having a bad fur day. Very unfortunate when you're going out to eat," the vixen explained. "You both look great."

Yohni looked proud of her girlfriend as she gracefully sat down and looked at Jean. "Thank you. She does look like two million bucks, doesn't she?" she grinned.

"Three, I'd say..." Jean answered. "We've taken the liberty of ordering something to drink, for all four of us."

Everyone settled down and a moment later, a waiter brought a bottle of Retsina. Gabrielle looked at her glass, ponderously, after the first few sips.

"This is without question one of the weirdest drinks in the world," she commented. "I like it...but it's strange."

Esteban nodded in agreement. "Eet's good een small amounts. Too much of eet would be...I don't know...eeckee, I theenk."

Yohni smiled and sipped her drink again before putting it down. "It's good to be back home. I've missed everyone here," she said, quietly.

"Me too," Gabrielle chimed in. "It's really nice to see everyone again. Even if I was...shocked to hear about that whole thing with...with the death of...you know..."

Esteban nodded, calmly. He sighed a little but shrugged. "I'm begeeneeng to understand...that even eef I acted stupeedlee, I am not directlee responseeble for eet," he said, managing a little smile.

Everybody nodded. Jean slipped a paw over the table to the wolf, folding her fingers into his to reassure him. No one said anything for a while. The level in the Retsina-bottle sank a little further before Jean leaned back in her seat a little, finally letting go of Esteban's paw.

"Okay...don't you two think it's high time we hear all the details of your European trek?" she asked, smiling languidly.

Yohni grasped the straw and clung on. "Well," she began, "It all started in Copenhagen. Remember, love? We were on our way to get our passports checked. I mean we'd barely landed..."

"Yeah, that's right. We were trying to figure out how to get to the hotel, and then, suddenly, there was this voice behind us, asking if it was our first trip outside the US," the equine added, smiling, before looking at Jean and Esteban. "That was Ulf, incidentally. He was a real lifesaver...well, him and Signe..."

"Who's See...neh?" Jean asked, blinking.

"His girlfriend. They were the best," Yohni explained. "Imagine...on 9/11, they immediately offered us that we could stay with them, so we wouldn't have to deal with it alone, being so far away from home."

Esteban blinked. "Wow...that ees nice. Were they all like that?"

"I don't know if they all were, but I do know where I'm planning on retiring one day, for sure," the equine grinned. "I liked Europe, but I loved the mentality in Denmark. Would you believe that I could grab Yohni, right there in the street, and kiss her...and the most we got was a friendly smile from a passerby? In Copenhagen? I mean, that's a city of over a million furs..."

Esteban blinked. "What? No yelleeng or angry sneers?"

"We didn't see them at least," Yohni said with a little smile. "I was so amazed. That's one nation we could seriously learn something from when it comes to tolerance. I guess it's got something to do with the size of the country. They're closer together..."

"Sometimes, you're sharper than a razor, Yohni..." Jean chuckled. "I think that's probably it. It's not that America is intolerant. It's not, really. But it's so big and so diverse that it's easier to think 'It's fine for other furs to do what they want, as long as they do it somewhere else!'. We can do that, but some small, European country like that...well, they have a finite amount of space, so they do need to get along."

"It's not just that," Gabrielle said and shrugged. "I mean, I loved the place but I didn't understand the culture a lot of the time. Not just in Denmark, but in other parts of Europe too. They were a lot more different than I had really thought."

Jean nodded again. She had heard similar things from others. All she had to do was look to her own family. While they had lived in the United States for more than a quarter of a century, her parents were still French. There was a cultural gap that they just couldn't...or wouldn't...cover.

The evening was off to a good start though. Later, Jean would have to talk to Gabby and Yohni about the marriage, since it'd be a double-ceremony. For one thing...she needed to get with them to fix a date.

She'd get around to that. Right now, she just wanted to enjoy the company of her friends.

###

'Dearest Lizzy...

I think this is my fifteenth attempt to even get started on this letter, and if this one ends up in the corner, all crumbled up, you might get attempt sixteen instead. The thing is... I hardly even know how to start. I've read and reread your letter to me, over and over again, and I think I should start by dispelling the fear I read from every word. I'm not going anywhere. I'm not about to leave you, based on what you told me. Or anything else for that matter.'

Leo put down the pencil again for a moment, picking up his mug of coffee and sipping from it. He rubbed the tip of his nose before picking up the pencil again.

'Everything is going well around here. The troops are good furs. You'd like several of them, despite your misgivings about the army. Who knows, one day you might get to meet them. Captain Cervus is a good officer. He's got a good grip of the situation and while he runs a tight ship, I think everyone is grateful for the discipline. Believe me, it makes everyone feel safer when they know there's a certain amount of discipline around base. We haven't seen any combat yet but then again, we only just arrived. We are still settling in. Captain Cervus has assured us, though, that it's okay to write home about the one incident that happened right after arrival, since it doesn't affect this outfit in any way. That whole story about an American fighting for the enemy has everyone growling, and with good reason. That's high treason and frankly...I hope he'll get what's coming to him. Why am I being so harsh? Sweetheart...one of the first things I saw after I got here was the throng of hungry, rag-clad ghosts standing by the gates. Starved and frightened of their own shadows, they hope against hope that we will give them something to eat. Anything, even a blanket to keep themselves warm with in the cold nights. The nights, Lizzy...they are so beautiful here. And so bitterly cold.'

Once again, Leo put down his pencil. His mind was wandering. There was a lot to tell, even though he'd seen nothing but what went on at base. He realized, of course, that most of what happened there was classified and he couldn't write home about it. He got up and moved around a little bit, trying to clear his head. Finally, he poured himself a fresh cup of coffee before sitting back down to write some more.

'I hope you believe me, though, when I say I will never leave you, for as long as you want me. Don't get me wrong. I am not belittling the gravity of what you did all those years ago. Nor am I saying that it should simply be forgotten, but I cannot tell you in strong enough terms, how proud I am of you for how you dealt with it. How you accepted your punishment and how you rose above the situation, to get out of there the femme I have come to love so deeply. Look at yourself, Lizzy. Look in the mirror, and ask yourself if you are still the same femme who did those things, years ago...or if you changed? I say you changed. We all make mistakes in life. Your mistakes are not unforgivable. They would have been if you had not tried to stop that horrible affair in that park you wrote about. But you did just that. You did the right thing...because deep in your soul, Lizzy, you are a moral fur. In many ways, you are my conscience. I always thought of myself as a conscientious, right-thinking fur, and I still think you are a better fur than me. You have a social conscience that I couldn't aspire to. So don't worry...I am still here. I miss you. I turn over in bed at night, and I expect my arm to come to rest across your waist, but you aren't there.'

He took a look at what he'd written already and nodded. He would write often. Very often. It meant he didn't have to write a novel every time. Writing long letters didn't come natural to him. This one shouldn't be a mile long anyway. It had to be to the point and it had to explain how he felt. Yet, he still wanted to come up with one last reassurance of sorts.

'You'd have been proud of me, if you had seen me just before we embarked. My platoon was waiting to get up on the plane. I guess I thought about the oldest soldier's question in the world. 'Why are we fighting?'. So...I told them why. That this isn't about some simple goal, like winning more land to live on, or looting and plundering. Good God, what does Afghanistan have to plunder, anyway? They make most of their money on opium and heroin. That this is about the loftiest goal imaginable. It's about freedom. The freedom from fear and terror. The freedom to think differently than your neighbor. To be who you want to be.

I am kidding no one, Lizzy. This is not a country that we can reintroduce American values to. They've never had them in the first place and the culture is different in every single way. Here, we must create freedom from fear and terror, for Americans...while giving the locals a chance to build a better nation. What I worry about is what we will define as 'a better nation'. I suppose we will have to see, but...I admit I have no illusions about this being easy, or over quickly. Even if we win the war, we will still have to win the peace as well, and as you, a historian, will no doubt agree with me...that is a much, much harder battle.

There is still fighting going on. Some areas will take months to clear. Even years. The Taliban are on their home turf, after all. But we're in it for the long haul. I have to do the best I can. I have to live with myself afterwards, too, and that is harder than one might think. After all, when I give the order to fire, I do so knowing that furs may die.

I know you're the expert on history, love...but one cannot live with you for very long without picking up a bit of an interest, oneself. I guess I mostly like it for the snappy quotes that may come in useful at times. One such quote has been sitting with me, ever since we landed here. Despite having seen no combat yet...I realize that truer words have probably never been spoken about war. They were spoken by William T. Sherman at Michigan Military Academy on June 19th, 1879...so I'm pretty sure you already know what I'm talking about. He said: "There is many a boy here who looks at war as all glory, but, boys, it is all Hell!"

There were ten thousand furs listening to him that day. He had fought his wars. He had sacked the Carolinas. Burnt a swathe through the confederacy and killed thousands of enemy troops. But maybe...just maybe Lizzy...the real war, for a fur such as he...is fought in the heart. Maybe the real battle isn't against enemies, firing upon you. Then it is kill or be killed, and any fur will fight with everything he has to survive. We will all commit the most savage atrocities, for just one more breath of air. For just one more second of life. What I think...is that Sherman's fiercest battle was fought with his conscience. I don't know if he won it. I believe he did. But I believe, like all soldiers, he paid a price for it. Now I'm here...a fur of no importance and of little influence. I am no William T. Sherman. I am no Grant, or Eisenhower. I just command one platoon. Three squads. But I have to look into the face of those furs every day, and show them that I am confident in my commands. That I will not waver...that I will not show that I too, fight this dreadful...bloody battle against my own conscience.

I guess that to some, this battle is easy. Some furs win it in seconds. Others never win it, but keep fighting it. Some lose it, and go under. I have no doubt that we are doing the right thing here. All I need to know with absolute and complete and utter certainty that ours is a just and righteous cause...is to look past the gates and find the face of the first child in the throng out there. All I have to do is stare into those eyes for a few seconds, and I have all the resolve I will need.

But I cannot help but question: do we really help these furs? Is what we are doing...enough? What more can I do to help them? I wish I knew, but there are no easy answers.

I don't know how this sounds. I speak of battles against one's conscience when fighting wars against tyranny and oppression. Against terror and hate. But isn't it the duty of every soldier to look into his own heart and constantly judge himself, so that he never becomes that which he is fighting against, Lizzy? Is it not my highest duty...to be better than those I must fight? Every time I am going to give the order to open fire...and I know that even though I haven't done so yet, I will in the future...I have to do so knowing that the barrage is likely to cost lives. Enemy lives, but lives nonetheless.

Can I do my duty, and still regret that loss of life? Does it make me a bad soldier? A bad officer?

Maybe it will become easier, in time. I don't hope so. I don't want to become jaded. And I don't want to be one of those veterans who come home, never speaking of what they've seen and experienced, growing old and bitter with memories of terrible things filling their every waking moment.

I need you, Lizzy. I will need you more than ever, when eventually I come home.

In the end...what we fight for...is each other.

Yours always, and with all my love,

Leo'