A drunken Soap dodged Pheasant's kiss before shooting him a pointed glare, "what the bloody hell are you doing?" as his face planted into the ground.

"Nothing," Pheasant muttered through mouthfuls of sand.

"Didn't seem like nothing," Soap snapped in an almost reprimanding, distrustful tone that brought Pheasant to tears in his intoxicated state, he wobbled and swayed as he sat up before collapsing, head first into his heads. 

"I just want to be a good soldier, after everything that happened I'm just so," Pheasant paused it think, "...numb and so cold," he urged, his boisterous bravado thawed away by the alcohol to reveal a fragile core that desperately craved warmth.

"We have to be cold to be soldiers. It's a strength, not a weakness," Soap said with a wise, battle weary stoicism as he patted Pheasant on the back, the commando lifted his rear stained face, looking to the paratrooper-and immediately they had an understanding, "you just had a bit too much to drink, once you sober up you'll be as right as rain."

"I want to be just strong, but I feel so weak," Pheasant said as he wiped away his tears.

Soap offered him a lukewarm, friendly smile, "and you are a good soldier, from what I saw on that night raid, you could go far. Spec ops even."

"Really?" Pheasant asked, surprised.

Soap only nodded.

Then Pheasant burst into tears again, "I thought you were into me, I'm so, so, s-so stupid," he exclaimed, Soap patted his back again as sobs racked the young commando's body.

"You caught the wrong end of the stick, it happens," Soap explained to the sound of Pheasant crying, "but it's okay, you meant nothing by it. I don't care if you're gay but I don't swing that way. Plus I could do way better than a bootneck (royal marine) commando."

Pheasant nodded, "I'd have to be drunk to lower myself to pulling a dip stick (idiot)."

Soap only winked and teasingly punched his shoulder, "good lad, now fuck off before I kick your arse on those speed bags again."

"We all know I won that one," Pheasant said, staggering to his feet that wobbled bride buckling, causing him to crash back into his seat.

Then, without warning, he threw up onto Soap's combat boots, the vomit dyed red from the baileys.

"Oh my God I'm so sorry," Pheasant began to apologise profusely before throwing again onto the sand.

"I'll just wash them off, no big deal," Soap said.

"You sure?".

"Positive. Just go to bed, you've had a long day."

"Okay."

It was almost midnight now and Pheasant retired to his quarters, feeling cleaned out having vomited up most of his drinks, he dressed down to his shirt and boxers before switching on his table lamp, pulling out a chair he sat down to compose a letter.

Dear mum,

I think you should know I tore up your first two letters and burnt the third. After what you said to me I stand by my decision, what you done was beyond fucked up. So fucked up I don't want to think about it anymore.

So, anyways, me and a paratrooper shared the baileys you sent. If I didn't tell you already commandos and paratroopers are rivals, and I ended up throwing up on the paratroopers boots, so I'm sure the rest of my team would approve of my actions. He was surprisingly okay with it.

I have to admit I have a crush on that paratrooper I threw up on. His name is Soap. He's got a mohawk, scars and a Glasgow accent. I've had a crush on him since meeting him back in Camp Winston, and now his team is stationed in our base. So I get to ogle him while he works out, I don't think he ever noticed me doing that.

The curse of being attracted to masculine men is that you can never tell if they're gay or not. Turns out Soap said, and I quote, 'I don't swing that way'. That's the third thing that has crushed my poor gay heart lately. But you hurt me the most with that phone call. I can survive being raped, monsters exist and I accept that, but to have the woman who gave me life be so cold is...well, it hurts.

Sorry. Not going to write about that anymore. I really want to put it in the past and move on.

I'm jealous Roach has pulled twice while I didn't even get so much as a kiss in before I was shot down. But I'm used to fancying people who don't fancy me back, it's basically the story of my life. I'm just a lovesick puppy dog I guess.

I promise my mind isn't always on romance, or shagging, it really isn't.

Soap made my week by telling me I was a good soldier after I got my doubts. It really cheered me up, all I'm waiting for now is for morning to come as I can tell the team I threw up on a paratrooper. I'll be a legend.

But, to go back a minute, it's Roach. He's still not speaking to me but a few weeks back he completely battered me. I was scared I was going to be declared unfit for a mission but I made it, thanks to my eyes not swelling shut. I know you probably imagine it as a petty fallout but I can send you photos of the bruises he gave me. I can get Heaven to back me up that we could've reported him for homophobia. 

What I'm trying to say is that it was serious. Roach is keeping his distance, so I guess that's a good thing? Sure beats being beaten if you'll pardon the pun.

So, to summarise, I'm hoping you'll apologise for blaming me for my being raped, and for insinuating Roach has a leg to stand on after abusing and assaulting me. You're my mum, and you really let me down. It was beyond devastating to have my own mum betray me like that. My own team was there for me, I'm starting to realise family isn't blood it's loyalty.

And I'm hoping me and Roach will patch things up. He's a good lad deep down. I believe in him.

I keep back to when we were dancing. He seemed very eager, bordering on damn near forceful, to do some very sexual dances-to put it lightly. I'm starting to suspect he's repressing something, you know they say homophobes are just in denial. I think it might be that.

Anyways I hope you're well. You're still my mum, you always will be and I love you, I just hope you learn to see things my way. It's just gone midnight so I need to get some help but hopeful this letter reaches you soon.

Love always
Pheasant