Notes From The Front in The eye of every storm

Dear Belinda,

I don’t know when the war is going to end. No one does. Sometimes I wonder why we’re here, why we declared war on Christmas in the first place. They say war is hell, but I never expected hell to be so cold. Maybe Dante was right about the ninth circle, and me and my men have arrived, but instead of Judas in the devils tongue, its Santa Claws (sic).

We crossed into the Arctic circle yesterday after an incredibly difficult day. We plowed through the battalion of snowmen fairly easily, but we weren’t expecting the platoon of special forces Elves. We lost Jimmy Stanton. He was a good kid, with boyish good looks Santa himself probably once found endearing, before he… turned. He would sit around the mess hall telling stories about Santa’s cabin, how he hoped to bring home one of those cobbled rocking horses Santa’s workshop was so famous for. Now, from what we’ve heard on Fox News transmissions, we know Santa’s workshop is a tortuous, slavery driven hellscape that we’re trying so hard to bring democracy and freedom. The locals don’t seem to understand that we’re the good guys, but Jimmy knew we were the good guys, and he died for our noble cause and I’ll never forget him.

Force Recon team had to don their Nuclear-Biological-Chemical protective suits we’ve heard. They scouted North of our position and came across a plate of freshly baked cookies, presumably from Mrs. Claws. They didn’t dare eat them, and this is the first we’re hearing of the War taking a more sinister turn. I don’t understand how such a once giving and caring family like the Claws’ could sink to such dastardly tactics, but history has shown us time and again with great power comes great corruption.

Maybe when this war is over, we can have a child of our own, and give him a great world without Christmas, the very living and breathing ideal of socialism. Could you imagine such a Utopia? No more fights on the Friday after we give Thanks. No more endless buying of presents for people we don’t even see. In times of loneliness, when I have not a pen and paper to write you, my love, the strength of a Christmas-less future carries me onward, knowing I’m making the world a better place for us all.

Tomorrow, we press into Candyland. Satellite imagery tells us they’ve reinforced their candy-cane revetments and are buried deep. We haven’t encountered his Air Force yet, but we fear the battle we face with his reindeer enforcement. There’s also rumors of an abominable creature lurking in the depths of the ice caves, but we have no evidence that such a weapon exists.

I hope you are warm in this bleakest of winters. The War on Christmas will soon draw to a close, and I hope to be home by New Years, to begin our New Life, together with this wretched time behind us.

Forever yours,

~Timothy