He’d become the brother that neither of them had. John taught them how to play “Yankee Doodle” on a harmonica, and as southern boys, William and Tom had pressed upon him the need to learn something with a different flavor. John had been kind to everyone they met and insisted on helping old Mr. Brown with chores around the cottage even though he, himself, was entirely spent after days of training. William wrote that for as long as he lived, John’s example would be a guiding light to him.

And now, he continued,

a bit on what I know you’ve been wanting to hear about. John was one of our best paratroopers and Tom and I are certain that he was mere days away from a promotion to Specialist. It is too early to say what made his parachute fail. The smallest error in coiling it could have dire consequences. But more than likely, the culprit was the infernal wind that plagued us today. All the men had difficulties releasing their parachutes as the wind did its worst against us. Our first lieutenant is stone-faced, as his role requires him to be, but we’ve come to know him well. And I can tell that underneath his staunch military demeanor, he is as bereft as the rest of us. Maybe more than most, as losing a man you are charged with sending home safely must leave a feeling of profound failure.

This will be hard to hear, and so I give you fair warning that you may want to place this letter down. But I believe, Margaret, that you are as strong a girl as John always described. If that is the case, then you should know the details. John’s fall was broken by a low-lying tree, and it likely kept him from dying on impact. You might believe that would have been a more merciful end, and in one respect, you would be right. But in the few minutes he lived, Tom and I were able to rush to his side.

We found him just feet above our hands, and Tom and I scrambled up a maze of branches to get to eye level with him. His body had been pierced with a particularly sharp limb, and it had cut clean through his abdomen. Tom took off his jacket and pressed it against him, hoping to stop the blood, but I knew that even the most skilled surgeon would not be able to repair what the fall had done to him.

But his last moments are sentiments that I think will give some peace to your heart. Please tell Dottie that his first words—in case they’d be his only ones—were for her. “Tell Dottie I’ll love her forever,” he whispered through labored breaths. “And Mom and Pop. And tell Margaret that I want her to find the happiness that I found with Dottie.”