Work Text:
June 28, 1917
Dear Pauline,
As I write this letter the stench of death is clinging to my worn out boots and thin muddy green uniform. They all said we were men for joining and that we were doing our duty as the citizens of the U.S. but as I sit in this narrow dirty ditch it has given me time to reflect and realize that all they were advertising was pure shite, as the British would call it. I can’t help but feel like a lamb going to a slaughterhouse, defenseless and weak. I am no Man here, I am nothing but another dead body to the endless pile of my ex comrades. We’ve been in the western front for what seems an eternity and not the heaven kind but the deepest pits of hell. The U.S. was a fool for entering this war; they deceived us all and they didn’t even have the dignity to train us for what was to come. They thought they were smart with this trench warfare but it has only led us to stalemates against the Germans. The temperatures have significantly lowered and we shiver to retain heat yet our efforts are futile. It doesn’t matter if it’s day or night the bitter cold creeps up on us and grabs us with its wretched claws. My feet can only sense the swishes of the watery dirt but it can’t feel anymore. I can’t distinguish if the vibrations in the soil are the Germans rising to attack or if it’s my fellow allies trembling with the terrors that cause them to quiver and shake. I’m a selfish bastard as I yearn for the comfort of your touch and the warmth of your love. And I’m the biggest piece of scum who can’t even help his comrades as they wither in pain.The bravest souls get up to attack the Germans with the artillery but as they rise, they fall twice as fast. The bullet is quick to hit, yet their deaths are long and excruciating. Their screams are never-ending as they haunt me in my sleepless dreams. They beg for the agony to end and to see their loved one’s once again. I’m worthless to everybody who is doing their best to help in this war. All I do is ignore the grumbling of my stomach, telling me of the strong hunger I feel. I ignore it to help the rest of my comrades who have it worse than me. I share with them the last morsels of the dog-like meat and the “biscuits” made from dried up turnips. It revolts me that we are out here in war and my allies are being deprived of the nutrients they need to fight. As we shared words amongst each other to give the slightest bit of comfort. The allies have talked and they’ve stated that the U.S. joining the war gave them hope and relief that a great nation had come to their aid. My deepest condolences go to them, as they don’t yet know, we are completely incompetent with no knowledge of how to fight. I long for the time when I was within your grasp and when the U.S. wasn’t so involved in the world’s affairs. If everybody would have given zero shites of the assassination we wouldn’t be here. Losing our lives without a good cause. As foolish as it sounds, I still have hope that I’ll see you again.
Your Love,
John