Dear Father, Grace, Jess, and Jake,
While lying in the trenches, I’ve had a lot of time to write. Your letters have heartened me to fight harder. No, Jake, I have not spoken to the field medics, but I have seen them. Yes Jess, I have seen men shot and killed just like that, but it’s nothing to be proud of. Grace, no we do not get special treatment, we are only foot solders and no one can afford anything better than bread. It was my choice to join the American Expedition Force and the Allies. I was not drafted. The Central Powers are evil and need to be stopped. Father, please forgive me for the harsh words I spoke at the dock, I was nervous and cry your pardon. Training was tough with constant drills and exercises. We learned how to shoot a machine gun, put a gas mask on, and set mines.
Life in the trenches is horrible. There are rats and other unimaginable horrors. It smells like garbage trucks and bathrooms mixed together. We wait, wait, and wait till there is news of the enemy, then move or fight. When mail comes, there is a mad scramble, but otherwise we sit around and gamble. I have won some fellow’s hat while playing strip poker, but the officer made me give it back because we need all the clothing we can get as winter approaches. We’ve seen some action and I have seen so may injured and/or killed in the past month. I don’t know how long the “Great” war will go on, but I won’t back down.
It is somewhat fun to have all that action around me. Though I was hoping that no one from home was out here, but I was wrong. I saw Robert three days ago at the front line but when he went into the fog he didn’t come out. What goes on in the Homefront in Chicago? Grace, how is Peter, and your Paul and little Patty? Jess, tell me of your dirty deeds with James. Jake, are going to continue wooing Elizabeth? Father, do not close the motel. I will run it when I get home.
Write soon,
Grant
