Dear Mom and Dad,
July 1916
The war has taken a toll on all of us. My friends around me shake and quiver as they take arms. Our commanding officers had given orders to move along No Mans land towards German forces. I am under no circumstances to tell you when this will occur or why we are to do this, but I can tell you that I am afraid of not only my life, but for those around me. We all think this effort is futile fore there are rumors that the enemy has acquired new weapons that can end the lives of 250 men on a good shot. But we are not in a situation that allows us to disobey the orders given to us.
Not only is No Man’s land a graveyard, but it is one that is nearly impossible to move through. If the barbed wire doesn’t kill us, German forces will. If only I was back home with you, sitting at the dinner table talking about work or school.
The war is nothing like you would think. The trenches wreak of dead bodies and mud. You can barely walk ten feet without stepping over a fallen comrade, most of which are new recruits who looked over the edge of the trench. We told them not to, but even then, they did and were shot down by an enemy sniper. The image of dark faces and blood is forever imbedded in my mind. No matter how hard I try, the pictures of the massacre that is war will never leave me. You wouldn’t even recognize me. My eyes have grown darker, and grow even so.
July 1916
I feel like a coward. We got through No Man’s land, but we underestimated our enemies. I knew we should not have bombarded them, fore when the bombardment ceased, the enemy would be signaled to man their weapons. We found out the rumors of the new weapon were true, but if only we did not need to find out the hard way. They are called Machine Guns. They run on motor power, and are manned by three or four. I was afraid, and I ran for cover. I did not need to see the faces to know that my squad was gunned down. Luckily, our forces were able to retreat back through No Mans land, though our casualties are great.
The only thing to do now is wait, though waiting is more painful then battle. We may talk like there was nothing wrong, like normal men around a bar table, but inside we are shaking. Inside we are on high alert, listening, our hearts pounding. If one thing goes wrong, if one bomb goes off, our lives may end.
Sleep has become harder to come by. Nightmares of the battles follow every time I close my eyes. Blank faces, bodies with no heads, men forever entombed in a prayer position after getting caught in barbed wire. Its as if witnessing it once was not enough. I am plagued with remembrance.
Some men cant take the pain anymore. They are sent home with shell shock, shaking and twitching, bashing their heads around. I am afraid I am getting close to being there myself. But I refuse to give up. The only way to stop this fear and pain is to fight for my country, if only to protect you.
If only Britain hadn’t become involved in this war. Then we all could be sitting at home, having tea in the late afternoon. Oh how I yearn for that taste. But alas, it is not to be so, fore bloody Germany defiled Belgian neutrality, and we can not allow that to go unpunished. Food and water are becoming scarce, our supplies low. I am not sure how long we can hold the enemy off anymore.
The rats around the trenches have grown in size. They have become larger and larger. I saw one as big as a cat, maybe even bigger. The disgusting creature had burrowed itself a hole inside of a soldiers chest. It was almost too much to bare, and I felt my last meal crawl up my throat. How the beady eyed cretins got to be so vial I do not know, but it is not of their own accord.
The western front no longer looks like land at all. More like hell itself. Fire, craters, bodies. They are everywhere. Not to mention the thousands, maybe even millions of metal scraps and bones scattered throughout No Mans land. The trenches seem to go for days without end and yet the miners do not cease their digging. Some parts of the trench are collapsed or filled with water. We are instructed to leave them be, for one is exposed to the enemy, and the other raises the risks of the new disease, Trench Foot. Once, I was stationed in the part of the trench that served as an infirmary and I saw the effect of Trench Foot head on. The men were in pain, their feet puffed up like a balloon. You could even see their bones. I couldn’t imagine the pain that they felt and feel at this moment.
So many injuries. So many vial things that capture the essence of war. The smell of blood is sickening. No one with a faint heart could ever become a soldier. Luckily, you raised me so that I can be courageous and withstand the sites and smells of this putrid place.
September 1916
A new weapon arrived today, along with a mask that is meant to protect not only the soldiers, but the horses as well. We have yet to set the date of when we test this new method, but it is said that it will end the stalemate. I am not eager to jump back into battle after so long, but there isn’t really anything I can do about that. The faster we go into battle, the faster the war will end, and the faster I can come home.
There is news that the Germans have intercepted our food supply delivery. I am afraid that this will lead to many deaths. There are already men starving of hunger, yet they still stand to fight. Even my own stomach growls with anticipation waiting for my next meal. Just last week my good friend and comrade, Jason, fell ill of hunger, and is now one of many bodies strung about the trench. It is an unfortunate event, but even then, I cannot allow it to get to me. There are many that die, many that I have known since enlisting; if I mourn every death, I would no longer have the strength to fight.
August 1916
I am afraid this up coming battle will be my last. And if it is, remember that I love you, and I love my dear sister, Jenna. My only regret is not seeing this war to its end, and not seeing you for the last time. I may be wrong, but I have a feeling in my bones that I can not go any further. Just remember me as I am. A man of honor. A man that has risked his life if not for his country, then for his family. Do not think ill of me if I do not arrive home. Be proud that your son has the courage to stand brave and true for the welfare of his country, his home, his Britain.
Farewell for now,
Charles T. Edwards II
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