Dear Nicholas,

            The nights grow longer and the days get darker without seeing you my brother. I hope the family is okay and mother is fighting with her cancer well. Tell J.R. I said hello. I know an old sweat like you has already served his tour, but I could really use a familiar face to keep me going. My first day from the camps and I am thrown into a bloody hell hole. We are currently located at the small village Thiepval, south of the Ancre River. On the other side of the Ancre lies our objective. Capturing the two villages of Beaumont-Hamel and Beacourtsur-1’ Ancre. All is quiet this night. It is a queer feeling to be silent. One can hear his own thoughts, his heart beat. Unlike on the battlefield where home quickly becomes a gaping hole in the Earth that growls and shudders at each hand grenade thrown. The familiar sounds are the whistling bullets piercing your brothers or striking the sandbags over your head. I’d be thankful for one night without the rats. They smell our rations and come in the hundreds to ransack the trenches of the few rations we have with us.

            I first arrived at the Somme River late at night on the 1^st of July. The new Commander in Chief Sir Dougles Haig had agreed to the plans of the French Commander in Chief Joseph Jeffre. On July 1^st there was to be an advanced artillery bombardment on the German bunkers and barbed wire. The munitions proved to be complete rubbish and the Germans were in no way surprised when our soldiers hopped the bags. Thank God I arrived late in the day. We lost 58,000 fellow British troops that day.

            I saw little action over the next couple of months. Mainly I worked as a runner for the first month or so. It wasn’t until September 26 that I experienced my first real battle with the Germans. We were headed to Shwaben Redoubt, a German strongpoint, in a battle on the ridges of Thiepval under command of Lieutenant General Hubert Gough. We fought in the rubble that was once a farm, or so I heard. In the day, my job was to reposition lost sandbags and bring water to cool the machine guns. At nightfall, I was appointed to the stand-to, ready to bring down any alleyman that came in my line of sight. For the two nights we were at the stand-to, it happened once. I was eating some Bully Beef, corn beef, with my friends Andrew, Ferris, and Matthew. It was the last of the rations we were given as a group for the night. We heard crackling and crunching sounds like thirty or so ammos across the barren Earth. The crackling grew closer and my heart beat grew louder. I saw a silhouette in the dim sunrise and that was all I needed to fire my rifle. My shot caused a wave of bullets to begin ripping through the once still air. The soldiers that were coming to relieve us at once began firing as well. Luckily, leave out three casualties and one injured, we held them off with little worry. One alleyman fell on the bank and to my horror; Ferris thrust his bayonet clean down the alleyman’s throat. The German’s muffled cries and quivering body still haunts my dreams. I didn’t think about it at the time; about how I had shot and killed another man, two to be exact. By my hand, I had killed two good men. I have put it off that it is the moment and the atmosphere that allows me to kill another man. Put aside the fact he is also shooting at me. Still the shame holds to my mind. The next day, we captured Shwaben Redoubt on the 28^th of September.

This process repeated for the next month or so and now I lie here writing this message to you lying in a trench. Funny, it seems the trenches and I have become one in a way. No matter how far I run, I always return to them. The weather is terrible on this land. If it isn’t raining, it is snowing. If it isn’t snowing, it is raining. And if it is neither snowing nor raining, the sun is melting last night’s snow. Luckily for me everything is dry as I write my letter. It is just Matthew and I now. Andrew was shot just a few days ago when we assaulted on the last portion of Regina Trench. Matthew and I brought him back to a medic, but it was too late. I was there when Andrew passed. His eyes were overrun with tears and I could tell he was finally realizing that he was dieing. “I’m not ready to die Alfie.” Alfie was my nickname. “Damn it Alfie it hurts so bad! You have to promise me something Alfie…you’ve got to live through this and tell my parents that I love them ok? You promise me!” I started to cry a little myself. I put my forehead to his and my breathing seemed to be reassuring enough for the both of us. We stayed in this position for another few minutes until I could no longer hear Andrew’s breath. As for Ferris, no one had heard from him since that time at the farm during the stand-to. Some say he must have lost his mind and ran off; others say he put a pistol in his mouth because of the guilt.

I never liked this war from the beginning, but I am really beginning to despise it. It has caused nothing but heartache and pain. Two of my friends are dead, a countless number of lives taken, and the lives of those waiting at home destroyed. Someone’s wife will wait and wait for a ship to bring her husband that will never come. A little boy will never be able to play a game of catch with his father. A big bloody mess is what it is.

I best be off to sleep now, Nicholas. Tell Anne and mother that I love them and J.R. too. I heard that some soldiers will get to go on leave after our time at Ancre so hopefully I will get to see you all again soon.

With much love,

Alfred