Letter from the trenches: A story of war.

Berta Grouter’s car slowly creeps into the drive way of her country home, the big white house with the green trim. She climbs out of the car. The dirt crunches under her feet as she steps down onto the ground.

***

“GO! GO! GO!” yells the general over the sound of the cannon shells. Wilhelm Grouter loads his rifle and sticks his head out of the trench just enough to see his target. He fires. His body jolts from the kick of the gun. The French soldier that he shot in the side crumples to the ground.

***

Berta grabs her bag of fresh lettuce, carrots, asparagus, and tomatoes out of the back seat of the car. She then starts towards the house. She stops to grab her mail out of the mail box.

***

BOOM!!!

Pieces of shrapnel fly in every direction from the grenade that was thrown into the trench. Blood splatters on Wilhelm’s uniform as a piece of shrapnel hits a fellow soldier in the chest.

“Oh my god!” exclaims Wilhelm.


***

“Oh my god!” says Betra as she reads the envelope before her. It reads: 1919 mulberry street Germany, Moscow. (The big white house with the green trim) Return address: German base camp. Unit number 28971 West France. She opens the envelope with swift accuracy careful not to tear the precious paper inside.


Dear Betra,

I hope all is well. I am doing fine… well as fine as I can be. How are you? How is Dad? Please tell him I said hello and that I love him. People are saying that this war will change warfare forever. We are fighting in trenches, boy are they grizzly environments.
All we have to eat is tea and dog biscuits. We get meat once a week if we are lucky. The trench is always filled with water. Dead decomposing bodies floating there next to you while you try to eat…and sleep. The smell is unbearable.
I am surrounded by death. Yesterday…or maybe it was today. I really don’t have a sense of time anymore. My vision is cloudy. I have seen too much blood. But anyway I shot and killed a French soldier. He didn’t look a day over 18. His whole life ahead of him and I gunned him down…
“Trench Foot” is a big problem here. When you get it your feet swell two or three times there normal size. You could shoot your foot and you wouldn’t even feel it. If your feet aren’t amputated then that is when the real pain comes…dead rotting flesh. I am fortunate and have not gotten it yet.
Some crazy son of a gun the other day went up and over the top of the trench when the French were firing at us. He went past the barbed wire and into no mans land. He died pretty quick…
There are rats everywhere. To them it is an all you can eat buffet of human meat. There is also a big problem with lice. I shaved my head but that didn’t help. Whenever I lay down they crawl all over me and bite my head.
Even though I am in this horrible place I don’t want you worrying about me. I will be fine. I always am. I can’t wait to hold you in my arms once more and continue loving you like I did. I will make it back alive. That much I promise you.

With love,

Wilhelm Grouter

p.s. I put a picture of me that someone took inside the envelope. This way even though I have been gone for so long you won’t remember what I look like…I love you Berta always and forever.

Sarah’s eyes begin to extract her cold tears. They tumble down her face. She is happy that she heard from him, but sad because she wants to be held again. By him, and him alone.

***

“This is it…” thought Wilhelm. I’m about to enter no mans land. William loads his rifle and his pistol and then grabs some grenades. Him and hundreds of men leap up over the top and charge screaming at the top of there lungs as they charge towards the enemy. There is a load bang and a flash of red mist. The next thing Wilhelm knows he is on his knees crying in pain and then flat on his stomach. His face mashed into the mud.

“NO! it cant end this way!” thinks Wilhelm. “I have to make it home!”

Wilhelm gently falls asleep and doesn’t wake up… he is gone.