Today is my 32nd day on the battlefield. The war has been at a stalemate for a few months now. Our days consist of digging trenches in fear for our lives. We could be shot at anytime with a precisely aimed bullet.
To start off each day, we wake to the morning hate. During this time, we arise an hour before dawn to be ready to defend a raid. We then have to clean out our rifles to ensure they work during battle. Shortly after we’re given little to eat for breakfast. During this time There is a truce between both sides. No guns are fired during our morning meal. At any point in the day we must be prepared to defend. Later on we have our chores. My job is to refill the sandbags on top of the trench walls. Others have to drain the trenches from the nasty mud they acquire, and others spend all day digging more trenches. Recently I had to take on the worst job of all, patrolling no man's land. This entailed me standing out in the open adding and repairing barbed wire to a fence. For a brief period each day I get free time to myself. I chose to spend this time writing to you. With all the hardships through our daily routine, none of it compares to the conditions of the battle field.
The smell is unworldly. Illness and disease are common through out the soldiers. Influenza, diabetes, trenchfoot, trench fever and malaria. The trenches are infested with rats frogs and lice which all make the trenches filthily disgusting. The unsanitary conditions may be the reason we lose this war.
As write this letter, my free time soon coming to an end. If i don't make it home just know I died a happy death fighting for my country. I hope everything is wonderful back home and hopefully i'll see you soon.