January 15th, 1945
Dear Josephine Pilla,

We’re going to win this war, I can feel in my bones. The way the guys have been talking, it’s probably only a matter of days now. The Nazi’s have been falling back. We’ve been advancing farther into Germany. We are occupying this town called...well I guess I can’t say that can I? I’m not allowed to disclose our location in case this letter gets intercepted by the Reich. If they ever intercept one of my letters, well the only thing they’re gonna learn is how fantastic my Josie is.

The cooking here’s alright, but nothing compared to yours. I can’t stop thinking about your gravy and meatballs on Sunday afternoons. I know you always thought you never could cook like your mother does but you do. Even better. Really I promise. When we come home, you can ask the guys I’m stationed with. All of the Allies in Germany have heard about your ricotta pie.

Germany is beautiful this time of year. The snow is so white and soft. It covers everything. From the houses to the streets, last week me and some of the boys had a snowball fight. Nothing like the grey sooty mush we get in South Philly. When this whole sha-bang is over, I’m going to take you here, doll. We’ll spend a whole year here if that’s what you want. After we get married, we can spend whole years anywhere you wanna go. Anywhere.
Tell everyone I said hello and give them my best.















Thinking of you always,


















Eugene Carboni


February 19th, 1945
Dear Josephine Pilla,

Things have been good. As good as a war can get I suppose. Our rations are being cut. Sergeant says it’s only temporary, that more food will be coming soon but that’s a load of bull. Sweetheart, I miss your cooking now more than ever. You said that it had just snowed in Philly, that the streets were drowning in the stuff. The snow here iced over and it’s freezing. Our guns are frozen, bullets are getting stuck in the barrel.
Remember how we used to sit, snuggled up in the blankets you made, by the radiator? You were so bad at sewing, those quilts were hideous but darling, I’d give anything to have one of those atrocities around my shoulders right now. Your mother had that static filled radio and we’d listen to Dizzy Gillespie and Duke Ellington. One of the boys here, Louis, has a saxophone. The army let him bring it, something about moral support. He plays our songs sometimes, but it’s not the same without you under my arm.

You’d like Louis. He’s from Dover. He’s got a wife and a son who ain’t even tall enough to touch the kitchen countertops, even on his tippy toes. Louis carries a picture of them on him all the time. Just like I carry a picture of you. He can’t wait to meet you. I told him he’ll have front row seats to our wedding.

I’ve got to go now. Give the family my best. If you stop by Joe Price and Ruth Collins’s place, tell them I’ve been missing them. I love you baby, don’t forget that.










Love,









Eugene Carboni

March 31, 1945
Dear Josephine Pilla,

It’s been getting warmer, but I still feel cold. Remember, in January, when I said we occupied that village I couldn’t name for safety reasons. It was bombed today. Most of our men made it out, save the few unlucky souls who stayed to help civilians. Civilians, Jo! The Germans bombed their own, innocent people in the hope of taking out a few Yanks. I never thought a group of people could be so ruthless.

I was in the town when it was hit. I was close to the edge of the bombing line so I, as well as Louis, escaped unharmed. My platoon was sent in to do damage control. So much misery, Jo. Children wandered the streets looking for their mother’s. Mother’s screamed for their babies. There were things I seen on these cobblestone street that I never want to tell you about. I kept seeing you, in the faces of those German woman. I see you’re hair in the golden glow right after the initial shock of the bombs impact. Your eyes glinting in the bullets that are fired at enemy lines. I’m doing this all for you, Josephine.

Louis, he could barely keep from running for the hills. I just know he was imagining his little boy and lady back home, right here, on the front lines with him. As much as we love you, we are unbelievably grateful you are as far away from us as possible. I’m not so sure I want to take you to Germany anymore.










I miss you,
















Eugene Carboni.


May 2, 1945
Dear Josephine Pilla,

I lost Louis last week. We were ambushed. Me, him, and 3 other men were sent to scout what looked like a safe area. We were stupid. Nowhere in Germany is safe. Three men died. Two men named Ben and Willie, and then Louis. He was the last to go. Ben and Willie each took bullets to the heart. Louis was shot in the stomach; he held on longer than he should have. Me and the other guy, Ernie, took out the Nazi’s. There were three of them; an equal trade. Ernie tried to perform first aid on Louis, he’s a doctor, but it was too late. He was losing so much blood, Jo, so fast.

Remember how I loved the color red? It was the color of my bike back in high school. The one you’d used to sit on the handlebars and we’d ride on over to the ice cream parlor. I don’t like the color red anymore.

I held his hand until he left. He was squeezing and squeezing and then... nothing. He had his eyes open so I had to shut them. I checked his pockets to make sure he had the picture of his wife and boy on him. He did
What’s gonna happen to that little boy now? No daddy to raise him, he won’t even remember him. All he’ll have is a flag folded in a triangle on a dusty shelf to remind him of the man who loved him unconditionally.

I know something now, baby. When I get home, we’re getting married right away. Hell, I’ll arrange for the pastor to meet us on the air strip. I know our parents are iffy about it but they’ll get used to the idea. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Louis was one of the greatest men I ever knew and his life was to short. We’re going to get married for Louis, and Ben, and Willie, and this whole goddamn war. I’ve got a life because of Louis and I’m not going to waste it.


























Dearest,
















Eugene Carboni


May 30th 1945, 2013
Dear Josephine Pilla,

Last week, we had a short memorial for Louis and the rest of the boys we’ve lost these past few months. Sergeant Miller got up and said a few words in honor of the men, and then read off each name with date of death. At first, in January and February, there were 2 or 3 boys who were killed. Scouts, never had a chance. But by the time our occupied town was bombed out, the names piled up. The list ended with Jean Calgary, a boy only 17, who stepped on a mine. 81 men in total.

Sergeant Miller had me say a prayer since I’m the most well known religious in the platoon. I said a prayer for Louis and his family. I said a prayer for Jean Calgary’s parents. I said a prayer that Hitler has a heart attack in his sleep tonight. I don’t care if the damn Reich intercepts this letter, I hope they have all heart attacks too! Every last one of those bastards!

Jo, I want to come home. I miss your smile, I miss your laugh. The only thing I see, resembling a smile nowadays, is the grey crescent moon that comes out every night hidden by smokey clouds. Clouds. That’s was Miller used to tell us the wisps in the sky were. We know better now. We’re much too close to Auschwitz for those to be clouds.

If I come home, our wedding is going to be the most magnificent one Annunciation Church has ever seen. You’ll have a magnificent dress, whiter than the snow before Louis’s blood stained it.
You’ll be the most beautiful bride anyone’s ever seen.














































Yours Forever,














Eugene Carboni




June 29, 1945
Dear Josephine Pilla,

We’ve been falling back. Far. I think they Nazi’s have been forcing us farther and farther toward the front line. Once we end up there, we’ll never get out. Sergeant Miller’s been grim, he won’t tell us how bad the situation is. It’s obvious though, in the way he looks at us. Like we’re pigs being sent for slaughter

I don’t want to have to say these things now, but it seems like I do. Josephine, I love you. More than any poker game or golf club in the world. Nothing can compare to you. The way your eyes squint when you smile, and the uncanny way you have of always knowing when somethings wrong. You are perfect and I’ll never deserve you.

But I need you, Jo, I need to spend the rest of my life with you. I need to know you love me as much as I love you. If I can’t ever feel your arms encircling my shoulders again, I just need to see, written in your perfectly looping handwriting, “I love you, Eugene.”

The men have been getting restless. I’ve been getting restless. The sky’s been getting cloudier, smokier, they’re burning faster now. It’s just a matter of time. Those destined for death trying to outlive the others destined for death. I don’t know who’ll win. No one really, I suppose.

Do me a favor, Jo. Find Louis’s family. His wife’s name is Lorraine and his boy’s name is Sammy. They’ll understand you and you guys need all the understanding you can get.

It's getting late. The rest of the boys are asleep, or at least pretending to sleep. Sleep’s been a mystery in this platoon for a long time. I don’t want to lay down and close my eyes because I’m afraid I’ll never open them again. Do you remember the time I went to camp all summer? It was our first summer. We wrote to each other everyday. I told you how every time I closed my eyes, I seen you. I still do, Jo. Everytime.

Remember our first Christmas in 1939? I was 16 and you were 15. We were so young. We had no idea what a curse our future would be. I got you that cheap gold, heart-shaped, locket. I wish I could have afforded something nicer but I guess it’s too late for that now. Promise me you’ll keep it. Put a picture of me and you in there, like Louis did. Carry me with you always.
























I love you,









Eugene Carboni

July 4th, 1945
Dear Josephine Pilla,

We are sorry to inform you that Eugene Carboni, age 21, has died in action. He fought valiantly for his country and did his duty to The United States of America. He will be missed by many.