Crossing the Trench Lines

It was a beautifully crisp autumn morning when Fritz and I were drafted into the Army, and it was a bitter cold day when Fritz and I were sent out to the western front. Immediately as we arrived, half of our company was killed by artillery. Out of the 250, only 100 remained. Fritz and I were lucky. 

As soon as the Officer blew his whistle, we ran towards the trenches. In a synchronized sacrifice, many men would fall, including Fritz, who was shot immediately before he stepped off into the forest of corpses and barbed wire. 

I'm currently lying down covered with blood and mud, and I was stabbed with a bayonet. I feel myself dying Mother, please tell Father, he will see me soon. Other than that, this was all the little time I had, crossing the trench lines.

Love, Alois