Dear Mom and Dad, How is the sweet life back in Collegeville? Life in the trenches can be compared to no other. I am having problems sleeping when all I can hear is the sound of bombs overhead and the constant clatter of bullets. I lay here, writing this composition many of times just to somehow describe in a deeper sense how arduous these living quarters are. I also write this with a ghastly headache, due to the Germans gas bombs. One day on the front lines we spotted German attack and had to spontaneously erupt into battle. The Germans have some heavy artillery, yes they do, and I came face to face with a wild machine gun. You’re lucky you have such a smart son, I hit the floor flatter then your pancakes on Sunday morning, Mom. But when I hit the floor I am only reminded of the men that were not as reactive as I was, the amount the people Death is claiming is unbearable. To many are dying to fast for us to move the bodies, and some bodies are in areas to dangerous for us to retrieve them. That is when the brown rats come in, horrible, ugly creatures they are. Brown rats have been known to eat the flesh, especially the eyes, of the fallen and have grown to the size of fox! Back on the farm at home, being fast was a great help; my speed it also being recognized here. Occasionally I am summoned to lead a small group of men over the trenches, through no mans land, and into enemy trenches to acquire any information we can come upon. It is cold, muddy, wet, and filled with fear and desperation here in these trenches. But I came here to serve my, our, country! We embrace out patriotism and are proud to be Americans! Mom, Dad, thank you so much for your gifts, I know financial times are not the best back home. The boys and myself here greatly appreciate your contributions. Stay safe, and please keep writing. Love, Your Son