Life — August 8, 1918 — page 28: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

SES GRIE Letters from the Front OR letters from men in the American fighting forces in France Live will poy ten dollars each, if they are considered of suficient interest to print, Correspondents are advised to keep duplicates. The name and address of the sender should be plainly written on each manuscript. “Don’t Worry, Mother’ My Dearest Morien: I am getting your letters very well. My! but the Hun is active! He is fighting for his very life. Soldiering now is a great xame. If you could see your boy dashing over the battlefield binding up the wounded you would be pleased, I am sure. Iam not getting chesty, but [ feel Lam doing my part in this struggle. Fighting, as you may read, is now done in the open. It is a great sight to stand on a ridge and see the battle wage. Here they advance, there they retire. I have seen the Huns come over the hills and ridges in waves. Machine guns were trained on them, and I have seen them mowed down as a reaper mows down wheat I have been in a great struggle for the last week, but [am with a fighting regi- ment, and we fight to the last. Do not worry about me, because I feel my chances are good. It amuses me to see how much hard- ship one can stand. I can work for four or five days with little sleep, and after a night’s rest come out on top again. The artillery duels are terrific. The Huns have innumerable guns and much ammu- nition, and they certainly use them, They chuck shells around over an area of six to twenty-four miles behind the front line. Just think of their shelling Paris! T left there in time, They are kidding themselves when they think they are go- ing to Paris. Before that happen great pitched struggle to the finish wi occur. I could write to you more, but my time is limited. Will write in a few days. I have not gotten any packages or ma zines up to now. Affectionately, Somewhere in Franc In the Trenches Deak Enitor : Your Lirk and my life are together up here in the trenches, and because we've just tossed over a few shells from our baby “75" to Fritzy, bearing the chalked reminder to him that “We're here—to h— with you!” I am feel- ing quite contented with the war, as one who “obeys that impulse.” We fre- quently obey impulses over here, too, and have great fun teasing the Boche, who, as yet, doesn’t quite understand our sport. The prevailing fad at present, you know, is to have early morning carousals with our enemy—anywhere from three to six A. M., and those who don't keep up to the minute in the fashions are quite often no longer recognized by “us elite,” ex- cept in loving memory. Honestly, Lire, it isn’t half bad—this life in the trenches: you eat, sleep and read, and when you get feeling blue about home and the folks, you just vent your spite on Fritz, and keep re- ligious by praying for cach shell to “bust” right. And if you're lucky enough to get a nice, soft wound, just think of the pleasure of having your hand held by a girl from home—and finally emerging with a bright gold stripe—well, come on over; the water's fine. Yours in joyous anticipation of victory and a long life for us both, yyy a, How It Feels Dear Oto Pat o” Mixe: Do you remember just before I left the shores of dear old America you said, “Don’t forget to get. a Hun for me” ?— and then you asked me how I'd feel when I killed my first man. I wasn’t a regular soldier then, you know, and I replied that I'd probably go off in the corner somewhere and feel rather blue, because it had always been against my principles to kill, even in war. Well, the deed is done. Not more than three hours ago I dived on one—fired—and down he went. Thanks to having one of the finest machines in the squadron, I made some dive—two hundred and thirty miles per hour, Not many machines could stand that. If mine couldn't have, I wouldn't have been writing this fetter. I no sooner got back to my hut, where Tam now (and, by the way, you should see it, papered with postcards, etc.), than T thought of having promised to tell you how I felt after I had done my first real bit in the war Well, I didn’t go off into a corner or feel a bit blue—instead, a glorious and victorious feeling came over me, and I felt as if I had been on a hunt and killed a wild beast—only this time I didn’t bring home my game, but I knew he wouldn't be able to do any more damage. Up to last week we were doing recon- naisance and photographic work, but now, thank heaven! we are on fighting only During the last week this squadron has justified its name of the crack squadron i So far this month we have twenty-three Huns to our credit. We got seventeen of them in two days, which establishes a new record. I've pasted that picture from Lire on the wall of our hut—the one of the girl and boy on the aeroplane, but I haven't thought of a good title to it yet. That chap couldn't take his lady up with him over here; it would mean court martial, and I'll vouch that they'd have worse frost bites than I have if they didn’t bundle up more. It's frightfully cold above the clouds, and we are none too warm with fur-lined leather coats over heavy suits, woolens and sweaters. Best greetings to all, Raven, ‘quadron, R. F.C B.E. F., France. COWBOY STYLE comicbooks.com ii “AA. - aoe. 2