A Letter Home

Dear Mom and Dad,

I hope this letter reaches you intact. A friend of mine is injured and unfit for duty and he swore to me that he would hide this letter from the censors and bring it to you in person or mail it to you when he could.

I am tired and seasick. I've been buried deep within the bowels of a troop transport for the past few days. The weather is awful and we are not sure if our commanders know what they are doing. All that I know is that the boat smells of smoke, vomit, and other odors for which I cannot describe. I can't wait to crawl over the side and get on the dang Higgins Boat.

I am quite used to this by now. From Africa to Italy, the routine never changes. The only difference is that we are now old men. I know that I am only 22, but I feel like grandpa. Can you believe that we have been at war for almost three years! Tell little Billy to stay in school and do not let him enlist. I do not want him to see what I have seen.

The good news is that we have warm food, clean water, and new equipment. I still have the same M-1 that I've carried since Africa, but I wouldn't change it for anything in the world. We've been issued new load bearing equipment that allows us to haul more food and ammo. They've issued us special waist belts that have some sort of cartridge that will inflate the belt and allow us to walk ashore if we find ourselves in deep water.

I do not need to tell you, because you will already know, but we are headed for France. We are going to land on a beach called Normandy. The Navy and Air Corps are supposed to shell the beach so heavily that no person will survive. We'll see. They've made the same promise at every landing and so far they've all been wrong. Maybe the Airborne jerks will kill all of the Germans and we can go home.

The men I serve with are the best infantrymen in the world. We fight as one person and we only have one goal--we are going to kill all of the Germans so that we may go home. But I have a feeling I will not be coming home. I've been in this mess for too long and I don't believe my luck will hold. I just hope that I do not let my squad mates down.

My officers are young, but experienced. We know our job and we do it well. Sometimes it is scary to think what kind of people we've become. We are killers. We have seen so much death that we now just keep moving and reflect upon it later. Most of the men that I went through basic with are dead. There are only a few of us left. You would laugh if you saw me now--my hair is grey!

Know this, when that landing craft hits the beach, I am going to run and shoot as fast as I can. I will not linger around long enough to wind up in some Kraut's sights. But we hear there are a lot of guns on that beach plus mines and wire.

We are fighting to come home, but we are also fighting to make sure that this war never touches you. I hear that they are starting to relax the rations back home. I hope Dad can finally get the spare parts he's been searching for. I hope all of you are well and I want you to know that you raised me right and I have no regrets. I love all of you and we will see each other again. I know.

If you are reading this then I am dead. Do not cry and do not be angry. If it wasn't me it might be little Billy someday and I can't have that. I'll see you in heaven.

Signed,

An American Son
June 6, 1944