More Credit to Grandpa

I have mentioned previously that I draw a great deal of my inspiration in portraying the life of a typical American soldier from my grandfather who served in WWII. I have spent hours reading his nearly daily letters to my grandmother as deep background research on what he was thinking and feeling.

The excerpt that follows is one of only two that I am using nearly verbatim. My character is writing to his mother and father. My grandfather, in the original version, was writing to his wife. It was in the middle of what became known as the Battle of the Bulge, in which Germany counterattacked in the middle of the winter, pushing allied forces from their border back into Belgium. Thousands were killed on both sides, either by the enemy or by the coldest winter anyone in the region could remember.

The scene depicted is that of the area just east of Bastogne, where a tiny band of US forces held out for over two weeks against the full force of the German Wehrmacht in the west. Grandpa had just driven through the ruined village, and walked up the hillside for a better view.

Belgium, January 4, 1945

Dear Mother and Father,

Have been doing nicely writing every day lately, haven’t I? During times when our activities do not permit me the opportunity to write often, I feel badly about it. I know how you must watch the mails for a letter from me, and the thought runs through my head that you will not receive a letter from me today, and I wish I’d had the time to write. During the fall when it rained so often, we positively could not write.

Now that I have started today’s letter to you, I do not know what to say. I would like to write a letter to you full of interest. It looks like I should be able to write you a lively letter, but I can’t.

I could describe the country to you as I saw it this morning. The ground was covered over with several inches of snow, a little wind and still snowing big heavy flakes. But who would like to write or read about the weather?

Perhaps I could write about a family and a warm fire, if nothing else but to ease my own freezing condition. But I’m too, too sentimental and feel foolish in the long run. I cannot put into words what is in my heart. But please hear what a simple fellow feels about this whole experience –

It is sometimes as if I am in a daze. I just can’t grasp what it is all about and I have been away from home for so long. I read your letters and the love and support you pour out to me hurts. I want to go home and sleep in my own bed and just walk downstairs in the morning to a sunny kitchen, laughter, and hearty breakfast.

I listen to beautiful music over our radio and memories swoop down on me.

I walk in the streets of a village, my rifle slung over my shoulder, and see the sweet faces of little children smiling up at me. I stand alone on a mountain slope and loneliness presses all about me. Below I recognize the beauty of the snow-covered slopes, the half-frozen little stream winding about at the bottom, the patches of evergreens, cold in appearance with the bows and branches laden with snow. The little village beyond in the distance with a church steeple rising among the red-tiled roofs, and I ask God why – why must it be – ?

And a voice speaks, “Look about you!”

And suddenly the beauty before me vanishes and instead I notice the rubble of the village – where cozy homes once stood there remains ghostly black stone walls and crumpled furnishings. The steeple of the church has a hole blasted in its side and I know the chimes of the bell which had always meant so much in the everyday lives of the villagers will never ring again. The slope of the mountain once was littered with American dead – victims of machine guns hidden in the patches of evergreens. Steel helmets and bits of clothing and equipment remain as silent markers where the brave men died.

Does a soldier change? Does seeing mass slaughter and hearing constantly the scream of a shell affect his mind? It has. I have scooped human guts up to my elbows. And ate and slept among wormy, stinking dead. But today I am only the stronger for it.

Take care of yourselves and I promise to do the same.

Your loving son,

Rollie