Dear Mudder and Dad,
Received your letter of May 2, today, Mudder. Damn this postal service anyway. Nineteen or twenty days is just too damn long. Anyway I just came off guard duty at a military hospital here in town. Paralyzed S.S. troops. I’d like to shoot the lot of ‘em—still cocky as hell. But that’s getting away from the main subject. It’s raining like all hell so I thought there couldn’t be a better time to write a letter. Just the same as yesterday, we train and guard, eat and sleep. Once in a while we have a little action when the “Ruskies” (Russian slave labor) gets on a drunk and start beating one another over the head with vodka bottles; but all in all there’s little to break the monotony. I love it though.
I was sorry to hear that Ben had been wounded. I wouldn’t take that War Dept. telegram too literally, however. Anything more than a little scratch is a serious wound in their estimation.
So they’re still piddling around with the settlement of the estate. I wonder if any of us will live long enough to get any good from it. Maybe my great-great grandchildren will be the ones to reap the benefits. As the French say—“No compris American bulls_ _ _.” Me neither.
They’re beginning to hand out passes to places all over Europe now—Paris, Brussels, Nice, Rome, England, etc. and in such quantities that maybe before too long I can get to go somewhere again. I hope.
Chow here is getting fierce—beans, beans, beans and boiled water (coffee it says here). I don’t know what’s wrong. Can’t blame the cooks. They can’t cook with what they ain’t got.
That about does it for today. Good evening, Auf Wiedersehen and stuff like that there.