Letter 161- December 13, 1944

December 13, 1944
(France; V-Mail)

Dear Mudder and Dad,

If this doesn’t look like my handwriting it’s because I cut my thumb and am holding my pen between my second and third fingers.

Not much to write today except that they’ve got us back in training. All morning we ran up and down hill putting on a demonstration for the rest of the battalion. It was very instructive but tiring. However, one can never learn too much when it comes to war sooo--.

It hasn’t rained all day today and yesterday evening the sun shone for a couple of hours. I still can’t believe it.

No mail for 3 days now. It wouldn’t be so bad if the postal people didn’t brag so much about getting the mail through. Just like Hollywood, bragging about the new movies they send overseas. The one I saw last night I saw before I came in the army.

End of paper.

Best Love,
Bill

Letter 160- December 12, 1944-3

December 12, 1944-3
(France; V-Mail)

Dear Mudder and Dad,

I said I’d write this afternoon if I received any mail from you. Well, I didn’t but I’ll write anyway. I have just finished reading the Stars and Stripes for yesterday and as a result I’m pretty far down in the dumps. We don’t seem to be getting anywhere with this war. They talk about Germany training new armies and producing great stores of equipment. Out drives seem so damned slow and to top that they talk of Japan fighting on for years. I get so damned sick of it all. Last September it sounded like everything was over but the shouting, but since then as each day goes by the prospects of a long war becomes clearer. We tell one another that it’ll be over by Christmas, etc. but I don’t believe that any of us really think so.

Well, they’re calling us out for some kind of a demonstration. It’s always “sumpin.”

I think I’ll write Jess and see if I can get a rise out of them.

Best Love,
Bill

Letter 150- November 18, 1944

November 18, 1944
(France V—Mail)

Dear Mudder and Dad,

Today’s Sat. and we’re supposed to have a holiday tomorrow. So far this week we’ve had the same silly training we had in England. Anything to get a guy all wet and muddy. Then after hiking about 15 miles during a day we came back to a meal that wouldn’t fill a cavity. All of which makes me think more about those boxes. I’ll probably get them sometime next Easter but I still can’t help drooling.

From what we read in the paper it looks like the big drive is on with 6 or seven armies going at once. I’ll bet there are a lot of “Krauts” who wish they’d never been born now. I hear that Wall St. is betting 100 to 1 that it’ll be over after the holidays. Hope so!

Best Love,
Bill

Letter 130- October 6, 1944

October 6, 1944
(England)

Dear Folks,

What’sa matter anyway. The last letter I got from you was mailed September 6, a whole month ago. Some folks here are getting letters postmarked as late as the 28th—but for me, “nuttin”. I don’t know what’s wrong but whatever it is I don’t like it—not even a little bit, but I guess it won’t do me any good. You say some of my mail comes as quickly as 7 days. That’s pretty good. I wonder why I can’t do as well.

Really there’s not a “helluva” lot to write about these days. Our training just seems to drag along in an easy but boresome manner and outside of that I don’t do much of anything. In evening I generally go to the Red Cross for a “Coke” or maybe take in one of these old shows. In general I live a typical E.T.O. army life “Confidentially”. You know how the saying goes.

By now school must be pretty well underway. Write and tell me how things are; even tell me what you’re having for dinner if you must.

I’ll close now. I haven’t said much but that’s about all there is. Anyway, it sounds as if a murder were being committed down stairs. I’d better investigate. Hope you’re not having colds like me.

Best love,
Bill

Letter 129- October 4, 1944

October 4, 1944
(England)

Dear Mudder and Dad,

“Why ain’t I gittin’ any o’ thet thar mail”? Don’t answer, I know—it’s the postal service. I’d like to strangle somebody. Grin! I feel meaner than the devil.

You’ll please note the date. Just one year ago today I came into the blooming army. What a lousy, stinking year it’s been. In some ways it seems longer than a year and others shorter. Anyhoo, I can wear a good conduct ribbon now. Oh thrill! Phfft!

I fired for record today. You know a soldier has to fire for record once a year. This time I made Expert although I thought for a while that I wouldn’t. Just as I moved up on the firing line it started to rain like the very devil. All the while I fired bucketsful of rain were being hurled into my puss. And I’ll be damned if just as I stepped off the line it didn’t stop raining. The gods must be in a league against me. I shouldn’t complain though. I made 176 points and only 172 were required to make Expert.

That’s about it for tonight.

Best love,

Bill

Letter 115- August 9, 1944

August 9, 1944
(England)

Dear Mother and Dad,

It’s been several days since I last wrote to you but I’ve been pretty much on the go all the time. We have a tough training schedule and not a hellova lot of time in which to do anything else. We get a good dosage of hiking every day almost. I don’t mind that, however, because I never tire of looking at the English countryside.

I’ve been getting mail regularly from you for almost a week and it sure keeps my spirits up. I only hope my letters are getting to you as fast.

It looks as if things across the Channel are really getting into high gear now. We get pretty confused sometimes, however. We don’t get much in the way of radio news during the day and the way things are going, an awful lot can happen in 24 hours.

The other day we heard that riot squads had been called out in New York and other large cities to quell the mobs celebrating the “armistice”, which seemed to be expected momentarily. Hot Stuff, huh? Another was that Argentina had declared war on us. I liked that one. You can see the kind of baloney that floats around an army camp.

I still don’t know how the War in the Pacific is going. Here in the E.T.O only one war is of importance.

My cold seems to be pretty well broken but this weather is so bad that everyone is always down with one. I had my first pass the other night so I walked to a small town nearby to get a firsthand look at England. To quote Richard—“It’s a dump”. Oh well, maybe I’m prejudiced (has that got another “d” in it?)

Now I’m down to the point where I can only think of militarily confidential stuff, sooo--.


Best Love,
Bill

Letter 101- May 23, 1944

May 23, 1944
(Camp Crowder, Missouri)
“In the Bush”

Dear Mother and Dad,

Well, now after all this time I can finally write you a letter. I don’t know what kind of a letter it’ll be but under the circumstances it’s about the best I can do.

I’m now almost finished with bivouac. It’s been very nice in some way and not so hot in others. The work has been easy but it hasn’t given me any free time. It hasn’t given me any more respect for the Signal Corps. I don’t know but I’m coming to think less and less of this army all the time. Just SNAFU all the time. When one thinks of the high stakes and cost involved in this war it doesn’t make pleasant thinking.

Today after not getting any sleep for 30 hours we took tests and of course everyone flunked including me.

The mail service out here smells. I haven’t received anything from you for over a week.


Love Bill

“Hell of a letter”, “huh!”

Letter 99- May 7, 1944

May 7, 1944
(Camp Crowder, Missouri)

Dear Mother and Dad,

About now you are probably wondering just where in the hell I am. Well, it seems that I’m going out on C.P.X. whether I like it or not. I guess they still think they can make a radio operator out of me. If so it’s all right with me. It seems like a big waste of time but on the other hand time is something I’ve got loads of.

This C.P.X. as I’ve told you before is supposed to be pretty soft. I’ve found out that I’ll have no trouble at all writing or receiving mail so that’s OK. I don’t know exactly what they’ll do with me out there but I can’t see what good I’ll be if I can’t send and receive code over the radio.

Along with this note I’m sending another note I wrote yesterday in school.

From what I make out this furlough business is really going to be swell. I’ll probably be here in Crowder for another 3 or 4 weeks and then go to Leonard Wood where I’ll get my furlough. These new furloughs (they call them “delays in orders”) allow a minimum of 12 days at home and a maximum of 18. Oh Boy!

That’s about all I can tell you right now.

Best Love,
Bill

Letter 90- April 13, 1944

April 13, 1944
(Camp Holeinthewall Misery)

Dearest Mater and Pater,

I feel as corny as hell tonight as you can tell from the salutation, so I guess you’re just out of luck.

Before I go any farther or is it further let’s get a few questions settled. Yes, do sell the bow and arrow. It’s too powerful to use around home. About the amateur handbook—I believe I have one already. I bought it up at the P.X.

One question you asked about was whether or not I was learning anything practical about radio repair. No, the fact of the matter is that despite the fact I’m racking my brains trying to learn this crap. It’s really of no real value to us. All we learn is 5 letter code groups, cryptographs, and that’s no good when it comes to commercial radio. One thing I have learned is how to read new ticker tapes, but I taught that to myself.

You wrote that you find it difficult to write a newsy letter. Well, it’s no different in the army and I imagine it’s even worse. We follow a routine that’s just the same day in and day out. It’s really discouraging.

Last night we went on a 16 mile hike and [I] got my fanny in a sling for marching too fast. The poor little Signal Corp Boy Scouts couldn’t keep up. To top that off all the Engineers got in dutch for singing in ranks on the hike. At Abbot the made you sing—damn near, but here “Es ist verboten”. Wot a life! We work like dogs doing nothing; it’s the truth.

Richard must be some pumpkins on that mandolin. I’d hate to hear him.

You were talking about the political views of the Chinese and about the Russians muscling in. According to the Chinese fellows I know the communist army in China is much more insignificant than we are led to believe and as far as giving Chaing the air they say the average Chinese especially peasants and common people worship the very ground he walks on.

I’m on fireman here all night tomorrow. Nice what? They give me about 3 hours sleep the next morning and then send me back to code. Baw!

Best Love,
Bill

Letter 83- March 26, 1944

March 26, 1944
(Camp Crowder, Missouri)

Dear Mother and Dad,

Today I received two letters from you in which you quite rightfully bawl me out for not writing. It just goes to show you what code is doing to me. I don’t even know whether or not I’m coming or going. Believe me, I’m sorry. I guess I’ve been spending too much time at the show and P.X. lately. I’m now copying code at 7 words a minute but have not started sending yet. We have 7 hours a day receiving that code so you can imagine how refreshing it is to get away in the evening. You were right about code though; it doesn’t bother me anywhere as much as it did.

Things are pretty much the same here, however. We follow an easy routine day in and day out without much change. However, today we got schneidered. Today is Sunday but we had to go to school anyway because a bunch of big shots from England were here on a tour of inspection. They’re holding some sort of a conference here and there’s a rumor going around that Roosie is going to be here too. Anyway I worked all day. No generals came around, however. They were probably all somewhere hoisting a few.

Gee! I really don’t know what else to write. We haven’t been doing anything remarkable of late. Yesterday we went on a hike. The Signal Corps thought it was tough stuff—The Corp of Eng. almost died laughing. I’ll write more regularly from now on. It may not be much but I’ll write.

Best Love,
Bill


— ••• • ••• — • — •• ——— ••• — • — ——— — •••• • — ••• • ••• —
••—• ——— •—• —•— ••• •• — • — •••• • • —— ——— •—• •— •• —••
TRY TO FIGGER THAT OUT ∕ •—— •—•

Letter 81- March 16, 1944

March 16, 1944
(Camp Crowder, Missouri)

Dearest Folks,

Well, I’m just about getting into the swing of things here at Camp Crowder. I’ve had about a day and a half of radio and if one of these days they drag me home in a straight jacket, don’t be surprised. This is the kind of stuff that can actually drive a man screwy. If I don’t have a nervous breakdown I should make a good operator. I’m slower than most, as usual; but I’m a lot surer of myself than most. Code is very simple and surprisingly enough for this reason it’s pretty tough. One’s mind has a tendency to rebel against that constant repetition. It’ll be a cinch if I can get into the rhythm of the thing, but meanwhile it’s certainly no nerve tonic.

As I’ve told you before this is really a nice camp, but it’s still just an Army camp and therefore—phhht! As Engineers we rate around this joint. We’re combat troops and the Signal Corps boys aren’t. For some reason the cadre around here seems to respect us. In fact I think they must be afraid of us. Of course, maybe that’s because “rough, tough and robust”. In the Engineers if you don’t agree with a non-com you tell them so—not disrespectfully mind you, but the important thing out at Abbot was to get the job done and if we had a better way to do a thing we were free to say so. Well, we can do that here and these boys go into a spin. They don’t know whether we really know out oats or (are) just tough. We don’t try to act tough but compared to this bunch we do know our oats.

Closing now. Be sure to address letter exactly as below.


Pvt. William W. Taylor, Jr. 19203811
Co. B-37
Camp Crowder, Mo.


Bestus Love,

Bill

Letter 80- March 13, 1944

March 13, 1944
(Camp Crowder, Missouri)

Dear Mudder and Dad,

I’ve only time to write a short note tonight, I think. Boy is this camp sumpin’. The fellows from Camp Abbot and Leonard Wood are just floating in a sea of amazement. I’ve never seen such a boy scout outfit yet. They don’t carry rifles and their training is a laugh. I found out today that they, and myself, therefore, get ten minutes free time out of every hour all day long. Though life, huh? I don’t know whether I can take it or not. The funny thing about it is that these signal boys think they’re having a tough time. Boy! would the old Camp Abbot boys get a laugh if they could hear them.

Today at radio school we started code work. It’s pretty nerve-racking but in true Camp Crowder style they make up for it by having the radio play nice soft music over the earphones whenever the key is not in use. Some stuff.

I sure have gotten a shock around here as far as prisoners of war are concerned. They’re all over the camp working at various trivial jobs and you may run into ‘em any time. A group of 20 or so will only have one guard. They look and act a lot like Americans and seem to be very interested in us. Of course, we can’t talk to them and it wouldn’t do much good since their English is atrocious. I hear they keep the one’s that speak good English locked up all the time.

Well, I’d better close now. I know my letters have been not too informative of late but it’s the same old story. Nobody knows nuttin’.

Best love in the whole world,

Bill

Letter 74- February 27, 1944

February 27, 1944
(Camp Abbot, Oregon)

Dear Mudder and Dad,

This is “posiloutely” our last official day in training. Yesterday we graduated and this morning we turned in our equipment. Ever since we’ve been sitting on our tails in the barracks taking it easy—quite a novelty around here. Well, it’s sure swell to be all through. I’m no longer a trainee but a full fledged Combat Engineer soldier. HORSE---!

Yesterday we went out and paraded around like a lot of damn fools in a snowstorm for about 2 hours and 45 minutes and then the Colonel, the old fossil, got up and made the following speech. ‘Trainees! I (ha! Ha!) have made you strong, sturdy, healthy, robust, and tough! You are now ready to go into combat. I (great emphasis) have made you the best Engineers in the world. May God speed you in your future battles.” It’s a wonder God got any mention at all.

I wrote a letter to Bishop Gooden and another to Ann and Reiney last night, so I am caught up at least a little bit on my letter writing. The note to the “Bish” is a veritable masterpiece of linguistic manipulation. I used just enough four bit words to make it good. You probably already read the note I sent to Ann and Reiney.

I sure wish they’d come out and tell me exactly what they’re going to do with me. Oh well, SNAFU. I wish I had something interesting to tell you but I ain’t so---------



Bestus Love,
Bill
∫—(dropping spirits)

About Letter 72

Bill gloats that "C" Company was able to exact revenge on some Captains and Majors who were "captured" during bivouac battle simulations. "We treated those officers as if they were real Nazis." He goes on a surprise detail and says "sometimes I feel like telling someone off but my better judgement prevents me from doing so."

Letter 72- February 20, 1944

February 20, 1944
(Camp Abbot, Oregon)

Dear Folks,

Here it is Sunday again and I’m as sore as hell. After going through another week of “apcra” out in the bloomin’ tullies they got us up this morning and took us out on detail. Some of the guys were able to slip out the back door of the barracks, but most of us were hooked. As a result I’ll have a hard time getting my telephone call through this afternoon. Sometimes I feel like telling someone off but my better judgment prevents me from doing so. There’s a lot of fellows here, however, who haven’t got better judgment and so I at least get the pleasure of hearing someone else doing a little blowing off.

Well, “C” Co. made quite a record out on the bivouac. We had 100% security for the entire 2 weeks tactical period. That is, no one ever was able to get through our outguard into camp. This is an enviable record, but it was made at a “hellova” cost as far as the men are concerned. Last week I had 6 hours guard duty every night except Wednesday. That night I was on duty 10 hours and slept 2. You can imagine how tired a body gets with an average sleep of 4 hours out of 24. Anyhoo they didn’t get in and when they were captured—O; it shouldn’t happen to a dog. We treated those officers as if they were real Nazis. It’s a wonder some of our Lieutenants weren’t busted for the way they treated some Capt’s and Majors. Our mess sarge remarked, “You guys don’t give a damn fur nottin’, do you?” Well, they said they wanted us to be tough. They’ve got no squawk coming now.

How do you like the snapshots? The one taken out on bivouac, I think is pretty good. Whenever a fellow has his picture taken around here there must be as many fellows in it as possible in order to conserve film. In that picture, however, I believe I got the best deal.

I received your letters out in camp (it’s a swell time to tell you, I know). I think that those letters of recommendation are very fine and that they may be very useful if I get to go to school. Do you think I should write a letter of thanks to the Bishop and Mr. Hamilton?

Very tactfully you’ve made no mention of the fact that I’ve made almost no statement about my finances lately. Welllll--, things are not too bad but nor is everything too good. During the last two months I’ve collected from the gov’t. $68.72 of which at present I have left $57.39. That’s not bad but I had to sign the payroll out in the woods last week and my hands were so stiff with the cold that I wrote below the line. That’s bad. I may get “red-lined” this month.

I’m going to try and call you up now.

Best love, Bill

Letter 71- February 13, 1944

February 13, 1944
(Camp Abbot, Oregon)

Dear Mudder and Dad,

I just got back from calling you about an hour ago. It was certainly wonderful to hear your voices even if I couldn’t tell what you were saying about ¾ or the time. I don’t know why I can’t tell what you’re saying, or hear rather. Part of it is the noise outside of the booth, I know; but even so you sound faint and indistinct. I asked the operator about it but she said that if you could hear me all right I should be able to hear you. I don’t know but it is too bad.

Well, I guess you’d like to hear about the bivouac. Wot a life that’s been. I’d give almost anything if it were all over. In the first place, they rolled us out about 5:00 last Monday morning, gave us a hurry up meal in our mess-kits and then marched us at double quick time about 5 miles out to a frozen swamp where we were supposed to dig in and set up our camp. As soon as that was done we rushed over to the river and started to construct some foot bridges. The river was frozen over so we had to break holes in the ice in order to put our bents and supports down into the water. Well, you can guess the rest. Four of us were carrying a heavy bent across the ice when a big hunk broke loose and “kerplop!?” in we go. The big hearted bird in charge then told us to go over by the dinky little fire and get dried out. The temperature that day was about 15°. When we finally did get to the area and got dry clothes on we were pretty miserable. To top it off that night it snowed and all the bedrolls got soak(ed) and wet. I was ready to call the whole thing off. The next day we had to tear down a bridge. This was a heavy wood bridge of about 15 tons capacity. It was still snowing and we were still pretty badly off. However, the bird that let us freeze out fell in the river himself under suspicious circumstances which made us all feel a little better.

That night it stopped snowing but I stayed up until 12:30 A.M. drying my bedroll. Then they made us all get up (at 12:30 mind you) and march 14 miles through a foot of snow in the God damned S.O.B dark. I fell down so often I felt like a tenpin. Of course, we were the leading company and as usual we marched at the “C” co. running pace. It wasn’t so tough on us but the other companies who don’t generally go that had a hell of a time. They were passing out all over the road. The meat wagon was packed and they filled up a couple more trucks. I don’t care but I don’t think they should beat men that way. I don’t have any trouble on marches but I know how it feels to be half dead when I’ve come off the obstacle course. We got to the new bivouac about 6 o’clock in the morning and camp was set up by noon. Then I caught up on my sleep. I slept all afternoon and all night. The next day we broke camp and moved 7 miles more. That night I had 4 hours guard duty; the next day we did mine laying all day; and that night I was on road block guard duty all night. God! what a grind! By the time we came in the next morning I was so damned tired.

About 2:00 Sat. afternoon they called out about 40 of the men in the co. for Specialist Training Interview. They called off our names and then put us in groups. One group was under consideration for Ordinance school. The second group was for Engineering school, and the 3rd. group (my bunch) was for signal school. Then they called 3 names of my group for radio repair, 5 for radio operators including me and the rest for electrical school. I was one of 5 for an entire battalion who is being given a chance for radio operator. That would give me 17 more weeks more schooling and probably (sketch of tech sergeant’s stripes here). Well, here’s hoping—I hope, I hope, I hope. (sketch of 4 leaf clover and horseshoe here) I’m going to go after it tooth and nail. It sure beats this God damned pick and shovel work we’ve been doing around here. If I never see another pick, shovel, saw, and so forth again, it’ll be too damn soon.

I’ve got a “hellova” cold now and it’s settled in my jaw. I couldn’t even close my mouth all day. I’m getting awful hungry. It’s getting better tonight but this morning they thought I had the mumps. Heaven forbid!!

I’ll call you again next weekend if they don’t confine us to company area like they did last Sunday.

Best Love
Bill

Letter 70- February 6, 1944

February 6, 1944
(Camp Abbot, Oregon)

Dear Mudder and Dad,

Oi! Vot a day! Vot a week! My head’s spinning and my fanny’s dragging. It’s Sunday night and we’re all in a dither about the bivouac which starts at 5:00 tomorrow morning. They’ve had us on the run for the last 3 days so much that we haven’t had time to do nuttin’.

You should see me in my outfit. I look like sumpin’ out of the Klondike.

Everything’s been bivouac, bivouac, bivouac this week. I really don’t have anything much else to write about.

It’s going to be pretty rugged because the weather is getting warm and there’s mud and water everywhere, but then it’ll be fun because it’s pretty close to the real thing, and what’s better we’ve got a chance to get even with some officers from whom we’ve had to take a lot of crap in the past. Here’s the deal. Every night groups of officers from the camp form raiding parties, try to slip through our outguards, and raise hell inside our area. But! If we catch them—heh, heh. Other battalions have caught officers and made them strip out there in the cold. They caught the gas officer out there without his gas mask so they marched him right through his own gas. They told us that the more brass they carry the more we should rough them up. Boy will that be fun.

Since the last line the Lieutenant came in and told us what we’d do the first couple days. Ah—open time—it sounds more like a picnic that maneuvers.

Running short on time.


Love,
Bill

Letter 69- February 2, 1944

February 2, 1944
(Camp Abbot, Oregon)


Dear Mudder and Dad,

Wot a week this has been! Whew! I might as well begin at the beginning and maybe you’ll see why? On Monday we were issued out bivouac equipment—over $400.00 worth of equipment. I got special heavy all wool kneelength stockings (each pair is as heavy as my civilian oxfords) special boots with 3/8 inch felt insoles, waterproof pants, wrist length heavy field jacket, heavy sweater, a 50% angora wool ¼ inch thick muffler that must be worth about $10.00, a fur coat (squirrel or rabbit or sumpin’), a heavy reversible parka with hood, wool lined hunting type hat, 2 pair of wool mittens which go inside a pair of leather mitts, a special pack and a sleeping bag. Wooie.

Tonight I signed up for a furlough. That’s no sign I’m going to get one but it’s a step in the right direction.

I received your packages. The cake was delicious and the socks will be plenty handy. Thanks a lot.

I’m awfully tired now. I know this isn’t much of a letter but it’s the best I can do tonight. I’ll try and write again tomorrow.



Best Love,
Bill

Letter 68- January 30, 1944

January 30, 1944
(Camp Abbot, Oregon)

Dear Folks,

Well, here it is Sunday night and I’ve nothing to look foreword to except another week of slavery. I haven’t gotten any mail from you for several days so I can’t exactly answer any questions or anything. No, I shouldn’t say that. I did receive all that reading material which I’m eating up with great gusto. I also received a box of cookies from Grandma and Jessie as well as a letter from Horton Grant. So you can see I have been getting mail.

Well, (I’m getting so I can’t say anything without starting off with “well”) all my required training is over. If I were to go to the hospital tomorrow for 2 weeks they couldn’t set me back. Mind you, I’m not contemplating it.

Yesterday we had our toughest bridge, the Bailley (Bailey)) bridge. It’s an English type and very good. The only trouble is that it weighs over 36 tons. Panels weigh 600 lbs., transoms weigh 400 and so on. As a result today I’m paralyzed from the hips up. That makes me completely paralyzed, doesn’t it. My brain was paralyzed when I turned down the Air Corps and my legs were paralyzed by that 25 miles hike.

You’re probably wondering where in hell the money order I was supposed to send home is. It’s still in the company safe—at least $35.00 of it is. I figger that since tomorrow is payday I might as well wait and send the whole business at once. I’ll be able to make up for the extra money I spent this month because with the bivouac and all I won’t be able to spend much money next month.



Best Love,
Bill

Letter 67- January 28, 1944

January 28, 1944
(Camp Abbot, Oregon)

Dear Mother & Dad,

Well this is the letter I promised last night, but here I am late again. I told you I had something interesting to tell you. It’s something I’ve wanted to tell you for the last 13 weeks but haven’t because I knew it would worry you unnecessarily. Yesterday I went under machine gun fire for the fourth time since I’ve been in Camp Abbot. Yesterday it was the Blitz Course, our worst and last live ammunition run. We had to crawl about 75 yards across snow and ice and under barbed wire with .30 cal. machine gun bullets humming overhead and land mines blowing up all around us—very distracting. I wasn’t afraid going through the course but we were all pretty pensive while waiting to start. It teaches one a “hellova” lot even when the military end of it is not considered. The other courses were not as bad since the fire was about 8 feet above the ground. However, the explosive charges were so big at times that they’d damn near knock one down. But it’s all over now, thank God.

Today we went on our 23 mile hike, Oh groan!!—four miles per hour (Engineer cadence-the Infantry marches from 2 ½ to 3 m.p.h.) I thought I was getting tough but that changed my mind. I guess I’m still just a human being after all—not a superman yet. I feel paralyzed from the hips down. All we had to eat was “C” rations—cold of course. A “C” ration is a corny version of a “K” ration (Phooey on ‘em both).

I don’t want to close so abruptly but the fellow below me is pretty sick from the hike and is asking for me to turn out the light. No interesting news anyway.

Best Love,
Bill

P.S. Have put in for bivouac clothing and equipment.