My Dearest Mary,
The unit had received our new set of orders last week. As soon as the boys on the frontline were brought back behind lines, we were to begin our duties in retrieving the fallen.
We saw the last of the tommys coming back with their rifles slung over their shoulders a day before we were to set out. I heard one of those boys joke, “Watch the vultures, they’ll pick your buttons if they catch you sleeping”. Apparently, “244th’s Vultures” is the new nickname our unit has been stuck with.
I had to explain it all to my new squadmate. You see, the night before our first day of operation, the Captain called for me to meet him at his office. I figured it was due to a sneak of an extra gin ration, but I was relieved to not be in trouble. I was introduced to, a young man about a third my age. A handsome boy, clean-shaven, but he’s got a scar under his chin. Corporal Hayes, he was introduced to me as. He stood there in a clean and pressed uniform at attention as the Captain went on about all the battles he has taken part in. He’s gotten several citations for bravery and marksmanship.
He was being transferred to my unit, and it was when I went to shake his hand I noticed why. His left hand was missing all but his pointer and thumb. There was a very peculiar mechanical apparatus that replaced the missing fingers with metal ones. As we shook hands, I introduced myself and I learned his name was Jack. He’s been undergoing a special treatment after a mortar blew off his fingers. Hence, the mechanical hand.
The Captain explained to us that we have a special assignment separate from the other men. While they were to be toiling at collecting the corpses that litter the battlefield section by section, we would be on a specific hunt to find the bodies of officers and retrieve any valuable intelligence that may be on them. Better to retrieve them or else they may fall into the hand of the Germans. The Captain gave Jack the signature black armband that marks a designated retriever of the fallen. We’ve been briefed before that the jerrys that have the same job as us will also have them to mark their intentions. Jack put it on and I was tasked with showing him to his bunk.
I spent the rest of the night introducing him to the rest of the mates. I could tell that he was surprised at how much worse the other boys had gotten it from the war. Most of us here are old salts like me. Only a handful are about Jack’s age. Benson is one of them, and he joked with Jack about his hook hand compared to the new-fangled contraption that Jack was lucky to have.
An unexpected bonus to our special orders meant that we didn’t have to get up at the same time as the others. However, Jack kept pestering me that we should get our kit together. I had to show him what he really needed though. The boy was planning on bringing a full kit as if he was being sent to fight. I explained that we’d be returning to the forward headquarters for lunch and supper. I also had to explain to him that we’d be wearing our gas masks for most of the time we would be out there and to apply enough of the issued scented oils properly within the mask before putting it on. We would need our rifles, wire-cutters, and entrenching tools for certain. He slowly and neatly put his unneeded equipment away, and soon we would set off.
Jack has a very stoic appearance. Kind of like the one your father or Mr. Mayfield from the square had. His eyes stare out as if he were an eagle. I could see it through his gas mask. He seemed to be on edge for the entire day we were out the trenches.
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The smell that day was no worse than any other day, but that doesn’t mean it was good. Rotting flesh, from both the fallen and the animals, fumes the air. The oils do wonders at the start of the day, but it gradually wears off by the time we head back for lunch. At least then, we get to apply some more. I don’t believe I’ve ever truly explained, but the trenches are offensive in every possible sense. The aforementioned smell of rot and filth, the uncomfortable silence, the unsteady terrain carved by bullet and shell, and the unsettling sight of hundreds of bodies littered as far as the eye can see. You cannot take the time to focus on one corpse. Otherwise, you’d notice every horrid thing that their body is going through. Their rot and the parts nibbled off by the rats that infest many of the foxholes are only a handful of things I can bear witness to before I must turn my head away. The new masks that were issued last year don’t fog up as badly as the old ones, but they do blur which is actually a benefit to us who wear the black band.
We’ve tried our best in the past to keep the trenches close to the backlines as clear as possible, but no-man’s-land is a different story. Bodies are stacked up where many a brave lad met the cold bite of a German machine gun. Those piles were slowly being brought down as the other men loaded them into carts to be wagoned away far behind the lines. I saw that they had made decent progress, but there are too many that litter the battlefield. It may take us months to clear them all out from this one area alone, and there are still many miles further to go.
When Jack and I arrived at no-man’s-land, we were given a list of officers and their last location as well as a map of the frontlines. I took the list and the map as Jack stared out over the hills and trenches with that gaze I had mentioned before. We were both called by the Captain which broke Jack’s mile-long gaze. He told us both to affix bayonets to assist us in pushing our way through obstacles. Jack did so with a speed that I know none of us would be able to do even if the hun were charging right towards us. It seemed almost instinctual. He almost loaded his rifle too, but I told him that we most likely won’t need to shoot anything. He hesitated, but he did place the clip back into his pouch. The Captain wished us luck, and we both set off hopping into a trench. The map showed that we would snake far up the line before we would have to walk over-the-top to search for one Lieutenant Barsby of the 245th. He was last seen in the Winter counter-offensive before the news of cease-fire reached the trenches. Poor man.
We walked for about an hour before we found the point in which we were to step out of the trench. Jack took the initiative and slowly peaked out before pulling himself up. He then kept low keeping his attention out as I struggled to pull myself over the top. I had to throw over my rifle first before climbing out, and I stood tall as I slung my rifle and kept walking forward map in hand. I turned around to see Jack pull himself up and dust himself off before following behind me.
The next hour or so was spent getting close to corpses to examine their identity discs to check for the Lieutenant. We did find him. At least, the second time around in the evening. He was strung out across a line of barbed wire. Bullet holes scattered across his body. His mask was on, and the lenses were fumed up. We pulled him from the wire, and we laid him flat on his back. Jack stood back behind me as I rifled through his coat pockets until I found a blood-soaked diary. I fingered through to see if he had left a map in between the pages, and there was one. Granted, it was unreadable. I checked his pockets further and found a letter with his orders from General Melchett. I turned to Jack, who was affixed on the cadaver. I gave one last look to the Lieutenant’s body before standing up, and crossing his name from our list. By then it was too late to attempt to find the next officer, and we made our way back for the night.
This is seemingly what the foreseeable future is for your old sweetheart. I’ll be sure to write more about what is happening here. Tell Helen her father misses her, and to keep away from the tommys coming home. They’ll only break her heart.
Sincerely,
-Lionel