My Dearest Mary,

Yesterday, Jack and I were off once more. We had found six officers, all of them tommies of the 253rd. Awful sight to see them all bloated and rotting. Different chunks spread out. Kind of like when Mrs. Dalby found her cat out by her shed. Of course, it was all buried by months of other bodies and upheaved dirt, so we both had to get a little dirty in moving the corpses around. They were all on about the same level, laying right up against the dirt.

When we were inspecting them, I couldn’t imagine what kind of weapon had cut them down. I figured it was a grenade, but Jack was quick to correct me. It was hard to hear through the mask, but he said “machine gun” whilst pointing at the large holes blown out in the officers’ sides. Nasty thing to imagine a bullet tearing off a leg or a limb. But that’s when I realized it was probably moved by some fat rat scurrying across the dead for their next meal.

We checked their packs, took their journals, letters, and anything else we found of importance to take.

An aspect of the job that I have told you before are the “special orders” from those in the backlines. Since we are sent out to retrieve from particular officers, it usually draws their brothers or cousins or nephews to ask for us to bring back their lost one’s valuables.

Some nastier blokes from other scavenger units (a kinder name than vultures from higher up) charge a fee to bring back these items. I was glad to find out that Jack had a similar mindset as me. It’s the least of our troubles to bring back a watch, wedding ring, or wallet. We don’t charge, but we still get something usually as a token of gratitude.

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One of the officers we were asked to fetch the wedding ring for was Captain Gerald Holt. The problem was, we couldn’t find his left arm! Even after we collected their orders and maps to bring back, it took us another half hour searching for that man’s arm. Fortunately, we did find it about ten yards away. Jack told me later that he was probably attempting to retreat after having his arm blown off and bled out there in no man’s land.

After washing up last night, Jack and I went to drop off the ring. It’s almost as bad a job as being a doctor. Usually there aren’t any words when a “special order” is completed. Just a simple delivery, nod of head, and a handshake while we leave them to grieve. This one though, he was bawling by the time he saw our faces. He kept asking “Oh was he ripped to shreds?” and “Is his body in one piece?”. When Jack opened his mouth, I swore he was going to give the hard truth. However, Jack lied and told him that he was lying peacefully against a stump.

I later asked him why he lied, he could’ve just not answered. He told me that it didn’t matter whether or not we said his body was intact or not. All the bodies were being cremated anyways, and the state in which we find them do not matter.

Certainly a level headed thinker. But at least his heart is in the right place.

Of course, my love goes out for you and Helen.

Sincerely,

-Lionel