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Post by Mitchell on Oct 15, 2012 17:11:07 GMT -5
3 October 1914, Ypres.
Dearest Mum,
Jolly days!
The lads and I have been having a great deal of fun here behind the lines in Flanders. The Belgian ladies have proved themselves most agreeable, if somewhat sagging in face and breast. Tell Father I have been following his advice and closely checking the woolies for any creepy-crawlies, and I am happy to report to Kind Sir that I have not become itchy myself.
We have been test firing our field cannon lately as action has been sparse and it's tough for a young man in the artillery brigade to gain much glory while things are so quiet. Well, that's not quite true because we were test firing our field cannon until Witherby blew up the Captain's horse last week. Witherby is now scrubbing the loo, while we are stuck peeling potatoes, which as you know is fitting work only for the dastardlies in the penal colonies, or the Irish.
Things are quiet in Ypres while Europe burns! We ache for action shortly. Rumors are that the evil Krauts are perhaps heading in this direction. We are ready for them! If they mean to drive us into the sea, we will teach them a hearty lesson!
Now, I beg you to excuse me. We are shortly on maneuvers, and I have been assigned to the Pushing Squad, responsible for heaving the Captain and his cart--as he has replaced his horse with a cart loaded with horse entrails and topped with his saddle--across the field of fire. Where he pilfered the cart is anyone's guess, but I can tell you the best thing about Belgium are the free heaps of entrails found pretty much everywhere.
Kiss, kiss, love to Gran.
Subaltern Roger F. Piggly,
HM Royal Artillery, 8 (Howitzer) Brigade
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Post by CBG on Oct 15, 2012 17:46:43 GMT -5
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Post by Mitchell on Oct 16, 2012 10:02:52 GMT -5
Salzburger Vorstadt 15
Braunau am Inn
Osterreich
Mutter Klara:
It has come to this. Der Red Threat closing from the East and der Amerikaner schwein closing on the west. My generals REFUSE to move the seventy-eight thousand divisions sitting on their ARSCHLOCHS in God knows where, probably drunk on Norwegen Skunk Wine, so here we sit awaiting our fate.
I tried to execute those damned generals, but they are obviously out in the strasse, planting their knockwursts into whatever half-breed Gypsy hexen they can find. Mongrels!
Other than that, things are fine. Eva sends her love, although she refuses to relieve me other than the occasional handzug. Not like auntie Hannelore, even. I am pent up with ENERGY! MUST BE CONSUMED! Where is Himmler and his mann steckplatz?!
I fear this is the last you will hear from Eva or me. Time is short and I vow to not let the Russen take me away. My only wish is that someday in the future, Amerikaner schiessekopfe will use my name in effigy to describe whichever President happens to sit on the opposite side of their Reichstag. Filthy, untermensch-infested schwein.
Your son, and the BESTEST fuhrer the Deutsch Volk have EVER known!
Heil Me.
Adolf.
EDIT: Approved for dispatch without hinderance, Opgpf. Otto Tisch, 3 Signalisieren, Schutzstaffel Osterriech.
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Post by CBG on Oct 16, 2012 10:27:34 GMT -5
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Post by TheNewMads on Oct 16, 2012 11:05:57 GMT -5
Belgium: Go for the ladies, stay for the entrails.
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Post by Afgncaap5 on Oct 16, 2012 14:25:00 GMT -5
*Quietly begins the work that will ultimately lead to The Enigma Machine*
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Post by Don Quixote on Oct 16, 2012 22:24:48 GMT -5
My Dearest Dixie Flower, Clarabell,
I'm afraid it is of little avail. The Yankees have been hammering us for days on end. That accursed butcher Grant sees no shame in not allowing us and our Glorious Southern Cause to prevail on the battlefield. Our unit has seen heavy losses. Mostly in shoes, but it does the boys little good to think that they will fight for a shoeless future for The Confederacy. I'm sure things will pick back up (you know Southern luck, after all! ), but I pause to wonder "when".
It seems President Davis has been unable to jostle any further recruits or even supplies here to Tennessee. General Pillow had assured us that there were "plenty other fellas such as yourself ready to come out of the wood-works to beat back those damned Yankees", but we have, to date, seen none. You are closer to home and Richmond. Have they sent these fellows elsewhere?
I can scarcely remember the plantation. But every time I smell a sweet ragweed, I think of you, my Clarabell. And it gives me the strength to carry on. I fight for you, for all the ladies back home, for our precious way of life. For Our Cause. It is these thoughts that keep me warm on the cold nights, and keep me company on the lonely nights.
Captain Parker is someone with whom I have become quite familiar, and we two have often commiserated late into the night discussing the validity of The Cause. I believe you would like him. He reminds me much of my nephew in Atlanta. It is a comfort to know that such a great city will never fall to Yankee guns, and that he remains safe as well. But back to Parker. He is of slight build but fiery temperament. A good head or so shorter than myself, but I've never seen a man so passionate. The passion is practically flaming from his skull as we discuss The Cause. Sometimes, the camp guardians advise me on the virtue of sleep, but I can scarce surrender myself to the night while around such vital company. He sends his very best wishes, and should leave ever come to either of us, he has expressed interest in meeting you. Rest assured, I shall send word should something such as this ever come to pass. I know how you enjoy entertaining.
As engaged as I am, I fear I feel sleep beginning to overtake me, so I must part company with you for a brief time. I hear word of something being prepared, but I dare not say any more.
Pray for me, and pray that God legitimize our Holy Southern Cause by driving out the serpent that is The Union Army from this Southern Eden.
Eternally in my thoughts and in my heart,
Sergeant Major John L. Cranstwallow
Fort Henry, Tennessee
3rd February, 1862.
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Post by Mitchell on Oct 16, 2012 22:44:02 GMT -5
While well done DQ, there aren't nearly enough misspellings for it to qualify as a Rebel letter.
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Post by CBG on Oct 17, 2012 13:07:26 GMT -5
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Post by siamesesin on Oct 17, 2012 14:48:54 GMT -5
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Post by Don Quixote on Oct 17, 2012 17:59:18 GMT -5
While well done DQ, there aren't nearly enough misspellings for it to qualify as a Rebel letter. The ones who weren't ground up like hamburger were generally better writers. Due do, y'know, the whole wealth thing. |
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Post by Crowfan on Oct 18, 2012 15:49:45 GMT -5
Didn't wealthy Southerners have people fight for them? That's how we do it in the Union.
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Post by Don Quixote on Oct 18, 2012 19:12:26 GMT -5
Didn't wealthy Southerners have people fight for them? That's how we do it in the Union. Yeah, but the 'tards who were all out for GLORY AN' HONOR generally became commanders. |
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Post by mummifiedstalin on Oct 28, 2012 12:54:11 GMT -5
4 was the best, and that made me tear up the first time I saw it. |
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Post by Mitchell on Oct 28, 2012 13:39:41 GMT -5
Your posts have especially sucked today. Are you hungover?
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