One Thousand and Eighty-One Letters From Afar

readx(); dear:

Everything here is very bad, it's not the same as it was in training. We waited all day in closed, somewhat suffocating train carriages before we got to where we were needed on the front lines. Here we received our rifles, and it can be seen that these weapons are well maintained.

We fought on the Eastern Front of the Soviet Union. The last time we were in a wheat field, a new soldier was shot by a Soviet sniper because he didn't lower his body. He fell in the field. There was nothing we could do. Find him, you know how hard it is to find a lying man in a field. By the time the army doctor found the poor man, he was dead, and we all spent the day in terror and depression.

Another fatal battle was when we attacked and ran into an unmarked minefield. We didn't realize we were in danger until one of the soldiers lost his foot when a landmine blew up. In the end, we had no choice but to retreat back where we were. More than 100 soldiers returned to the starting point in embarrassment without even seeing the enemy.

Right now, we're on the German border, yes, the border. 1000 meters to the east is the Soviet-controlled area, and I am now leaning in the trenches, writing this letter to you. Surrounded by a line of at least 10,000 friendly troops, the trenches are full of people, but luckily I found an ammo box and can sit and write you this reads();.

There are dead bodies everywhere, ours, Soviets'. As long as the Soviets rush over, or we plan to rush over, the corpses will quickly accumulate, one by one, with a unique smell. I really want to go back to you, I swear to the gods.

When you wrote last time, it was said that Mrs. Villen next door received a government notice that her son was killed in battle, and it was written that his son was a hero. But I can only tell you with regret that none of the dead I saw died in a heroic battle. They fell to the ground and howled after being hit by bullets, begging the medical staff to save themselves; or were directly taken away by bullets or shells. , fell down like a sudden faint.

I dragged those unlucky people and pulled their clothes with their hands, and their blood was all over them. Sometimes they were out of breath before I could drag them back into the trenches. After the battle, I always feel that my hands are full of blood, and I can't wash them off no matter how I wash them.

Two years ago, I would never have imagined that now I have to rely on killing people in exchange for a chance to live. The Soviets wouldn't stop and listen to my explanation, so I had to use my weapons to silence them. Yes, I have killed people, many, many people. I shot at least ten Soviet soldiers and killed one myself with a bayonet, for which I received two medals and was promoted to reserve non-commissioned officer.

And when it comes to killing, my dear, it's actually a very easy thing to do in this crazy and hopeless place. Without any psychological pressure or obstacles, I just need to point the weapon at the body of the enemy in the distance, then maintain the posture and fire. Soon you will be able to see each other struggling,

Then it falls and disappears, and all you need to do at this time is to turn the gun and aim at a target.

The head of state has equipped us with many efficient killing weapons, which is very fortunate news for us who want to save our lives on the battlefield. My g43 rifle can automatically load and load the bullets, as long as I keep pulling the trigger, I can keep shooting. The 10-round capacity magazine can be loaded with 5 rounds of standard clips, which is really a very useful weapon.

At least I was resting away from the front the day before yesterday, with hot bath water and hot meals, so I shouldn't complain so much. However, when we passed a row of corpses of Soviet soldiers who hadn't had time to bury them, and came to a position only 11,500 meters away from downtown Moscow, the Soviet army greeted us with artillery. Four soldiers in the company were killed, and the nearest one was less than 20 meters away from me.

The damn war made me leave you for such a long time, but I can't stop thinking about you. God knows why we gave up our good life and came here with guns on our backs, sacrificing thousands of lives in order to fight for a piece of land hundreds of meters wide. Maybe the Führer is right, but I can't see anyone's happy expression here.

Revitalizing Germany has always been my ideal, but my dear, I don't know if what I'm doing now counts as fighting for my motherland. I fight almost every day, but it is on the land of other countries. I swear allegiance to my head of state, Akado Rudolf, but I am very afraid now, afraid of the head of state I swear allegiance to, let me Fight this damn war to the end of the world.

I shouldn't complain so much, should I? The main reason for complaining for so long is that my vacation has been canceled yet again and I have to stay on the front line and wait for the time for a rotation leave. Not being able to see you puts me in a bad mood, so please forgive my whining and chatter...

When I wrote this, a big rough hand covered with black mud pressed on the not-so-white letter paper. This hand belonged to his chief, the company commander of the company: "If I were you, I wouldn't write like this. You know that the postal department has very high requirements for letters. Obviously, what you write can only Let them accidentally 'drop' your letters."

The company commander found a place to sit while talking, looked at his hand, then lit a cigarette before continuing: "They won't let this kind of letter be sent back to the rear. When your wife tells you something, just choose some nice words and write reads();. Then your wife will know that you are still alive and can write letters to your family."

"I know, sir. I'm just venting. My letter was placed in the post office yesterday. What I wrote on it may be described in a model essay." The German soldier who wrote the letter smiled and put it away in his hand. Then he unscrewed the kettle and took a sip of water: "You know, I'm a German teacher, so sometimes I like to write about these things."

As he spoke, he tore a letter that was wonderful but would never pass the censorship from the letterhead, and shredded it as much as possible in his hands. In fact, he knew that such a letter could not be mailed home without being reminded by others, so he was really just venting, and had no real intention of mailing this letter.

"Yes, Mr. Wenger. I know you are a teacher, and I also know that you used to be a good German teacher." Naming Company Commander looked at his hand to write the long paper full of words It was torn, and then it began to be torn into strips, so I was relieved. He squeezed out a smile, and said regretfully, "You shouldn't be here. You should be in a school in a small town, standing on the podium and telling something that the children are willing to listen to."

"Maybe, it's a pity that there are too many things that shouldn't be." Hans Wenger smiled wryly, then threw the torn letter at his feet, stepped on it twice, and confirmed that these letter papers had been taken by the people in the trenches. The mud was completely destroyed before he raised his head: "Maybe this war should have ended long ago, shouldn't it?"

The company commander looked at Wenger, and finally sighed: "Wenger, we all swore to be loyal to the head of state. Do you think you are the only one who will complain? Everyone knows that this war has reached the point it is now. It should have ended a long time ago, but why do you still insist on being here?"

He paused, then looked at the looming barbed wire fences in the distance: "We all know that we need to end the war, and so does the head of state. But we must end the war as victors, don't we? Can you imagine? If we lose, What will happen to Germany?"

Like Stalingrad, it became a scorched earth, and then a large area was divided up like a German-occupied area. One's own children may be sent to concentration camps, and one's wife will become someone else's plaything... If Germany loses this war, then everything they have done for the head of state and the German nation will become a bargaining chip of evil, burdened in the future in every German.

...

In a small town in Bavaria, Germany, on a sunny afternoon. A slightly chubby girl received a somewhat stained letter from the postman. She tore open the slightly curled envelope with her tender fingers, and then began to read the contents of the letter.

Honey:

Everything is fine for me on the front line. I can take hot baths and eat hot meals here. I don’t know how much effort they have spent to build such a good front line camp for us.

People around are fighting desperately, they are bleeding and dying for the motherland. Standing among a group of heroes, I feel that the power is almost infinite. We are working hard to defeat these Soviets and strive for a greater living space for our descendants. God testifies that I have never been afraid or hesitated, because my love for you keeps me going forward on the battlefield.

The Führer is with us, the victory is with us, and my heart is always with you. I will try my best to kill the enemy. General Kluge is as good as God. Our army has been winning... Maybe before winter comes, we will end the war. At that time, I will bring a lot of medals to see you .

Love you, Hans Wenger.

The girl closed the letter in her hand, with a smile like the bright sunshine at this moment. She stroked her hair by her ears with her hands, and then looked to the far east, where her beloved was, in the suburbs of a city called Moscow.