Goodbye Russia, Hello Mediterranean

[Michael Dorosh]

...It's enough to drive me mad, dear Helmut; here I have a chance to write and I don't know to whom. A thousand poor devils who are lying in their holes up front and have no suspicion of such a chance would envy me and give me a year's pay for it. A year ago we still were sitting in Jüterbog together, cramming "military science." And now I sit right in the middle of the **** and don't know what to do with all that trash. But it is just the same with everybody else around here. It is an idiotic situation. If you should ever notice the name "Zaritza" in the OKW-report (just possibly they might happen to tell the truth some day), then you'll know where I am. Do we live on the moon, or do you? We sit in the mud with 200,000 men, with nothing but Russians all around us, and are not permitted to say that we are encircled, completely and without hope.

I received your letter on Monday, today is Sunday, a real holiday. Above all, I would like to comment on the words with which you congratulated me for having been given front-line duty. I have just read "Gneisenau" (not everybody has time to do that) and would like to quote you a sentence which he wrote to Beguelin after the defence of Kolberg: "...On reading this news, I thought that they might have heard the thunder of our cannon and might send up prayers for our salvation. There were days when the earth shook, and I behaved like a gambler who bravely puts up his last louis d'or in the hope that his luck will turn. For there was a time once when I had ammunition for only fourteen days, and yet I could nto decrease my fire for fear the enemy would become aware of my lack of ammunition. It is a scandal how badly this fortress was provided."

Ah, dear boy, those were the days. Gneisenau should have heard the rocket salvos, and the discharge of 200 guns per kilometre. Not only he, but you too, and then you wouldn't be in such a hurry to come "up front." Don't be peeved now. I don't want to shatter your faith in your own bravery, but here it would do no good. Here the brave and the cowards die in one hole without a chance of defending themselves. If just once we had had ammunition for "only" 14 days, man! would we have had fun with the fireworks! My battery has just 26 rounds left, that's all, and there will be no more. Since you are one of the disciples of St. Barbara, you can draw your own conclusions. Here I am: still in one piece, with a fairly normal pulse, a dozen cigarettes, had soup day before yesterday, liberated a canned ham from a supply bomb (there is no more regular distribution, everyone is on his own), am squatting in a cellar, burning up furniture, 26 years old and otherwise no fool, one of those who was mighty keen on getting his (rank) and yelled "Heil Hitler" with the rest of you; and now it's either die like a dog or off to Siberia. That wouldn't be so bad. But to know that it is done for something utterly senseless makes me see red.

But let them come. The third still has 26 rounds and their commander (a Luger) with six shiny bullets. It is time to finish; "vespers" are coming, time crawl a little deeper into the earth. Dear old boy, you can save yourself an answer to this letter, but think of my lines in, let's say, two weeks. You don't have to be clairvoyant to foresee the end. What it will actually be like, you'll never know.

German soldier, Stalingrad

(The letter was confiscated and never delivered)

Dec 23, 1944

Dear Parents:

Still Italy, goddamnit!

Unless this blankety-blank war gets itself over quickly or unless i get the hell out of Italy, this sunny disposition of mine is going to sour beyond all recovery. Particularly now that those goddamn goody-goody politicos back in Zombie-land have concluded that issue rum is bad for our morals (never mind morale and so has now been replaced with something called "medicinal rum." This looks like rum and even smells like it, but has an additive which makes it taste like the contents of a honey bucket, and which, if taken in any reasonable quantity, engenders a ferocious attack of the Eyetie quick-step. Can you imagine the petty, weasel-mindedness of those fat-assed s.o.b.s who, safely hunkered down in Canada, have deprived us of one of the very few little pleasures in our lives? I hope the militia hang on to some of those useful bits of equipment. We may find a bloody good use for them late on.

This morning I got out a Haig and Haig bottle that's been nestling in my kitbag for a month with one drink left in it. I drank it out of pique, and feel worse. Why I should tell you all this, I can't rightly say. You'll probably again assail me in your next letter with accusations of drunken habits. God, how I wish I had the opportunity and wherewithal to be a drunken reprobate. But on one twenty-six ounce bottle of Canadian or British booze every two months, supplemented by vino cara armato (armoured car wine, because the juice has been squeezed out of the best grapes in the vineyards by the treads of tanks), we are almost automatic members of the Women's Christian Temperance Union.

What with the news from France, which is only a temporary depressive, and the news from Zombie-land, which is a permanent emetic, and the fact that the third Xmas in a row is destinted to be spent doing things I don't like, and the possibility of the next Xmas may be similar, plus the lack of letters from home, instead of which we get a flood of "Merry Xmas" cards, "Wish you were here," "Thinking of you," "Your are with us in spirt" sort of balls...well you add it up and it all spells balls, balls, balls!

Hey, this is doing me good! When I gnash my little milk teeth at the Things That Be, I frequently end up with the giggles (sort of) and feel better. Catharsis yet. But someday I am going to find the slimy bastard who decided to doctor our rum. And then...!

Had a long epistle from old pal Bill Campbell. For quite a time he and I have nurtured a dream of establishing a little Utopia in one of the fiords of northern British Columbia. The idea had kind of got lost in the shuffle, but now he has resurrected it and I must say it sounds good. So see if you can get someone who lives on the west coast to check into what might be available, and how we would go about getting our mitts on some land up there. Which reminds me, any ideas I may ever have about wanting to do my bit to make Canada a better place to live in when I get back have gone overboard. Most of us long-term exiles feel increasingly cynical about our Mother/Father Land. The other week I actually heard a Lieut. Col., who shall remain nameless, advocate a military take-over of Canada after this is finished, in order to send all the war profiteers and political yellow-bellies and that ilk to Baffin Island with one-way tickets, and one match each. Furthermore, I think he really meant it. In any case, he was cheered to the rafters.

C.P. has been going the rounds to enthusiastic responses. The Brig(adier) just returned it, with very complimentary remarks and says he is instructing his wife to buy several copies to send out for delayed Xmas presents. Fame! Can Fortune be far behind?

Got to quit. A bunch of very muddy Heinies has just been delivered by a squad of RCRs. Ought to be some good souvenirs in their dirty pockets, if nothing else.

Intelligence Officer, First Canadian Brigade

Bagnacavallo, Italy

[Andreas]

Very interesting letters. Thanks for posting them.

[General Bolt]

23% downloaded now. Beads of sweat on the upper lip area. I just told the boss schedule VAC for now till after Thanksgiving. Pre-order is in.

I think I'll break in to song now:

Pink Floyds "Us and Them"

[Mafiozox]

nice letters.

great choice of music, Dingo.

this song is excellent. i think that it's about war. and it links up beautifully with 'any colour you like'.

27%

[Canuck]

Hey MD, that Canadian Intelligence officer would be Farley Mowat would it not?