If you are the only Blake that is reading my letters, then I think that I shall just write to you. Your family is welcome to read any stories that you deem fit, but I shall talk to you, Mary Blake, not the entirety of the Blake family. Although, some of my letters may be getting more upsetting. I've moved to a different regiment. It's the third time I've been moved and this time the soldiers are all like me, lost with no friends left. I'm somewhere else in France, nowhere near where Blake and I were. I have some mission that I barely know the details of, but I'm still here, listening to the commanding officers and doing my duty. I'm not used to having control of a unit. My Sergeant spoke with me and told me that he'd rather step back and let me lead since I traveled nine miles myself in enemy territory and seem to know the land better than he. I don't think he understands that the only reason I kept going was because I couldn't help but try to find the other Blake. Yes, I still have commanding officers and generals, but I've come into contact with more power over men than I've had in my lifetime and I don't think that I'm the man for the job. They gave me this title because they sent me on a suicide mission and instead of ending up dead at the end, I made it back. It was a pity gift, not a gift that reflected anything that I have earned.
Today I got assigned a unit with almost every soldier being American. I barely understand half of them, with their strange accents and their quiet voices. I don't think they listen to me much, either, these American soldiers need some tough leadership to get their attention. I've not got a tough bone in my body if I'm being honest. I spent it all on getting to Blake, finishing my mission, and then getting back to my regiment. I don't think I can be tougher for much longer and I think the Americans see that.
I think I've gone insane, Mary. I'm hearing gunshots when there are none. I'm running into shots without hesitation. German is coming from my mens' mouths, even when I know they don't know a lick of the language. I've gone insane, haven't I? My men have told me that it's just the effects of being in a war with no way out for a while. I think it's much worse than that. I think I've lost all hope. The other soldiers are sick of me waking them up with my shouts, so I'm writing this to you at night, with the whispers of the night watch around me and the crackling of the fires. The rest of my men are asleep, so I apologize for the smears of ink or the smell of the candles around me.
A part of me stayed with Blake when he died. He was with me the longest since my entire regiment died. He was my friend. A real friend this time, not one that you made just to make the day go by a bit faster. I know it's never a smart idea to make friends during a war, especially a war like this one, but Blake always was telling stories. They were stories I never quite believed, but he made the soldiers laugh, something that was rare in the trenches. I let him tell them, no matter how ridiculous they were. I found myself laughing most of the time, even at the worst moments. I remember we had just gotten through the self-destructing barracks, and he told me a story that even today I still do not know if it's true. Now, without him, it's just a trench. A trench that has too many men that are rotting and too much mud to keep out of our boots.
I've given up my leave three times now. I've given it to men who have wives and children that they want to get home to. I've never liked the idea of going home just to say goodbye two or three days later. I told them goodbye before, I don't need to keep doing it. I have photos, they're all I need at the moment. I don't like going home. I feel like if I go home, there's a certainty of death. After Blake and my mission, I was going to go to the general and ask to give Blake's leave back and I'd go in his stead. I guess it didn't matter in the long run. I was sent in Blake's place anyway and I still had my leave.
Your property sounds beautiful. I've never seen the countryside before this war. I was born and raised in London, my parents never really seeing the value of fresh air. You must have been an adventurous child if you're anything like Blake said. He said you'd always find new spots on the property that not even the previous landowners knew of. They must be useful to you now, knowing you could go somewhere no one else can bother you. It would just be you and your thoughts. I'd take my leave if I had anywhere like that, but London's not quite the same.
London's busy. It's loud and the amount of people that go about and do their daily shopping even during a war astounds me. It's almost like that couldn't be bothered by the fact the war is just across the channel and targeting England next. It's home though. It's all I've ever known and as much as I'd love to say that I could last in the country, I'm a born and raised Londoner, who's quite comfortable with the idea that if I wanted a cuppa, I could run across the street and grab the ingredients and have my tea within the hour. The noise used to comfort me, now I'd give anything for some quiet. Real quiet, not this fake quiet next to the fire, pretending we're not all listening for a German soldier to whisper slightly too loud.
I grew up in a flat just off Regents Park. My mother works for some higher up in the government and was given the flat instead of pay. My dad is a doctor for St. Bart's. It's the main hospital in London right now and because of this, he apparently has barely gone home. My mother is probably going insane trying to take care of my sister who's completely terrified because her husband hasn't written in a few days. My brother is also misbehaving with all the time he has to spend inside. I don't think a seven-year-old is meant to stay inside for this long.
As for what I did, I was in school for something. God, I don't even remember; all I remember is it was awful and I went for my father. I also worked in a bakery near Westminster. It was an easy enough job and they told me as soon as I came back I could have it again. Who knows, maybe I'll go to work on a farm for some of the quiet I'm needing.
I have no questions this time. I don't even think I'm expecting a letter back after this one, but stay safe, Mary Blake, stay alive.
