Letters From The Western Front

November 13, 1914

Gwendoline,

I apologize for how little I have written these past few months, I've probably worried you sick. But believe me, I have wanted to more than words can say. 

A lot has happened these past few months, I am not even sure if I shall yet be home for this Christmas, or even the next. This war is far worse than I imagined, I have lost all hope of the war ending any time this year.

This was not at all the adventure I had hoped for, Gwennie. Life has been horrible since we left the training camps, due to the German's machine guns, we've resorted to trenches. A muddy hole in the ground mixing with the typical European rains is not in any way a good set up for living conditions. Though the Scots have it worse than we do, their kilts get soaked in the filthy mud, then freeze and poke their bare legs till they bleed. 

Though I happen to be  one of the more fortunate ones, I don't have to brave the trenches, instead, I hide out in a field, which is where I write to you now. I wear guerrilla clothing, which in the simplest terms means I look like shrubbery. Not that I mind, I'll take itchy shrubbery over trench foot any day. 

The reason I am hiding out in a field instead of a trench, is because I have been promoted to a different rank as a part of a special forces unit. It is the first of it's kind to be seen in a war, they are being called sniper rifles, snipers for short. They are a long range precision weapon, meaning that I am safe out of most of the fighting as long as no one can track where my bullets are sourcing from. I however must keep most of the details out for fear of this letter becoming intercepted and this information used against us. 

I must go now my dearest Gwendoline, it has begun to rain and paper and ink are far too precious to waste by getting them wet. I love you Gwendoline, and the second this war is over I am going to run into your open arms.

Yours now and forever,

Bernard C. Scott