Letters From War

Letters From War

Fangirl_CaveBear

Reads 1,070
Votes 26
Parts 8

Complete Tue, Feb 9, 20167m

british letters soldier trenchlogs war

In my history class, I had to write Trench Logs as an assignment. We had to write seven log entries, pretending that we were soldiers during WW1, but I wrote them like letters. I really like how they turned out so I decided to publish them. I also couldn't think of any names so I just used the human names of different Hetalia characters. IT ISN'T A FANFICTION THOUGH! I only used their names! To give you a quick run down about what's going on, Arthur Kirkland is a soldier in the British army during WW1. He writes to his sister, Alice, about his time in the trenches, the people he's met, and the gory truth about war.

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The year is 1964, but the surface has not felt human footsteps for nearly half a century. The Great Retreat of 1919 forced the remnants of civilization underground after World War I spiraled out of control. The war did not end-it merely burrowed deeper. Poisoned by mustard gas storms, chemical fires, and plagues, the surface is a wasteland of twisted metal and abandoned battlefields. Cities stand as hollowed ruins, their streets buried under layers of ash and dust. The sun is a faded memory, its warmth replaced by the choking heat of oil-fed infernos. Humanity crawled underground, carving vast tunnel networks and cavern-cities in the bones of the earth. Here, in the damp dark, people breathe recycled air, eat fungus grown from the dead, and drink from seeping cracks in ancient stone. The tunnels are endless, a maze of bunkers, collapsed mines, and fortresses built into the rock. The deeper one goes, the easier it is to forget the surface ever existed. War never ended-it just changed battlefields. Two factions, trapped in their endless conflict, send wave after wave of soldiers to die in the tunnels. The Golden Empire A militaristic theocracy that foolishly believes that God has not yet mankind. Their soldiers march in formation, clad in gold-plated armor, chanting hymns as they die for a war they cannot win. The Royal Nation A fractured, industrial war machine, where duty replaces faith. They ration food, force conscription, and manufacture war endlessly. Their soldiers wear hate on their sleeves, marching toward death with polished bayonets. Neither side will surrender. Battles are won and lost over mere yards of dirt, trenches collapse under the weight of bodies, and chemical gas drifts through the underground like creeping death. The surface is dead. The underground is soon to follow.

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