My dear:

Everything is very bad here, it's completely different from when I was training. We waited all day in closed, somewhat choking train carriages to get to where we were needed on the front lines. Here we received our rifles, and it was clear that they were very well stocked.

We fought on the Eastern Front in the Soviet Union, and the last time was in a wheat field, there was a new soldier who was hit by a Soviet sniper because he didn't lower his body, and he fell in the field, and we couldn't find him at all, you know how difficult it is to find a man lying down in the field. By the time the medic found the poor man, he had died, and we all spent the day in horror and frustration.

Another fatal battle was when we attacked, breaking into an unmarked minefield. It wasn't until a soldier had his foot broken by a landmine that we realized we were in danger. In the end, we had to retreat where we were, and more than 100 soldiers returned to the place from which we had started, without even seeing the enemy.

Now we are on the borders of Germany, that's right, on the borders. 1,000 meters to the east is the Soviet-controlled zone, and I'm leaning into the trenches right now, writing you this letter. I have at least 10,000 friendly troops around me, and the trenches are full of people, but luckily I have found an ammunition box to write to you while I can sit and write to you.

There are corpses everywhere here, ours, Soviets. As soon as the Soviets rushed over, or when we were going to rush over, the corpses would quickly accumulate, one pressing down on the other, with a characteristic smell of corruption. I really want to go back to you, I swear to the gods.

The last time you wrote to me, it was said that Mrs. Veron, who was next door, had received a government notice that her son had died in battle, and that it said that his son was a hero. But I can only tell you with regret that none of the dead I have seen were heroically killed, they fell to the ground and howled after being hit by bullets, begging the medics to save themselves, or they were directly killed by bullets or shells, and fell down as if they had fainted.

I dragged the hapless ones with their hands on their clothes, all of which were stained with their blood. Sometimes I didn't even drag them back into the trenches when they didn't breathe. After the battle, I always felt like I had blood on my hands, and I couldn't wash them clean.

Two years ago, I would never have imagined that now I have to rely on killing people every day in exchange for a chance to live. The Soviets won't stop to listen to my explanations, so I can only silence them with my own weapons. Yes, I have killed people, many, many people. I shot and killed at least ten Soviet soldiers, and I killed one with my own hand with a bayonet, for which I received two medals and was promoted to a backup non-commissioned officer.

Speaking of killing, my dear, it's actually a very easy thing to do in this crazy and desperate place. There was no psychological pressure, no obstacles, I just aimed my weapon at the body of the enemy at a distance, then held my position and fired. Soon you'll be able to see the other person struggle for a moment and then fall down and disappear, all you have to do is turn the gun and aim it at the next target.

The Führer has equipped us with a lot of highly effective weapons of killing, which is very fortunate news for us who want to save our lives on the battlefield. My G43 rifle automatically reloads and loads, so I can keep hitting as long as I keep pulling the trigger. The 10-round magazine can be loaded with 5 standard rounds, making it a very useful weapon.

At least I was resting the day before yesterday away from the front line, with hot bath water and hot meals, so I shouldn't have complained so much. However, when we passed by a row of Soviet soldiers' bodies that had not yet had time to be buried, and came to a position just 11,500 meters from the city of Moscow, the Soviet army greeted us with artillery. Four soldiers were killed in the company, the nearest one less than 20 meters away from me.

The damn war has taken me away from you for so long, but I can't stop thinking about you. God knows why we gave up our good lives to walk here with guns on our backs and sacrifice thousands of lives for a piece of land hundreds of meters wide. Maybe the Führer is right, but I don't see anyone's happy expression here.

The revival of Germany has always been my ideal, but my dear, I don't know if what I am doing now is a fight for my country. I have been fighting almost every day, but on the soil of someone else's country, I have sworn allegiance to my Führer, Accardo Rudolph, to the flag, but I am now very afraid, afraid that the Führer, whom I have sworn allegiance, will make me fight this damned war to the end of the world.

I shouldn't have complained so much, should I? The main reason for complaining for so long is that my vacation was canceled again, and I had to stay on the front line and wait for the time for the next rotational vacation. Not being able to see you makes my mood worse all of a sudden, so please forgive me for my whining and noise......

As I wrote this, a large, rough hand covered with black mud pressed against the letterhead, which was not very white. This hand belonged to his commander, who was the commander of this company: "If I were you, I wouldn't write like this." You know that the postal department has very high requirements for letters, and obviously what you write can only cause them to accidentally 'lose' your letters. ”

As he spoke, the company commander found a place to sit down, looked at his subordinate, and then lit a cigarette before continuing: "They won't let this kind of letter go back to the rear, if you really want to explain something to your wife, choose some nice words to write." That way your wife will know that you are alive and can write letters to the family. ”

"I know, sir. I'm just venting that my letter was already in the mail department yesterday, and what was written on it, perhaps, can be described as a model text. The German soldier who wrote the letter smiled and put away the pen in his hand, then 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 wonderful letter from his paper, which would never pass the censorship, and shredded it as much as he could. In fact, he didn't need to be reminded that he knew that such a letter could not be mailed home, so he really just vented, and did not really mean to mail this letter.

"Yes, Mr. Wenger. I know you're a teacher, and I also know that you used to be a good German teacher. The commander of the company was relieved to see his men tear off the paper full of words, and then began to tear it one by one. He squeezed out a smile and said with some regret: "You shouldn't come here, you should be in a small town school, standing on the podium and talking about something that children want to hear." ”

"Maybe, but unfortunately there are too many things that shouldn't be. Hans Wenger smiled bitterly, then dropped the torn letter at his feet, and stepped on it twice to make sure that the letter had been completely destroyed by the mud in the trenches, and then looked up: "Maybe this war should have ended a long time ago, didn't it?"

The company commander looked at Wenger, and finally sighed: "Wenger, we have all sworn to be loyal to the Führer. Do you think you're the only one who complains? Everyone knows that this war is at this point and should have ended a long time ago, but why is everyone still here?"

He paused, then looked at the looming barbed wire fences in the distance: "We all know that we want to end the war, and the Führer knows it. But we have to end the war as victors, don't we? Can you imagine what will happen to Germany if we lose?"

It became a scorched earth like Stalingrad, and then large swathes of territory were divided like the German-occupied territories. Their children may be sent to concentration camps, and their wives will become the playthings of others...... If Germany loses this war, then everything they do for the Führer, for the German nation, will become a bargaining chip for evil, and it will be burdened by every German in the future.

......

Sunny afternoon in a small town in Bavaria, Germany. A slightly chubby-looking girl received a stained letter from the postman. She tore open the somewhat curly envelope with her white fingers, and began to read the contents of the letter.

My dear:

Everything is fine on the front line, I can take hot showers and eat hot meals, and I don't know how much effort they put into building such a good front camp for us.

The people around him are fighting desperately, and they are shedding blood and sacrificing for the motherland. I stood in the middle of a group of heroes and felt that the power was almost endless, and we were trying to defeat these Soviets and fight for more space for our future generations. God testifies that I have not been afraid, nor have I hesitated, because my love for you has made me brave on the battlefield.

The Führer is with us, victory is with us, and my heart is always with you. I will kill the enemy desperately, General Kluger is like a god, and our army group has been victorious...... Maybe we'll end the war before winter comes, and I'll go to you with a whole bunch of medals.

Love, Hans Wenger.

The girl closed the letter in her hand, and her face was as smiling as the sun was shining at this moment. She ran her hand through her ear, and looked to the far east, where her beloved was, on the outskirts of a city called Moscow.