May 15, 1918
I haven’t been able to write you for several weeks. I hope you haven’t been worried. I am fine and have yet to see battle. That will be coming soon enough.
We are up near the front lines. I don’t know where, exactly. We rode some in trucks to get here and marched the rest of the way. We can hear the shells from camp here, behind the lines.
We will spend four days in the trenches and then switch out and come back to camp for a while. The men coming back are filthy – all muddy and wet. There’s a problem with lice. Some have bad sores on their feet from being in wet boots for so long.
They don’t complain much, though. They take their turns and get on. There’s training and calisthenics here in camp in between trench shifts to keep strength and skills up. My very favorite training is marksmanship. They do try to keep our weight up, but that depends on the supply lines. If supplies are late, then food is a bit on the light side. They try to make it up when the trucks finally get here.
I start my first trench shift tomorrow. When I rotate back out, I will write again. I miss you, Margaret. When I come back, you and I will dance the Friday nights away.
Yours forever, Frank.
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