Colin - September 23, 1942

Being in the trenches takes quite a toll on people. You have to see everyone ill and injured. It makes you feel bad if you're healthy and no one is happy. I lean against the cold hard soil 12 feet deeper than the surface. As I stare at the picture in my hand I pray that I make it back to the person I carry with me. Every soldier from the Allies to the Axis carries some memento from back home. Most have behavior reports with a girl they want to get back home to but not me. At least not in the same way. I had to leave my baby sister at home with our alcoholic father. 

I remember the day the letter came in the mail that I had been chosen to serve. Betty was so proud of me and good ol’ dad was just happy to see me go. Nights like these are when I simply hope that the war doesn’t come to me. I lay awake and watch for the moon as I wait for that familiar whistle of something being shot sky high then plummeting back down. I won’t die here and once I make it through another 6 months it’s unlikely that I’ll be drafted again. I’ll adopt Betty when I get back. I’ll move us to London and get a small apartment. I hope to get a nice job in a little restaurant where I can work my way up to eventually being the head chef. 

Cooking is a career father never supported but it’s what I’ve dreamed of since I cooked with you. “It’s important to have dreams.” Franky always said. When I would ask him why he always told me that he would say “Dreams provide hope and when you're out here hope is the only thing that makes it worth staying alive.” Betty is keeping her recipe book safe for me. She’s 15 now but she’ll always be my little sister. I remember when we were kids and she always wanted to play spot the moon. Whoever had the most points by the end of the week would win. 

Suddenly, I hear Franky screaming at me and tearing me away from my thoughts. “Colin! Colin! Com’ on man we have to go. The trench is being gassed.” 

“I’m up Franky, let's get outta here!” I yell.

“Soldiers move west! We have Krauts coming from the east,” our general orders.

It was a form of knock out gas and I feel like we ran for miles to escape it. Franky’s leg was hurt and I couldn’t give up on my best friend. He has a good family back home and a necklace he carries with a picture of the girl patiently waiting for his return. I would rather he go back to them with the news that he’s come home to stay. Rather than having to knock on my best friend's door with only his ghost behind me. I can’t bear to watch the color drain from their faces as they realize I came home and he didn't. Now I have no clue where Franky is and I can only hope he’s safe but there’s no telling. That was days ago.

I had inhaled the gas and I’m now stuck in a small cell. I’m surrounded by people who look as though they haven’t eaten in weeks. The cells are full of grime as bugs crawl across the wooden floor that splinters as it cracks. The moisture in the air is thick and suffocating.  I still have my bag apart from any weapons or anything I could use to possibly escape. The other POWs have bags with them but the Krauts took anything useful. I have a little food but there are far too many people to help. There's nothing I can do for them. We each get taken in for questioning wanting to know our history with the allied forces.

There’s a boy next to me who can't be more than 16. He sits in the back left corner of his cell. I’ve come to learn his name is Xavior and if I can’t help everyone I hope I can help him. He just wanted to work hard and get through the war. So when he gets home he can work hard and make a livin’. His father is a good man who owns a rubber plant.

Xavoir and I start working on a plan. First, we need to get out of the cells. The best time would be during questioning when the Krauts are putting me back and getting him out. Then, we need to somehow get the upper hand over the guards. That way we can grab their guns. I’m not really sure what we’ll do next and survival is improbable. I have to try to find a way out and now I want to get Xavior out too. 

I can’t leave Betty home with our father. At the very least she needs to know that you're alive if I’m not. I understand why you ran away and I know you couldn’t bring us with you at the time. I hope London’s treating you better than my father did. So mom if you're reading this I probably didn’t make it. I need you to get Betty out of Colorado.

I hope this letter finds you well, Colin.

Betty - September 23, 1942

The last letter I received from you was written on September 17th. Dad’s not doing so great, he’s been drinking himself into oblivion these past couple days. I’ve been taking care of him by making sure he eats and keeping the house clean. That is if he’s even home he’s been going out to the bar more recently. He also has a girlfriend now so he stays at her house sometimes. I wish he would at least try to get sober we’re struggling to keep our heads above water. His dependency on alcohol isn’t helping anything health wise or financially. Between school and work I feel as though I hardly see him.

 It’s getting hard for me, school's not hard but I don’t really know anyone there; those I do know don’t like me. I walk the halls and it’s like I’m transparent so I just keep my head down and try to go unnoticed. Then, I go to work at the diner and sometimes customers are nice but I still have to pretend to be joyful and get through each night. It doesn’t pay much but it’s the only place that would hire a 15 year old with no work experience. My boss is a 52 year old guy and every other worker here is female. He only comes in around once a week but he’s rude and creeps us out. So, we just hope he doesn’t look in our direction.

I’m ready for you to come home so that way I can quit this job. I’ll find work in London. That way it’ll be easier for us to stay together. Mom’s recipe book is safe too. I keep it in my little safe. Along with photos of us, a picture of mom, and the money I’ve saved in order to help out before we get our footing in London. Please come home Colin, I don’t think I can make it through this world without you. I’ll keep looking to the moon until I see you again.

With much love, your baby sister.

General Davis - September 23, 1942

To whom it may concern, I have lost more soldiers than I would like to admit among them is Collin. A 19 year old brunette with blue eyes. He went back in to save one of our 18 year old soldiers who has an injured leg. I don’t believe he is dead. However, he will be soon. The Krauts took him the same way they took a young man by the name of Xavior. By gassing our trenches. I believe Xavior is already dead. I send my dearest apologies for the loss of this member of your family or friends. Collin was a great man who has my deepest regards. I will do what I can to get him out of the POW camp but the odds are against us.

In sympathy, Davis