# A Letter Before Loss



## BobtailCon (Dec 27, 2015)

Dear Sgt. James Ryon,




	Old friend.


	I write to you from the dilapidated, dark room that has become my accommodations. The ceiling is lined with cracks, the wallpaper’s peeling, and the shutters are crooked. America isn’t kind to war dogs, is it? There is a heavy setting of dust that lies on my desk, a heavy film that chokes my lungs. I thought the blood I’ve found in my handkerchief is from the dust, but I don’t know. I write to you in the hope of inspiring a ray of peace for my mind, a brief moment of lucidity.


Can you feel it? I haven’t seen you in years. My body still stands strong for a seventy eight year old, yet my mind dwindles. Some days more than others, I find myself looking out the window, pondering, contemplating, what? I can never remember. My mother had these visions in her last years, she sat in her oak chair on the porch, rocking, rocking. She stared off, past the corn fields, past the sunset, staring. I never saw her final days, we were in the war.


Do you remember Africa? The sun bleached, stucco buildings, the sweet tang of salt air that was never far from the tongue? The dust that whipped the air choked me like this dust does now. Even typing, I find myself wiping dust from my readers. I’m sorry I couldn’t handwrite this, these lapses have tolled my functions. I find my hands shaking, struggling to hold a pen, even now I struggle to click each key, but I digress.


North Africa was a bastard, so was Rommel. The Desert Fox loved to flank us, didn’t he? I can still hear the panzer’s engines, loud as the rings of hell, their tracks spit dirt as their muzzles breathed fire. My memory fades, James, I don’t know how long I’ll remember these things. I want someone to remember, because I won’t.


We didn’t stay long in Africa, luckily. I never liked the heat. But I do remember the flight back to Europe, more rickety than the floorboards of my old farmhouse. This damn dust is clogging my ink, It’s almost heavier now, desperate to stop me. I ask this of you, friend, don’t let me fade. I can feel it coming back, I look towards the window. The horizon is so settling, I can almost reach it, run with it into the far reaches of space, away from my madness. Blood dribbles from my mouth, but I need you to promise me. Will you? Will you promise me… What? Promise me what? Can you? Could you?


The horizon, it’s so settling…so..calming.


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## Bard_Daniel (Dec 27, 2015)

Bobbtailcon,

I really liked this. An excellent use of the letter format as a story. Your piece was strong all the way through and it had an excellent sense of belonging and character. I cannot think of how to improve it.

EXCELLENT. Keep it up!


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## BobtailCon (Dec 27, 2015)

danielstj said:


> Bobbtailcon,
> 
> I really liked this. An excellent use of the letter format as a story. Your piece was strong all the way through and it had an excellent sense of belonging and character. I cannot think of how to improve it.
> 
> EXCELLENT. Keep it up!



Thank you, I'm glad you liked the letter format, I wasn't sure how people would respond to the odd sentence structure and how the story jumped about, but it was done purposefully.


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## Olly Buckle (Jan 9, 2016)

> Do you remember Africa? The sun bleached, stucco buildings, the sweet tang of salt air that was never far from the tongue?


As I see it the second sentence is an incomplete sentence and not a question, I think it is just over punctuation;

'Do you remember Africa; the sun bleached, stucco buildings; the sweet tang of salt air that was never far from the tongue?' 

Like  that it catches Africa just as I remember.

I felt you could tighten up a little in places,

The dust that whipped the air choked me like this dust does now.

The dust whipped air, choked me like this dust.

The man is short of breath, he won't want to be wasting it on un-necessary words.

Sometimes the non-specific is another way of applying the 'less is more' principle

I find my hands shaking, struggling to hold a pen, even now I struggle to click each key, but I digress.

I am losing control, and with it the ability to communicate, even now, but I digress.

Of course he is your character, so he wouldn't say that, it is meant as an illustration, 'communicate', as a collective word, encompasses all  the things you say, plus other possibles.
If less becomes more it is not unreasonable to assume the opposite also  applies; more becomes closer to the particular, the individual. Making a concious decision about where along that line you are pitching can help I find.

Edit: I meant to say and got carried away in the comment,  I rather liked it.


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## BobtailCon (Jan 9, 2016)

Olly Buckle said:


> As I see it the second sentence is an incomplete sentence and not a question, I think it is just over punctuation;
> 
> 'Do you remember Africa; the sun bleached, stucco buildings; the sweet tang of salt air that was never far from the tongue?' Reading back over it, I have to agree, a semicolon seems much more natural.
> 
> ...



My responses in green.

Thank you for your response. Your corrections were interesting and refreshing.


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## Olly Buckle (Jan 10, 2016)

Now I am going to 'correct' you   
Those were not corrections, but suggestions, well maybe the first one about two sentences, but otherwise I am not trying to tell you what to do, but point out approaches to ways of doing it that may be helpful. It is your story, not mine, and it should sound like you.


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## BobtailCon (Jan 10, 2016)

Olly Buckle said:


> Now I am going to 'correct' you



Ah, like every good mentor! Thank you nevertheless for your _suggestions_, Olly.


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## CyberWar (Jan 10, 2016)

Great story. Reminds me of a good friend's late grandfather, who served with the Waffen-SS, and regrettably took a lot of good war stories to the grave. I suppose people don't realize the historical value of these stories until it's too late and they are lost forever, either to death or memory loss as described.


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## BobtailCon (Jan 10, 2016)

CyberWar said:


> Great story. Reminds me of a good friend's late grandfather, who served with the Waffen-SS, and regrettably took a lot of good war stories to the grave. I suppose people don't realize the historical value of these stories until it's too late and they are lost forever, either to death or memory loss as described.



Thanks for the response. Your friend's grandfather sounded like an interesting man. Many aren't capable of describing the things they see in war, and the best that we can do it respect that. I as well wish that people would see the value in history, a sight that is sadly lacking in this current generation.


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## CyberWar (Jan 10, 2016)

Having studied history myself, I can truly appreciate the invaluability of eyewitness testimonies. My service in the military only furthers that appreciation - hearing of all the battles that my ancestors and compatriots have fought isn't just a historical record, but also a lesson in patriotism, courage and determination that all young soldiers should take from their elders who have fought.

---

In my experience with war veterans, which amounts to quite a few, men can generally be divided into two types. One type wishes to hear no mention of the war, their experiences no doubt being too horrifying for any man to willingly recall. They are the ones who appreciate peace like nobody else, and wish to live out their remaining days without recalling the terror of their experience. The other takes pride in their experience, recalling their wartime service as a time when they were important and necessary to their brothers in arms, a time when they were needed.

My good friend's grandfather belonged to this last group. Like many Latvians, he was conscripted in the Waffen-SS (Baltic residents being rather exceptional in this matter, the majority of Waffen-SS foreign troops being volunteers) in 1942. Thanks to his Aryan looks and good education which included good command of German, French and English, he was assigned to serve in France, surrendering to the Americans in late 1944. Technically being a Soviet citizen by post-war agreements, he was later extradiated to USSR after the war and spent a number of years in the Gulag before being allowed to return home. As much as I had the privilege of talking to him, he never seemed to be ashamed or haunted by his wartime experiences - apparently, his later years didn't compare to his youth spent fighting alongside the Germans.

My own grandfather served in the 15th Waffen Grenadier divison of the SS. Unlike my friend's, he volunteered - the Communists had shot his aunt and deported two of his brothers to Gulag in 1940, where they died, so he evidently wanted to take revenge. He was awarded Iron Cross 1st Class for bravery, going all the way to Berlin in 1945, when his senses finally told him the cause was lost for good. He would use a friend in the local administration to arrange clean papers for him in order to return home rather than try to escape to the West, and lived the rest of his days keeping his Waffen-SS background a secret even from his family (for which he would no doubt have been executed or deported under Soviet rule). My grandmother only learned of his real background shortly before his death in the late 1980's.

Unlike my friend, I never had the chance to question my gramps about his wartime experiences, though a few stories of his have since survived through my grandmother.


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## BobtailCon (Jan 11, 2016)

CyberWar said:


> Unlike my friend's, he volunteered - the Communists had shot his aunt and deported two of his brothers to Gulag in 1940, where they died, so he evidently wanted to take revenge.



That's an awesome tale. You should write a short story about it.


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## CyberWar (Jan 11, 2016)

I will sometime, certainly.

Firstly, though, I feel compelled to write a story about brother fighting brother, each being conscripted to a different side in WWII - based on a number of very real incidents in late WWII, where Soviet and German units of non-natives would engage and only stop fighting after hearing the other side shout orders and cry or pray in the same language.

From a Westerner's perspective, WWII seems really unambiguous, the "good guys" (who in their goodness incinerated entire cities of innocent civilians) fighting and winning the "bad guys" (who were no doubt guilty of genocide and other excesses). From the perspective of people caught in between, such as the conscripted soldiers from the Baltics, it was really a choice between the lesser of two evils, the exact defintion of greater evil depending solely on one's ancestry and political beliefs. After the unspeakable atrocities committed by the Communists in 1940, it is really little surprise that many in the Baltics greeted the Nazis as liberators in 1941 and eagerly joined their cause to avenge murdered family members, hoping to retain at least some degree of autonomy within the German Reich afterwards.


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## midnightpoet (Jan 11, 2016)

I've never served (flat feet and half-deaf) but war stories, especially real experiences, give off the horror, as well as sometimes the humor, of war.  I've tried a few times here, in LM contests, but didn't do well - probably because of lack of experience. My older brothers served in WWll, but never talked about it.  I liked this story a lot, it could be tuned into something longer, I'm sure.  Good work, keep writing.


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## BobtailCon (Jan 11, 2016)

midnightpoet said:


> I've never served (flat feet and half-deaf) but war stories, especially real experiences, give off the horror, as well as sometimes the humor, of war.  I've tried a few times here, in LM contests, but didn't do well - probably because of lack of experience. My older brothers served in WWll, but never talked about it.  I liked this story a lot, it could be tuned into something longer, I'm sure.  Good work, keep writing.



Thank you. I've never served either (though I plan to join the good ol' Navy), but you know what they say; the writer is the greatest liar.


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