Dear Tom; You asked me once, before you enlisted, if war was Hell . War isn't Hell, little brother . War's just dying either by a bullet or a bomb . Hell's surviving and for some reason my squad's good at that so I guess we're stuck in Hell . Mission after mission , deeper behind the lines we go with promises of medals when we return . Well you can keep those damned medals, only thing they are good for on the ground is telling some son of a bitch sniper where you are . I'm down to a five man squad . Pvts. Brick, Jersey, Delliquila, the 17 year old kid Malone, and that stone faced freak, Slav . We don't look ahead or behind anymore, we just look down our gun sights . We don't feel the cold or the hunger, only the recoil of the rifles we use. Now some higher up wants us to go and liberate some ghost of a french town . If you don't hear from me, tell mom we liberated the hell out of that town .
Sgt. John Remada Been Through Hell Squad
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