Dearest Honey,
It begins to look as tho I’ll get the chance to write you a good share of the 1000 things I have been wanting to for so long. So without hurrying, let’s begin. I love you like the dickens and think of you all the time. Hope everything is just as it should be at home. It is great to be able to spend a little time thinking of home again. (Hey, this gets better and better – borrowed a pen from the guy next door).
First of all, perhaps you would be interested in hearing all the details about my “wound.” It happened like this. I was rooting along one night around 2 o’clock in the morning working up to a line of departure. We passed thru a heavy, heavy artillery concentration and as usual I was too small for Jerry to get a bead on. When we passed the artillery all was quiet except for a few machine guns and I felt pretty good, because the tough part was over. Then he decided to use his mortars. Usually it takes 3 rounds for him to get the range, but this time he had some exceptional luck and the first one plopped in about 30 yards away. I saw it and ducked, but not quick enough. Next thing I felt something whang against the of my left arm.
I cursed, bent my arm, worked my fingers. All O.K., but numb and I saw a pretty good hole in my jacket sleeve. I turned the platoon over to Swirling and took off with another arm wound to the aid station. He was a sergeant, and we wandered all over looking for that damned station. That was the only bad part – finding the station. Because we didn’t know just how hard hit we were and we both felt kind of down at the heels. Finally we got there and our ride on the joy wagon started. A good medic looked at my arm, cut my clothes off all around it, and dressed it. Then to a room where they plied us with cigarettes, coffee and fruit juice until morning.
Then we piled into an ambulance and went to another point where we were separated by outfits. Another ride to a collecting place where we had our wounds re-dressed. Here they swabbed out the “laceration” in my arm, put the whole arm in a splint, gave me a shot of morphine, put me in an ambulance – this time in a litter. All this time my arm did not hurt and I passed the time finding other boys I knew being evacuated. Everybody gave us cigarettes, and when they started lugging me around in the litter I felt almost regal. I was all prepared to enjoy a nice long litter ride when the morphine took hold and I got up on a golden cloud for about the rest of the day.
I came to in places, tho – when I arrived at the evacuation hospital, and had an X-ray taken. Then they gave me every injection they could think of, and after wheeling me into the operating room they gave me a shot that really put me out. I remember counting up to 10 and then I woke up in this ward late that evening, with a rugged old plaster cast on from my biceps (very big) on down to my fingers.
That’s about it, Hon; it’s a laceration around 3 inches long near the elbow; bones, nerves and arteries all in good shape. Just a little flesh missing, I guess. Since then I have been resting and taking sulfa pills by the bushel. It has given me no trouble and I have felt fine all the way – I eat two of these hospital meals each serving. Now I have a sling to support the cast and I can maneuver all over the place.
They wasted no time in awarding me the purple heart, which everybody who is wounded gets. I sent it on to you thru the Red Cross. It is a pretty little medal, isn’t it? No great honor involved in it, tho; anybody can get in front of a shell – it’s dodging that requires skill. I’m pretty good at that, too, believe me.
Well, Hon, you know how I appreciate comfort and leisure. So no sooner was I out of the anesthesia then I began to plan on how to best use the abundance of both here. These beds, this hot water, toilets, cooked food all seem ten thousand times more blessed than ever before. And this leisure to write in, to read in and to think in seems priceless after being so long without it. I plan to read and write a lot each day and the writing will probably all be to you, so watch out! I have a list of topics already that I want to write about, and they are all in addition to the relation of events up to now that I want to tell you about.
One thing – I want to put in a good word for the army evacuation system. It’s wonderful. Expert care, helpful morale-lifters, and wide use of pain-killers made evacuation a pleasure for me and at least bearable for the seriously wounded. Morphine is used right on the battlefield; then the stuff they used on me instead of ether for that operation was excellent. No struggle going under, no hangover – just a restful sleep. About half the cases get penicillin shots every few hours, with miraculous anti-infection results.
I get sulfa pills by the dozen, and seem to be O.K., too. Red Cross people come around with toothbrushes and chocolate, and a French boy makes regular trips with a big can of grapefruit juice. It is all top rate – and democratic. We officers get the same treatment as the men in the same wards – the only priority is the seriousness of your injury.
Right now your husband is alone in France without any clothes – yes, all is gone somewhere. Oh, I guess I could wear the O.D. [olive drab] pants I wore in here, but the rest have been all cut up. I have only two items that are worn above the waist – your knit helmet and my purple heart ribbon! I have a lot of faith in Uncle Sam, tho, so all will be well, I’m sure.
So long for now, my honey. I’ll write again today, I feel. I love you very, very much and am so glad I can write once more.
All my love, always,
Wallace
P.S. No, I don’t know how long I’ll be in the hospital.
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