"Same old Bill, eh Mable!" by Edward Streeter (different ereaders txt) 📕

before I went out that none of those shots had lit more than ten feet away. It took us half an hour tho before we could locate all the holes. When we did they was all about a hundred yards away. The funny part about it was that there was one in front and back an one on each side of the battery.

The Captin came out of his dug-out while we was lookin at them. I guess hed been down there doin some deep thinkin. He looked them over like he was Shylock Homes or somebody. Then he said that was an old Fritz trick to put a shot on all four sides of a battery. Some day when he had lots of amunishun hed split the diference. All I can say is that when he starts splittin Im goin to set a new rekord down these dug out stairs wether Angus is there to ride on or not.

Nothins happened since so weve all been hopin that those was just four old shots that the Germans wanted to get rid of. A truck came in last nite with a lot of bread an a quarter of a cow done up in burlap like summer furniture so everybodies forgot the war in favor of a roast beef dinner.

It certinly is goin to make me laugh, Mable, if I should ever get home an see those sines about bread all done up in tishue paper what aint never touched human hands since the fello that rapped it up. Over here they handle bread like coal only a little rougher not havin any shoots an things.

Our bread comes in round loaves like the French. Its handier to carry an dont bust so easy when it hits things. Ive seen the doboys bore a hole in the middle and sling a loaf over there shoulder with a piece of string like a pair of feel glasse. I suppose theyll be gettin out an order pretty soon about which side your to wear your bread on.

After all Ive eat tho I aint dead yet. Of course thats no permanent health certifikate.

I started this letter early this mornin. Now its almost nite agen. A fello never can get any work done without gettin interupted in the army. I got to quit now cause I was supposed to relieve Marv Motel on gard half an hour ago sos he could get his supper. I guess he wont mind when he finds out weve gone back to gold fish agen.

yours till they split the diference
Bill

Dere Mable:

We fooled the Fritzes by pullin out of that last place before theyd had a chance to split the diference. We came back to this little town for what they call a rest. That word "rest" dont mean the same thing as the one we use. For instance when an oficer comes into the room everybodys supposed to jump up like theyd been sittin on a tack. Then he says "Rest." Youd naturally think he meant lie down an take it easy for an hour or so. All he means is that you dont have to stand like a windo dummie.

An then agen when your standin in line an somebody says "Parade rest." Insted of lyin down in the grass somewhere an takin a smoke you grab hold of your thums an stick one foot in front of the other like those old fotografs of your grandfather in the album.

The worst kind of rest tho is when you get back in a place like this. That means eight hours a day scrubbin guns an drillin an smoothin out horses. If that doesnt seem to set you on your feet you stand gard all nite.

The Bilitin oficer likes this place. Hes got my gun squad in a barn with half the roof shot off an the other half awful undecided. It isnt the part thats gone we mind so much as the part thats left. Id hate to come all this way just to interfere with a brick. Everybody wears there tin derby to bed at nite.

Payday came along this mornin. In the afternoon a couple of doboys came along that had just been paid to. Me an Angus took them on for a friendly game right off the Main street. It was rainin an the wind was blowin cats an dogs but we had most of the doboys money an they didnt seem to want to go till we had it all so nobody minded the wether much. Angus had just passed six times an about all the money we had was bet when there was a swish like a punctured tire an everything seemed to blow up all around.

There is times in this world when you dont stop to figger what nobody owes you. When I looked up agen I could see where it had lit in an old wreck across the street. The next thing I noticed was that the doboys an all the money was gone. We never did find out wether they was blown up or skipped.

Were goin to move out of here now in a day or two. The Captin says were goin to a more active sector.

Yours till you read it in the papers
Bill

Dere Mable:

Were in a new posishun. That sounds like those vawdevel fellos that paint themselves gold an stand on one leg or a hired girl. It aint nothin like that tho. In the army a posishun is anywhere your guns happen to be. Just now ours is in a woods an a couple of feet of mud.

The horses is showin wear to. If theyd done half the work I have theyd be wearin a tin jacket labeled corn Willie long ago. Most of them is so thin you could hang your hat on there hips an there ribs would make a good letter file.

Every horse has got a gas mask tied under his chin. They think there nose bags an pretty near break there necks tryin to get at them. Ive showed my horse his mask open an everything. He doesnt seem to catch on tho. Thats the trouble with these French horses. You cant make them understand.

The Captin sent me back in the woods on a little undertakin job today. Lem Wattles horse had succeeded in dyin after bein at it for two weeks. It was the only thing he ever put any effort in. Just to look at him you wouldnt see what took him so long. That horse just couldnt do anything quick tho. It seems Im always buryin horses. There so darn contrary theyll drag themselves for miles just to die at my feet.

We was sittin on the corps restin a while before we started to work when we heard one of those high powered wash boilers go off back by the guns. A minit later another landed. We postponed the funeral an went back to collect the identificashun tags. One shell had lit right behind my gun an thrown mud all over it. The other had planted itself in a field just outside the woods.

Now we got to pull out of here tonite an go somewhere else like a fello tryin to sleep on a park bench.

A lot of the fellos families is givin there letters to the newspapers. Sometimes they print there picturs with them. Lem Wattles what never had his name in the paper before except when he used to get arrested, showed me a piece about two feet long with his face on top. Of course none of the things he rote about ever happened. He was back at trainin camp when he rote them. Lem will fight if you call him a liar tho.