A letter from the front lines, brought by carrier pigeon. It's 12:03 A.M. on Saturday. We are back in camp after a week of rest and relaxation.
There's a calm blanketing the front, carried in on the night's chill. The smell of camp fires sweetens the air with smoky pine.
The campers are in their sleeping bags settled down for the night. Still some talking but at a respectful level so as not to disturb the others around them. The officers may still be up playing cards. It's a distraction to take their minds off a day's combat.
Word from headquarters is that we should expect a full day of skirmishes starting around 11:00 A.M. and stretching to 5:00 P.M. I should hit the sack myself, considering I'll be up before the sun getting things ready for the troop's breakfast. By the way, they're griping about the food again. I think they'd enjoy eating eggs and sausage only. Well, they can wish all they want but "It ain't gonna happin!"