Chapter 555: The Letter

In May of 1938, the vast European continent was already showing signs of summer. The insects had begun to chirp, and the earth was full of life. Of course, if the two sides on the Ukrainian plains were not investing in bombing each other and were not engaged in an endless artillery duel, this place would be even more charming.

After countless struggles, the front lines of both sides had gradually stabilized. The Germans, in several days of fighting, had methodically given up most of the area east of the Dnieper River, retaining only a portion of their defensive positions on the outskirts of Kiev. Subsequently, both sides once again focused their energy on the negotiating table, and the fighting on the German-Soviet front devolved into an endless entanglement of artillery duels and air combat.

“Careful! Shelling!” a sudden commotion broke out on the German position where they were still eating. The sharp howl of shells tearing through the air proved that something deadly was indeed falling from the sky.

A shell landed on the open ground not far from the edge of the trench, immediately kicking up a cloud of dust. A huge plume of black smoke rose into the air, and the entire position was filled with dust and smoke. And before the explosion of this shell had completely subsided, another shell fell in a timely manner, once again kicking up a “monstrous wave.”

“Get down! Watch out for the shells!” a German officer shouted a warning to his men, but his voice, in the sound of one exploding shell after another, seemed small and pale.

“Medic! Someone’s wounded!” The shelling was still ongoing, but it was clear that this expensive greeting had had an effect. An unlucky German soldier had been hit by shrapnel. At this time, shouting for a medic was clearly of no use; few greenhorns would leap out of the trench at a time like this.

The sound of the cannons gradually subsided. A German soldier in a white undershirt with a red cross drawn on the chest, carrying a medical kit, ran, hunched over, towards the position where the call for a medic had come from. He was already about two minutes late. God only knew if the person needed a priest or a doctor at this point.

Putting down his medical kit and looking at the blood flowing from the poor soldier’s nostrils, the medic knew, of course, that the hope of saving him in this situation was very slim. Internal bleeding might not be too fatal in a large hospital, but on the front line, where doctors and medicine were scarce, it was enough to take a life.

He reached out his hand and felt the poor devil’s stomach. He quickly found a hole the size of two fingers in a pool of blood. The shrapnel was not small, and the wound it had created was not regular. Blood was gushing from it, and God only knew where it was leaking from. Judging by the location, it was probably the liver. If so, this soldier wouldn’t even need morphine.

In accordance with his professional duty, the medic signaled for the wounded man’s comrades to help and lift him up slightly. He reached his hand to the wounded man’s back and found another hole—the shrapnel had passed clean through, piercing the wounded man’s liver and part of his intestines.

“Hey! What’s your name? Is there a priest nearby? Get the priest!” the medic said, slapping the cheek of the soldier who was about to lose consciousness, while looking up and asking the soldiers around him. A few new recruits, holding their rifles, stared numbly at their comrade struggling on the ground. A veteran leading the team shook his head. “The army chaplain was killed at Dokor three days ago.”

The medic nodded with regret, then looked down at his patient. He gently patted the wounded man’s cheek to keep him conscious for a final moment. “Hey! I say, young man! What’s your name?”

“Bo… Bode… sir… My name is Bode,” the wounded soldier said, his mouth full of blood. He mumbled his name, letting the blood flow down his cheek and into his collar.

“Please… you, help… me. I want to go home. I want to see Koria,” Bode said, his mind already somewhat scattered. In a final burst of consciousness, he spoke of what he wanted to say, his speech becoming more and more fluent.

The medic pressed his hand on the hole in his stomach and forced a smile and a nod. “Alright, Bode. I will find a way to send you back home. Who is Koria? How do I contact her?”

“I’m… I’m not going back… Tha… thank you, sir…” Bode treated the medic like a high-ranking officer, calling him “sir” over and over. “Help me, mail this letter to her… please?”

“Alright! I’ll do my best! Is there anything else you want to say? Bode? Bode?” the medic shouted the wounded soldier’s name, but the soldier no longer answered him.

He just silently reached into his pocket, took out a letter that was half-stained with blood, and held it up high.

The medic knelt beside him and whispered in Bode’s ear, promising to fulfill his request. “Bode, I will help you mail the letter. I promise.”

Bode’s arm suddenly fell limply. His life also vanished at this moment. He had just stopped breathing. A few minutes ago, he had been leaning against the side of the trench, writing a letter to his love.

The medic wiped his blood-covered hands on Bode’s body before carefully pulling the letter from his fingers. With his sticky hands, he opened the letter and found that the writing on it was still relatively clean. At least, most of the content could still be clearly seen.

The handwriting on it was a bit messy, but the medic could still feel the full love in Bode’s heart when he wrote this letter. He mentioned many things from the past and also many things about his life on the battlefield, like a fussy housekeeper, rambling on about all his experiences.

My dearest Koria:

I don’t know what to say, because death is always with us here. I think if I don’t say it now, I won’t have a chance to say it to you in heaven. In our days at the University of Berlin, how much I loved you! But I was afraid that saying it would damage our friendship. I know you love another, so I never said it. Now, when I see that life is worthless here, when I feel that I could die at any moment, the person I want to see most is you.

But I can never see your beautiful eyes, your golden hair again, can never hear your beautiful voice reciting poetry again. I now regret why I didn’t confess to you back then. Even if I had been rejected by you, it would have been a hundred times better than this.

The war is too cruel. It has destroyed humanity and has ruined the happiness of so many young people. I am fighting here for Germany. I firmly believe that the Führer will lead us to victory, but I don’t know when that victory will come. I don’t know if we will be able to meet again then.

What I want to do most right now is to express my love for you! Although you have never known how deeply I love you, it is indeed true. I don’t want to die, I really don’t want to die. I once fantasized that after the war was over, I would definitely propose to you, but every time I see someone die, I have a delusion that I will die here and will never see your beautiful face again.

Yesterday, the unit was supplied with some canned food, and we had a rare, sumptuous lunch on our position. But the priest, who was a good friend of mine, was hit by a bullet a few days ago and died at Dokor. To be honest, I’m still very depressed. After all, he was the one who encouraged me to write this letter to you, to tell you what’s in my heart.

To be honest, Koria, the Führer’s canned food is really terrible. It’s full of starch and all sorts of messy organs. They actually call this meat; it’s really hard to understand. But this stuff is quite salty, and when eaten with potatoes and vegetables, it’s better than nothing. The priest would always pray before meals. He said it was a sign of piety to God. When I shoot at the Soviets, I also think of God. It’s a pity that the merciful God has not been able to shine his light on this corner.

Okay, back to the point. I’m doing quite well here. If I didn’t have to sleep in a cold trench, it would be even better. I don’t know if you will think of me. Perhaps you won’t. But I am indeed thinking of you at every moment. I imagine what kind of person you will marry, how you will spend your beautiful youth… As long as you are well, I will be happy even in heaven.

When the priest was alive, he advised me to propose to you, so I made up my mind to express my love for you. Please wait for me, okay? I will do my best to live on, to live until the end of the war, and then I will come to you with my medals. At that time, I will propose to you, we will have a wedding that everyone will envy, we will have lots of children, and we will live happily together until we are a hundred years old.

Forever yours,

Bode.

The medic was reading the letter. Some parts had been stained red with blood and needed to be carefully identified to know the content, so he read very slowly, so slowly that it seemed as if time was about to stop.

Someone was crying softly nearby. Everyone was moved by this trivial letter. The medic gently folded the letter and put it in his pocket. Bode had not given an address when he died, so it was destined that this letter could not be mailed to where it was supposed to go.

“Send it to the division headquarters…” Not far away, the battalion commander, who had been standing there at some point, spoke softly, as if unwilling to disturb the soldier named Bode who was lying on the ground.

The medic was taken aback for a moment, then nodded forcefully.

The division commander, after reading the bloody letter, handed it to the staff officer who was going to the corps headquarters on business. “This is a very important document. You are to deliver it to the army group headquarters. Give it personally to General Keitel.”

Soon, the letter was passed on to Field Marshal von Brauchitsch. After the old marshal had finished reading it, he said to his chief of staff, General Manstein, who was standing beside him, “We have paid too much for this war, so we must win it, so that our future generations can forever bathe in peace!” Manstein nodded, then asked Brauchitsch, “Marshal, what should we do with this letter?”

Without a moment’s thought, Brauchitsch replied immediately, “Find this girl and give this letter to her!”

Published: 2025-09-05T01:15:01.000+00:00
Last Edited: 2025-12-26T05:18:01.000+00:00
URL: https://www.patreon.com/caleredhair/posts/mtr-c555-letter-138142630

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