A letter written by English Soldier, Nathaniel Eyre, to his best friend who is on the eastern front. July 2nd, 1943
Dear Chester,
It has been three weeks since I was reassigned to a desk job in London. The new position isn't too bad, Churchill is a crude, but effective boss and I can eat food without the sound of mortars overhead. It also does feel nice to not have water soaking into my socks constantly. However the more I sit here, the weight on my shoulders grows. Just three long weeks ago I was side by side with my brothers in arms fighting to stop German expansion, now I am stamping documents...what a sadistic jokes God must have played on me to go from adorning me with a rifle to defend my brothers, to a stamp that notifies my comrades families that they are gone. This mundane depression can only be compared to a still sea, its calm but sea-sickness still persist. I will only tell you this in confidence...but I wish I hadn't kicked that grenade away.
I know, it's awful to say such a thing, after all I am regarded as a hero to those around me, but those men I saved get to fight and gain honor; while I am stuck with this bloody stump of a leg! Even though I use to be a capable man who brought fear to those who dared to stand against me, I am now reduced to a charity case. People fulfill their daily good deed by getting me coffee or holding my hand across the street. Like I am a fucking infant...If I hadn't saved those men I would still be there, right beside you Chester. Bestowing fear upon the enemy like no soldier had before. You and I together could rival the likes of Achilles and Apollo. That fake Hector who calls himself a Fuhrer would tremble in fear before us.
But now...I am just a bloody cripple. Living posh and content as if I am like these sheep around me that live normal lives not knowing the glory one can find in defeating a great enemy. Not like you and I know…
I have to regain my Arete...I have no other place.
Sincerely,
Nathaniel Eyre