Since I haven't yet managed to figure out how to bridge the gap between The Last Patrol and Why We Fight, I decided to do another mail call chapter. The feedback I got on the last one was generally quite positive and I really enjoyed getting into each character's head and trying to write in their voices. It's a good exercise for me and I don't have to keep you folks waiting for another couple of weeks until my muse comes up with an idea for the beginning of the next chapter...

I hope you're all doing okay and I'm looking forward to reading your thoughts on the chapter and how the story's going to continue.

Dear Sam

You might not have had time to respond to my last letter (or it hasn't even reached you yet), but I promised to write whenever I am away from the front lines, so here we are.

Let me start off by saying that I am fine. My shoulder has mostly healed and only twinges a bit once in a while. I returned to my unit in early February and now, we've finally been taken off the line again. The last couple of months have been brutal. The cold, the fog, the fighting, the lack of supplies… all of it. We were miserable and it only got worse the longer it went on and when I came back, I felt almost guilty for having clean ODs.

I miss you very much, big brother. And Ma and Pa. Heck, right now, I'd even be happy to see Cousin Ned! But I count myself lucky to be back with Easy Company. You mentioned once that it sounds like I gained another family in the Army. It's true, some of the men and women in this regiment have become like siblings to me, brothers and sisters in arms. I don't have to words to explain the bond I feel with them, but I know you understand. I'm sure you feel the same way about some of your comrades.

Have you heard from Nana lately? Her last letter reached me just before I left the hospital. I wonder what Aunt Amelia was thinking, suggesting Nana move into a retirement home. Nana isn't 20 anymore, that's true, but she's still as active as she was ten years ago – at least that's what Ma has been telling me. I'm surprised Nana didn't chase Aunt Amelia out with her carpet beater like she did with that insolent Mr Millbank.

I have to go now, before the guys drag me to the mess hall. For a bunch of grown men they can sure act like kids sometimes. But I love them anyways.

Be safe, dear brother, and don't forget which way is up.

Your sister

Reese

Dear Mom

Sorry for the late reply to your last letter. I received it over a month ago, but haven't found the time to write back before now. We were pulled off the front lines a few days ago and I have never been so happy to sleep on a hard Army bunk with a squishy pillow.

You have surely heard about the Battle of the Bulge by now – or that they are calling our regiment the Battered Bastards of Bastogne. Well, the moniker is certainly true. We are battered and sick and starved and sleep-deprived, but we are alive. Some of us, that is.

We lost so many, Mom. New kids fresh out of basic training, Toccoa veterans with medals and citations. So many good friends. Esther was wounded in the leg and I had to haul her several miles through the snow. I'm still missing about twenty minutes from that day. I remember bringing her to Easy's CP, I remember Lt Lloyd calling for a jeep. The next thing I know is Maxine sitting next to me, talking to me in an empty CP tent. I suppose I panicked. I don't understand it, Mom, but I haven't had the urge or courage to really think about it. Maybe some day we can talk it through. You'll surely have some helpful insights. You always do.

I'm sorry this letter is so short, but I only just woke up – after sleeping for half a day straight. I promise I will send another one when I'm more awake and ready to write about everything that's happened since last November.

I love you and miss you and look forward to reading from you.

Your daughter

Cassandra

Queridos Julia y Joaquín

Thank you so much for the drawings you sent, they are beautiful! Joaquín, congratulations on your maths quiz. You worked really hard and got a great result for it. I'm very proud of you. And Julia, I enjoyed your story about the field trip to Lake Istokpoga a lot. It sounds like you had a wonderful time. I'm happy to read that those girls have stopped teasing you and that you are making friends with them.

I sent you a drawing too. It's of course not as good as yours, but it shows you where I am right now. We're in France, in a place called Mourmelon-le-Grand. When we were here the first time, it was a big tent city. Now, it has real buildings. We are off the front lines now and I'm glad to sleep in a bunk again.

Over the past months, my unit has seen a lot of fighting and we spent long weeks in the woods, surrounded by fog and snow. It was terribly cold and I ended up getting an ear infection, just like you had a few years ago, Joaquín. Remember how you were always dizzy and your ears felt like they were stuffed with cotton? My ear hurt a lot and I got really sick. But Mia, one of our medics, she gave me a tea that helped me sleep and when I woke up, I felt a lot better. She gave me the recipe and I sent it along with the letter to mamá and papá. She said it can help with all sorts of illnesses like an upset stomach or chest colds, so maybe you won't have to drink any more yerba buena tea when you get sick to your stomach, Julia.

We returned to Mourmelon by train, riding in open top box cars that were lined with hay. It was so much more comfortable than the Army trucks. And after we unloaded, they told us that we have two weeks before training starts again. Two weeks, like a vacation. Well, the first day, I did nothing at all except shower and then sleep, eat, and sleep some more. But I don't plan to do nothing the whole time off. Some of my friends want to go to Paris or London on a trip and I'm going with them. I will tell you all about the trip in another letter. Don't be surprised if you get a package along with it.

I love you both very much and I'm sending you a big hug. Look after mamá and papá and give them a big kiss for me.

Con todo mi amor,

Ana

Dear Mr and Mrs Helak

My name is Theresa Nolan and I am writing to you in the name of the women of Easy Company. At this point, you have most likely already been notified of Jessica's death. We are deeply sorry for your loss and wish to offer our most heartfelt condolences.

Jessica was a good friend of mine and I was her squad sergeant. Whenever she spoke of her family, she spoke of it with nothing but love and adoration. She told us many Polish folk tales from her childhood. I'm sure you know what a gifted storyteller Jess was. She made many long, boring and tense nights easier when she entertained us with those stories.

It may be a small comfort for you to know that Jessica died fighting for her country. She always fought with a fierce determination, fuelled by the love she held for both America and her family homeland. Her last thoughts were dedicated to you, Mr and Mrs Helak, and to her beloved little brothers.

We miss your daughter very much and we will honour her by remembering her tales.

Yours sincerely

Theresa Nolan, Ana María Hernandez, Frances Shea, Maxine Lloyd, Mia Arricante, Louise Fields, Catherine Wilson

Dearest Abba and Ima

We are off the front lines! After months of siege and fighting our way across Holland and Belgium, we are now back in Mourmelon-le-Grand, the staging area where we had already been stationed in November.

My leg still aches from time to time, but I believe that will get better once the weather turns warmer again. Who knows, it might turn out to be one of those injuries that people say can predict storms or snow. Don't worry, I am not trying to make light of the fact that I was shot. It happened, it hurt like the Dickens and I can only pray that it will not happen again. But nothing good would come from dwelling on my getting wounded, so I try to look at it with humour.

Upon returning to Mourmelon, I slept for nearly a day and I still haven't quite recovered from all the sleep I've lost over the course of these awful winter months. The lack of food and winter clothing also left its marks. Our uniforms are too big in places where they fit before and many of us are ill or just getting over a bout of sickness. The rest will do us good and I intend to make good use of the free time we've been awarded by sleeping, eating and travelling to Paris for a day or two.

Please give my love to the rest of the family and pass on my well-wishes to Lynn and Amos Hickman. I'm so pleased that baby Georgina is healthy and that the delivery went well.

Love

Esther

My dearest Gillian

Happy birthday, little sister! I know, this letter probably won't reach you before spring and I am already late as I am writing this, but I think you understand. I hope Gwen and Tommy gave you a hug from me. I wish you all the joy and good fortune in this world, success for all your ventures and lots of sunny days for this year.

How are you, Jill? Roger mentioned in his last letter that you've been feeling poorly for a while now, but assured me it was nothing serious. Was he trying to downplay it? I might not be in a position to help you directly with whatever troubles you, but I would still like to know.

I can assure you that I am fully recovered from getting wounded. All that's left is a scar. I returned to the staging area a few days before my unit was taken off the front lines. Oh Jill, it was so good to see them again. Now stop grinning, you've teased me enough about adopting every single one of them, but they really are more than just friends to me. But my word, the state they were in… battered and bruised, all of them sleep-deprived and half of them sick to boot. They'll have to excuse me for mothering them a bit.

I cannot thank you enough for all you've done for Roger and the kids. Gwen and Tommy both have nothing but good things to say about Auntie Gillian and I am so glad that you are there for them.

My dearest sister, I hope that one day soon, this war will end. I can't wait for the day when I am finally home. We will go to the beach, swim and play with the kids in the water and eat all the shave ice we can take.

Until then take care of yourself and always remember that I love you.

Your proud big sister

Catherine

Dear Mom and Dad

My last letter has likely only just reached you, knowing how slow the Army mail is, but I can't wait for your response to tell you the good news: I'm no longer on the front lines! We were pulled to the rear yesterday and word has it that we won't be sent back into the field until spring. I'm not holding my breath, though, but I really hope it's true. These past months have been enough to last me a lifetime.

Dad, before I started basic training, you told me you wished that I would never come to regret my decision. I haven't, not really. But some of the things I have experienced over here fill me with deep sadness and pain and some of them have burned themselves into my brain. And I don't think I'll ever want to see snow again.

Don't worry too much, Mom. I'm one of the lucky few that hasn't been wounded yet. And don't take the bitterness and griping in this letter too seriously. Most of it is just exhaustion and frustration talking.

Hopefully, this war will be over soon. I miss you both so much. When I get home, I will probably do the same as I usually do when we get pulled off the line: shower, sleep for 15 hours and eat until I feel ready to burst. A stroll along the beach afterwards, maybe a short swim if the weather is warm enough. Actually, I think I'll go for a dip in the waves no matter the weather. I miss the ocean.

In the meantime, I'm taking it easy and enjoying the free time we have. There's a few books that everyone's sharing, poker games and knitting. I think I told you that Cassandra likes to knit to pass the time, right? She's been teaching the rest of us girls – and even a handful of the guys – and she made everyone knit a large square so she could make a blanket out of them when she gets home. And now, when we're bored and have restless hands, we just take up a pair of knitting needles. I'm currently working on a scarf because those are a rare commodity, as we all learned.

I promise to write again soon and I look forward to your next letter.

With all my love

Audrey

Liebe Mama

I'm writing this separate letter to you because I didn't know how to write it in the other letter. I still don't quite know how to say it, even though I've tried writing this letter at least ten times. In some ways, I think it would be easier if I could talk to you directly. In other ways –please forgive me – I'm almost glad I can't tell you in person.

Onkel Stephan is dead. He was killed on 13 January in Foy, Belgium. And Rolf and Adrian are now prisoners of the Allied forces. I am so sorry, Mama.

My company was stationed in a town in Alsace and a patrol crossed the river into enemy territory. They took two prisoners. Rolf and Adrian. I was called because Adrian was hurt. It was serious, but not as bad as I first feared. But Rolf was scared and told me about Onkel Stephan. They had only heard about a week or two before.

If you see Tante Sophie, please tell her that I think of her and that her sons have done everything they can to help end the war.

I love you, Mama, and I wish I could be there to give you a hug.

Alles Liebe

Mia