Hi there,

I have had such a great response to this story and it means alot, I got asked if this would be just letters/war and the answer is no eventually the letters/war will end. :)

"Lets go back." Tommy muttered at the men behind him, his clothes soaking with blood as he shifted his weight onto his right knee he felt a warm body underneath him. The bastard was still breathing, Tommy took his knife from his pocket and slid it across the mans throat.

"He dead." John snapped at him, his eyebrows raised. Tommy nodded and they began to crawl out of the tunnel, no survivors for the Germans down here today. Tommy could see no light above him as he heaved his body up the ladder, they had been down there for what felt like days. John stretched his hand out to Tommy as he helped his brother up over the ledge, they both fell back on the ground taking deep breaths of some what fresh air.

The cold air was a relief after spending time in the tunnels, from the moment they started digging to the second they reached the ladder all any of the men thought about was getting out. It felt as though every time they dug, they dug smaller holes for them to climb into. Tommy knew the dimensions never changes by more than an inch but he could feel the walls closing in on him, the air around him thinking from lack of oxygen and when there tunnel met an enemies there was a moment of relief because he knew it would be over soon.

"Lets go." Tommy grunts at the men, standing on his feet, the men around him grumbled in response, to tired to move. "Get up before you get shot!" Tommy barks at the men, all of them standing to attention now, they follow Tommy further into the trenches. "We rest here." He points to a pile of sand bags under a wooden ledge. The men do not argue, to tired to speak. They sit down one by one and gently rest there heads in any position that was not upright. Tommy sits with the men on the far corner, his eyes open as he sits straight against the mud wall. His hand clenches around his gun as his eyes move from side to side, checking all areas surrounding them. It was unlikely that they would see them here but he would not risk the safety of the battalion. That's when he sees him, a small man marching towards him. Tommy raises his pistol in warning. "Who goes there?" He hisses, unable to see the mans face.

"Put your gun down boy, its me." It's Charlie, he would recognise that voice anywhere.

"What are you doing back here, Charlie?" Tommy places his gun back in his lap. "You are supposed to be resting." Charlie had been hit in the shoulder only two weeks earlier and he could hardly move his arm.

"They wanted to send me home boy, but I said no." Tommy nodded along with his uncles words, not needing a further explanation, they wouldn't leave without each other. They where family. "They came round with the letters whilst you where under." Tommy lit his cigarette as he looked at his uncle, his eyebrow raised awaiting a further explanation. "There was no letters for the boys today Tommy." Had he come all this way to tell him that the men had received no letters that they did not even know where coming.

"Keep your voice down, I don't want them hearing." Tommy hisses, looking over to the men, snoring softly side by side.

"No Tommy." Charlie shook his head at his nephew whilst rummaging in his pocket, he pulls out a crumpled envelope. "There's one for you!" He hands it over to Tommy. "I must go now, be safe Thomas." Tommy gave him a nod and watched him walk away, into the darkness of the trenches. Who would be writing to him? His questions where answered as he opened up the letter, reading the letter with several matches Tommy sighs. Why had she sent him this letter, he had nothing to say to her. All that he had to say he had put in his first letter.

He kept the letter in his front pocket for weeks, trying to ignore her words playing on his mind whenever he had a moments piece you are alone and being alone is hard. She was right, every since his Greta had passed he had been alone, but he had not found it hard to be alone. In fact it was easier, easier to shut people out, easier to dig and it certainly made it easier to kill. He had no one who would judge him for the things he did and no one to answer to. He liked it this way, it was simpler but some days when he watched John run his fingers over the picture of his wife when he thought no one was watching he could see the benefit, of having someone to hold on to when the nights got cold and the days felt never ending.

The voice of the man collecting the return letter barked his ten minute warning, Tommy sighed now or never. Lifting up the flap to his pocket he took out the picture of Anna, staring at the face of the woman who had lost what felt like everything he began to write his reply.

Dear Anna,

Thank you for your letter, I am pleased to hear my letter reached you before the official letter did. I know he would do the same for me and I could not allow you to be told a lie. He spoke highly of you Anna and from your letters I can see why that is.

Freddie did not fear death when it came to the end, he welcomed it like an old friend as he saved the life of another. The man he saved was my brother and I could not thank him enough for what he did.

War changes people Anna and I fear you would not have recognised the man that left you. He did not laugh and he did not speak much. He kept his thought to himself but was there when needed and would always go above his duty.

I imagine the papers like to make the war to seem glamorous and interesting but in fact it is dirty and hard. Do not believe what the papers tell you Anna, I heard they think this will be over soon but I do not allow myself to believe this. I see the new men that arrive here daily and they are never ending. Tell me why would they be sending more troops if this is coming to an end?

You said you are alone, if you need someone to talk to my sister Ada lives in Small Heathe. Go to the pub at the end of watery lane its called the Garrison and ask for her there. She's a good listener once you can get her to shut up.

Kind Regards,

Thomas Shelby.