Dear Alfred,
You are good, and you're brave. What a father that you'll be someday. Make it home safe. I love you; you know that you're my blessing. These friends sound…promising. …Would Francis by any chance happen to be French? If so, that's why he's a coward. It's good to have friends out there; helps make the pain more tolerable. Your father would be so proud of you. Stay as safe as you can and know you mean the world to me. I wish you hadn't had to cut your hair, but your cowlick is part of your personality. You're a bloody idiot for assuming I knew who you were by the way. The weather here is neutral like it can't decide if it is going to rain. I'm following the war on the news, and I visited your father's grave yesterday. I told him about how you were doing and how you were following in his footsteps. That's how we met is when we were both in the war. He got hurt so often, I always thought he had died, but he was a fighter. Just like you. I love you so much.
Love,
Arthur
P.S. Call me Artie again and I'll hurt you myself.