3/20/44 Italy
Angel:
Two letters from you today. That always makes the day better.
I spent the day visiting up front with a couple of British officers as hosts. We watched some dive bombing and one thing or another. War becomes very personal when one is within machine gun range of the enema (and out in the open in a jeep). I have seen towns devastated by bombing before, but never like the one I saw today. Shelled for weeks by us, bombed out of existence one morning, and now being shelled by mortar fire by the enemy there is scarcely anything left standing higher than 8 feet.* You can imagine a town the size of Wheaton business district, but can you imagine it pulverized? Through your glasses, I could watch a hill covered with troops—but showing no sign of movement. At regular periods, the town would be obliterated by dust from artillery barrages. While in a building near a heavy battery, I watched the chandeliers. Every time they fired, the damn thing would move six inches. It is an interesting life, although as noisy as noon on July 4.
Tell me you love me always, but don’t tell me you’re lonesome any more than you can help. I am too. You may be jealous of Vulcanos, but think how I feel about Nancy seeing you all day?
What’s your new gal-friend’s husband’s name and outfit? I might be able to see him.
All the dope Ernie Pyle wrote about the 47th was gathered chiefly in my squadron. Over here, anyone who is mentioned in his column is considered a right guy—I am more than flattered. I hope you saved a copy for scrap book. He is one of the finest characters I ever met, completely fearless in his comments, and taking people for what they are, not for what they wear on their sleeves or collar.
Our Army engineers have made quite a reputation for themselves over here. I saw them build and put in operation an overpass—in five days. A two lane highway which will handle heavy tanks may take a day or so. They work in rain, snow and enemy fire. It takes hours only to build a mile or so of usable road. I’m afraid we glamour boys of the A.C. are inclined to overestimate our importance.
Well, Honey. I’ll write tomorrow. All my love, Cy.
*This is likely the town of Monte Cassino that was subjected to such intense bombardment.
3/20/44 Italy V-Mail #89
Honey:
What a life. I still have about ½ hour of work to do per day. I saw Bob Paul again today and we spent, of all things, an hour making whooflebirds. After buying a pair of oxfords, I came on home.
I sent $600 to your account at Fort Sam today. I find that, contrary to information given us, it is possible to send it direct to a bank. I shall do same in the future. Let me know when you get it the bank notice. There will be more later.
I have 10 days leave starting Wednesday. I shall go to Africa, where I won’t be able to find a damn thing to do, won’t have any letters, and will be generally miserable. But the change might do some good. I didn’t realize how good my Italian was until I contemplated returning to a French speaking country. Here I can ask for about anything I want, whereas there I won’t even be able to say “hello.”
Oh hell. A vacation without you is like bread without butter—dry and uninteresting. Every pleasure I have depends on you.
Goodnight darling. I love you. Cy.