To my sweet Elise,
   
    I don't have much to say, I fear. The weather is terrible and grows more bleak day after day. I lost my picture of you during the last scramble to the elements, if you have the chance to get another one taken I could really use the replacement. Maybe you could try and get in the vineyard for the background, I miss tending the fields. I miss a lot of things, really. Mostly you, and of course hot meals, but mostly you. I won't tell you about what's going on here, I don't want any of that in your head. Don't read the news, if you haven't already, none of it is good.
    I've put in a request for leave, if I've done my math correctly you're due in a month and I want to be home for the birth. I've yet to receive word on it, but I promise you'll be the first to know. If I can't make it home by then, I will eagerly await your correspondence at the first moment you can spare the time. I'm sure you've heard enough of my mother's lectures by now, she never seems to run out of advice. You are going to be a wonderful mother, I can only hope I'll be half as good as a father.
    Considering the circumstances I am fairly confident I will get the leave time. I know I shouldn't tell you this, you'll worry, but it does improve my chances of getting home to see you. I've been shot. The bullet did a good job of missing most of my major organs, I'm telling you if it were a Frenchman on the other end of that gun I wouldn't be writing you at all. I won't be running any time soon, which is unfortunate because the rookies would very much like a football rematch. We beat them last month on our rotation off of battle. There's been talk of a tournament, anything to take our minds off of the trenches.
    My biggest fear, the one that haunts me nightly, is that I will not be the man you married when I return. There will be no forgetting this. Any of it. I hope you are safe. I know none of you want to leave the farm but I can hear the thunder of artillery even now and I am miles away from the front lines. I know it is our home and our land but I will beg you again to reconsider staying. You are too close to all of this, far too close. I have looked at a map, Beaumont-en-Verdunois is under 20 kilometers away from this hell. Every minute this battle drags on is another minute I worry. I know you've made your decision clear but think of our child if you will not think of yourself. Your letters are a comfort, but they are not enough to persuade me that you're safe. Please, Elise, I will beg you if I needs must but I cannot bear the thought of losing you. I have already lost a brother and countless friends to this madness, I cannot lose you too. I can lose the land, it does not mean nearly half as much as what you mean to me. If you will not reconsider I will desert to come and find you. I would rather be a traitor than a widower.
    None of this has been easy, but I promise you we'll make it through. I think of you always.

With all my love, your husband at war,
Warren.