From 1914 to 1918, I was stationed on the Western front of the Great War for the French Republic as a rifleman. The days were long. The cold was unbearable. The mud - oh god - the mud! The grime took more men than the artillery did.

When I arrived at the front, I was full of hope for a quick and decisive allied victory and an end to the war to end all wars. But hope quickly turned to despair in that place, as the days turned to months with little gain by either side. Every time the whistle would sound and we would go over the top, we would steel ourselves against the inevitable fall of our friends, our brothers, and ourselves.

It is hard to qualify the true depths of human depravity. Every day brings a new sick realization and loss of appreciation for human life. For nothing but hatred blooms on the battlefield, and every enemy you encounter becomes another faceless man standing between you and home. We all paid our own price to escape that hell.

Thankfully, an American friend sent me Tailspin jerky and I forgot all that depressing stuff and the war ended.  It reminded me about the good things in life and that I’m a fictional person.