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A pocket leather journal, filled with notes in a flowing cursive.

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Dublin, Ireland
Day 4070, 1530 eRT
Wicklow, Ireland
Day 4083, 2000 eRT


Dear Marie G.I who finds this,


It has been ## months since I wrote, I know.

Months? You're a soppy aul fellow. We've been dug in so long a month passes like a day. And a day passes like a year. I didn't laugh writing that. I'm slowly freezing to death in the Wicklow Hills and we can't light a fire or we'll be spotted. I'm so sorry I've scribbled all over your love letter but there's hardly any paper left in here.

The "drills" have left Dublin utterly ruined, apart from Liberty Hall of course. It's nothing but a sprawl of crumbling buildings and savage, hungry children.

I won't be home for quite a while, if I return at all.

Well it's nice to know you've your sweetheart waiting in clean Mayo, or is it Cork? You're probably both dead for all I know. I wish I had girl to go home to. I had once. I'm dodging bullets all day but shes the mortar shell that wakes me up every night. It's been getting easier I keep telling myself. My men need me to be strong so it has to be getting easier, simple as that.

Wee Fergal was shot today. We're still looking for that rat sniper cunt. Fergal was a mate since training. Fuckin' idiot stood up to piss.

We'll "sleep" then hunt that sneaky fucker down. He's in a bombed out house on the far side of the valley. I'd put his head on a pole if the Corporal gave the go ahead (he probably would too) but we'd likely get shit from the Irish Army. After all, it's a "simulation war". Whatever that is, Fergal's not coming back from it.

I know it isn't what you want to hear, but I cannot turn my back and walk away.

Asteria walked in, load off and left us shooting. You're right. "They turned our gorgeous Eire into a warzone." Tearing families apart and creating those "damned" education programs. At least they eat. My sister. My sister. I'd give you a list but what would that say? While Romanian is still on our children's tongue we'll have the advantages of employment when this is over. My bollocks Fat chance!

I love you Marie, please
find a way to start over.
find another, better man to walk alongside.
find love.

I love you Sherry, please
find a way to open another
find another, better sherry to drink
find, love?

I have to leave that in the past. God knows there will be none in my future.

I'll have to drop this soon. The Corporal is a skinner. A mad fucker. God it feels good to have the time to write that, horrible as it is. The crazy bastard has us marching non stop North. We're expecting heavy bombing. Hopefully not too heavy if the snow picks up again.

I'm gonna drop this in Dundalk, near Castle Roche.
Someone else has to pass this on. For Corp. T.J Kennedy or his missus, if either of them are alive.

Signing off,

Lieutenant Tadgh F. Mac Allistar, Na Fianna, 1st Regiment


Forever and ever and ever...


Thomas J. Kennedy
First Corporal
Irish Army, 2nd Regiment
Your ex-Fiance
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