Ep.002 - Dear Dad - Text
I've never been one to hold on etiquette but I do believe two weeks is as long as you can wait with a formal introduction without being rude.
The name's Hawkeye Pierce, ex-Captain, perpetual healer of the sick and all around swell guy, if I do say so myself. I've been told some of you already know me, so I'll try my best to not repeat myself. Nothing more dull than a rerun, right?
Either way, I'm absolutely thrilled to get to know the rest of the prisoners in this crummy little town. We could swap stories about dysentery or maybe even do something crazy like sit down for a game of poker. I'd like to say that my tentflap is always open but seeing as I'm currently lacking a tent I'll just settle for offering an ear, no waiting. Might as well get to know each other if we're going to live together, am I right?
[Private, so hackable that the lock might as well not even be here.]
Dear dad.
Looks like it'll be some time before I come home after all. If you thought the Army was bad you'd get a real kick out of these guys - at least Truman was courteous enough to hand out a formal invitation.
I'm currently residing in a quaint little town called Discedo. The locals are friendly but the conditions are even more appalling than at a Battallion Aid Station. The food isn't just rotten, it's practically non-existant and the sanitation is even worse. You'd be amazed that there's still life here but the people keep moving on, living their lives in this cess pool. A real tribute to humanity, I have to say.
I don't think this letter will ever reach you, but after three years a boy is entitled to a few habits. This place makes me want to go back to having a night light, so I suppose this isn't nearly as bad as it could be. I'm holding on to my sanity as much as I can but some things are just too unbelievable. I'd go into details if I could but even now I find it hard to trust my own eyes. And here I thought the war was bad!
I'll write you soon.
Your loving son, Hawkeye.
[/private]
The name's Hawkeye Pierce, ex-Captain, perpetual healer of the sick and all around swell guy, if I do say so myself. I've been told some of you already know me, so I'll try my best to not repeat myself. Nothing more dull than a rerun, right?
Either way, I'm absolutely thrilled to get to know the rest of the prisoners in this crummy little town. We could swap stories about dysentery or maybe even do something crazy like sit down for a game of poker. I'd like to say that my tentflap is always open but seeing as I'm currently lacking a tent I'll just settle for offering an ear, no waiting. Might as well get to know each other if we're going to live together, am I right?
[Private, so hackable that the lock might as well not even be here.]
Dear dad.
Looks like it'll be some time before I come home after all. If you thought the Army was bad you'd get a real kick out of these guys - at least Truman was courteous enough to hand out a formal invitation.
I'm currently residing in a quaint little town called Discedo. The locals are friendly but the conditions are even more appalling than at a Battallion Aid Station. The food isn't just rotten, it's practically non-existant and the sanitation is even worse. You'd be amazed that there's still life here but the people keep moving on, living their lives in this cess pool. A real tribute to humanity, I have to say.
I don't think this letter will ever reach you, but after three years a boy is entitled to a few habits. This place makes me want to go back to having a night light, so I suppose this isn't nearly as bad as it could be. I'm holding on to my sanity as much as I can but some things are just too unbelievable. I'd go into details if I could but even now I find it hard to trust my own eyes. And here I thought the war was bad!
I'll write you soon.
Your loving son, Hawkeye.
[/private]