Have been at the front again now for nearly a week and consequently have had more to do than any one person has a right to attempt. This time, however, I am not on O.T. work but have a work which if things ever settle down a little will be quite pleasant and comfortable but not nearly, I am glad to say, as responsible. I am with the division munitions train. That is an automobile truck service and like most of the things I have ever been connected with a “fly by night”. We start out from where we live every day about 5 p.m., go to a munitions dump and deliver the shells, powder and such to the batteries. I suppose I got the job because I could speak a little French. As a matter of fact I might say I speak it well now and know a bit about road conditions, etc. My company consists of twenty trucks, a couple of motor cycles and a touring car in which with another I ride around, lead the procession and fight with the French munitions officers. It is only a temporary thing, however, and in a little time I suppose I will lose the luxury of a touring car and chauffeur and be back strafing Fritz with the high explosive again in the old style.
I am very glad Papa is getting better. You really have no idea how much his being sick upset me. Especially the letter he wrote me with his left hand.
If you get a chance, do all you can to see the Chasseurs Alpins that are in America now. (Paul’s ambulance unit, which served the French Army, was attached to the Chasseurs Alpins, an elite divison, until he entered the American Army at its arrival in France) They are still in my mind the best troops in the world and certainly some of the most striking looking, and what is more I am one and can wear a beret and the cor de chasse. Once a chasseur, always a chasseur.
This is all now. Good by with love Paul