Quantico, VA

Quantico, VA
August 10, 1942

Dear girls, darling girls,

You have really been wonderful to me – writing so often that I always get a letter at every mail call – the envy of the squad – and such swell letters. Light, gay, and funny. The best ones you have ever written, Mother, and yours are as good or better than ever, Gretchen.

I hope you all haven’t been worried, but honest to John, I haven’t had a minute. I have never worked so hard and long as I have this last week. Really, you have no conception – I didn’t – of how much one can do. Every minute of the day, and the day is 24 hours long.

They turned the screws on this last week, and it will be worse next – then gradually easier after that, so I’m told. And worst of all I haven’t been at full functioning power so far – when the last week’s shots wore off I got a slight case of dysentery and I had a continuous stomach ache for three days – then the shots again, and now everyone in my bay has a cold and a sore throat, and I think I’m getting that too.

Also I got into trouble last week – while marching, I brushed off a mosquito that was biting Hell out of my ear, and the Sarge ordered me to write out the position of a soldier at attention (125 words) 100 times and hand it in the next morning. Figure out this total – and I am a slow writer anyway – I sat up all night, of course, under a dim red light in the john – just made it, so didn’t have a chance to clean my rifle; so with two thirds of the rest of the platoon I had to write out the care and cleaning of the rifle – taking two and one half hours. Then, because nobody in our platoon could roll a heavy marching order for the first time in one half hour, we rolled them and marched with them all Saturday afternoon, and turn in two diagrams of it tomorrow. We’ve got the toughest Sarge in the company, and he boasts that he’s bounced more men out of this class than any other man in the outfit. One’s gone, two more are going next week; and Stock, the Yale boy, has been canned already.

I haven’t had any warning yet, but he’s got his eye on me on account of the attention thing. He liked it, though, that I sat up to do it. And I have been made squad leader for the weekend, though that doesn’t mean too much; everybody gets it in time. I’m not in danger yet, but another boner and I will be. Believe me, it puts you on edge – I’ve been running awfully close to the wind for the last few days. I figure that if I get through the next week all right, then I won’t have too much trouble from there in.

One fifth of it is gone now, thank God. Officer’s Class is a breeze compared to this. And the climate – Lord – I have never been so hot, and it’s always this way. March for five minutes and your shirt is sodden with sweat. Five more minutes and your pants are wringing wet. I have been perspiring so heavily that believe it or not, it runs down my legs and into my shoes so much that it squishes.

I’ve got to go now – study – we had three exams last week and six next. Tomorrow we throw hand grenades for four hours. And daddy was right – that bayonette practice is the worst of all – God!

All love,
Phil