• As Write this I think what would have happened if the war had never been and I was never drafted and my father was never shot to death by Germans. My name is Michael baker and the contents of this journal are not for the feint of heart or the sympathetic and weak. This is a story of world war 1. July 19: It’s all over the news. The first world war has started and Poland was attacked. Momma’s upstairs puttin’ Bessie to bed. She cries and fusses but Momma can handle it. Papa is out back milkin’ the cows. I live on the farm with my family. We have a nice, comfortable life. Not to rich, not to poor. Just right. August 20: The war sirens go off and the bombing starts. The Germans have hit us with artillery . They come in and take all our livestock. They tell momma to cook them a meal or they’ll shoot ‘er. Pa pulls out the ‘22 and loads it up out in the barn’s loft. He hands me the Revolver and tells me to hide and if he isn’t back with Ma and Bessie in 20 minutes, run….10 minutes, screams of German’s and multiple gunshots….15 minutes Pa screamin’….20 minutes silence. I come out of the hay bale I was hidin’ in and I ran. I ran until Jesus took me by the hand and told me to slow down. I stop at a creek to get a drink of water. I walk to the nearest motel and stay there for 2 days. August 22: I walked back to the barn when I know the German’s are gone. Blood stains the linyl kitchen floor and the walls. Then finally I see Pa, Momma, and Bessie all on the ground, blood circled them. My heart dropped into my stomach and I lied down, and slept. Sometime in August: I’ve forgotten the but all I know is that there was a letter at the door for my draft. I packed up and walked down to the army base. They ask for my draft card and I give it to em’.








    September 4: We finally arrived in Germany. At the base camp I gear up. They tell us no matter how inexperienced we are, we’re going to fight. I’m on the jeep right now, going to Eindehoven. When we get there they pass out weapons. A M1 Garand, a Colt M911, and a Thompson. In the formation, our squad captain tells us to take cover behind some sandbags. The firing starts and many die. My old friend Jimmy from Grammar school loses 4 fingers on 1 hand. Nickie loses an arm, then gets shot in the face. I start puking. It’s to much to handle. Sarge grabs me by the shoulder and yells at me to get in the game. I look out from behind cover and fire my Garand at every German life-form I see. Then another siren goes off. The artillery shells fly at us. We cross the river and most don’t make it. I pull my Colt out and start runni
    
    AS I write this I am in a Hospital. I still cannot remember the date. My leg was blown off by artillery. I served my country and put my life on the line for it. I gave my right leg and I’m proud. To whoever finds this journal, show it to the world and I hope you understand, whoever is reading, that war is not a game….. 

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