"The sentence fell: I will be shot as an example, tomorrow, with six of my comrades, for refusal to obey."

Veterans Day is not only about honoring our soldiers who fought to defend the interests of our nation, but it is also about those who were carelessly massacred in the name of the folly of men ....

Below is a letter of a "Poilu" (informal term for a French World War I infantryman) to his wife. The title of the letter is: "The sentence fell: I will be shot as an example, tomorrow, with six of my comrades, for refusal to obey."

May 30, 1917

Leonie, my honey,

I entrusted this last letter to friendly hands hoping that it will get to you one day so that you know the truth and because today I want to testify about the horror of this war.

When we arrived here, the plain was beautiful. Today, the banks of the Aisne resemble the land of death. The earth is upset, burned. The landscape is nothing more than a field of ruins. We are in the frontline trenches. In addition to bullets, bombs, barbed wire, it is mine warfare with the prospect of jumping at any moment. We are dirty, our frusks are in tatters. We wade through the mud, a mud of thick clay, sticky from which it is impossible to get rid of. The trenches collapse under the shells and reveal bodies, bones and skulls, the smell is pestilential.

All is missing: water, latrines, soup. We are poorly supplied, the mess tin is empty! A single meal at night and that comes cold because of the length of the casings to go. We do not even have any more cigarettes to comfort us; sometimes a bit of wine and a bumper breaker to warm us up.

We go to battle the hat pin with the rifle. It is difficult to move, wearing a heavy steel helmet and inconvenient but it protects against ricochets and cluttered with all the paraphernalia against asphyxiating gases. We have participated in outrageous military offensives that have all failed on mountains of corpses. These incessant battles left us exhausted and desperate. The unfortunate crippled men that the world will look disdainfully on their return, will they only be entitled to the little military cross to compensate for one arm, one leg less? This war appears to us all as an infamous and useless butchery.

On April 16, General Nivelle launched a new attack on the Chemin des Dames. It was a failure, a disaster! Everywhere dead! When I advanced the feelings no longer existed, fear, love, nothing else made sense. It was important just to go forward, run, shoot and everywhere the soldiers would fall screaming in pain. The wooded access slopes were rough. Lost in the fog, the rifle in the shoulder I wandered, the sweat dripping on my back. The battlefield made me nauseous. A real charnel lay at my feet. I descended the hillock stepping over the disarticulated bodies, a terrible hatred taking hold of me.

This assault has sown trouble and forced our disillusionment. Since then, we no longer support the useless sacrifices, the lies of the general staff. All fighters despair of existence, many have deserted and nobody wants to walk anymore. Leaflets circulate to encourage us to lay down their arms. Last week, the entire regiment did not want to go out again from the trenches, we refused to continue attacking but not to defend.

Then our officers were instructed to put us on trial. I was sentenced to an exceptional war council, without any appeal or recourse. The sentence has fallen: I will be shot as an example, tomorrow, with six of my comrades, for refusal to obey. With this death execution, our military commanders aim to assist soldiers in regaining a taste for discipline and obedience; I do not believe they will succeed.

Will you understand, my Leonie darling, that I am not guilty but victim of an expeditious justice? I will end up in the common grave of the shameful dead, forgotten by history. I will not die at the front but blindfolded, at dawn, kneeling before the firing squad. I regret so much, my Leonie, the pain and shame that my sad end will inflict on you.

It's so painful to know that I will no longer see you again and that my daughter will grow up without me. To conceive this child before my departure in combat was so sweet but today, leaving you alone both breaks my heart. I beg your pardon, my angels, to abandon you both.

Promise me, my love, to hide from my little Jean the exact circumstances of my disappearance. Tell him that his father has fallen as a hero on the battlefield, tell him about bravery and the courage of the soldiers; and if one day, the memory of the 'poilu' shot as an example is rehabilitated, but I hardly believe it will ever happen, then only, and if you think it necessary, show him this letter.

Never doubt both of my honor and courage because France has betrayed us and France will sacrifice us.

Promise me also, my sweet Leonie, when time has soothed your pain, not to give up being happy, to continue to smile at life, and then my death will be less cruel. I wish you both, my little dear ones, all the happiness you deserve and that I will not be able to give you. I embrace you, my heart on the verge of tears. Your wonderful faces, engraved in my memory, will be my last comfort before the end.

Eugene your husband who loves you so much.