July 29, 1942  Tucson, AZ

Dear Donna,

With your eyes, you are at last gazing upon the final and last composition in the form of a letter to arrive to you from me from Wendover, I mean Tucson, (I’ve got Wendover on my mind I guess), but as far as I know and as much as I can possibly hope, this is my last letter to you from here from me as a soldier.  I really do hope that it is, too.

Much to my disappointment, of joy, I don’t know which, I am not going by air after all.  There just wasn’t the planes to have for the purpose.  I have spent the evening telling the friends I could find a fond farewell.  That is about the toughest part of this moving and transferring in the Army.  They let you stay in one place long enough to make friends and then either they move or you do.  A fellow never breaks friendships in the army, he just looses it.

It is very warm tonight, and my forearms and wrists are about soaking wet with sweat.  My hand is making a shadow and that rather handicaps me from seeing whether I am on the line or not.

Rather hoped and looked forward for a letter from you, but really didn’t expect it either.  It wasn’t very definite as to when I was going to leave, but now it is so.  We are to leave here by troop train at 2pm, or as the army wishes it written, 1400.  We are supposed to arrive in Wendover 38 hours later.  As far as one knows, we will go through Salt Lake.  We may even go up and through Delta.

It is about time for bed and I have my doubts if I will get a whole lot of sleep for the next couple of nights.  So I’ll close for now and will write almost as soon as we get to Wendover.

Goodnight and lots of love,

Wayne