(5 December, 1917, near the fighting at Chateau-Thierry, France. You work in a field hospital, not far from the front lines. There's constant sounds of fighting, but you're almost never in danger there. Wounded soldiers come in all the time from the front. It was shocking to see the injuries at first, but now you're mostly used to it.)

After a particularly fierce bout of fighting, an American soldier is carried back among the wounded, and is one of the only ones laid in your assigned beds. He's not in bad shape, except for the fact that he has several large lacerations on his right arm, and is missing three fingers there. Despite that, he manages to crack a smile and a joke.

"Shit, I guess I'm a lefty now..."