I know you're probably never going to read this. I cannot image that anyone at all will ever find this note all the way out here. It all went wrong so quickly and I ran. God forgive me, I ran. My leg is shot. The rest of the lads are dead, pound to a penny, and there's no hope for me out of here in this unforgiving cold.
Why did I run? Why? I don't image it would have fetched up any better for me if I'd have stayed with the rest, but at least I'd have been someone you could be proud of. As it is, I'm dragging this blasted leg through endless cold and white. If purgatory is real then it can't be so very far from this.
I love you dearest, and I am sorry I let you all down.