Story I'm writing for history

Part of Chapter 1

A boy sat in a muddy trench leaning against the side of a supply box. He had on a light blue soldiers uniform, or at least it used to be light blue. It was now covered with black mud and stained with blood that was not his own. The sound of gunshots, bombs, and screaming men could be heard in the distance. The boy, about 16 years old, tears streaming down his face, held a dirty letter in his hand. The letter was for his mother. It simply read: "Dear mother, I am not dead yet. But it is only a matter of time. Love your only son, Hugo." He wondered how long it would be until the French army was overrun.

Hugo staggered down to one of the dugouts, sobbing and shaking with fear. The ceiling, made of soil, rained dirt because of the thunderous booms of the exploding bombs above. He started looking for another place to hide. "Hugo!" a voice shouted from above "Hugo! You dirty little foot slogger! Get you're skinny little hide up here NOW!" The boy got up, still holding the letter, and ran back up the stairway. Colonel Ethan stood there, a nasty scowl upon scared face. "Hugo!" he said again, only inches from the boys face. "You are to be up there helping the men! To be fighting!" he grabbed Hugo's arm, with his iron hard grip, and tugged him along, getting closer to the fighting armies. "Whats this?" He snatched the letter from the boys hand. Hugo reacted, reaching for it. But the colonel was to fast. "Please, sir! That letter is for my mother!" Colonel Ethan, still holding the boy back, crumpled the letter with his other hand. "Sir..." Hugo's voice was croaky, and tears once again streamed freely down his cheeks. "Go, I say!" he said, throwing Hugo away. "Go and fight!"