I think of...
My mother, USAF radar tech 1954-58.
My grandfather, 33rd Division 1917-18, who was on the front lines in France at 1100 hrs on November 11, 1918.
My great-uncle, who was headed over for the 1919 offensive when the Armistice was signed, took his discharge in France and began a long career with the US Consulate in Paris (which included being interned by the Germans during WWII).
My friend Peter, the old-school jeweler and watchmaker, who served from Guadalcanal to the Philippines and every point in between, and has eleven pieces of Japanese steel in him to this day.
I also think of this...I have no idea who wrote it:
The Man With The Rifle
Men may argue forever on what wins their wars
And welter in cons and pros
And seek for their answer at history's doors
But the man with the rifle knows
He must stand on the ground on his own two feet
And he's never in doubt when it's won
If it's won, he's there; if he's not...it's defeat
That's his test, when the fighting is done
When he carries the fight, it's not with a roar
Of armored wings spitting death
He creeps and crawls on earthen floor
Butt down and holding his breath
Saving his strength for the next low rush
Grenade throw or bayonet thrust
And the whispered prayer, before he goes in
Of a man who does what he must
And when he's attacked, he can't zoom away
When the shells fill the world with their sound
He stays where he is, loosens his spade
And digs his defense in the ground
That ground isn't ours till he's there in the flesh
Not a gadget or a bomb, but a man
He's the answer to theories which start afresh
With every peace since war began
So let the wild circle of argument range
On what wins, as war comes and goes
Many new theories may hold the stage
But the man with the rifle knows.
