Wartime "Friends" are a needed sort. You count on them and fear for them, sharing things no one else can know. You eat with them and sleep with them and go where no one else dare go. For which you have become a family, a lasting so permanent bond. A group of guys you have trusted with all, in a land far across the pond. Some have names and some they don't, for nicknames forever they'll be. It just never really mattered there, they were all the same you see. But when they are gone so quickly, you lose a piece of self. That innocence, the tenderness, those feelings so long ago felt. When it comes time to leave for home, guilt is the occurring thought. A growing sense of abandoning them, those guys whom so valiantly fought. Now they are home their thoughts have turned, to the thoughts that are now at hand. To the loved ones they first had left, who are viewing a different man. A man that has such a load to bear, a burden he cannot see. It is something he has grown accustomed to, a gradual change in he. It is something he is unable to share, something that's not understood. Except by those who share his thoughts, the "Friends" in the brotherhood. Sometimes it's hard as we stumble along, through the daily bumps and grinds. But I tell you my "Friends" there's light in the tunnel, it is just there for us to find. And now we've grown to realize, after all these passing years. That we never really left them there, they were all in our hearts and tears.
In Honor and Memory of My "Friends" In H-Troop Jim "Wildman" Linton
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