THE STRENGTH OF THE SOUL IN COMBAT

I saw things in those jungles. Things men do when there’s no more hiding, no more time. I witnessed courage, real courage, that few will ever understand. Men — brave men — who swallowed the fear, choked it down like sour whiskey and stepped out into the line of fire. We faced death and injury, stared it straight in the eye, and kept moving. We were brothers then, bound by something more significant than the battle. But in the end, we were all alone in our way, doing what we had to do.

It didn’t matter how strong, fast, or tough a man was. The war didn’t care. What mattered was the oath — an allegiance to our duty, to the man beside you. And even then, who could say why we kept going? We just did. Burly, small, it didn’t matter. Armed to the teeth, standing in the fire, even when the bullets tore at us. We stayed. We held because that’s what you do.

I watched men — big, strong men and the small ones too — hold the line, bleeding, hurting, but never stopping. The war took no sides. Everyone shared the sacrifices. In the end, it didn’t matter who gave more. We all gave. And when I looked, I saw greatness in them and myself. It was there, in all of us, waiting for its moment to show.

Once, someone said we were ‘stupid.’ Another called us ‘brainwashed.’ What did they know? I didn’t realize it either at the time. I didn’t understand why…