THE WALL
As I walked by the panels, relishing the stillness, I came upon a man in fatigues. Though one of those floppy green hats covered his head, he seemed under dressed considering the cold.
The area around him was devoid of wind and snow, as if the Wall created a sheltered harbor from the storm. He was staring at one panel, at a spot about chest high. Upon my approach, he said to no one in particular, "Goddamn bastards are doing it again." The sound of his voice startled me; I flinched, and stopped. He turned to look at me.
The man could barely conceal his contempt. "Give me a break. A danger to who? Us here in the U.S. of A.? Is his navy off our coast? Is his air force flying over our cities? The only danger he poses is to his neighbors, maybe, and they're so worried about it that they're willing to let us die for them, but won't fight him themselves. And they want us to pay them for the privilege. With friends like that...." His voice trailed off. "Maybe you're right," he finally said, "this isn't for nothing. It's for oil."
"They never saw what napalm does do a little girl's skin. They never saw a 19-year-old from Iowa screaming and writhing on the ground because a mine blew his legs off. They never saw a man take a bullet through the brain, then watch his body flop around on the ground for a minute or so because it doesn't realize he's dead. They never put pieces of someone into a bag, not knowing who it was until you read the tags, because there wasn't any face left to go along with the other parts. They haven't seen the shit I've seen, and they want to do it all over again. Those bastards!
THANKS TO AL HANBRIDGE--- FROM COL DAVID HACKWORTH
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