How Many Letters Do You Feeling?

1365 Words6 Pages
“How many letters do I need to write?” “Although it wasn’t my job, I always took the time to comfort the families. I felt it was my responsibility, I didn’t keep their loved ones alive. It 's a job I hated and I agonized over everyone. Still, I wanted them to know they could be proud of their loved ones.” “12,” was the man’s only reply. “It tore me up on the inside. My head, I buried in my pillow and wept hoping no one saw. ‘If I had done something differently, would others be alive today? My mission was to keep them alive and I failed them miserably. Could I have done something more?’ They are thoughts that still haunt me decades later. Then a voice called for my attention.” “1st. Sgt., how are you feeling?” “Turning around I saw the Brigade Commander standing at the foot of my bed. It was General Dempster. He was a man who commanded my respect. I tried to sit up on the edge of his bed, but struggled to move.” “As you were soldier, you just rest now,” ordered the General. "His request was a delight, moving around hurt a great deal.” “Sergeant, I have something here for you.” A smile lit up his face. “Surprise thrilled my heart as I waited to learn what on earth it could be. I hoped that he had news that it wasn’t twelve, but less that fell. The General’s aide handed him two boxes.” “Sergeant. Brooks, the Secretary of the Army has awarded you the Bronze Star Medal for courage in the face of an armed enemy.” “Taking out a rolled piece of paper the aide was about to read it, but I stopped him.” “Sir, can we not forego that? Further, is there any regulation that says I have to take this? I would rather they give it to the families of the twelve. I failed them and their families, I couldn’t keep them alive.” The General’s eyes appea... ... middle of paper ... ...ond an impression of astonishing piety. His long hair floated around him like a golden blanket. As he moved his hair danced as if in an unseen wind. His handsome features were like a canvas that remains in memory for a long time. His outer appearance seemed far from a figure, who would know anything about the military. That was until… “Hooah,” the Pastor greeted the two men. Tank watched him with surprise. Was he a soldier or Marine? A Marine would never say, Hooah, he would have used the term, Oorah. Was he actually a veteran or just trying to make him feel comfortable? Before Tank could ask, Jim offered him an answer. “I served in Desert Storm with the 101st.” “Hooah,” Tank responded, looking at him oddly. “Please forgive me, but your appearance, the long hair, doesn’t announce military.” “Come on in gentlemen.” The Pastor made them comfortable in the living room.
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