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“The reason you storm the beaches is not patriotism or bravery,” reflects the tall rifleman. “It’s that sense of not wanting to fail your buddies. There’s sort of a special sense of kinship.”
“You had fifteen guys who for the first time in their lives were not living in a competitive society. We were in a tribal sort of situation, where we could help each other without fear. I realized it was the absence of phony standards that created the thing I loved about the army.”
Food. Fear. Comradeship. And confusion. In battle, the order of the day was often disorder. Again and again survivors, gray, bald, potbellied, or cadaverous, remember chaos.
