It's black, it's imposing, and it has many names. Every name has a history. Every name has a father and a mother. Some of those names are parents, some are brothers and quite a few are sisters to someone. They all put their nickel on the grass, they never came back to look for it. The rest of us somehow found our nickel. We ask ourselves "why me? Why am I not there, too, with my brothers, why am I not with my Recon Team, listed there for anybody to see?" I was there. A few times I was their only comfort.
I've been to that damn Wall. I've found each one of my former team brothers. The last living one put a hole in his neck with his old M-1911 and blew the back of his head away. I know why, but I don't have the balls to join them. Maybe one of these fine days.
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