Part of the tragedy of war is that there are often heros and villians on both sides.
Ten years ago I was working third shift in a manufacturing plant that paid $8 an hour to new workers. One night a new one began, a thin, aged-looking quiet fellow who appeared to be down on his luck. He only eat bologna sandwiches for lunch which he brought from home. I noticed on one arm there was a green beret tattoo, and on the other the letters S.O.G., and underneath "Da Nang." He explained that he had previously been a police officer for ten years, and only worked third shift there as well. I asked him if he knew about Maj. John Plaster's book about SOG, and he said he thought one had been written because he got a letter from a publisher asking if he could produce any photos that he might have taken when in SOG. I purchased the book and read it over a weekend. He told me he would like to have one as well but couldn't afford to order it, and asked me if he could offer to buy mine used. Of course I didn't charge him for it as he suggested; I was more than happy to give him the book. Thereafter he emailed me saying he "read it all in one sitting," and that "I just turned 54 and could not have had a better birthday present." I was surprised to hear he was only 54; he looked to be very much older. When we saw each other a few days later he told me that several of the soldiers in the book were people he knew. He said of them that, "They were all heros...all of them."
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