Some of us went and fought and bled. Some died. Some stayed home and cried out against our fight. Some, with heads draped in hooded cloaks of shame and fear, went to Canada, most claiming disdain and loathing for that far-off war, not admitting actually succumbing to an inner fear of death or of wounding in a foreign land. We won every major battle, in the tradition of our forefathers at St Mere E’Glise, Normandy, San Juan Hill, and we left our virgin naiveté in those steaming emerald jungles of fear, or in the muddy larvae-laden waters of the lowland...