Some men in WWII were at the front for years, never seeing anyone but their comrades in arms or the enemy. They came home to their homes and wives and often became embroiled in bitter divorces. They weren't the same men that had kissed their wives good-bye and had few psychological services and counseling to help them figure out why.
Soldiers in WWI were allowed to serve in the same companies as their friends or relatives and, especially for the English soldiers, that meant that a whole village would get word that all their young men had been killed in a single battle. The cacophony and reverberation of the heavy mortars shook men's brains in their skulls until the men's bodies shook uncontrollably, or they would scream at the sound of a loud noise or the sight of an officer's cap. Before it was diagnosed as "shell shock" and defined as an actual illness, men showing these symptoms were branded cowards and some were court-martialed in the field and executed by firing squad on the spot.
So far, my McKenna men and women have made it through WWI and WWII and I am headed toward Korea. Not all the books I have written are out, you understand, but the books about WWII are some of the strongest, I think. It's not fun having war take its toll on the characters that I have grown to love, but it wouldn't be true to the sacrifices of those who actually did serve to sugar coat it.
I don't know if I'm going to be able to write about Viet Nam. That was "my" war, with boys that I knew going off to fight in it. One of my best childhood friends lost her big brother to friendly fire early in that war. He was one of the sweetest big brothers in the world and we were all in love with him. I remember my mama crying when we got the word about him.
I can't watch any movies about Viet Nam...no "Platoon" or "Hamburger Hill" for me. I've just gotten to the place where I can watch documentaries about it. So, thinking about any of the McKenna descendants in the jungles over there makes my blood run cold. I don't know how it's going to happen.
And since then, there has been Desert Storm and Somalia and Bosnia and then Iraq and Afghanistan. How do those men and women do it? How do they march off and live day after day knowing that they could die any time? And how do their moms and dads and grandmothers and grandfathers and brothers and sisters and sons and daughters and wives and husbands and fiances and girlfriends and boyfriends live day to day with that possibility hanging over them? Sacrifice doesn't say it. Service doesn't say it.
I don't know what the word is for what the military folks do. Or for what their folks go through letting them do it.
And I don't know how to say how much I appreciate it. Thank you doesn't do it. But that's the only words I have.
Thank you.