It was a bittersweet thought. There are never happy endings in the Army. There is no closure, not with friends or enemies. - David Bellavia

My greatest regret has always been leaving the service I so dearly loved. I tried to make it work at home, but but the pull of the battlefield was too strong. Out there, I had meaning and purpose. You live on the raged edge of danger that forces you to confront your own mortality. Every breath becomes euphoric. You exist in a different emotional framework. In rural western New York, life's color was drained away by a million little nicks. You stress over bills and taxes, a car that's become unreliable. The house needs siding, the floors in the kitchen need to be redone. All the logistical headaches of modern life take center stage and start to define your life.
Out there, on the battlefield, none of that shit matters. None of it. The complexities vanish, and everything boils down to this: can you measure up? When you do, you feel like a rock star. Nothing- no drug in the world- can compare to that moment of self-discovery. For me, self-discovery in combat convinced me the essence of life distills down to one thing: proving to yourself why you are needed in the fight.

A block away, machine guns echo through the night. AK-47s bark. M4s beat a response. The firefight grows.

If I don't go in, they'll have won. How many times have we heard that American soldiers rely on firepower and technology because they lack courage? How many times has our enemy said that man-for-man, they can beat us? That's nothing new. The Germans and Japanese said the same thing in World War II. Inside that house, I surrendered my honor and mny manhood. Now I have to take both back, or live with the fact that they are right about me. That is unacceptable. I rant and swear with abandon. Down the street, I see Sergeant Knapp taking care of my men like they are his little brothers. I want to cry I am so proud. I love these kids in a way I will never be able to express. I see their faces. One by one. John Ruiz, Lucas Abernathy, Piotr Sucholas, Alex Stuckert, Victor Santos, Brett Pulley, Tristan Maxfield- they deserve more from me. I stop pacing and let out a deep, rattling sigh. Only Ware remains near me on the street. Everyone else has moved away. Perhaps my display has convinced them I've gone mad. But Ware is still here. The journalist. Our platoon's unofficial intel officer. We stare intently at each other. "Fuck it," I say. "Fuck it," agrees Ware. That settles it. I'm going back in.