"Can I ask you about the war" he asked. Judging from his grizzled face he was in is late sixties. He had longish curly gray hair that continued right into a beard. He wore overalls and work boots like many of the rural types out here. His leathery hands were massive, his fingers thick and meaty from years of hard work. The sunlight that filtered through the trees glinted from his grey-blue eyes. I saw no malice.

"Sure" I replied, hoping the usual question wouldnt come.

He wanted to know if we were doing the right thing, if I could give him some insight having been there myself and seen it up close and intimate. Was the war worthwhile.

To be honest, I dont know that I know anymore than the guy who watches Iraq on TV. My war was distilled down to day to day existence, of routine and boredom, and occasional chaos and death.

To be truthful, it came down to the guy standing next to me. Thats what I ended up fighting for. My fellow teammates. It was the only thing that mattered.

And thats what I said...