The guilt alone was crushing. He remembered his own nightmares from October 1983. He’d survived the bombing of the Marine barracks in Beirut. Most of his friends hadn’t.
Josh had been in the Marines for five years back then, had made the rank of sergeant. Unlike Mark who’d been barely twenty-years-old, Josh wasn’t a kid, but responsible for a lot of men who were. It had been such a hellish mess. It still haunted him. When he finished his obligation with the Marines, he decided not to re-up. He’d had enough of senseless death to last a lifetime.
The light in the room flickered and danced with the images changing on the TV.
Surviving while your buddies died left a mark, a gaping wound. The experience changed a man in more ways than could be easily recognized. What you did with that was up to you. Josh had made the decision that, given a second chance at life, he would celebrate it for his friends who hadn’t. To Josh’s way of thinking, it was a more fitting tribute than dying with them.
Mark was a different story. It was apparent to Josh that he had died that day with his buddies back in the jungle. Mark may have survived the war, but not the ambush.
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