His daughter, Kathleen, once asked him whether he killed anyone during the war. She was nine at the time, knew he had been in the war, and knew that he wrote war stories. It seemed right to tell her that he had not killed anyone, which is what he ultimately told her. One day when she gets older i hope that she will ask him again.
They spread out in the brush along the trail and waited. It is shortly after midnight and for five hours, there is no sign of the enemy. The men are arranged in groups of two: one man sleeps while his partner stands guard, alternating in two-hour shifts.
To this day, he still considers that moment, and he explains that sometimes he forgives himself but sometimes he does not. Sometimes when he is reading the newspaper or sitting alone, he will see a man come out of the morning fog. He watches the man continue walking down the trail until he has disappeared again back into the fog.