We were sitting at a table, four men from four wars.

Orville told us about D-Day, how he ran up the beach, terrified that any of the Germans in their pillbox would see him and decide they didn’t like the look of him.

John told us about a friend in Vietnam, who took a wrong step and wound up decorating a tree, intestines hanging from the bottom canopy like hellish garland.

Frank told us about Desert Storm, where he was the gunner of a scout vehicle and discovered that a .50 cal machinegun doesn’t do anything to enemy tanks, except piss them off.

I told them about the time where my unit was on field exercises in Mississippi. I came to work in the dishwashing area behind the kitchens and found my partner disposing of a leftover tray of waffles, taking a single bite out of each waffle before throwing them into the garbage.