The Depth of Bloodshed

I remember Najaf, Iraq. The officers handled it magnificently. I did not realize it until later. The worlds largest cemetery.

“Stop screwing around,” said the Imam, in English, purportedly, “in my Mosque!”

They did. Then an enemy militia had started a ruckus, and we had a little rustle in the then second-largest graveyard in the world.

I had 100 best friends back then. Brass? Not nearly as many. And they have one who’s boss.

“What if he (they) die in there!”

Lonrifles. For Corpsman.

“Chaplain Corps.?”

Whatever It Takes.

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