I came across this letter and shed a few tears ...... War really is ugly isn't it ? .... any war !

April 1994. Somewhere in Turkey. My commanding called me coldly into his office. We all thought I was in for a stripping down for my pranking and larking. He bluntly announced that my father had passed away last night. I gave off an instant of sadness and brushed it away as tomorrow I was off for Iraq. Finally I didn't go in and was sent to France on compassionate leave for a week. Instead of flying into Iraq I flew home. The same evening I learnt that something had happened in Northern Iraq: the helicopters which I should have taken were mis-identified and got shot down by two USAF fighters. Two choppers, the crew, comrades. I was devastated. I lost my father and the following day I lose my comrades. The pranking got smothered and the larking died away. Back from com-leave I was sent out into Iraq to evaluate the debris of the two choppers. There was not much left. I had to take snapshots for the board of inquiry. In the foreground of one is a boot. The owner died bare-footed and I found that unfair. I cried many tears for those who died through a messed-up visual ident. My CO was useless, my company WO was nonexistent and my family looked at me as if I had come back from hell. All this post-trauma help was nonexistent or my hierarchy thought it wasn't necessary. Even today I still have bouts of tears. Every anniversary is a day before, during and after of silence, sadness, dismay. I hate myself: I should have been with them. I bear the burden of tears and cries from families and friends. We go to war but never talk about the battle. When we go through things like that I believe we underestimate ourselves, we hate ourselves for having "missed it". We are never, never the same. Time, love and understanding may help to soothe the pains, but the scars are deep down and will never heal.
Frederick, Paris/France
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