Every year, the “beginning of summer” is marked with the odd parade, sales for everything from cars to baseballs, and in some places, flowers on some graves.
Including this one, my buddy Kurush at Arlington.
RIP, old friend.
In November 1974, I was in an infantry platoon redeployed from North Carolina to Alaska, that was involved in a "friendly fire" incident that killed six and wounded 25 men.
Only that wasn’t the end of the story, not quite. See, we were out in the middle of nowhere when the whiteout descended, and we couldn’t get anyone on the radio. So we were stuck. Four of us walked out and got help, but it cost all four of us frozen feet and an aversion to cold for the rest of our lives.
In Sergeant’s Business and Other Stories, I described this “incident” in a story I called “Not Yet.” The only reason I’m putting this out there now is I just figure it was time I should say to those who didn’t know, yeah, that shit happened to me, and I wanted to say “thanks” to the survivors, especially the other three guys who walked those 27 kilometers in the screaming wind and bitter cold with me to get help. I changed the names of everyone involved to protect the innocent…and the not-so-guilty.