When my Dad volunteered in 1939, he had little thought of going to fight a war. But, he and his brothers (7 of 8, the 8th was too young) were in WWII. Dad entered the war in Northern Africa, got shot. Visited Italy through Sicily, got stabbed in the tush by an Italian serviceman, and later dropped via a glider in Northern France where he got as far as Belgium and a German tank fired a shell at a tree next to him, busted ear drums. He said, "Enough of this #*$&!" He transferred to the Army Air Corp into a B-17 Heavy Bomb Group. At the end of VE (Victory in Europe). They sent him with B-24s to a small island in the Aleutians named Shemya. Weather so bad, when the birds walked, there were no missions that day. There was a lot of "bird walking." He said, "I'll NEVER come here again!" So, after VJ Day, he joined the Army Security Agency (ASA) to get "off the tiny God forsaken island!" He LOVED training for his new job and looked forward to his FIRST assignment in intelligence. Opening the orders, he cried. Not for joy, but for pain....SHEMYA. Where they had one very small tree that was protected from the one very sad dog on the island. Somehow, knowing he would later re-meet my Mom and I'd be his loving son, he trekked on. I'm glad he did. He spent most of his two year assignment there mostly in Alaska, hunting, skiing and having a blast. Each of his children were born in different parts of the U.S. and we all traveled all over the world. In the late 50's, we were sent to Japan for a few years. He absolutely fell in Love with Japan and the people. Ironically, in 1966, we were sent to Augsburg, Germany (a city, one of many, his group had bombed). He had a great foreboding about going there, as a "ground" soldier during the war, he saw many horrors from both sides of the war, and had a great dislike for Germany and anything German. We worried about him. Upon arriving in Augsburg, at the baunhoff, a German General walked up to him, looked at him, saluted and then wrapped his arms around him. Dad looked closely and then grabbed the officer back and they just laughed and cried with each other a few moments. We were all aghast as this spectacle, especially with his feelings. He then brought the general to us and introduced him. They became great friends during our tour, Dad was able to give up his feelings, and thoughts of Germany and Germans and became a Great Lover of it's history, art and people. How did they know one another? During WWII, combat medics on both sides were not allowed firearms. If they fought, it was either with hands, a knife or sharpened litter handles (of which they had many). During the "Battle of the Bulge," these two medics ran into one another and had a major fist fight on top of a hill, neither one getting the better of the other, they grappled each other and rolled down the hill. Just as they rolled into a crater at the bottom, a German tank blew a new crater in the hill right where they were fighting. They both got up, stared at the now missing hill they were fighting on a few seconds prior, looked at one another. Shook hands, turned and walked away, each toward their own lines. Twenty two years later, they ran into one another as allies, members of NATO, one a General, one (my Dad) a Senior NCO. Once enemies, now friends, this connection helped heal my Dad from the nightmares he still suffered. Both are gone now, and this picture pays homage to the many who at one time were enemies who have "Headed Home," later to be friends.