74 years and (as of now) roughly 15 hours ago, my grandfather waded ashore and began to kill Nazi’s. From the beach to Berlin, a year of survival and success amidst the greatest clash of humans and machinery yet undergone. It’s strange to know that I can date within roughly an hour when my ancestor was thrust out into murder of other humans, that the greater good might in the end prevail and settle peace on a troubled continent.

My family before him and after have all gone to war, for the new Republic, for the Union of it, and the preservation of free humans against fascism in several forms.

I’ve been through some shit.

But nothing like Normandy. Nothing like Hurtgen, nothing like grinding out the Ruhr Pocket.

I wish he’d been there when I went Marine. I wish he was there when I came back. I wish I could call him dogface with the solemnity and humor it carries between the infantry of both branches.

Till Valhalla.