I’ll never be able to justify it to myself. Looking back it seems obvious that they were just protecting their homes, and I would likely do the same. and now every time I remember them, I can only remember them with my sons face, or my fathers face, or people close to me. Even though I’ll never be certain it was my rounds that killed anyone, I still live with it as if it was. I picked up an oxy habit on Camp Lejeune, which turned into H/fentanyl within a year or so. I’ve been cleanish for about 2 years. I actually miss the time that I was fucked up, because at least getting high was all I thought about. After getting cleaned up your demons have a chance to catch up. The only comforting fact is I was never the only one firing at anyone, so I can try to convince myself that it was never me, not that makes it any better in the grand scheme of things, but to me it helps.