Many years ago I joined the army to thinking to be of some service. I thought of such service as a obligation. It was the way I was raised. So I thought to do my service and not leave such things to someone else to take my place.

During boot camp (basic training) I found myself and my religion to be in a minority. I grew up in Provo, Utah and I just thought that Mormons were so common and logical that everybody with thinking abilities was LDS. I was quite surprised to discover that few shaired my opinions about things.

I was not the only one out of place in the army - almost every person I met was also somewhat alone and missing something they had left behind. One young man was more alone than others. But the worse thing about this young man is that he struggled with what seamed simple logic to me and others. He also had a difficult time is social settings. There were few things he did right.

I remember that part of our training included hand gurnade training. Of all things concerning combat I disliked hand gurnades the most. I made a quiet decision that I would never use this weapon. I logically challenged friend (I will call him James) had much more dificulity with hand gurnades than I did. I remembered on one attempt to through the gurnade that his through was so bad it went stright in the air and came down and hit him in the head. Good thing we did not train with live gurnades at that point. Poor James was ridiculed by everyone. James responded by acting like a jurk.

No one liked James, including myself. But I decided that I would make an effort the treat James as a Christian should. I thought that in so doing that others would see my Morman example and honor my faith. I went out of my way to help James (that could not do anything right). It was not fun. Soon James was like my shadow. He would never leave my side. In short he was dirving me nuts.

Having been raised hunting and with guns I did very well. I was the top marksman in our company. I was adjusting okay to my training. James was the opposit - he was the worse at everything. I worked with him a lot. Showing him tricks and secrets in how to breath and fire stright. I worked with him to take his weapon apart and put it back together. He was always trying to copy me.

At the end of our training, James was doing okay. I thought he would have a chance. James and most everybody else received orders for combat in Vietnam. I remember looking at my combat orders and realizing that I would be in a kill zone of humans. I was not sure I could kill somebody and I was worried. James came to me that night and said he was glad we would be together - he then said I was the best friend he had ever had. I felt really bad - James, I thought was the worse friend I had ever had. But I just could not tell him that.

The next morning the unit commander came to me and gave me new orders. I would not go into combat. I felt glad that I would not have to take another life (yet). Thought I felt good about the new orders, James did not. I tried to say words of confort. James was not comforted. I was the last time I saw James. He died in Vietnam. I was told he was a hero and that he saved several others in a fier fight where he lost his life. I am sure that those that lived did not think of James as their worse friend - but that had been my thought. I could have and should have been a better friend. Perhapes in Vietnam he had a real friend but I am not sure - James was not the type.

Often I wonder about our boys that we send into combat. Some like James do not come back. Some do and as much as they could not adjust to the military they cannot adjust to life outside the military and they are not well liked. That is too bad - there is no better or greater friend than those that lay down their life for their friends.

The Traveler