The photograph lay forgotten, hidden inside a rusted trunk, buried in the back of an antique store. The edges have begun to yellow, crinkled with age, and the color has faded away years before.
Staring up from the well-worn photo beam two men, long dead, dressed head to toe in fatigues. Traces of laughter line their faces, their casual manner evident in the oh-so-subtle arm slung across a shoulder. Behind them, a metal wall of a makeshift hospital ward reflects in the sun, shining with an almost heavenly glow on the men. Or, perhaps, the glow is the pair themselves.
Scrawled on the back of the photo read the words "Hawkeye and BJ '52", and beneath that, a hurried message.
Beej-
So we never forget.
-Hawk
Their lives, their time, reduced to a paragraph in textbooks and a lone photograph. Though they may have never forgotten, the world forgot them.