Chapter 10 - War is Hell
I struggled on where to put this chapter in the book. I thought I'd put it first to emphasize how terrible was.. Then I thought I would put it at the end to close the book with the image of war and death. Then I thought of taking it out all together, some people said it would sadden the book, make it depressing. But those people weren't there, they didn't see the war, they didn't feel the war, they didn't know the war.
I finally decided to put it in the middle of the book, after I'd covered some of the people and the workings of MASH, I'd move onto why we were all there in the first place. Although till this day, years later, I'm still not sure why we were there.
Hell differs for people. Some think they're living in it now, some think they're headed there, some think it doesn't exist. In each detail of the war, there was a person behind it, and that person knows their own hell.
If it was a soldier in a fox hole, looking down at a grenade only seconds before being blown to pieces, quickly thinking in the seconds before death, where they were headed.
If it was a soldier standing unarmed against an army of enemies, staring down the twenty bullets about to pierce through his body, he may smile and think he's leaving hell for heaven.
If it was the widower back home, with her two only sons drafted and sent away, waiting for them to come home. Sitting and agonizing over where her life was, her sons were all she had, everything. She was alone when she got the telegram on Tuesday; she was alone when she got the telegram on Friday. She was alone when she ended her life.
If it was the mother celebrating her daughters second birthday, the same day she got the telegram her daughter's daddy would never come home again.
It if was the commanding officer of a platoon who was just ambushed with no chance for survival, and he was the only one who survived.
What if it was you? Sitting at home and you were called up. You just got accepted to college and you're leaving home, maybe for good.
What if it was the priest who watched this senseless death and prayed each hour that God would grant mercy for their souls.
What if it was a mother whose five year old boy was killed in a shelling attack, and fell into her arms in pieces?
What if it was the farmer whose land and family vanished in minutes of bombings?
You just can't say what hell is to people. But I know in the time I was in Korea, the war defined endless pain to so many.
Hell must be a terrible place. And War for lack of a better word, is hell on earth. Never can such a thing cause so much pain to so many people. So much death, so much loss. So many daddies not coming home, so many sons never coming home, so many souls never coming home.
War is Hell... an understatement to the men at the front lines, an overwhelming amount of "WHY?" questions, and the question that remains is...will they ever be answered?
I struggled on where to put this chapter in the book. I thought I'd put it first to emphasize how terrible was.. Then I thought I would put it at the end to close the book with the image of war and death. Then I thought of taking it out all together, some people said it would sadden the book, make it depressing. But those people weren't there, they didn't see the war, they didn't feel the war, they didn't know the war.
I finally decided to put it in the middle of the book, after I'd covered some of the people and the workings of MASH, I'd move onto why we were all there in the first place. Although till this day, years later, I'm still not sure why we were there.
Hell differs for people. Some think they're living in it now, some think they're headed there, some think it doesn't exist. In each detail of the war, there was a person behind it, and that person knows their own hell.
If it was a soldier in a fox hole, looking down at a grenade only seconds before being blown to pieces, quickly thinking in the seconds before death, where they were headed.
If it was a soldier standing unarmed against an army of enemies, staring down the twenty bullets about to pierce through his body, he may smile and think he's leaving hell for heaven.
If it was the widower back home, with her two only sons drafted and sent away, waiting for them to come home. Sitting and agonizing over where her life was, her sons were all she had, everything. She was alone when she got the telegram on Tuesday; she was alone when she got the telegram on Friday. She was alone when she ended her life.
If it was the mother celebrating her daughters second birthday, the same day she got the telegram her daughter's daddy would never come home again.
It if was the commanding officer of a platoon who was just ambushed with no chance for survival, and he was the only one who survived.
What if it was you? Sitting at home and you were called up. You just got accepted to college and you're leaving home, maybe for good.
What if it was the priest who watched this senseless death and prayed each hour that God would grant mercy for their souls.
What if it was a mother whose five year old boy was killed in a shelling attack, and fell into her arms in pieces?
What if it was the farmer whose land and family vanished in minutes of bombings?
You just can't say what hell is to people. But I know in the time I was in Korea, the war defined endless pain to so many.
Hell must be a terrible place. And War for lack of a better word, is hell on earth. Never can such a thing cause so much pain to so many people. So much death, so much loss. So many daddies not coming home, so many sons never coming home, so many souls never coming home.
War is Hell... an understatement to the men at the front lines, an overwhelming amount of "WHY?" questions, and the question that remains is...will they ever be answered?
