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Craig Handler, 5 March 2013

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Brothers In Arms: Hell's Highway

18 September 1944. This is the day I found God. I found Him as I hugged a stonewall next to a ditch on the road to Groesbeek Heights. It's ironic that the closer you are to death, the closer you come to really experiencing life. Despite the erupting world around me, the tall grass swaying in the wind became greener and the clear sky became more blue. The smell of mother earth filled my nostrils and reminded me of the creek bed near my home in the North Georgia Foothills. The machine guns hammered and bullets zinged and cracked over my head. Bits of stone and dirt, kicked up from near misses to sting me in the face. Over it all, I could still hear my mother calling me to come in for supper. It wasn't the bullets, or even the explosions that awoke me from my revery. No, it was the screams. The screams of the dying. I hugged that stonewall just a little closer and gripped my rifle so tight my knuckles lost all color and turned to white. Yes, and I began to pray. I began to pray for the first time in my life. "God, please let me live just one more day. Let me see just one more sunrise and feel the touch of a soft breeze against my face."



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