The flag rippled and fluttered in the
wind, catching the eye of Command Sergeant Major Hill. Another
Veterans Day, he thought, and I'm still here. The number
of stars on the flag had changed since the first days at Benning,
when CSM Hill was PVT Hill. He had been just too young for Iraq and
Afghanistan, but he had caught the next one. It had been a short but
brutal affair, in a country no one would have predicted in the days
of the War on Terror.
He wore the combat patch on his right
shoulder. It was from an old division, one that had cased its colors
nearly two decades ago. In fact, CSM
Hill had the distinction of being the last remaining soldier in the
Army to have a combat patch at all. The world had changed after the
bombs fell, and concerns had turned homeward.
There
were other veterans, to be sure, those who, like CSM Hill, had seen
cities disappear and borders change. They, however, had all moved on
to civilian life, to retirement, to regular careers. CSM Hill stayed
on, though his mandatory retirement age was drawing near.
Decades of peace
could be hard on a soldier, though his wife, kids, and grand-kids
were glad to have him around. And there was always something to do.
Soldiers these days were soft, not like in the old days. CSM Hill
gave the flag a sharp salute, and continued on his way, rolling on as
the Army ever had and ever would.
