I had one rule when I went to war

That was to kill or be killed

During my time in the European theatres

I was a killing machine I spared not one man

Enemy soldiers and prisoners died by my gun

I  also shot dogs rats cats and balcony bats

And then the war ended and I was shipped home

I was given a fucking medal and a reasonable pension

And then decided to become a sports journalist

Thoreau said over coffee and buns one day

That the mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation

Perhaps they did but I liked Thoreau and visited Walden Pond every summer

But unlike Thoreau I did not travel alone as my buddy Frenchie Pike

Joined me every year as he apart from me (obviously) were the only survivors

From our platoon as the others were either killed or simply disappeared

Unlike me Frenchie tried to limit his killing and somehow survived

Before the war he owned a small gas station in Money Mississippi

And had returned to his business somewhat older and richer after the war

He had been in the area when the poor Chicago boy was murdered in 1955

Soon after he sold his business and worked on the railroad for many years

I am invited along with other vets to Germany every year to celebrate (?) and remember the war

For some reason I always go although I do not have happy or bad memories of the conflict

I may be subconsciously apologising for my brutality although I doubt this as I never had any regrets

That was until last year when I was introduced to a woman of my age named Hanna Muller

She had lost her husband late in the war like many other women as the conflict faded

It was as I was leaving that she showed me a battered photograph of a young German soldier

I instantly recognised him as a soldier that I had shot in cold blood (he had abandoned his weapon)

The whole incident took place near a ruined barn where the man had been resting

He stood up with his arms wide (to show that was no longer a threat) and said something that I did not understand

I looked at him for a few seconds then shot him in the face and then looted his body as I was in the habit of doing

Frau Muller spoke good English and told me that her husband had no recorded resting place

It was then that I broke down in tears and after composing myself I told her the whole story

At first she looked shocked but then she stroked my hand lightly and forgave me

She only asked one question and that was if I could remember where her husband died

I told her that I could not remember the exact location but knew the rough area

And that was that she thanked me for the detail and left me totally alone in the memorial hall