As an 18-year-old soldier once long ago, lying in the rain and mud with death all around after a newly fought firefight one night, my mind drifted from the pain I just endured and fear; I realized, “am I” fighting for freedom? Am I protecting my country “really”? The enemy soldiers I killed tonight did they deserve to die? Have other soldiers long ago wondered if what they were doing was right? or is it just me. It came to me that some things are more significant than myself, love of my God and country, my family safe in beds far away from harm; what if no man dared to protect the nation? What if fear of death or the love of life was so great not to protect self or wife and kids? When the love of freedom means nothing more than useless words, standing for love of man in battle is never free someone always pays the ultimate price of death. I genuinely love my country; my southern roots run deep with Stonewall Jackson, General Patton, and many other more worthy soldiers than myself. My pride, my strength is stored in the idea the men that died for the freedom of my country run through my veins and heart. I, on returning home, wondered why I was spared and so many others were not, was I saved for the greater good, laying here tonight seeing and reading men in power are wanting more of my freedoms than I am willing to give them, when does the soldier come alive again? The same feeling laying in the rain and mud so many years ago.