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The captain was right, though, which inevitably led to a mumbled, reluctant concession and an order not to cheat while he was gone. John had always hated the medical tent, having spent enough time there himself to resent that of the multitudes of men that came in, precious few of them walked back out, and even then, still hurting in their minds if not in their bodies. He walked in and past the rows of men, some being treated and others simply comforted for the inevitable silence that was coming for them, past men who would never return to the field of battle and into the back part of the tent where the men who would return were receiving attention. In recent years they have contributed to the Disabled American Veterans Service Foundation to assist the Legislative Programs of the DAV and to the Memorial Honor Roll of Beneficiaries of the Perpetual Rehabilitation Fund. “Sir, are you injured?” His eyes followed the source of the sound, flitting upwards until they locked on hers, chocolate brown streaked with amber and flecked with a hue of gold that made them almost luminous, and most certainly mesmerizing in the effortless way that they exuded the warmth and comfort that he didn’t know he craved until that moment. “You know as well as I do we can’t play around with that type of stuff out here,” his friend retorted right back, and it hadn’t been for that friendship, John would have told him off then and there. He took up residence on the side of one of the cots, toying with the fraying edge of it until a feminine voice pulled him out of the depths of his reverie a good while later. Much could be said about the difficulties the organization encountered in the early struggle to s urvive. “Yeah, considering,” she laughed, gesturing to the messy blonde hair tucked haphazardly beneath her cap and her stained uniform. The others laughed more out of habit than humor, to appease Jack, then slunk off to find a medic or an empty cot in the feeble hope of just a moment of peaceful rest despite the chaos of the world around them that echoed deep into the recesses of their minds. “I’m off too, boss,” Mickey said, leaving John and Jack standing along in the middle of the camp. “That’s a nasty scrape, Doc,” Jack noted when John reached across the table to draw a card, exposing part of a jagged cut that started at his wrist, dipped lower in the middle, and ended just before his elbow. When both men were clean- well, as clean as one can be on the ration of a bucket given then conditions they’d been enduring- they met back up in the center of the camp and split a well-worn deck of cards between them to “continue” their last game more as a play at normality than the game itself, as it had become obvious over the years that the game between the two men of legend would never be over or have a winner, much like the war, it seemed. “You’re beautiful,” he found himself saying, his mind running away with his mouth when it was obviously the least logical response to her question. Their names are legion, many have passed away and even to mention a few would be unfair to all the others, but recognition must be given to the responsible for it all and that is the founder, Volney P. Recognition should be given not only to those who participated in its founding, but to all of those members who worked so hard over the years helping build the N.O.T.R. “Get cleaned up, Captain, and I’ll meet you back here,” John agreed, rolling his eyes at the Captain’s one-finger salute as he headed off in search of a bucket of wash water. We know that membership in this Organization inspired all of them with the incentives to further the w elfare of our disabled comrades and there will always remain in the minds of all members those immortal words. Their names are inscribed in the archives of this Order, they were tried and found true to their trusts, to their obligations and their own consciences. To him and to all of those living and dead who contributed over the sixty years of its existence, this history is dedicated. “Sir?” she repeated for the umpteenth time, a combination of concern and amusement consuming her features. “No, just my arm,” he said, pulling his eyes away from hers and rolling up his sleeve meticulously while he gathered his thoughts. “So what are we seeing you for, then, concussion?” She asked, searching his eyes carefully. “It’s nothing,” John insisted in the abrupt manner that often defined him, his Northern accent giving his words a sharp edge as he tugged his sleeve back down. In the early years of the DAV, when it was in financial trouble and having a difficult time supporting and extending its Service Officer program, the N.O.T.R. black raincoat womens ladies down coat trench coat red long coat women short black trench coat ladies long trench coat rain trench coat for women womens tan trench coat womens beige trench coat trench coats online ladies leather trench coat womens white trench coat ladies trench coat with hood black trench coat with hood coat with hood women hooded red trench coat british trench coat peacoat sale winter trench coat for women women trench coat sale trench coat raincoat spring coats for women trench jacket women padded coats for women ladies coats on sale winter ladies jackets womens sale coats hooded trench coats hooded coats women ladies trench coat sale


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