memory

Memory: We lay in our bunks, six to a tier, steel rectangles with canvas laced to form a bed, if bed you could call it. Hundreds of us in the hold, Marines. Ready to leap off when directed and slam our bodies into whatever awaited. Constant thrum of engines, snores, and intermittent farts. We did not care. We were young, brash, and foolish. Which somehow amounts to bravery.