I give my thanks to all who have served.
My dad served in France during WWII. He drove a tank recovery vehicle. Essentially a Sherman tank with a wrecker boom fitted instead of a turret.
He never talked about his experiences much. In retrospect, I can understand why. The implications of dragging in a disabled tank are not pleasant.
The only story I remember him telling was about when he took off his glasses, one morning, to shave. Layed them on the tread of a tank he was standing next to.
While he was shaving, the tank drove off and ran over them. He just said that he was grateful that he was not wearing them at the time.
May God bless you all, and chase the demons away.
(I originally posted this on Pennocks, but I figure it may be appropriate here, as well. Peace.)
