If you think this has a happy ending, you haven’t been paying attention.
'I've learned there's two types of people in Iraq: those who are very good, and those who are dead. I'm very good. I've lost 20 pounds, shaved my head, started smoking, my feet are half rotted off, and I move from filthy hole to filthy hole every night. I see dead children and people everywhere, and function in a void of indifference. I keep you and our daughter locked deep inside, and I try not to look there.' Dawg, you think that's too harsh?
Just to be clear, sir, you’re punishing me on the suspicion I may have taken something, the very existence of which you denied, something that, if it did exist, would rightfully belong to me anyway.
The only hope you have is to accept the fact that you’re already dead. The sooner you accept that, the sooner you’ll be able to function as a soldier is supposed to function: without mercy, without compassion, without remorse. All war depends upon it.
Three weeks in Holland and the guys are already calling him foxhole Norman.