In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved, and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders Fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die

We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders Fields.
- John McCrae, December 8, 1915

Hugh Thompson, Jr.
(April 15, 1943 – January 6, 2006)

In 1998, Hugh Thompson, Glenn Andreotta, and Lawrence Colburn were awarded the Soldier's Medal (Andreotta posthumously), the United States of America's highest award for bravery not involving direct contact with the enemy. The award was for their actions in March 1968 at the Vietnamese village of My Lai.

Major General Michael Ackerman said at the ceremony: "It was the ability to do the right thing even at the risk of their personal safety that guided these soldiers to do what they did. The three set the standard for all soldiers to follow." U.S. Senator, Max Cleland, triple amputee Vietnam veteran, applauded these veterans as, "true examples of American patriotism at its finest."
________________________________

Ian Fishback
(January 19, 1979 - November 19, 2021)
When is a war just, when does a soldier have a moral obligation to disobey an order, what limits a soldier in doing harm and in allowing harm to be done?
________________________

John McCain
Naval Aviator, Vietnam POW, U.S. Senator, Global Statesman of Conscience, Fairness & Principle
(August 29, 1936 - August 25, 2018)
"I've made more mistakes than most anybody you will ever know. But one thing has guided me.....
that was do the right thing, do it honorably and you will never go wrong."
_____________________________

U.S. Senator Tammy Duckworth
Retired Lt. Colonel US Army

"If one person can come out of their shell and realize they
     can get better rather than bitter, then all I've done will have been
     worth it."

     --Max Cleland (1942-2021): Author, Professor, U.S. Senator, former director, U.S. Veterans Administration, Vietnam Veteran, triple amputee___________________

Pat Tillman
(November 6, 1976 – April 22, 2004) 
“Somewhere inside, we hear a voice. It leads us in the direction of the person we wish to become. But it is up to us whether or not to follow.”

A National Football League (NFL) player, who at the height of his well-paid career gave it up and in June 2002 enlisted in the United States Army in the aftermath of the September 11 attacks. Tillman joined the Army Rangers and served several tours in combat before he was killed in the mountains of Afghanistan by friendly fire. 

Poem: Punch December 8, 1915

Wilfred Owen
(March 18, 1893- November 4, 1918)

From the BBC: http://www.bbc.com/ww1

"Dulce Et Decorum Est"

Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of disappointed shells that dropped behind.

GAS! Gas! Quick, boys!-- An ecstasy of fumbling,
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
And floundering like a man in fire or lime.--
Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.

In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.

If in some smothering dreams you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,--
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori.