Johnny Hutcherson


Look in a soldier’s eyes and you can tell how much blood and war they have seen. The eyes don’t make the soldier look brave, because he couldn’t look brave even if he tried. Still, there is something about a soldier who has seen combat. Their honor comes from the way they live their lives and the respect they show to each other. They are people who have witnessed events beyond others’ imagination. They have feelings that have been molded by unthinkable bravery and fear.

Some are gentlemen and ladies. Some are not. However when they are all together facing cold steel, screaming lead, and enemies that want only to kill them, they keep fighting for each other, themselves, their loved ones, their Country. Some die in the arms of a friend; some die alone in a muddy rice paddy; some make it home and still die alone, maybe in a alley, maybe a lonely bed where a wife or husband once laid beside them but decided to leave. Some die alone and not one person comes to say good bye to them in the end.

Soon they are forgotten… or were they ever remembered? Some are remembered; remembered as that crazy person that lived down the street. They are not remembered for what they did for you and me, and this country. They are remembered as the person they came to be afterward, that came to be because nobody tried to understand, and nobody wanted to see the damage done to them by the war. See that hundred mile stare? It’s there in a Soldier’s Eyes.

Author’s Note: This narrative has been translated into Russian for the Russian Magazine, Art of War