Stone Bridge

This is the same bridge from my Infantry and Pre War Memories, and from the 1700s.

It is the summer of 1917 now.  It is late at night. I'm drunk. I'm sitting on my favourite side of the bridge, but this time my legs are over the river. I want to jump in and drown. All I can think about is the carnage and horror that I have seen and partaken in. I think how can a person do such acts? Am I evil? How can anyone love me for what I have done and seen? What will I tell all of the widows and orphans that I made?  How could God let this happen? Could God ever forgive me?  Could my victims forgive me?  Would I forgive a man if he killed me?

I start to lean forward to fall in.  I feel two sets of arms pulling me backwards and tackle me to the ground.  I think they are two pilots that I flew with at one time or another.  They ask me what the hell am I doing.  I tell them I don't want to live.  I can't take the pain anymore. One slaps me across the face and tells me not to be stupid.  He tells me I'm a damn good pilot and I am needed to protect my family and friends. I ask him if he has any more schnapps. He says no. I tell them to get me in bed before I do anything else stupid. We all laugh and head back to where we were staying.