You have to watch your step. The bodies that so many had become are gummy bits and pieces all across the stone. They splat- tered easily as mucus forms. From its formation in the north of England, our wholehearted column – mostly volunteers that swelled the ranks of regulars – by far was capable of breaking down the gears of tyranny's machine with one long march, to strike the tool of misery where it encamped in our Hibernia. The arch- usurper could not stand against us. Shit. It all was shit. Like Jacobites, we came to love a cause to blindness. We're to blame. I still recall the rhetoric. And if I let my heart be so disposed, why sure – I'd resurrect the way it felt – the cliff we toppled off, unseen in such a pur- ity of passion. Stupid pure, is what I'd call it now. You know the way it works – this universe. We started out in guts- and-glory Eighteenth-Century: the dirks and flintlocks; cockades on our bonnets; plaid clan kilts; those mass attack formations in a column, tight and disciplined to mad- ly die for duty. Human bowling pins. That's what we were, and glad of it. The long trek north would change us... as it all went wrong... What were we thinking? Going north? You know how time and dream and space get fuddled up the father north you go! The column's slow progression left us open – like a cup you drink from unaware of who had sipped from it – and it was Typhoid Mary. We would start to change – one here, one there. We slipped so slowly from an army, by degree, that – muddled up in dream – we failed to see what we'd become. It all seemed natural... the tentacles... the life forms made of brie with eyes like caviar... We drank in-full... I've wondered, since, what agent lured us in to our own choice of ruin just to win... At last we reached the stretch of coast, beyond which were the enemy encampments. We were just as passionate as when we'd donned these uniforms and arms. Between the sea and coastal crags, a narrow strip of stone allows a man or two to step across the scree and clinging life that's somehow grown in salt-spray – stubborn, hardy, bits of moss that even manages to cling to life despite the scouring of storm-waves. Just a few survive, wedged deep in cracks a knife- blade hardly fits. A knife-blade, though, will rust. This narrow strip of stone became, for those of us who passed, the act come to its close. Our train, by now, was straggling in groups of twos and threes, around a core command of fifty. What was once ten-thousand troops now numbered in the hundreds – who could stand on human legs, I mean. The column teemed with things like jellyfish that rode on carts and ponies – ectoplasma shapes undreamed in Jacobean Scotland – trailing parts that rose in greeting to a longtime friend, perhaps, for those with any brain left, and a memory of what they were. Append- ages were plentiful, though none could stand. To us this all seemed natural, the way it always had been. Normal. Everyday... It happened I was first to reach the ledge of shelving on the cliff-face dropping to the sea. It stretched a quarter-mile – the edge precipitous. But still, we'd manage through the tumbled rock, and moss that made it hard to keep your footing. Others had arrived as I had stopped to check my gear, and start- ed easing out along the ledge. I tried to hurry, but had been a soldier long enough to know to be prepared for what might just be waiting for us. Quite a throng, by now, had formed, my window clearly shut. And as I'd feared, the firing began – our soldiers fed to it as though by plan. As more recruits arrived, and tried to reach the fighting, each would trail the one before with hardly any shoving. Yet, as each impelled the other forward – many more than possibly could fit on one slim ledge – of course men fell. The jellies made it worse. Abandoned carts too wide for us to wedge onto the narrow shelf were interspersed with milling masses – not all men. The ec- toplasma one-time soldiers -- those with some mean structure to their flaccid jelly – trekked their way to war, like those they were among. The press of troops... combined with slimy goo the jellies trailed... then add an ambush, too... We never had a chance. But we were deep in latitude conditioning, way down among the trees. What’s more, we climbed to steep- er latitudes. Who doesn’t run aground on nightmare sometimes when in transit? We sure did! Thank God the latitude set in as quickly as it did. As clarity began to reassert – the muddle, thin – I stood in horror at the thought of all we’d done. An attribute this latitude has (once again, thank God) is prime recall of universal law – and that there was no feud! I had to stop the fighting. Only I could see the forest. No one else need die! As scientists, we thought our knowledge made us differ

George H. O’Brien, Jr. (September 10, 1926 – March 11, 2005) was a United States Marine Corps officer who was awarded the Medal of Honor, the United States's highest military decoration, for conspicuous gallantry as a second lieutenant for spearheading the capture of an enemy-held hill while wounded by enemy fire during the Korean War. He was decorated by President Dwight D. Eisenhower during a White House ceremony on October 27, 1953, exactly one year to the day after the heroic action for which he was cited. Contents [hide] George Herman O’Brien, Jr. was born on September 10, 1926 in Fort Worth, Texas. He graduated from high school in Big Spring, Texas in 1944. From December 1944 until May 1946, he was a seaman in the United States Merchant Marine. He then entered Texas Technological College (now Texas Tech University) where he received a Bachelor of Science degree in Geology in May 1950. While in college, he enlisted as a private in the United States Marine Corps Reserve in July 1949. Ordered to active duty on November 27, 1951, he entered the Officer Candidate School at Quantico, Virginia. He completed that course in February 1952, and entered the Basic Course the following month, graduating in August 1952. After further training at Camp Pendleton, California, he embarked for Korea in September 1952, where he joined the 1st Marine Division. He was promoted to major in the Reserve in 1963. Major O'Brien died from complications associated with emphysema and pneumonia on March 11, 2005 in Midland, Texas. He was buried in the Texas State Cemetery in Austin, Texas. In addition to the Medal of Honor, he held the Purple Heart with Gold Star in lieu of a second award, the Korean Service Medal with two bronze stars, and the United Nations Service Medal. On April 14, 2005, the Texas State House unanimously passed a House Resolution honoring George H. O'Brien, Jr.[1] In turn, on April 15, 2005, the Texas State Senate adopted Senate Resolution Number 399, "In Memory of George Herman O'Brien, Jr.", recognizing[2] [edit]Medal of Honor citation The President of the United States takes pleasure in presenting the MEDAL OF HONOR to SECOND LIEUTENANT GEORGE H. O'BRIEN, JR. UNITED STATES MARINE CORPS RESERVE for service as set forth in the following CITATION: For conspicuous gallantry and intrepidity at the risk of his life above and beyond the call of duty as a Rifle Platoon Commander of Company H, Third Battalion, Seventh Marines, First Marine Division (Reinforced), in action against enemy aggressor forces in Korea on 27 October 1952. With his platoon subjected to an intense mortar and artillery bombardment while preparing to assault a vitally important hill position on the main line of resistance which had been overrun by a numerically superior enemy force on the preceding night, Second Lieutenant O'Brien leaped from his trench when the attack signal was given and, shouting for his men to follow raced across an exposed saddle and up the enemy-held hill through a virtual hail of deadly small-arms, artillery and weapon fire. Although shot through the arm and thrown to the ground by hostile automatic-weapons fire as he neared the well-entrenched enemy position, he bravely regained his feet, waved his men onward and continued to spearhead the assault, pausing only long enough to go to the aid of a wounded Marine. Encountering the enemy at close range, he proceeded to hurl hand grenades into the bunkers and, utilizing his carbine to best advantage in savage hand-to-hand combat, succeeded in killing at least three of the enemy. Struck down by the concussion of grenades on three occasions during the subsequent action, he steadfastly refused to be evacuated for medical treatment and continued to lead his platoon in the assault for a period of nearly four hours, repeatedly encouraging his men and maintaining superb direction of the unit. With the attack halted, he set up a defense with his remaining forces to prepare for a counterattack, personally checking each position, attending to the wounded and expediting their evacuation. When a relief of the position was effected by another unit, he remained to cover the withdrawal and to assure that no wounded were left behind. By his exceptionally daring and forceful leadership in the face of overwhelming odds, Second Lieutenant O'Brien served as a constant source of inspiration to all who observed him and was greatly instrumental in the recapture of a strategic position on the main line of resistance. His indomitable determination and valiant fighting spirit reflect the highest credit upon himself and enhance the finest traditions of the United States Naval Service. /S/ DWIGHT D. EISENHOWER [edit]Quotes "This Medal of Honor is not mine; I hold it in trust for so many young people who didn't become grandfathers."[3] — George H. O'Brien, Jr. Wikipedia