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The Warrior's Code of Honor(Click the image for more detail.)By Paul R. Allen. As a combat veteran wounded in one of America’s wars, I offer to speak for those who cannot.   Were the mouths of my fallen combat friends not stopped with dust, they would testify that life revolves around honor.   In war it is understood that you give your word of honor to do your duty to stand and fight instead of running away and deserting your friends.   When you keep your word despite desperately desiring to flee the screaming hell all around, you earn honor. Earning honor under fire changes who you are.   The blast- furnace of battle burns away impurities encrusting your soul.   The white- hot forge of combat hammers you into a purified, hardened warrior willing to die rather than break your word to friends – your honor. Combat is scary but exciting. You never feel so alive as when being shot at without result. You never feel so triumphant as when shooting back – with result.

You never feel love so pure as that burned into your heart by friends willing to die to keep their word to you. And they do. The biggest sadness of your life is to see friends falling.   The biggest surprise of your life is to survive the war.   Although still alive on the outside, you are dead inside – shot thru the heart with nonsensical guilt for living while friends died.   The biggest lie of your life torments you that you could have done something more, different, to save them.   Their faces are the tombstones in your weeping eyes, their souls shine the true camaraderie you search for the rest of your life but never find. You live a different world now.   You always will. Your world is about waking up night after night screaming, back in battle. Your world is about your best friend bleeding to death in your arms, howling in pain for you to kill him.

Your world is about shooting so many enemies the gun turns red and jams, letting the enemy grab you. Your world is about struggling hand- to- hand for one more breath of life. You never speak of your world.   Those who have seen combat do not talk about it.   Those who talk about it have not seen combat. You come home but a grim ghost of he who so lightheartedly went off to war.   But home no longer exists.   That world shattered like a mirror the first time you were shot at.   The splintering glass of everything you knew fell at your feet, revealing what was standing behind the mirror – grinning Death – and you are face to face, nose to nose with it! The shock was so great that the boy you were died of fright.   He was replaced by a stranger who slipped into your body, a MAN from the Warrior’s World.   In that savage place you give your word of honor to dance with Death instead of running away from it.   This suicidal waltz is known as: “Doing your duty.”You did your duty, survived the dance, and returned home.   But not all of you came back to the civilian world.   Your heart and mind are still in the Warrior’s World, as far away from the civilian world as Mars.   They will always be in the Warrior’s World.   They will never leave, they are buried there.   In that far off hallowed home of honor, life is about keeping your word. Back in the civilian world, however, people have no idea that life is about keeping your word of honor .   They think life is about ballgames, backyards, barbecues, babies and business. Your earning honor under fire; Your blood sacrifice; Your loss of serenity/peace of mind in the hard blast- furnace of battle; bought and paid for their freedom to indulge in this kind of soft civilian thinking.   The distance between the two worlds is as far as Mars from Earth.   This is why, when you come home, you feel like an outsider, a visitor from another planet.

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You are. Friends try to bridge the gaping gap between you.   It is useless.   They may as well look up at the sky and try to talk to a Martian as talk to you.   Words fall like bricks between you.   Serving with Warriors who died proving their word has made prewar friends seem too un- tested to be trusted – thus they are now mere acquaintances. The brutal truth is that earning honor in the white- hot forge of combat hammered the soft civilian you into a hardened Warrior accustomed to dancing the suicidal “Doing your duty” waltz with Death.   This unspeakable,  indescribable, life changing experience picked you up like a whirlwind and hurled you so far away from home that when you come back you feel like a stranger in your own home town, a visitor from another world, alone in a crowd of those you once knew. The only time you do not feel alone is when with another combat veteran.

Only he understands that keeping your word, your honor, whilst standing face to face with Death gives meaning and purpose to life. Only he understands that your terrifying — but thrilling — dance with Death has made your old world of backyards, barbecues and ballgames deadly dull. Only he understands that your way of being due to combat- damaged emotions is not un- usual, but the usual and you are OK, you are NORMAL for what you have been thru — repeat NORMAL!

There are countless hidden costs of combat that Warriors pay.   One is adrenaline addiction.   Most  combat veterans – including this writer – feel that war was the high point of our lives, and emotionally, life has been downhill ever since.   This is because we came home adrenaline junkies.   This was not our idea, we got that way doing our duty in combat situations such as: Crouching in a foxhole waiting for attacking enemy soldiers to get close enough for you to start shooting; Hugging the ground, waiting for the signal to leap up and attack the enemy; Sneaking along on a combat patrol out in no man’s land, seeking a gunfight; Suddenly realizing that you are walking in the middle of a mine field. Circumstances like these skyrocket your feelings of aliveness far above and beyond civilian life: Never have you felt so terrified – yet so thrilled; Never have you seen sky so blue, grass so green, breathed air so sweet, etc.; because waltzing with Death makes you feel stratospheric aliveness from being filled to the brim with adrenaline — pressed down and running over!