I read the story of two friends in World War I who were inseparable. They had enlisted together, trained together, were shipped overseas together, and fought side-by-side in the trenches. During an attack, one of the men was critically wounded in a field filled with barbed wire obstacles. He was unable to crawl back to his foxhole. The entire area was under enemy crossfire, and it was suicidal to try to reach him. Yet his friend decided to do just that. The sergeant told him, "It’s too late. You can’t do him any good, and you’ll only get yourself killed." But the man went anyway. He returned a few minutes later, carrying his friend. But he himself had been mortally wounded. The sergeant was both angry and deeply
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