This story was originally published by Daily Montanan: URL: https://dailymontanan.com This story has not been altered or edited. (C) Daily Montanan. Licensed for re-distribution through Creative Commons license CC BY-NC-ND 4.0. ------------ Who among us? – Daily Montanan ['More From Author', 'March', 'Ed Saunders'] Date: 2022-03-07 00:00:00 The winter day was cold. Montana cold. Frigid. Snow lingered. Brilliant sunshine and clear skies fooled people, making them believe warmth would come. It didn’t. Distant mountains and vast prairies surrounded the United States national cemetery on a high ridge overlooking a scenic river valley. Quiet conversations began among the elderly few gathering again at the cemetery to render final honors at the burial of an honorably served but forgotten military veteran. Prairie winds came from the West, lifting and straining the large American flag flying at half-staff on a silvery mast extending 60 feet above the cemetery. The flag snapped in the wind, sounding as muted distant gunfire. Heads raised toward the flag as resolute and proud eyes squinted into the cold, sun, and winds. On ornate staffs, a four-person color guard unfurled an American flag and other veteran flags. The color guard struggled as winds seized and wrenched the flags they held. A contest of wills came: Man versus the elements. Man versus his thoughts. Man versus his heart. A bugler stood alone at attention in the snow. He held a battered, century-old bugle, ready to sound the 24-note mournful tune “Taps,” a sad melody he had sounded more than 5,000 times at other veterans’ funerals. Cold challenged his lungs, his bugle, and his resolve. He could have used a modern bugle with a digital recording of Taps sounding through a speaker inserted in the horn. He didn’t. The modern digital bugle lacked emotion and wouldn’t require his lungs—and above all, his heart. A six-man rifle detail in bold uniforms wearing immaculate white gloves stood in precision rank. They were one man short of the needed seven. The seventh man couldn’t attend the ceremony. No replacements available. Seven rifles, firing three times in unison, would have made for the honored 21-rounds in a final salute. Six rifles firing three times would have to do. Eighteen rounds fired. Yes, three rounds short, but who was counting in the cold? At Montana’s only open national cemetery, sometimes the mourners know the deceased, sometimes not. That mattered little. By statute, a veteran is defined as a “person who served in the active military, naval, or air service, and who was discharged or released therefrom under conditions other than dishonorable.” The deceased was a military veteran, a member of the brotherhood and sisterhood of arms. The code of caring for each other existed unto death and beyond. Adversity bonds people, especially in military units serving in war. Combat experiences, in particular traumatic experiences, bring veterans closer to the ones they served alongside. The tie that binds. The common bond on America’s battlefields and now many times in its cemeteries. On that winter day in Montana the color guard, bugler, and rifle detail were aged, and many times disabled. They waged a relentless battle against time. How long could they continue rendering these honors in blizzard and heat? Who would replace them? No one knew. These veterans rendering a final farewell at the national cemetery that day were retired — fixed income pensioners with time on their hands– fellows who gathered at Thursday morning breakfasts in small town cafes. Over hot coffee and eggs, they laughed and talked of life, fish stores, the tyrannies of age, and a time long ago on distant shores when they shouldered rifles, steered boats in rough seas, fixed broken flight line engines, and became men at too young an age. As their coffee cooled, the morning laughter quieted as the fellows talked of their dwindling numbers and funerals of their friends. The U.S. Department of Veterans Affairs reports America has more than 18 million living veterans, including an increasing number of women veterans. The number slowly declines as burials increase. Veterans earned and are entitled to burial benefits. By law, when requested, military units are required to provide, at a minimum, a two-person uniformed detail to present the core elements of a military funeral honors ceremony. This includes playing Taps by a military member or civilian volunteer, and the folding and presentation of the American flag. The law does not mandate a color guard or rifle detail. Volunteers provide these on their good graces and their good time. But volunteers who are willing and able to provide extended funeral honors also decline in number. A new generation of younger veterans now fills the ranks from a decades-long unending war on yet another distant shore. Younger veterans have jobs and families. Their free time is limited–their communities often built with smart phones and ephemeral internet sites. Thursday morning breakfasts might not be on today’s menu for younger veterans, but it will years from now. Death and aging are as relentless as Montana wind. Every generation of America’s finest in military uniform, in time, begin attending funerals of their fellow veterans. Funeral honors are expected, but from whom? By necessity, the older generation of veterans now looks to the next veteran generation to take the guidon of honor, sound the bugle, and shoulder arms once again to fire the final volley at veterans’ funerals. On that quiet, cold, and demanding day at the national cemetery, on the high plains of Montana, the bugler fought the cold. He clipped a note, he missed it. Emotion does that now and then. He, the color guard, and the rifle detail, all volunteers, tried as best they could to render final honors. They were without excuse. At a veteran’s funeral, who among us can say that? [END] [1] Url: https://dailymontanan.com/2022/03/07/who-among-us/ Content is licensed through Creative Commons license CC BY-NC-ND 4.0. via Magical.Fish Gopher News Feeds: gopher://magical.fish/1/feeds/news/montanan/