There is a war between good and evil.

And there are just wars.

The people who are called to fight on behalf of the place they happened to be born, or the politically correct beliefs of the time, face conflict within as well as without.

They fight for peace, for what they believe or hope is right and good, using violence as their weapon.

Most soldiers who return from conflict are forever damaged by what they have done and what they did not stop. Some are successful at burying it so deep it cannot be seen, but it is there.

Their inner lives are defined by a few moments of violence.

For most, this knowledge lurks as a shadow on the edges of their self, threatening, should they let their guard down.

Some, far fewer, remember those moments as the only times in their lives when they had pure focus. In the midst of violence, a kind of peace.

For some, transcendence.

They bring the memory of those lost treasured moments of release back with them, to both sustain and eat away at them for the rest of their lives.

Better hope they find some other sanctioned and useful path back, at least occasionally.