Not Ranked
427, thank you. My dad was a hull gunner in a Sherman tank in Belgium in WWII. He was standing outside of a building when a furious mortar attack came in, killing everyone around him and leaving him with legs full of shrapnel. A bunch of his college buddies he enlisted with were killed, and to add insult to injury (literally) he was initially reported KIA to his parents. Typically for his (greatest) generation he would not talk about it; it took me 62 years to finally get him to tell me his story. When I was a kid I would occasionally see him picking at his legs with tweezers; I never thought anything about it. I asked him about it later and he casually mentioned that, over 30 years after his injury, shards of metal would still work their way to the surface of his skin.
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