He arises from what could potentially be his muddy grave, knowing it has already consumed many greater than he. 

He asks himself what he has done to be spared from the bombs bursting in air. Luck, supposedly?

Perhaps he was chosen? But by who? 

GOD? He knew his good god could not be this cruel.

His so-called superiors? Couldn't be, for he is nothing more than a pair of boots holding their guns. 

Knowing that this sudden curiosity could be the death of him, he pulls himself up by the bootstraps and heads west. 

The flag, O the glorious flag still waves, calling him and offering him a test. 

Should he choose to accept it, he would be rescued.

He takes a second and sees those who fortune betrayed. 

No other is as lucky, he is alone and afraid. 

The others were brave if not braver than he had been

To not fight for his life now would be a sin

He swims through the bodies of his comrades and sees the flag and tries to escape

Inspired, he crawls forward with a new sense of luck not adding a scrape

He knows there is more life out there but it cannot be seen by his tired eyes

There, basking in the glory of the flag, rests a group of guys

They pull his limp body up and he gets a good look at them, they are unscratched.

They make a mark and set him down, another job well done, but not a question asked.

He is reduced to a scribble, commemorating another courageous rescue.

The Star Spangled Banner yet waves, but for who?