I thought of a story that by two friends who were literally inseparable, they did everything together.

And then World War I beckoned. And so they enlisted together. They trained together.

And then they were shipped overseas together. And then they were fighting in the

European theater side by side together. And on one particular day as the battle was heating

and there was a withering firepower. One of the friends was asked to go further from the trenches.

But the rest of them can see how he was wounded,

and it looked like so serious, a fatal wound.

And the friend who was in the trenches immediately wanted to jump

and go to help him until the sergeant yanked him back.

And he said, then what are you doing? Are you crazy? You're going to get yourself killed.

You can't do that. He's already dead.

When the sergeant turned his back, a few minutes later, the friend ran toward his friend, who was now dying.

And a few minutes later, the man who ran to rescue his friend was himself wounded seriously and fatally.

But he came back to the trenches,

carrying his dead friend on his shoulder.

And the sergeant was betwixted, between anger and deeply moved by such incredible friendship.

Looked at the man in the trenches, he said, he's dead and you are dying. It just was not worth it.

And with his last breath, the friend said, oh, it was, Sarge.

Yes, it was.

Because when I got there, the last words, he said,

I knew you would come, Jim.

I knew you would come.

...