We are a commune of inquiring, skeptical, politically centrist, capitalist, anglophile, traditionalist New England Yankee humans, humanoids, and animals with many interests beyond and above politics. Each of us has had a high-school education (or GED), but all had ADD so didn't pay attention very well, especially the dogs. Each one of us does "try my best to be just like I am," and none of us enjoys working for others, including for Maggie, from whom we receive neither a nickel nor a dime. Freedom from nags, cranks, government, do-gooders, control-freaks and idiots is all that we ask for.
In war time we tend to romanticize soldiers into a sort of superhuman status. Alas, soldiers are merely human and subject to all the faults of other humans. I was a soldier, albeit I was lucky enough never to have been in combat. I generally liked the soldiers I served with. My Military Occupational Specialty (MOS) was 1542, which can be googled.
Some poets have created versus of non-support for troops. Here is an example. I wonder if this one (a very distorted and unmodern tantrum) by Thomas Love Peacock is discussed at West Point?
THE MOUNTAIN sheep are sweeter,
But the valley sheep are fatter;
We therefore deem’d it meeter
To carry off the latter.
We made an expedition; 5
We met an host and quell’d it;
We forced a strong position
And kill’d the men who held it.
On Dyfed’s richest valley,
Where herds of kine were browsing, 10
We made a mighty sally,
To furnish our carousing.
Fierce warriors rush’d to meet us;
We met them, and o’erthrew them:
They struggled hard to beat us, 15
But we conquer’d them, and slew them.
As we drove our prize at leisure,
The king march’d forth to catch us:
His rage surpass’d all measure,
But his people could not match us. 20
He fled to his hall-pillars;
And, ere our force we led off,
Some sack’d his house and cellars,
While others cut his head off.
We there, in strife bewildering, 25
Spilt blood enough to swim in:
We orphan’d many children
And widow’d many women.
The eagles and the ravens
We glutted with our foemen: 30
The heroes and the cravens,
The spearmen and the bowmen.
We brought away from battle,
And much their land bemoan’d them,
Two thousand head of cattle 35
And the head of him who own’d them:
Ednyfed, King of Dyfed,
His head was borne before us;
His wine and beasts supplied our feasts,
And his overthrow, our chorus. 40
What are the drab little anti-war lyrics of Dylan, Seeger, et al compared to this?