Old Mike Kowalski gathered his family in the living room—children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren. He held a photograph in his trembling hands.
"This is my squad," he said quietly. "We broke through the German lines together. We fought through hell together."
He pointed at each face. "Danny. Leo. James. And me. Three survived. One didn't."
His great-granddaughter, young and curious, asked, "Why are you telling us this, Grandpa?"
"Because you need to know. War is terrible. It takes everything—youth, hope, life itself. But peace is possible. My enemy became my friend. That's the
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