I saw an old soldier at the nursing home today. He was sitting in a wheelchair, slowly making his way down the hall to play bingo. Judging by his age and the tattoos on his arms he had been in WW2. This was not a frail man, he still had some muscle tone in his arms. And as he gently put his hands on the wheels, he looked up at me as I walked by. I saw in his face, the face of a soldier determined to climb that last hill into battle.