Was last year when I and a friend were sitting at a local pub just talking about this and that. Remembering part of our childhood when we use to play with G.I. Joes and what teachers we like and didn’t back in school. Both of us had signed up to be real life G.I. Joes and now it was getting close to our deployment. With my one eighth Irish blood and my buddy being Irish American we had opted for a nice little Irish pub. Here we sat listening to the load of Irish folk music and drinking our Kilkenny when another old classmate came in to join us. He too was also an Irish boy who decided to go into the priesthood. Sounded good for us having a priest among us maybe the man up stairs would see our way home but if not we knew St. Patrick would be waiting for us in heaven. Two days later we were off to the war, both of us were in the same regiment just different companies. Everyday was hell and on occasion we would bump into one another at base camp. Even get lucky a talk all night about getting home to our families and girls. Then came a dreadful day. As I was sitting in my hooch a Sgt. came up and told me to grab my gear. I asked what was up and he said that Bravo Company had come under heavy fire and several men were down, all contact had been lost so we were being sent in to get them out. My heart raced because my buddy, a guy I had known since elementary was in Bravo Company. It was night time by the time we loaded up and started our flight out over the Afghan mountains, as we flew I must have prayed to St. Patrick a thousand time for my buddy and his men safety. We arrived at the site at day break to find the men of Bravo Company huddled up in a cave, a few of their men had taken a bullet or two but the medics did great jobs getting them fixed up. Only one was missing, my buddy. I took a small patrol up a near by knoll and there we found his tags, his tracks were wiped away by about a dozen other footprints. My heart sank thinking that my bud had been captured and taken away. As the sun cleared the mountain peaks one of my men asked if we heard something. We all fell silent and then I heard a low voice saying a Petition to St. Patrick. With two men I climbed down a steep ravine to find my friend knelling in a little dugout. He looked at me and smiled saying I owe you a drink lad you found a lost sheep and it be St. Paddy’s Day. I looked at my watch and low and behold it was St. Patrick’s day. I couldn’t, we couldn’t control the joy and the tears in our eyes as we embraced. My buddy was lucky and protected by St. Patrick because in his whole ordeal he only suffered a broken foot and minor scraps.