It's a terrible name. Friendly fire is anything but. I cannot imagine that the reassurance that the bullets came from a comrade eases the pain for those left behind. The heartbreaking stats are that one in five injuries in WWII, a third of those in Vietnam, and over half of the casualties in the Gulf War were a result of guns fired by their own side. I need to have a moment of silence as I let that sink in. 

What would it feel like to have accidentally wounded, or killed a member of your own army? What might an infantryman do to exonerate himself? Apologize? Make excuses? Lie? 

I have not nor do I ever expect to hold a gun. But I do own weapons that inflict pain. My judgments. Contempt. Blame. What is the rate of not so friendly fire in my home? The precious tribe of people I love more than anything? Does the justification of "it's for their own good" lessen the bleed? Or the armor of self defense sanctify revenge? 

I think I can say without deceit that the cross fire has diminished over time. But it is not gone. If there is one meager consolation in the horror of war, it is to give visible proof of the wretched crack of unleashed anger. It is enough to render me silent.