Clarence Sasser was a quiet kid from Rosharon, Texas

through razor-edged reeds, grabbing men by their harnesses, pulling them out of the water so they wouldn’t drown face-down in the mud.

Then the shrapnel hit.

The explosion threw him backward. When he tried to stand, his legs wouldn’t answer. The wounds had torn through both thighs, immobilizing him completely. The platoon sergeant ordered him to stay continue reading …