Abraham Beem grew up in the twenties and thirties in the US and became a man just in time to get shipped off to WWII Europe. He was always a smart kid, with a fascination for planes, and wanted to become a pilot. He liked to build model airplanes, and his dad built garage doors. Unfortunately, his imperfect vision prevented him from achieving his dream and he was shipped to Germany as an infantryman.
He end up marching through German countryside, through beautiful hills and gentle forests, until they clashed with the German army over a bridge in Poland. His brigade took heavy losses, and the captain of his team ordered a retreat. Abraham was out of ammo anyway, and they have to get out of there quick.
That’s when he looked down and found that he’d been shot in the guts. He couldn’t run and he knows making them drag him will get them all killed. So as the others withdraw, he said to his buddy, hey, pass me your side-arm. His friend tossed him the pistol as the rest retreated. The last time they saw him alive, he was propping himself up at the end of the bridge and spinning the eight rounds in the gun.
When the team traversed the bridge again the next day, he was still leaning against the post, eyes closed, clutching the empty pistol, whose bullets were now embedded in the eight dead German soldiers that lay scattered around him.