I did spend some time thinking about my grandfather today. During the 11th hour of the 11th day in the 11th month of 1918 he was at a U.S. Army training camp where he was learning to be a machine gunner. He never saw action, but if he had been sent to Europe during WWI as a machine gunner he would have been on the front line. There still is an old rusting rifle in the attic at Mom's house that I was told was Gramp's army issued WWI rifle.
I also thought of my Dad. He was an Army corporal in Korea during the conflict there. For medical reasons, he wasn't allowed to be on the front lines. So one of his duties was his driving a supply truck back and forth from the front lines (Army logic). While I know the stories he repeatedly told by heart, he never talked about any fighting he must have seen. The closest story he told of the danger he faced was his driving an 18-wheeled truck on a road that was supposed to have been cleaned of mines. It wasn't. While the amount of tires he had left when he got to his destination changed with each telling of the story he almost certainly didn't have anywhere near the full amount of 18 tires left on his truck when he got where he was supposed to be.