I grew up surrounded by veterans and military "stuff." My father served in the Navy in WWII. He qualified at Sharpshooter level on the M1, shot at the top of his class, carried his company's guidon, and took the salute of General George Patton when the general visited the facility. My father was the kind of guy who was interested in... well, pretty much everything. I grew up with Churchill's The Second World War series in the bookshelf as well as many other related titles. We had Milsurp rifles around the house and my father taught his sons to shoot and respect them. I wanted to serve in the military but the timing wasn't right: the post-Vietnam draw-down was happening and even the recruiters were advising everyone to step back. I served in an Air Force auxiliary, got to fly courtesy of the Military Airlift Command, and caught a love of all things olive drab. Churchill said, "Nothing in life is so exhilarating as to be shot at without result." One of my humorous stories is that while wearing the country's uniform I had the distinct honor of being spit at... and missed. It was the era.
So there it is, poor stuff at best.
Bob