In the early days of the Civil War, a young farm boy set down his plow and joined up with his two brothers to fight. He soon fell after being tested at Shiloh, dying young and childless.

Years later, another man left an Ohio River town, took up a rifle and fought on the battlefields of Europe. He came home, rarely speaking of the war.

Why they went, what they witnessed and discovered within themselves, nobody will ever know. The young farmer was my Great-Great Uncle Eli. The second man was my Grandpa Austin.

My grandpa returned briefly to the Appalachian foothills but soon left, as if they could no longer contain him. Only once did he speak of the war: My aunt had chastised him on his driving and he shot back with, “I drove all over Europe at night with no headlights on and Nazis shooting at me. Don't tell me how to drive.” That was it. No letters or conversations left to share. His dog tags and a picture hang in my office.

Insight sometimes arrives in the form of a soldier's letter, written at a time when the world around them grew desperate and small.

Last week, Fort Sam Houston hosted New York Times best-selling writer Andrew Carroll to speak at the Army Ball. He has appeared on major news network, and periodicals, and two documentaries are based on his work (one nominated for an Oscar). America's wars serve as pieces of our national identity, and Carroll's Legacy Project helps complete the puzzle by publishing the voices of those who served.

Mr. Carroll does not write novels. In fact, most stories in his books were written by the hands of others who served in all our country's wars. The thousands of letters he has collected — some written eloquently, others hastily scribbled — reveal moments from another lifetime.

Combat provides fertile ground for stories — with innocence stripped away, men and women write in unvarnished prose. The letters speak of friendships forged between men who bared their souls in foxholes; anxious civilians trapped between fighting armies; wives made widows or children orphans; messages from the home front to the front lines and men and women returning to a world somehow different than when they first left. The pages cover a galaxy of war stories.

Written with honesty, the letters spin thoughts into a tapestry and transport us to those moments when the world exploded in a violent spectacle which betrayed innocent eyes. The words are textured with emotion and clarity, before time or a bullet claimed them for eternity.

Somewhere in those lines is my friend Dave who died in Tal Afar, my grandfather in the Bulge, or my Uncle Eli before his life spilled out and he slipped the bonds of this earth. I know the dead are resurrected when I read their words.

These letters provide a bridge to past generations that evince a re-evaluation of how we view their service. They are their stories, but ours too that serve as threads in the fabric that have helped heal a wounded nation. In these pages, we discover something of ourselves.