Retired Command Sgt. Maj. Samuel Rhodes keeps pictures of the dead in his pockets.
They’re the faces of young soldiers whose eyes stare out resolutely from photocopied pages worn and creased by the ritual of unfolding them, smoothing them flat and refolding them.
They’re the faces of men who, haunted by problems at home or memories of the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan ”” the dead children, the fallen comrades and the lingering smell of burnt flesh ”” pressed guns to their heads and pulled the triggers or tied ropes with military precision and hanged themselves.