My dad, my stepfather, fought every step of the Pacific and then in Korea and he had Shell Shock, PTSD, and neither I nor any Combat or Close Combat Support Veteran escaped without PTSD. Most of us lie or lied to ourselves about having it ut the nightmares can make it tough to live with us.
My wife stopped a long time ago I woke her up wretching in tears and calling Paul's name, or screaming for some unseen person, one of my men, to get in the d**n hole before they kill you, or many other pleasant memories.
It was '78 before I understood that I was normal and began to talk about it to relieve the pressure and that is the reason I am not the least mad anymore at being trash-canned by my previous three wives. It took my dad two wives to find one able to take his demons and it took Jesus and three attempts, on my own, before Jesus introduced me to the lady He had prepared to be my other half and best friend.
I would, in my old self, I would bet a month's pay that the only Veterans that have ever escaped clean of PTSD were not Combat and were not Close Combat Support. They would be what we, disapprovingly, call Saigon Warriors.
If your best friend has ever exploded five yards in front of you and you had to find a river before you could wash all the pieces of him off or if you've ever found your very best friend blown to pieces with his head looking at you, eyes wide open, from a 105mm Howetzer Shell box that he had used for a bookcase for his paperback novels or if you've ever flown the Commanding General's son, wrapped, only in his plastic parka and then had to land in the shallows of the river to wash the blood and brain matter off your uniform, helmet and off the walls and floorboard, it is likely you dream, over and over.