Shared suffering, he thought with satisfaction. It cemented relationships, built teams. These soldiers had each others’ backs by the nature of their deployment. But sweating through the dusty desert duty, the physical discomfort of deployment, missing everyone and everything that was important “back home” forged a different, deeper bond. They were brothers and sisters in a camo colored, duct-taped family that battled both boredom and life and death situations.

Aldo took this connection as seriously as he did the rigorous Guard training. To him, a good soldier didn’t only know how to tear down and rebuild their M-4. A good soldier loved the unit, thrived on the discomfort, and pushed all the harder because of it.

He set the example that he needed his team to live up to. Strength, positivity, loyalty. A whistle blew, and a cheer roared through the rag-tag crowd gathered at the finish line. O’Connell, a long-legged, battle-tested Irishman whose credits included amateur mixed martial arts titles, crossed the finish line six feet in front of the next closest competitor as he’d been favored to do.

Toward the end of the requisite thirty minutes of rest for the winner, the chant began.

“Mor-et-ta. Mor-et-ta.” The crowd increased and the chanting grew louder. This was their version of fun. A half-mile obstacle sprint in eight-million-degree heat under the unrelenting sun.

Aldo had a title to defend. Once every month or so during deployment, he organized the course, and he challenged the winner to a rematch. And he won. Always. Not because he was the fastest or the strongest. But he never let the possibility of losing enter his stubborn mind. He believed in victory.

His athleticism was well-honed, his body toned and trained or performance. It was as much a part of him as his loyalty. He was fast, strong, and ruthless. Characteristics, capabilities that served him well in all areas of his life.

It was his job to be the best, to set the example.

He crossed the hundred yards of dust and rocks, rolling his shoulders, stretching his chest as he went. O’Connell met him with a grim handshake. There were no trophies at stake. Just pride, which, to Aldo, was worth more than any award.

Second Lieutenant Steph Oluo gave them both a nod. “Gentleman,” she began grandly into the megaphone. “Once through the course. First one to cross the finish line wins. Any questions?”

There were none. Neither competitor wanted to waste their oxygen on words.

The crowd, half exhausted from 12-hour shifts and the other half just getting ready to begin another monotonous day, picked their favorites, alternating between cheers and trash talk.

He wouldn’t change a damn thing.

Aldo went through the course once more in his head. It was a circle, ending where it began, but between start and finish was a half mile and six obstacles. Aldo gave his quads one final stretch, feeling the muscle fire up under the strain.