“The army taught me just as much as the Marines taught you,” Steve shot back. “Don’t give me any of your Marine Corps bullshit.”

“Well, we’re not going to carry the stuff in there on D day without having reconnoitered the place,” Curt said. “It’s got to go into the HVAC induction. We got to make sure we can get access.”

Steve nervously glanced up at the huge building. “But we got the plans,” he said. “We know it’s on the third floor.”

“Jesus Christ!” Curt exclaimed. He threw up his hands, including the one holding his clipboard. “No wonder you washed out of the Green Berets. Are you going to chicken out on me?”

In contrast to their desultory academic careers, both men had excelled in their respective branches of the service. Curt had gone to Camp Pendleton in California, while Steve had gone to Fort Bragg in North Carolina. Both had risen quickly to the ranks of non-commissioned officers. The regimentation and sense of purpose excited them, and they became model gung-ho, spit-and-polish soldiers. Of particular interest to each was any kind of ordnance, especially assault rifles and handguns. Both became decorated marksmen.

The two buddies corresponded infrequently over the years. Being in different branches of the service and stationed on different coasts was a barrier to their friendship. The only times they got together were on the rare occasions when their leaves happened to coincide, and they met up in Bensonhurst. Then it was like old times, and they traded “war stories.” Both had participated in the Gulf War.

Although neither Curt nor Steve had said as much, they both assumed the military would be their careers. But it was not to be; ultimately both were disappointed by their respective branches.

Curt’s experience was the more troubling. He’d risen to a position of leadership in the training of recruits for an elite Marine reconnaissance team. During a particularly grueling night maneuver and on specific orders from Curt to keep up, a recruit died. A subsequent inquiry implicated Curt as being responsible for a portion of the blame. Nothing was said about the fact that the man shouldn’t have been in the program. He was a “mama’s boy” who’d been accepted only because his father was a Washington bigwig.

Although Curt wasn’t punished per se, the incident tarnished his record and precluded further advancement. He was devastated and ultimately furious over the episode. He felt the government had let him down after he had given his all for his country. When the time for his next reenlistment came up, Curt took an early out.

Steve’s experience had been different. After a lengthy and frustrating application process, he’d finally been accepted into Green Beret training, only to have to drop out during the initial twenty-one-day assessment course. It was not his fault; he’d come down with the flu. When he learned he had to start the whole application process again despite everything he’d done for the army, he followed Curt’s example, and with a sense of disgust and betrayal left the military.