I wanted to go on a great adventure, to prove myself, to serve my country. Others headed off to law school or medical school for a few more years of reading instead of living. I didn’t understand what we, at age twenty-two, could possibly be consulted about. By the summer of 1998, my classmates were signing six-figure contracts as consultants and investment bankers. Failing a chemistry class had inspired my love of history, and I ended up majoring in the classics. I went to Dartmouth intending to go to med school. Staring through the wire mesh at the bright day, I thought this must be what it’s like on the ride to Sing Sing. I thought of my friends, spending their summer vacations in New York and San Francisco, working in air-conditioned office towers and partying at night. A girl in an open Jeep stood and started to raise her shirt before being pulled back down by a laughing friend. Kids wearing headphones gawked, surely wondering what losers were riding a school bus in the summertime. Families drove next to us, on their way to the lake or the beach. I turned toward the window to avoid his gaze. He had an edge, something in his jaw or his brow that made me self-conscious. Shorter hair, of course, and broader shoulders.
The lieutenant was my age, but he looked different. He stood there in the aisle, glaring at us, and I sat up a little straighter. No one answered the lieutenant’s question. I glanced around the bus’s gunmetal interior, surprised to see people reading or pretending to sleep. “If you can’t be honest at OCS, how can the Corps trust you to lead men in combat?”Ĭombat. “Honor, courage, and commitment are the Marines’ core values,” the lieutenant shouted over the engine. I expected a welcome, a joke, some commiseration. Shortly after we pulled away from the recruiting office, he stood in the aisle and turned to face us. He had just graduated from Officer Candidates School, and would escort us on the hour’s drive to the Marine Corps base in Quantico, Virginia. I found a seat near the back as the bus started with a roar and a cloud of smoke blew through the open windows.Ī second lieutenant, looking crisp in his gabardine and khaki uniform, sat in the front row. Some sipped coffee from paper cups, and a few unfolded newspapers they had brought. Dressed casually in shorts and sandals, we spread out and sat alone with our bags.
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Wire mesh covered its windows and four black words ran along its sides: UNITED STATES MARINE CORPS. THUCYDIDESįIFTEEN OF US climbed aboard the ancient white school bus. We should remember that one man is much the same as another, and that he is best who is trained in the severest school. Killed in Action 7 April 2004, Al Anbar Province, Iraq Bravo Company, First Reconnaissance Battalion, First Marine Division.
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