**DONOTDELETE**
03-25-2002, 09:13 AM
This is long but I think some of you ex military might enjoy and you War Lady might associate with what your brother went thru.
I also know that this deals with HONOR and not politics.
So, why did you decide to stay a soldier????????????????
Maybe because the life had more life in it..
POWERFUL.....
Subject: If this doesn't get you pumped, nothing will.
These are the remarks of Lieutenant Colonel Guy Lofaro, US Army, to an
assembled group of West Point cadets at a dining-in. The original forwarder
of these notes that he had then-Major Lofaro as a professor of Military
History at West Point. To this day he considers him to be one of the best
officers he has known. He and his West Point company-mates were so
impressed with Lofaro that they asked him to personally promote them to
second lieutenant upon graduation. Lofaro did so gladly...
LTC Lofaro:
"Let me say before beginning that it has been my pleasure to attend several
dining-ins here at West Point and hence I have some basis for comparison.
You people have done a fine job and you ought to congratulate yourselves. In
fact, why don't we take this time to have the persons who were responsible
for this event stand so we can acknowledge them publicly.
I guess I am honored with these invitations because there exists this rumor
that I can tell a story. Cadets who I have had in class sometimes approach
me beforehand and request that, during my speech, I tell some of the stories
I've told them in class.
For the longest time I have resisted this. I simply didn't think this the
right forum for story-telling, so I tried instead, with varying degrees of
success, to use this time to impart some higher lesson - some thought that
would perhaps stay with one or two of you a little longer than the 10 or 15
minutes I will be standing here.
I tried this again last week at another dining-in and I bombed. Big time.
Of course, the cadets didn't say that. They said all the polite things
-*Thank you, sir, for those inspiring words* - *You've provided us much food
for thought* - *We all certainly learned something from you tonight, sir.*
And I'm thinking - yeah - you learned something alright. You learned never
to invite that SOB to be a dining in speaker again. So in the interim I've
spent quite a bit of time thinking about what I would say to you tonight.
What can I say that will stay with you? And as I reflected on this I turned
it on myself - what stays with me? What makes a mark on me? What do I
remember, and why? How have I learned the higher lessons I so desperately
want to impart to you?
Well - I've learned those higher lessons through experience. And as I
thought further, I realized that there's only one way to relate experience -
that is to tell some stories. So I'm going to try something new here this
evening. I'm going to give you your stories and attempt to relate what I've
learned by living them. I'm going to let you crawl inside my eye-sockets
and see some of the things I've seen these past 18 years.
Imagine you are a brand new second lieutenant on a peacekeeping mission in
the Sinai Peninsula. You are less than a year out of West Point, and only a
few weeks out of the basic course. You are standing at a strict position of
attention in front of your battalion commander, a man you will come to
realize was one of the finest soldiers with whom you've ever served, and you
are being questioned about a mistake - a big mistake - that you've made.
You see, your platoon lost some live ammo. Oh sure, it was eventually
found, but for a few hours you had the entire battalion scrambling. Your
battalion commander is not yelling at you though, he's not demeaning you,
he's simply taking this opportunity to ensure you learn from the experience.
And you do - you learn that people make mistakes, that those mistakes do not
usually result in the end of the world, and that such occasions are valuable
opportunities to impart some higher lessons. Then, out of the corner of
your eye, you see your platoon sergeant emerge from behind a building. He's
an old soldier - a fine soldier though - whose knees have seen a few too
many airborne operations. He sees you and the colonel - and he takes off at
a run. You see him approaching from behind the colonel and the next thing
you see is the back of your platoon sergeant's head. He is now standing
between you and your battalion commander - the two are eyeball to eyeball.
Your platoon sergeant says, a touch of indignance in his voice *Leave my
lieutenant alone, sir. He didn't lose the ammo, I did. I was the one who
miscounted. You want someone's ass, you take mine.* And you learn another
lesson - you learn about loyalty.
It's a few months later and you are one of two soldiers left on a hot PZ on
some Caribbean island. There's been another foul up - not yours this time,
but you're going to pay for it. It's you and your RTO, a nineteen-year-old
surfer from Florida who can quote Shakespeare, because his Mom was a high
school literature teacher, and who joined the army because his Dad was a
WWII Ranger. The last UH-60 has taken off on an air assault and someone is
supposed to come back and get you guys.
But the fire is getting heavy, and you're not sure anything can get down
there without getting shot up. You're taking fire from some heavily
forested hills. At least two machine-guns, maybe three, maybe more, and
quite a few AKs, but you can't make out anything else. You and your RTO are
in a hole, hunkered down as the bad guys are peppering your hole with small
arms fire. Your RTO is trying to get some help - another bird to come get
you, some artillery, some attack helicopters - anything.
But there are other firefights happening elsewhere on this island involving
much larger numbers. So as the cosmos unfold at that particular moment, in
that particular place, you and that RTO are well down the order of merit
list.
You feel a tug at your pants leg. Ketch, that's what you call him, Ketch
tells you he got a *wait, out* when he asked for help. The radio is jammed
with calls for fire and requests for support from other parts of the island.
*What we gonna do, sir?' he asks. And all of a sudden, you're learning
another lesson. You're learning about the weightiness of command, because
it's not just you in that hole, it's this kid you've spent every day with
for the last five months. This kid you've come to love like a kid brother.
There is only one way out and that's through the bad guys. You see, you're
on a peninsula that rises about 100 feet from the sea. The inland side is
where the bad guys are. You figure you are safe in this hole, so long as
they don't bring in any indirect fire stuff, but if they come down off those
hills, onto the peninsula, then you're going to have to fight it out. And
that's what you tell your RTO. We either get help or, if the bad guys come
for us, we fight. He looks at you. You don't know how long. And he says
only four words. Two sentences. *Roger, sir. Let's rock.* Appropriate
coming from a surfer. Then he slithers back down to the bottom of the hole.
Staying on the radio, your lifeline, trying to get some help. You are
peering over the edge of the hole, careful not to make too big a target.
You're thinking about your wife and that little month-old baby you left a
few days ago. It was two o'clock in the morning when you got the call.
*Pack your gear and get in here.* You kissed them both and told them to
watch the news. Hell, you didn't know where you were going or why, but you
were told to go, and you went. Then all of a sudden it gets real loud, and
things are flying all around and then there's a shadow that passes over you.
You look up and find yourself staring at the bottom of a Blackhawk, about 15
feet over the deck, flying fast and low, and as it passes over your hole you
see the door gunner dealing death and destruction on the bad guys in those
hills. It sets down about 25 meters from your hole, as close as it can get.
You look up and see the crew chief kneeling inside, waving frantically to
you, the door gunner still dealing with it, trying to keep the bad guys'
heads down, who have now switched their fire to the bird, a much bigger, and
better, target.
You look at Ketch and then you're off - and you run 25 meters faster than 25
meters have ever been run since humans began to walk upright. And you dive
through the open doors onto the floor of the Blackhawk. There are no seats
in the bird since this is combat and we don't use them in the real deal. And
you are hugging your RTO, face-to-face, like a lover, and shouting at him,
*You OKAY? You OKAY? You OKAY?' but he doesn't tell you he's OKAY since
he's yelling the same thing at you - *You OKAY? You OKAY? You OKAY?*
And then the pilot pulls pitch and executes a violent and steep ascent out
of there and had you not been holding on to the D-rings in the floor and the
crew chief not been holding your legs you might have fallen out. Then
you're over the water, you're safe, and the bird levels out, and you roll
over to your back and close your eyes - and you think you fall asleep. But
then you feel a hand on your blouse, and you open your eyes and see the crew
chief kneeling over you with a head set in his hand. He wants you to put it
on so you do.
And the first thing you hear is *I-Beamer, buddy boy. I Beamer.*
You were in I-4 while a cadet, and that was your rallying cry. And you look
up to where the pilots sit and you see a head sticking out from behind one
of the seats. He's looking at you and it's his voice you hear, but you
can't make out who it is because his visor is down. Then he lifts it, and
you see the face of a man who was two years ahead of you in your company.
He tells you that he knew you were there and he wasn't going to leave an
I-Beamer like that. And you learn about courage, and camaraderie. And
friendship that never dies.
It's a few years later and you've already had your company command. You're
in grad school, studying at Michigan. You get a phone call one night, one
of the sergeants from your company. He tells you Harvey Moore is dead,
killed in a training accident when his Blackhawk flew into the ground.
Harvey Moore. Two-time winner of the Best Ranger Competition. Great
soldier.
Got drunk one night after his wife left him and took his son. You see,
staff sergeants don't make as much money as lawyers, so she left with the
lawyer. He got stinking drunk, though it didn't take much since he didn't
drink at all before this, and got into his car. Then had an accident. Then
got a DUI. He was an E-6 promotable when this happened, and the SOP was a
general-officer article 15 and a reduction one grade, which would really be
two for him because he was on the promotion list. But Harvey Moore is a
good soldier, and it's time to go to bat for a guy who, if your company
command was any sort of a success, played a significant part in making it
so. And you go with your battalion commander to see the CG, and you stand
at attention in front of the CG's desk for 20 minutes convincing him that
Harvey Moore deserves a break. You win. Harvey Moore never drinks again.
He makes E-7. And when you change command, he grabs your arm, with tears in
his eyes, and thanks you for all you've done. Then the phone call. And you
learn about grief.
And then you're a major and you're back in the 82d - your home. And one day
some SOB having a bad week decides it's time to take it out on the world and
he shoots up a PT formation. Takes out 20 guys.
You're one of them. 5.56 tracer round right to the gut. Range about 10
meters. And you're dead for a little while, but it's not your time yet -
there are still too many lessons to learn. And you wake up after five
surgeries and 45 days in a coma. And you look down at your body and you
don't recognize it - it has become a receptacle for hospital tubing and
electronic monitoring devices. You have a tracheotomy, so there's a huge
tube going down your throat and you can't talk, but that thing is making
sure you breathe. And there's a tube in your nose that goes down into your
stomach - that's how you eat. And there are four IVs - one in each arm and
two in the veins in the top of your feet. There is a tube through your
right clavicle - that's where they inject the high-powered antibiotics that
turns your hair white and makes you see things. But disease is the enemy
now and it's gotta be done. And there are three tubes emerging from three
separate holes in your stomach. They are there to drain the liquids from
your stomach cavity. It drains into some bags hanging on the side of your
bed.
And they've shaved your chest and attached countless electrodes to monitor
your heartbeat, blood pressure, and anything else they can measure. They
have these things stuck all over your head as well, and on your wrists and
ankles. And your family gathers around, and they are like rocks, and they
pull you through. But there's also a guy, dressed in BDUs, with a maroon
beret in his hand, who stands quietly in the corner. Never says anything.
Just smiles. And looks at you. He's there every day. Not every hour of
every day, but he comes every day. Sometimes he's there when you wake up.
Sometimes he's there when you go to sleep. He comes during his lunch break.
He stays an hour, or two, or three. And just stands in the corner. And
smiles.
No one told him to be there. But he made it his place of duty. His guard
post. You see, it's your sergeant major, and his ranger buddy is down, and
a ranger never leaves a fallen comrade. And you learn, through this man,
the value of a creed.
And every four hours two huge male nurses come in and gently roll you on
your side. The bullet exited through your left buttock and made a hole the
size of a softball. The bandages need to be changed. Take the soiled wads
out and put clean ones in. And a second lieutenant comes in. She seems to
be there all the time. She's the one changing the bandages. And it hurts
like hell, but she, too, is smiling, and talking to you, and she's gentle.
And you know you've seen her before, but you can't talk - you still have
that tube in your throat. But she knows. And she tells you that you taught
her Military Art History, that now it's her turn to take care of you, that
she's in charge of you and the team of nurses assigned to you, and she won't
let you down. And you learn about compassion.
And then it's months later and you're still recovering. Most of the tubes
are gone but it's time for another round of major surgeries. And you go
into one of the last, this one about 9 hours long. And they put you back
together. And you wake up in the ICU one more time. Only one IV this time.
And when you open your eyes, there's a huge figure standing over your bed.
BDUs. Green beret in his hand. Bigger than God. And he's smiling. *It's
about damn time you woke up you lazy bastard,* he says. And you know it's
your friend and former commander and you've got to come back with something
quick - something good. He's the deputy Delta Force commander, soon to be
the commander. And you say *Don't you have someplace else to be? Don't you
have something more important to do?*
And without skipping a beat, without losing that smile he says, *Right now,
I am doing what I consider the most important thing in the world.* And you
learn about leadership.
So there you have them. Some stories. I've tried to let you see the world
as I've seen it at various points in time these 18 years. I hope you've
learned something. I certainly have.
Thanks for your time.
*Rangers Lead the Way."
And Army Aviators pull them out when they are in deep stuff. Just ask the
Rangers who were in Mogadishu.
I also know that this deals with HONOR and not politics.
So, why did you decide to stay a soldier????????????????
Maybe because the life had more life in it..
POWERFUL.....
Subject: If this doesn't get you pumped, nothing will.
These are the remarks of Lieutenant Colonel Guy Lofaro, US Army, to an
assembled group of West Point cadets at a dining-in. The original forwarder
of these notes that he had then-Major Lofaro as a professor of Military
History at West Point. To this day he considers him to be one of the best
officers he has known. He and his West Point company-mates were so
impressed with Lofaro that they asked him to personally promote them to
second lieutenant upon graduation. Lofaro did so gladly...
LTC Lofaro:
"Let me say before beginning that it has been my pleasure to attend several
dining-ins here at West Point and hence I have some basis for comparison.
You people have done a fine job and you ought to congratulate yourselves. In
fact, why don't we take this time to have the persons who were responsible
for this event stand so we can acknowledge them publicly.
I guess I am honored with these invitations because there exists this rumor
that I can tell a story. Cadets who I have had in class sometimes approach
me beforehand and request that, during my speech, I tell some of the stories
I've told them in class.
For the longest time I have resisted this. I simply didn't think this the
right forum for story-telling, so I tried instead, with varying degrees of
success, to use this time to impart some higher lesson - some thought that
would perhaps stay with one or two of you a little longer than the 10 or 15
minutes I will be standing here.
I tried this again last week at another dining-in and I bombed. Big time.
Of course, the cadets didn't say that. They said all the polite things
-*Thank you, sir, for those inspiring words* - *You've provided us much food
for thought* - *We all certainly learned something from you tonight, sir.*
And I'm thinking - yeah - you learned something alright. You learned never
to invite that SOB to be a dining in speaker again. So in the interim I've
spent quite a bit of time thinking about what I would say to you tonight.
What can I say that will stay with you? And as I reflected on this I turned
it on myself - what stays with me? What makes a mark on me? What do I
remember, and why? How have I learned the higher lessons I so desperately
want to impart to you?
Well - I've learned those higher lessons through experience. And as I
thought further, I realized that there's only one way to relate experience -
that is to tell some stories. So I'm going to try something new here this
evening. I'm going to give you your stories and attempt to relate what I've
learned by living them. I'm going to let you crawl inside my eye-sockets
and see some of the things I've seen these past 18 years.
Imagine you are a brand new second lieutenant on a peacekeeping mission in
the Sinai Peninsula. You are less than a year out of West Point, and only a
few weeks out of the basic course. You are standing at a strict position of
attention in front of your battalion commander, a man you will come to
realize was one of the finest soldiers with whom you've ever served, and you
are being questioned about a mistake - a big mistake - that you've made.
You see, your platoon lost some live ammo. Oh sure, it was eventually
found, but for a few hours you had the entire battalion scrambling. Your
battalion commander is not yelling at you though, he's not demeaning you,
he's simply taking this opportunity to ensure you learn from the experience.
And you do - you learn that people make mistakes, that those mistakes do not
usually result in the end of the world, and that such occasions are valuable
opportunities to impart some higher lessons. Then, out of the corner of
your eye, you see your platoon sergeant emerge from behind a building. He's
an old soldier - a fine soldier though - whose knees have seen a few too
many airborne operations. He sees you and the colonel - and he takes off at
a run. You see him approaching from behind the colonel and the next thing
you see is the back of your platoon sergeant's head. He is now standing
between you and your battalion commander - the two are eyeball to eyeball.
Your platoon sergeant says, a touch of indignance in his voice *Leave my
lieutenant alone, sir. He didn't lose the ammo, I did. I was the one who
miscounted. You want someone's ass, you take mine.* And you learn another
lesson - you learn about loyalty.
It's a few months later and you are one of two soldiers left on a hot PZ on
some Caribbean island. There's been another foul up - not yours this time,
but you're going to pay for it. It's you and your RTO, a nineteen-year-old
surfer from Florida who can quote Shakespeare, because his Mom was a high
school literature teacher, and who joined the army because his Dad was a
WWII Ranger. The last UH-60 has taken off on an air assault and someone is
supposed to come back and get you guys.
But the fire is getting heavy, and you're not sure anything can get down
there without getting shot up. You're taking fire from some heavily
forested hills. At least two machine-guns, maybe three, maybe more, and
quite a few AKs, but you can't make out anything else. You and your RTO are
in a hole, hunkered down as the bad guys are peppering your hole with small
arms fire. Your RTO is trying to get some help - another bird to come get
you, some artillery, some attack helicopters - anything.
But there are other firefights happening elsewhere on this island involving
much larger numbers. So as the cosmos unfold at that particular moment, in
that particular place, you and that RTO are well down the order of merit
list.
You feel a tug at your pants leg. Ketch, that's what you call him, Ketch
tells you he got a *wait, out* when he asked for help. The radio is jammed
with calls for fire and requests for support from other parts of the island.
*What we gonna do, sir?' he asks. And all of a sudden, you're learning
another lesson. You're learning about the weightiness of command, because
it's not just you in that hole, it's this kid you've spent every day with
for the last five months. This kid you've come to love like a kid brother.
There is only one way out and that's through the bad guys. You see, you're
on a peninsula that rises about 100 feet from the sea. The inland side is
where the bad guys are. You figure you are safe in this hole, so long as
they don't bring in any indirect fire stuff, but if they come down off those
hills, onto the peninsula, then you're going to have to fight it out. And
that's what you tell your RTO. We either get help or, if the bad guys come
for us, we fight. He looks at you. You don't know how long. And he says
only four words. Two sentences. *Roger, sir. Let's rock.* Appropriate
coming from a surfer. Then he slithers back down to the bottom of the hole.
Staying on the radio, your lifeline, trying to get some help. You are
peering over the edge of the hole, careful not to make too big a target.
You're thinking about your wife and that little month-old baby you left a
few days ago. It was two o'clock in the morning when you got the call.
*Pack your gear and get in here.* You kissed them both and told them to
watch the news. Hell, you didn't know where you were going or why, but you
were told to go, and you went. Then all of a sudden it gets real loud, and
things are flying all around and then there's a shadow that passes over you.
You look up and find yourself staring at the bottom of a Blackhawk, about 15
feet over the deck, flying fast and low, and as it passes over your hole you
see the door gunner dealing death and destruction on the bad guys in those
hills. It sets down about 25 meters from your hole, as close as it can get.
You look up and see the crew chief kneeling inside, waving frantically to
you, the door gunner still dealing with it, trying to keep the bad guys'
heads down, who have now switched their fire to the bird, a much bigger, and
better, target.
You look at Ketch and then you're off - and you run 25 meters faster than 25
meters have ever been run since humans began to walk upright. And you dive
through the open doors onto the floor of the Blackhawk. There are no seats
in the bird since this is combat and we don't use them in the real deal. And
you are hugging your RTO, face-to-face, like a lover, and shouting at him,
*You OKAY? You OKAY? You OKAY?' but he doesn't tell you he's OKAY since
he's yelling the same thing at you - *You OKAY? You OKAY? You OKAY?*
And then the pilot pulls pitch and executes a violent and steep ascent out
of there and had you not been holding on to the D-rings in the floor and the
crew chief not been holding your legs you might have fallen out. Then
you're over the water, you're safe, and the bird levels out, and you roll
over to your back and close your eyes - and you think you fall asleep. But
then you feel a hand on your blouse, and you open your eyes and see the crew
chief kneeling over you with a head set in his hand. He wants you to put it
on so you do.
And the first thing you hear is *I-Beamer, buddy boy. I Beamer.*
You were in I-4 while a cadet, and that was your rallying cry. And you look
up to where the pilots sit and you see a head sticking out from behind one
of the seats. He's looking at you and it's his voice you hear, but you
can't make out who it is because his visor is down. Then he lifts it, and
you see the face of a man who was two years ahead of you in your company.
He tells you that he knew you were there and he wasn't going to leave an
I-Beamer like that. And you learn about courage, and camaraderie. And
friendship that never dies.
It's a few years later and you've already had your company command. You're
in grad school, studying at Michigan. You get a phone call one night, one
of the sergeants from your company. He tells you Harvey Moore is dead,
killed in a training accident when his Blackhawk flew into the ground.
Harvey Moore. Two-time winner of the Best Ranger Competition. Great
soldier.
Got drunk one night after his wife left him and took his son. You see,
staff sergeants don't make as much money as lawyers, so she left with the
lawyer. He got stinking drunk, though it didn't take much since he didn't
drink at all before this, and got into his car. Then had an accident. Then
got a DUI. He was an E-6 promotable when this happened, and the SOP was a
general-officer article 15 and a reduction one grade, which would really be
two for him because he was on the promotion list. But Harvey Moore is a
good soldier, and it's time to go to bat for a guy who, if your company
command was any sort of a success, played a significant part in making it
so. And you go with your battalion commander to see the CG, and you stand
at attention in front of the CG's desk for 20 minutes convincing him that
Harvey Moore deserves a break. You win. Harvey Moore never drinks again.
He makes E-7. And when you change command, he grabs your arm, with tears in
his eyes, and thanks you for all you've done. Then the phone call. And you
learn about grief.
And then you're a major and you're back in the 82d - your home. And one day
some SOB having a bad week decides it's time to take it out on the world and
he shoots up a PT formation. Takes out 20 guys.
You're one of them. 5.56 tracer round right to the gut. Range about 10
meters. And you're dead for a little while, but it's not your time yet -
there are still too many lessons to learn. And you wake up after five
surgeries and 45 days in a coma. And you look down at your body and you
don't recognize it - it has become a receptacle for hospital tubing and
electronic monitoring devices. You have a tracheotomy, so there's a huge
tube going down your throat and you can't talk, but that thing is making
sure you breathe. And there's a tube in your nose that goes down into your
stomach - that's how you eat. And there are four IVs - one in each arm and
two in the veins in the top of your feet. There is a tube through your
right clavicle - that's where they inject the high-powered antibiotics that
turns your hair white and makes you see things. But disease is the enemy
now and it's gotta be done. And there are three tubes emerging from three
separate holes in your stomach. They are there to drain the liquids from
your stomach cavity. It drains into some bags hanging on the side of your
bed.
And they've shaved your chest and attached countless electrodes to monitor
your heartbeat, blood pressure, and anything else they can measure. They
have these things stuck all over your head as well, and on your wrists and
ankles. And your family gathers around, and they are like rocks, and they
pull you through. But there's also a guy, dressed in BDUs, with a maroon
beret in his hand, who stands quietly in the corner. Never says anything.
Just smiles. And looks at you. He's there every day. Not every hour of
every day, but he comes every day. Sometimes he's there when you wake up.
Sometimes he's there when you go to sleep. He comes during his lunch break.
He stays an hour, or two, or three. And just stands in the corner. And
smiles.
No one told him to be there. But he made it his place of duty. His guard
post. You see, it's your sergeant major, and his ranger buddy is down, and
a ranger never leaves a fallen comrade. And you learn, through this man,
the value of a creed.
And every four hours two huge male nurses come in and gently roll you on
your side. The bullet exited through your left buttock and made a hole the
size of a softball. The bandages need to be changed. Take the soiled wads
out and put clean ones in. And a second lieutenant comes in. She seems to
be there all the time. She's the one changing the bandages. And it hurts
like hell, but she, too, is smiling, and talking to you, and she's gentle.
And you know you've seen her before, but you can't talk - you still have
that tube in your throat. But she knows. And she tells you that you taught
her Military Art History, that now it's her turn to take care of you, that
she's in charge of you and the team of nurses assigned to you, and she won't
let you down. And you learn about compassion.
And then it's months later and you're still recovering. Most of the tubes
are gone but it's time for another round of major surgeries. And you go
into one of the last, this one about 9 hours long. And they put you back
together. And you wake up in the ICU one more time. Only one IV this time.
And when you open your eyes, there's a huge figure standing over your bed.
BDUs. Green beret in his hand. Bigger than God. And he's smiling. *It's
about damn time you woke up you lazy bastard,* he says. And you know it's
your friend and former commander and you've got to come back with something
quick - something good. He's the deputy Delta Force commander, soon to be
the commander. And you say *Don't you have someplace else to be? Don't you
have something more important to do?*
And without skipping a beat, without losing that smile he says, *Right now,
I am doing what I consider the most important thing in the world.* And you
learn about leadership.
So there you have them. Some stories. I've tried to let you see the world
as I've seen it at various points in time these 18 years. I hope you've
learned something. I certainly have.
Thanks for your time.
*Rangers Lead the Way."
And Army Aviators pull them out when they are in deep stuff. Just ask the
Rangers who were in Mogadishu.