Gary asked me to deliver a speech during a SEAL of Honor book event this May. Of course, I readily accepted. I never pass up an opportunity to praise our men and women in uniform, but I am Army not Navy, I am a paratrooper not a SEAL, and I had never had the privilege of meeting Michael Murphy.

So I had some work to do to get to know this man on my own terms before I could speak with the authenticity that I desired. I already knew that Lieutenant Murphy and I shared one significant thing in common, which was that we both fought the Taliban in the Korengal Valley.

When I was the Deputy Commanding General of the Combined/Joint Task Force in charge of all conventional U.S. troops in Afghanistan, I frequently circulated the battlefield. On January, 5 2007 I flew in my UH-60 Blackhawk with an Apache helicopter wingman from Bagram Air Base to Jalalabad then on to Asadabad, and finally into the Korengal Combat Outpost. The 10th Mountain Division had established this remote redoubt on the heavily trafficked trail from Pakistan into central Afghanistan, in the wake of Operation Red Wings in an effort to bring to heel the Taliban who were operating at will in the region, namely Qari Ismail, also known as Ahmad Shah.

It was a cold, clear day in the Afghan Hindu Kush Mountains when we came in for a hot landing. As the wheels touched down, PKM machine gun fire rang out from three different directions followed closely by rocket propelled grenades and mortars. We scattered from the aircraft and joined Captain Jim McKnight’s A Company, 1st Battalion, 32nd Infantry and dueled for ninety minutes with the Taliban who were attacking us from three sides.

This was the very same piece of ground where Navy SEALs Michael Murphy, Matthew Axelson, and Danny Dietz were killed, and from which Marcus Luttrell escaped, and where another 16 brave Task Force-160th Special Operations Aviation Regiment “Nightstalkers” and Navy SEALS were killed in the rescue attempt.

I know this terrain exceptionally well. I’ve fought the enemy on that ground. And of course I’ve known men such as Michael Murphy.

But I didn’t know Michael Murphy, the man.

My first step, then, was to read SEAL of Honor. It is a compelling read chock full of lessons learned for military and civilian alike. It is a tearjerker from the very beginning and Williams does an excellent job of capturing the duality of our everyday peaceful lives here in the United States and the exceptional heroism and harrowing tragedies that occur overseas. He does this by highlighting the daily rhythm of the families involved that remain relatively unchanged until the news seeping out of Afghanistan provides a clue that Michael Murphy might have been near the action. All of the key figures in the book had continued on their daily regimen, worried, certainly upset that warriors had been killed and wounded, but of course thinking it had to be someone else. Then, with the news that Michael was involved, the world stopped for his loving parents, fiancé, friends, peers, and extended family around the Long Island and the Naval Special Warfare communities.

SEAL of Honor works on many levels. First, it is an evenhanded account of a young man’s drive to become a Navy SEAL despite several other life path opportunities. Some men and women just want to serve their country and Michael Murphy was of that noble gene pool. Second, SEAL of Honor captures the agony of those on the home front as they pine for their loved ones in harm’s way and pray that the government vehicle doesn’t stop in front of their house and officers in full dress uniform don’t appear on their doorstep. Importantly, SEAL of Honor is also a trove of leadership lessons that future generations of service men and women can read, debate, and study as they formulate their own unique leadership styles.

Beyond reading SEAL of Honor, though, I felt I needed something more tactile in order to speak or write about Michael Murphy so I took a weekend and flew to Long Island MacArthur Airport, rented a car and early on a Saturday morning as the sun rose over Calverton National Cemetery, I was kneeling in front of Michael’s headstone. I admired the care with which his family secured important mementos such as coins from the Chief of Naval Operations, the White House Situation Room, the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, one that read, “Courage,” and another that read, “Son.” I added three of my Deputy Commanding General coins from the 10th Mountain Division, one each for Murphy, Dietz, and Axelson. I found it fitting that Michael’s headstone was set apart and to the front of those of hundreds of other veterans, as if he was commanding a formation.

I was also comforted to find that Michael was in good company. Three headstones down from Michael’s was that of a renowned fellow 10th Mountain Division warrior, Staff Sergeant Anthony Lagman, who served as both a Marine and a Soldier and was killed in Afghanistan March 18, 2004. Forward Operating Base Lagman in Zabul Province remains a key to Coalition success in southeastern Afghanistan.

After a rather emotional morning at Calverton, I then drove to Patchogue-Medford High School, which was unlocked with lots of activities taking place. I walked into the foyer and saw a wall dedicated to Michael’s life and heroism. In a trophy case to the left of Michael’s wall were mementos of “famous graduates.” There were the track shoes of an Olympic athlete, a Grammy Award program from an R&B singer, and the baseball card of a professional baseball player. But Michael’s wall reigned supreme here and I thought the principal had it about right. Students every day walk into that school and see the photos of an American hero, an alumnus, who died for his country, dwarfing the significant, but distant accomplishments of the aforementioned graduates.

As I drove from his high school to the post office that now bore a memorial and his portrait, I noticed American flags flying everywhere and instantly knew that it was as much his family as it was his community that provided Michael his strong sense of patriotism and unwavering moral code that served him, and us, so well.

At the post office, I wrote a quick note to my daughter about to graduate from the University of Colorado, bought a Purple Heart stamp, and then mailed it from Patchogue United States Post Office, which has a beautiful memorial to Michael and his team that faces Main Street, Patchogue, NY, Michael’s hometown.

My final stop was Lake Ronkonkoma where Michael was a lifeguard. There, I saw a father and son reading the memorial, which paid tribute not only to Michael and his team, but also to the TF-160th Special Operations Aviation Regiment “Nightstalkers” and other SEALs that perished in the rescue operation. This being my final stop, I went for a run around a portion of the lake and through the adjacent neighborhoods, reflecting on what I learned about Michael Murphy.

First, as an author of thriller fiction I always study heroes, real life and fictional, and the best heroes are humble, selfless, hard working, and determined. Michael Murphy is a true American hero in the finest sense of the word.

Second, he leaves behind a legacy that will help educate and train young leaders in our country, making us a better nation. All who read his story will grow as citizens, understanding and hopefully emulating the honor and moral code by which he lived his life.

Lastly, his family and friends, and the Patchogue and Long Island communities have a lot to be proud of. They have honored Michael Murphy as he should be honored, with great dignity and enduring presence. When I returned from my trip, I related much of what I’ve written here to a friend and at the end of my story he said, “Sounds like a place I would want to raise my family.”

That’s about the highest praise any community could ask for and as I drifted through Long Island for one day on my Michael Murphy tour, I couldn’t agree more.

I recommend SEAL of Honor to all who hold freedom dear. Gary Williams captures the essence of our country, our hopes and dreams, our fears and misgivings, all in the compelling narrative of one young man’s desire to serve his country.

Mostly, though, I came away from Long Island reassured of our nation’s values. In an era of petty politics and shortsighted vision, in Michael Murphy we have a role model who reflected the values of his family and community and understood the debt that we all owe to those who came before us.

And now we owe Michael Murphy our everlasting appreciation for laying down his life in a remote corner of the world not too far from where the enemy first planned to fly airplanes as guided missiles into a city not too far from where Michael was raised.

And I owe Gary Williams a thank you for writing SEAL of Honor and extending to me the privilege of getting to know, in my own way, this remarkable young man. I served for 28 years in the Army and I never tire of learning the stories of great Americans.

You can count Michael Murphy as one of this nation’s best.

“That bold buckaroo with the cold green eyes.”

– General Douglas MacArthur, describing his savior John Bulkeley –

In March 1942, facing imminent capture by the Japanese, America’s commander in the Far East was ordered to slip away to safety in Australia. The Empire of the Sun controlled both air and sea, and only a precious few Allied planes and ships remained in-theater, skulking through the night fog like pirates to avoid capture and running on little more than spit and baling wire. “Overhauling those motors without any replacement parts was a terrible job,” one of the few to escape that nightmare later remembered. “For instance. Any tank-town garage which overhauls a flivver back in the States always replaces the gaskets with new ones. Only we didn’t have any. Or any sealing compound. So those old gaskets had to be carefully removed, handled as gently as though they were precious lace, and laid back in place when the motors were reassembled.”

When MacArthur arrived at the dock with his family and key commanders, he found waiting for him a trio of tiny, dilapidated motor torpedo boats crewed by dirty, emaciated men with long, unkempt beards and wild eyes. Their skipper was a thirty-year-old U.S. Navy Lieutenant named John Bulkeley, who for months had held his disintegrating squadron together by scrounging like a rat among the islands for gasoline, torpedoes, and other basic supplies. His boats were little more than plywood matchboxes, but Bulkeley had kept them active long after the rest of America’s Navy and Air Force had been destroyed or driven off. He made sneak assaults against transports, cruisers, destroyers, airplanes, landing parties — anything to frustrate the pace of the overwhelming Japanese invasion. Every time he attacked it was a fearsome David-versus-Goliath mismatch, but Bulkeley had done so time and again, sinking many enemy vessels.

Now he faced his most important task yet: use his last sputtering, wheezing boats to ferret precious human cargo across enemy-infested waters to the southern island of Mindanao, where MacArthur and his contingent could then be safely flown to Melbourne. To do this, he rocketed his boats across hundreds of miles under cover of night, navigating in the impenetrable darkness by instinct alone while deftly avoiding Japanese patrols. It was a spectacular feat of derring-do. As MacArthur told him when he disembarked several days later, waterlogged and exhausted but safe to fight another day: “You have taken me out of the jaws of death. I shall never forget it.”

For all of this, Bulkeley was promoted to Lieutenant Commander and received the Medal of Honor. His citation reads:

For extraordinary heroism, distinguished service, and conspicuous gallantry above and beyond the call of duty as commander of Motor Torpedo Boat Squadron 3, in Philippine waters during the period 7 December 1941 to 10 April 1942. The remarkable achievement of LCDR Bulkeley’s command in damaging or destroying a notable number of Japanese enemy planes, surface combatant and merchant ships, and in dispersing landing parties and land-based enemy forces during the 4 months and 8 days of operation without benefit of repairs, overhaul, or maintenance facilities for his squadron, is believed to be without precedent in this type of warfare. His dynamic forcefulness and daring in offensive action, his brilliantly planned and skillfully executed attacks, supplemented by a unique resourcefulness and ingenuity, characterize him as an outstanding leader of men and a gallant and intrepid seaman. These qualities coupled with a complete disregard for his own personal safety reflect great credit upon him and the Naval Service.

These exploits provided the basis for W. L. White’s 1942 bestseller They Were Expendable. It is a story of heroism, but a particularly grim one. Bulkeley remembered later that he “was very bitter about the thing. We went over there with 111 men and only 9 men came back alive. . . the war plan was totally, utterly hopeless. . . But we had to put up a fight.” An Admiral in John Ford’s 1945 film version of the story explains the brutal rationale for allowing so many Americans to be defeated and captured: “Pearl Harbor was a disaster, like the Spanish Armada. Listen, son — you and I are professionals. If the manager says, ‘Sacrifice,’ we lay down a bunt, and let somebody else hit the home runs.”

The book itself is still a fine read, filled with hard-nosed, first-person reportage and telling anecdotes. Some choice quotes:

“They were burying the dead — which consisted of collecting heads and arms and legs and putting them into the nearest bomb crater and shoveling debris over it. The smell was terrible. The Filipino yard workers didn’t have much stomach for the job, but it had to be done and done quick because of disease. To make them work, they filled the Filipinos up with grain alcohol. . . those staggering Filipinos, maybe dragging a trunk toward a crater, pulling it by its one remaining leg, or else maybe rolling a head along like on a putting green. The Japs must have killed at least a thousand. . . .”

“It seemed to be a Jap reconnaissance patrol. . . one group stopped and ate chow on the road bank opposite us; we were scared stiff they would come over and find us. It was hard for the wounded to lie quiet. Our tank driver had a rivet stuck in his throat — every time he took a drink, the water would come leaking out. . . .”

“Here in Newport maybe you wouldn’t think it was much of a party. But it was a swell night, with a big moon hanging over Manila Bay — peaceful — and best of all, all the girls had broken out with their civilian dresses. That doesn’t sound like much, but one look at them after seeing nothing but uniforms for months was like a trip back home. Make-up too — they looked so goddamned nice you could eat them with a spoon. . . .”

“How slow everybody learns in a war. Nobody knows anything about a war until it begins. Just two years before, the Polish air force had been blown to hell on the ground. The French caught it the following spring. In spite of that, the same things happened to our planes at Pearl Harbor. And yet two days later, in spite of all of it, the Japs catch our air corps on Luzon with its pants down. Only that wasn’t the end. Months later, on my way out through Australia, I pass a big American field, and there they are, bombers and fighters parked in orderly rows, wing tip to wing tip. ‘Hell,’ they told me, ‘The Japs are hundreds of miles away.’ Except that’s where they’re always supposed to be when they catch you with your pants down, and I thought to myself, Jesus Christ, won’t these guys ever learn?”

“The whole crowd started pulling money out of their pockets and piling it on the table. They’d had no pay since the start of the war, but since they’d been down here in Mindanao, they’d had shore leave and a chance to play poker with the army. The government could cut the cost of the war by just paying the army and then giving the sailors a chance to play poker with them.”

“But here were all these brave people on Bataan and the Rock, Peggy among them, realizing more clearly every day that they would never get out. Doomed, but bracing themselves to look fate in the face as it drew nearer, knowing that they were expendable like ammunition, and that it was part of the war plan that they should sell themselves as dearly as possible before they were killed or captured by the Japs. . .”

You would think that John Ford would have jumped at the chance to make a movie about Bulkeley, but it took several years of cajoling to get him to agree to direct Expendable. Unlike many, he was actually enjoying the war in a perverse way: globetrotting around the world, feeling the exhilaration of being shot at and having bombs dropped on you, and getting rigorous exercise at fifty years of age. He relished being a part of the armed services he had admired for so long, and heading back home to make a movie would take him away from it all, perhaps forever. It could also be the case that Ford needed time to think about the movie, to dwell on how important it was to get right, and to plan exactly what he wanted to focus on.

Bulkeley had already lived through the harrowing events depicted in Expendable — and been one of the lucky few to escape — when between missions he went to Ford’s Washington DC hotel room to say hello. As Bulkeley later admitted to Ford biographer Joseph McBride, his first encounter with his country’s greatest film director was memorable, to say the least:

I went to see him and he was bare-tail, absolutely naked in that damn bed. He loved to do that for shock effect, he had men in there and he had women in there, hangers-on trying to get a job or something, he had a big plate of food, eating with his fingers like a Roman emperor.

The opening statement [from Ford] was, “See that closet?” “Yup.” “Open it up.” I opened it up and there was a captain’s uniform with four stripes. He said, “You see that? I’m a captain.” I said [sarcastically], “Yes. What are you captain of?” He picked up that big plate of food and threw it at me, and I just ran out the door! He didn’t even bother getting out of bed, he just reared up and whammo!

It was a match made in heaven. They eventually bonded during some shared days aboard ship during the D-Day invasion, and in October 1944, with the war heavily in our favor and civilian life staring him in the face once again, John Ford changed his status to inactive and went to film the movie while his war experiences (and his impressions of Bulkeley) were all still fresh in his mind.

As for Bulkeley himself, he continued serving in the Navy in various capacities for the rest of his life, eventually rising to the rank of Vice Admiral. Among his chestful of awards were the Navy Cross, two Silver Stars, two Distinguished Service Crosses, two Distinguished Service Medals, and two Legion of Merit Awards.

On April 6, 1996, John Duncan Bulkeley died at the age of 84, and was buried with full military honors at Arlington. All told, the “bold buckaroo with the cold green eyes” had served his country faithfully for some fifty-five years. In June of 2000, a new Navy destroyer was christened USS Bulkeley. May that ship bring as much honor to the name Bulkeley as Bulkeley brought to his country.

Next Saturday in For Conservative Movie Lovers: a look at They Were Expendable’s luminous cinematography and graceful direction.

Previous posts in the series “John Ford, John Wayne, and They Were Expendable“:

Part 1 | Part 2

FURTHER READING AND VIEWING

An interesting article reprinted from a postwar issue of Mechanix Illustrated, which focuses on how Bulkeley’s beloved PT Boats were made to roar off the assembly line in unprecedented numbers.

A nice piece describing the real-life tale behind the events of They Were Expendable.

Buy the book They Were Expendable at Amazon. Over sixty-five years later, it is still in print and still a valuable, exciting read. Better yet, hunt down an old used copy from the 1940s, where you can see the advertisements for war bonds on the back cover.

Read a little post-Expendable nugget about how Beulah Greenwalt, the real-life nurse brought to fictional life by Donna Reed in the movie, used her noggin and her nerve to protect and preserve the regimental flag of her unit.

On Saturday, Oct. 10, more than 150 wounded heroes will complete a 7-day, 475-mile journey from San Francisco to LA. The Wounded Heroes, many home from Iraq and Afghanistan, are cycling down scenic Highway 1 from San Francisco to Los Angeles. Their goal is to raise awareness and money to provide bikes and equipment for mental and physical therapy for fellow military heroes. The final leg of this journey brings the riders down San Vicente Blvd. from 26th to the West LA VA. 

This is where you come in.  We are looking for everyone, You, your family, friends, community members, organizations, and congregations to come out and line San Vicente Blvd. all the way to the VA. Welcome home these brave men and women and cheer them on their final miles.  Special guest riders include James Cromwell, Adam Baldwin, Tobey Maguire, Mike Vogel, Patricia Heaton, David Hunt, Kristy Swanson, Adam Housley, and Andrew Breitbart. 

Afterwards, join us for a FREE celebration at the West LA VA next to the Wadsworth Theater. The entertainment will be provided by SNL’s Victoria Jackson, Jon David, and Rock Nation and you can visit and talk with the heroes including Congressional Medal of Honor recipient Walt Ehlers and the American Legion Riders.

Schedule

• 9:00 AM   Riders leave Ventura
• 1:00 PM  Join us on San Vicente Blvd. to welcome the riders home
• 1:30 PM   Riders Arrive – West LA VA 11301 Wilshire Blvd, Los Angeles, CA 90073
• 1:45 PM   ROCK NATION                     
• 3:15 PM   Jon David Performs
• 3:30 PM   VICTORIA JACKSON LIVE
• 4:45 PM   Program concludes 

Join our community in saluting these Heroes

On Dec 7th 1941 many Heroes were made. John Finn received the Medal of Honor for his bravery on that day. He says he doesn’t deserve it and simply holds it for all the others who fought and died that December day. I disagree. On that December morning John held his position firing on the enemy for over two hours even though he himself had been hit 21 times. Several of his wounds were serious. Once the skies were quiet he sought medical help only after being ordered to. He then returned to help rearm the remaining airplanes at Kanoehe Bay. Because Kanoehe was hit five minutes before Pearl Harbor, many believe that John Finn is the first man to earn the Medal of Honor during WW2. But when you sit and listen to his stories he will tell you of his men, not of himself. Even at 100-years-old his mind is sharp and he loves to share his stories with those who will listen. And if you get the chance to meet Mr. Finn, listen to his stories for they are truly amazing.

John, my son Anthony, and I

I had the very humbling honor of sitting with him for several hours this past April at the Gainesville, TX Medal of Honor Week. In those hours I not only heard the stories of history from a man who lived it, I made a friend. While talking to his caretaker, Francis, I was stating how I can no longer take care of my son who was killed in Iraq and now feel it is my duty to take care of my son’s brothers in arms. Mr. Finn stopped in the middle of his conversation, pointed at me and said, “I like you missy. You get it.” He told me, “We can only mourn those who have fallen in war. We must honor them by taking care of those who come home, especially our wounded.” This put into words what my mission for the past year and a half.

Happy Birthday, John. I hope you have many more to come. You are truly a gift to this nation and me.

–

Hollywood movies often focus on the commanders, the captains and colonels, but they have also managed to highlight some great sergeants as well.  When you are picking out DVDs for next weekend, remember that May 16th is Armed Forces Day and consider a few selections that show the sergeant in all his gruff and grumbling glory. 

If you have never experienced the joy of going through basic training and do not plan to, your first stop should be Full Metal Jacket, with R. Lee Ermey’s legendary portrayal of a Marine drill instructor who must have missed out on the block of instruction on sensitivity.  I saw this in the theater about a week before I reported to Basic.  That was a poor idea.

The Marines I know seem to prefer Jack Webb in the more realistic The DI, but I am partial to Warren Oates as the “Big Toe” of a platoon of Army foul-ups in Stripes.  This is one great performance – as Sergeant First Class Hulka, Oates is both hilarious and moving.  You can see how this veteran NCO (his character wears the Combat Infantryman’s Badge, meaning he had seen action) truly cares about teaching his men to survive, and you kind of sympathize with him when Bill Murray’s smart-assery pushes him into slugging our hero in the gut.  Hulka’s contemptuous rejoinder to “Psycho” – “Lighten up, Francis” – is classic, as is his inventory of baffled expressions while watching the antics of his recruits.  I remember getting some of those looks myself from Drill Sergeant Whittlesey. 

And do not forget Louis Gossett, Jr. as another Devil Dog making Naval officer candidates earn the right to receive his salute in An Officer and a Gentleman. My only objection to this movie is that it made Squid School look a lot more fun than Fort Benning’s Army Officer Candidate School, but then I didn’t look like Richard Gere.

The tough sergeant turning a band of screw-ups into a well-oiled fighting machine is classic Hollywood.  The archetype is Marine Sergeant Stryker in The Sands of Iwo Jima, in which John Wayne supposedly utters the quintessential NCO aphorism “Life is tough.  It’s tougher if you’re stupid.”  But even if the Duke actually never says those words in the film, he should have, and generations of NCOs have shared that particular insight with their soldiers. 

Right up there is Clint Eastwood as another jarhead in Heartbreak Ridge.  It’s a good action flick, but what was particularly interesting is how he developed his nerdy lieutenant into a tough, confident leader who ends up saving the platoon.  But not all sergeants get to work with top notch officers.  In the miniseries Band of Brothers, Donnie Wahlberg does a great job as Easy Company’s First Sergeant Carwood Lipton, who was faced with protecting his men from a cowardly commander.  He does, but suffers a terrible fate – he receives a battlefield commission and becomes a mere lieutenant.  As Colonial Marine Gunnery Sergeant Apone in the fantastic Aliens, Al Matthews not only contends with an incompetent platoon leader, but flesh eating space bugs and Bill Paxton’s loudmouth Private Hudson.  “Game over, man!  Game over!”

The definition of an NCO is someone who makes things happen – whether or not strictly within the bounds of the regulations.  Don Rickles embraces this as the entrepreneurial and sharp-tongued supply sergeant Crap Game in Kelly’s Heroes.  Steve Martin played another NCO who didn’t let little things like rules get in the way in Sgt. Bilko.  James Caan, as real-life WWII Staff Sergeant Eddie Dohun, rescues his critically wounded officer from the battlefield and takes him to an aid station in A Bridge Too Far.  When the doctor refuses to look at what seems to be a hopeless case, SSG Dohun did what any good sergeant would do and improvised – by sticking his cocked .45 in the surgeon’s face.  The wounded officer lived.

Behind every good officer are literally dozens of great NCOs.  Even Lee Marvin could not have handled The Dirty Dozen without Richard Jaeckel’s Sergeant Bowren.  In Crimson Tide, the feuding officers vie for the support of the Master Chief Petty Officer, the “Chief of the Boat.”  Tom Hanks may have been the commander, but the heart of his company was Sergeant Horvath (Tom Sizemore) in Saving Private Ryan.

That is not just a Hollywood cliché – that is real life.  In fact, some of the best portrayals of NCOs in the movies have simply been the telling of the true stories of what they really did.  Black Hawk Down accurately shows modern urban combat as a confusing and deadly amalgamation of separate firefights involving small units led by young sergeants.  Josh Hartnett does a good job as a Ranger squad leader trying to keep his men alive, while Eric Bana and William Fichtner are Delta sergeants who take the fight right to the enemy. 

But the portrayals that best show the reality of the American NCO are that of Nikolaj Coster-Waldau and Johnny Strong as Delta Force Master Sergeants Gary Gordon and Randall Shugart.  As the movie shows, when one of the Blackhawk choppers went down, they repeatedly requested permission to fast rope in to protect the injured crew knowing it would mean near certain death.  Finally getting permission, they set up a perimeter and fought until overrun, littering the streets with the bodies of Somali militiamen and saving one member of the crew.  They earned the Medal of Honor, but I suspect that if we could ask them both would say that they were simply doing what NCOs do and nothing more.

Sam Elliot played another real-life hero, Command Sergeant Major Basil Plumley, in We Were Soldiers. As the movie shows, most enlisted troopers in the Second Battalion, Seventh Cavalry, and the wise officers as well, treated CSM Plumley with an awe verging on terror.  But when the battalion was surrounded by a division of North Vietnamese at Ia Drang, CSM Plumley stayed cool, keeping morale strong in the face of what should have been a massacre.  In the film, and in reality, these cavalrymen fought a massively superior force to a standstill.

Though I am a former cavalry commander, my favorite NCO portrayal is of an infantry sergeant in the British Army.  Zulu depicts the true story of the legendary near-last stand of a company of Welsh soldiers at Rourke’s Drift in South Africa.  The tiny band held their ground against a brave and deadly enemy force forty times their size.  As Colour-Sergeant Bourne, Nigel Greene is the ultimate NCO.  From keeping up standards in battle – “Button your tunic!” – to advocating for his exhausted men to facing down an iklwa-wielding Zulu warrior with his bayonet, Colour-Sergeant Bourne was the backbone of the company. 

Sergeants truly are the backbone of the Army and of the other services.  Right now, a young buck sergeant is leading his Marine fire team through the mountains of Afghanistan, a platoon sergeant is prepping a cavalry patrol through the streets of Kosovo, and a command sergeant major in Iraq is double checking his troops before another convoy mission.  These men and women are the heart of our military.  Take a moment to think about them as you pop in a movie and sit back and relax next weekend, safe and secure.  And raise a beer to them.  I will.

This week’s Washington Times column:

SIMI VALLEY, Calif. | After spending two weeks on something akin to a fact-finding mission in depressed New York and depleted Washington, D.C., I found no answers to our nation’s mounting ills. I discovered that there is much to be angry about and unlimited reasons for deep concern. But on the evening after my return, the stars aligned on the outskirts of Los Angeles at the Ronald Reagan Presidential Library, and for a brief moment I felt safe again in America.

On Saturday, my wife and I were privileged to attend the second annual “Celebration of Freedom Gala.” We joined more than 1,000 others who, like us, were electrified to honor 43 of the 98 living Medal of Honor recipients. We also gave our thanks to former first lady Nancy Reagan, war hero and actor Charles Durning, and Gen. David H. Petraeus.

In between courses, we heard rousing patriotic vignettes. One was Steve Amerson’s refreshingly traditional and soaring national anthem. Another was a tear-inducing “Freedom Never Cries” from John Ondrasik of Five for Fighting. Scores of celebrities donning black ties and gowns mingled with our nation’s highest-decorated veterans and active-duty men and women.

Unlike at other awards shows, this star-studded crowd honored something bigger than themselves. I note this without taking anything away from the individual achievements of talented artists who have paid homage to every cause under the sun. But this event was different. The armed forces of the United States have fought and died to protect the freedom of expression that allowed these artists to ply their trade.

Before the program commenced at the Ronald Reagan Presidential Library, one prominent actor sang the praises of HBO’s “Taking Chance” to a Vietnam-era Medal of Honor recipient. The film is not just another Hollywood attack on the military. Quite the contrary. “I watched it with my son, and we both cried,” the well-known face from film and television told a true hero. “It is deeply respectful and not in the least bit political.”

The same could be said of the dinner. Partisanship was not on the bill as dozens of decorated veterans of unknown partisan stripe stood to accept the audience’s unconditional and rousing appreciation.

Tom Selleck presented the “Lifetime Achievement Award” to a frail yet still elegant Mrs. Reagan, who received the first extended standing ovation of the evening. The 87-year-old former first lady was making her first public appearance since fracturing her pelvis and sacrum in October. She summoned the courage to accept the award in front of a cross-section of people who have grown to admire her during her half-century in Hollywood and in public service.

Gary Sinise, a Presidential Citizens Medal recipient and the event’s co-sponsor, delivered the Bob Hope Award for Excellence in Entertainment to Charles Durning, whose courage and grit during World War II earned him the Combat Infantryman Badge, the Silver Star, the Bronze Star and three Purple Hearts. The 86-year-old star of “The Sting” and “Dog Day Afternoon” received a hero’s welcome worthy of both his military and film career.

Mr. Sinise asked attendees to commit themselves to entertaining the troops and singled out one actor/singer who had done so in spades: Connie Stevens, who labored for 40 years for the USO. Miss Stevens, still beautiful and radiant at 70, accepted the extended and deserved standing ovation.

You can read the column in full here.