TO TOP THINGS OFF, THE IRAQIS HAD SENT SOME SCUDS OVER just before the war started. Most had been taken care of by Patriot missiles, but one got through. Wouldn’t you know it took out the Starbucks where we’d hung out during our prewar training? That’s low, hitting a coffee place. It could have been worse, I guess. It could have been a Dunkin’ Donuts. The joke was that President Bush only declared war when the Starbucks was hit. You can mess with the U.N. all you want, but when you start interfering with the right to get caffeinated, someone has to pay.

The problem with the ROEs covering minutiae is that terrorists really don’t give a shit about the Geneva Convention. So picking apart a soldier’s every move against a dark, twisted, rule-free enemy is more than ridiculous; it’s despicable.

There’s a common misunderstanding that SEALs are all huge guys in top physical condition. That last part is generally true — every SEAL in the Teams is in excellent shape. But SEALs come in all sizes. I was in the area of six foot two and 175 pounds; others who would serve with me ranged from five foot seven on up to six foot six. The thing we all had in common wasn’t muscle; it was the will to do whatever it takes.

Meanwhile, the brass got huge promotions and congratulations for their part in the war. They got the glory. Bullshit glory. Bullshit glory for a war they didn’t fight and the cowardly stance they took. Their cowardice ended lives we could have saved if they would have let us do our jobs.

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We are, in many ways, opposites. Still, we seemed to click. One day on the phone he was asking what I thought made us compatible. I decided to tell him some of the things that drew me to him. “I think you’re a really good guy,” I told him, “really nice. And sensitive.