This is Jocco Podcast number 29 with Echo Charles and me, Jocco Willink.

Into the midst of this war torn land were inserted 22 able-bodied American soldiers and a platoon leader.

As I made my way to the platoon command post CP, the sun had already dropped from the sky, night the tropics comes fast, and even as I approached the outgoing platoon leader, the shadows had begun to obscure his facial features.

I found him lying on his stomach in a depression situated roughly in the center of the platoon.

As I bent over to introduce myself, he motioned for me to get down. Assuming that perhaps I was dangerously exposed, I lay down next to him.

Hello, I'm Jim McDonough. I said, feeling somewhat awkward being so formal while lying on my stomach.

Tom Rolf, he said, are you here to take my place? He was unable to conceal his eagerness. Yes, I replied. Can you tell me what's going on here?

As he began briefing me, it became apparent that the platoon was not the object of his thoughts.

I asked questions about the disposition of the squads, the personalities of the men, the tactics of the enemy, the attitude of the villagers.

He responded by telling me about how difficult the job was, how much his family needed him, how he never asked to be an infantry lieutenant, how dangerous and unhappable his life had been of late, and how he did not deserve to be wounded or killed.

He was overcome by fear that on his last night in the field, the enemy would somehow snatch survival away from him.

As the hours passed, we did not move from our position in the midst of the platoon. I became acutely conscious of our protected posture.

All about us, I could hear movement. I saw silhouettes of soldiers as they moved about setting up their positions for the night.

I noted that at least one patrol departed from the perimeter, but that the orders for the patrol did not come from the lieutenant.

Rolf lay there, chattering aimlessly into the night, describing again and again from me, the wife and two children he had left behind.

Gradually, he honed in on his point.

You've got to understand, I did this for them. They need me. They need me in one piece.

Nervous silence followed as I tried to find his eyes in the darkness. What was he talking about?

The question arose even as the answer was forming all around me. They know what to do. They're good soldiers.

Silence again. He was shocked by his own confession. But at the same time, he was urged on by the bearing of his soul.

I could have been a hero. Sometimes I even wanted to be, but I had to think of my family. You see, don't you? Most of these men don't have any family. They're just boys.

The shamefulness of his words hit me like a club. He was not the leader of this platoon. He felt no responsibility for the mission. He felt no compassion for his men.

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