It is the 13^{th of June in the 7th year since 9/11. In Iraq it’s about 8:30 in the evening, after a long, hot summer day. It’s about 9 PM in Afghanistan. Tonight, like every night, in a variety of locations men and women are quietly focused on the task before them. Throughout the day a community of dedicated analysts, linguists, mechanics, and specialists from an amazing spectrum of organizations forged into a team of teams has labored to clarify the situation and give precision to the force with amazing effectiveness.}

But as dusk gives way to darkness, it falls to a small group of professionals. They don equipment, check weapons, launch aircraft and vehicles and go. They are a unique collection, no two are exactly alike. While some are young, most are middle-aged, with experience reflected in lined faces, graying hair and scarred bodies. The have families they love and everything to lose. Yet they are the steady hands on aircraft controls and experienced operators who go through the door. Their commitment defies logic, but on their shoulders they often carry the hopes and honor of an anxious nation. Too many have given, in Abraham Lincoln’s words, "the last full measure of devotion" and all have given more than can be asked or expected. Periodically, as evening approaches and you think of what will likely be asked yet again, I ask you to say a prayer for them.

Whenever the opportunity arises Annie and I go to Gettysburg. I like the battlefield, the used book stores, and the sense of history. I’m not sure what Annie likes but I think it’s the pizza. Each morning I run on the battlefield … past statues, plaques and markers reflecting unit designations, their history, casualties most carefully sited to reflect the exact position and activities of unites during the battle. For years I struggled to understand the importance of monuments and markers; the apparent obsession with receiving credit and for recording "we were here." I’m older now and it seems clearer to me.

They were not seeking fame or fortune for their service, or adulation for their heroism. Few sought credit for their victory or excused defeat. In fact, victory or defeat go unmentioned. If you did not know who won, the plaques and monuments would never tell you. But they do tell you who was there. They tell you who, when the nation called, took their places. Who rose to their duty. The ground the monuments cover is now unimportant, it could be anywhere: Afghanistan, Iraq or an unnamed terrain on an operation long kept secret. What matters is: when it was important, when each foot of blood-stained ground was critical, they were there. It’s a call as old as history yet fresh with each generation. Shakespeare’s Henry V told his small band of brothers that in future years men NOT there would envy their presence at Agincourt and hold their manhood chap for not having been there. It was little about the war and everything about having done their duty.

To the men and women of JSOC and the entire interagency team we are now part of: this is how it is, this is who you are. There will be few markers from this war and much of the history will be inaccurate or incomplete. Cannons won’t reflect where you stood or bled, or markers to record the cost. But in the minds and hearts of those who have known you and in the soul of the nation, the fact that you were there is indelibly written: you have done your duty … and it has been the honor of my life to witness it.