preamble Could it be any easier to get from house to house, highway to highway, state to state?So far, no.Once again I was driving a rental SUV [Note: Sports Utility Vehicle. ], opened a store and gas station along another avenue, but this time in a small town on Long Island, New York.The town is close to the Atlantic Ocean, and the sea breeze is strong.Winter was coming, the sky was iron-grey, and the waves rolled, foamy, towards the shore under low-hanging clouds.This situation is especially fitting at this time, because this station is worse than the previous ones.Much worse. I found the local post office and it was my signpost.I parked behind the post office and we got out.It's November, chilly, and remnants of autumn leaves swirl around our feet.No one wanted to take the lead, not even the five who accompanied me, and we stood there for a moment, like postmen resting.

I know the way.A few yards down the street is the house.In a sense, I've been to that house in Southern California, Northern California, and Nevada.In the next few days, I'm going to Washington and Virginia.Too many things are exactly the same in these places. The heart-piercing grief, the pain caused by the untimely death of a young man in his prime, the sense of emptiness, loneliness, and uncontrollable tears in every family are exactly the same.The untimely death of brave and fearless young people is very sad and heart-wrenching. As before, even though the funeral had been held months earlier, I was the bearer of the bad news, as if no one had known the truth before.And for me, this meeting in Patchug, Long Island, will be the worst ever.

I tried to pull myself together, but that horrible scream rang inside me again.Every night, that horrible scream screamed through my nightmares and made me feel more guilty.The endless guilt of being a survivor.Help me, Marcus!Please help me!It was a cry of despair in the mountains of a faraway land, a scream that echoed on the most remote plateau in the world, the almost indecipherable groan of a dying man, a plea I could not answer.I can never forget because that was the best person I ever met, my best friend pleading with me.All visits are heartbreaking.Dan's sister and wife comfort each other; Eric's father, a general, bears grief alone; Sean's mother, they both broke my heart.But this visit only made it worse.Finally, I lead the way through the flying leaves, along the cold, unfamiliar street, towards the little house.The house had a small garden with a lawn that hadn't been mowed in days, but the lights that illuminated the American flag in the front windows still shone.Those were the lights of a patriot, and they still shine as if he were still alive.Mike will love it.

We all stood silent for a while, then went up the steps and knocked on the door.The door was opened by a very beautiful lady with long dark hair and tears in her eyes.This is Mike's mother. She knew I was the last person he'd seen before he was alive.She gazed at me sadly and said softly: Thank you for visiting me.That sad look was so deep it almost pierced through me and tore me in two.I replied subconsciously: If it weren't for your son, I wouldn't be standing here.We all went through the door, and there was a big photo on the wall in the hall, and I was looking straight at that photo, and the person in the photo was smiling and looking straight at me.That was Mike, alive and well in front of me.Then I heard his mother say: He didn't suffer a lot, did he?Please tell me he suffered nothing.I couldn't help wiping the tears from my eyes with my sleeve, but I replied: Yes, Maureen, he didn't suffer.He went right away.I tell her what she wants me to tell her.This answer has become instinctive as a lone survivor in me.

I tried to tell her about Mike's unyielding courage, strong will, and steely control.I gradually realized that she didn't seem to believe everything before this, and she didn't accept this cruel fact until I told her.I became the messenger of bad news. For the next hour we tried to talk calmly, but it was too difficult.There are too many things to say, and too many things that must not be said.Although I was accompanied by my three brothers plus a firefighter and a police officer from New York City, they could not help me at all. But this is a journey I have to make.I made a vow to myself to make it through, no matter the cost, because I know how important it is to each and every one of them to share my pain with someone who was there.I have traveled from family to family, feeling and sharing their grief.I feel like it's my responsibility, but that doesn't make it any easier.Maureen hugged everyone as we left.I nodded at the picture of my best friend and joined the others down the path of sadness back down the street.

Sad tonight as we go to visit Mike's fiancée Heather in the heart of NYC.Had Mike lived, they would have been married by now.This is so unfair!And the next day, I will go to Arlington National Cemetery to visit the graves of two other friends who have passed away. By any standard, the journey across America has been expensive, long and sad.My organization paid for everything needed for this trip, and my organization, like me and everyone else, thinks this trip is very important.Many large organizations have a dedicated workforce and insight can be gained by looking at their organizational philosophy and bylaws, and mine is no exception.

Its charter outlines the face of its personnel and defines their standards of conduct.Over the years, I have tried to make the first paragraph of this charter the cornerstone of my life: In times of turmoil, there is always a special warrior who is always ready to answer the call of the country; Desire; he rose to the occasion, fought alongside America's best Special Forces, served his country, served the American people, and defended the American way of life.I am this warrior.My name is Marcus, Marcus.Rutlier, a member of the U.S. Navy SEALs, the squad leader of Platoon A, SEAL Transport Vehicle Group 1.Like every other SEAL, I was trained in weapons, explosives, and hand-to-hand combat, a sniper in my platoon, a medic, but most of all, I was an American.Once the horn sounds, I will stand up and fight for my country and my teammates until I give my life.It's not just because I'm trained as a SEAL, it's because I want to.I'm a patriot and I'll fight for the Texas Lone Star patch on my right arm and the Texas Lone Star emblem on my chest.For me, failure is unacceptable.

Mike died in battle in the summer of 2005, fighting alongside me in the northeastern highlands of Afghanistan.He was the finest officer I have ever known, a fighter of iron will and unbelievable courage in the face of the enemy. Had the other two been alive, they would have agreed with me.These two brothers of mine fought with me there and died.They are Danny and Ix, two American heroes, even among the Navy SEALs known for their bravery, they are the best among them.They used their lives to prove the core values ​​of the US Navy SEALs: I will never give up, be steadfast, and face difficulties.My country requires me to be physically stronger and mentally stronger than my enemies.Every time I get knocked down, I get back up.As long as I am alive, I will protect my teammates and complete the mission.Never quit the fight.As mentioned earlier, my name is Marcus.I wrote this book in memory of three of my fallen comrades in arms: Mike, Danny, and Ax.Without these words, the world would not understand the indomitable and heroic spirit of these three men in battle, which would be the greatest tragedy.