Tom Sileo (8 page)

Syracuse had a 13–12 lead with 1:05 left when its most dangerous player, Powell, darted like a missile toward Navy's backup
goalie. Brendan closed his eyes as the ball hit the back of the net, giving Syracuse a two-goal lead with a minute to play.

“Shit,” Travis said to a fellow midshipman in the stands.

Though Navy followed with a goal, Syracuse won its third championship in five years and eighth overall title.

Brendan was absolutely crushed by the 14–13 defeat. This was supposed to be Navy's day. It would take some time for the loss to sink in, but Brendan, who had just played his final collegiate game, and everyone associated with the Navy program knew deep down that the team's improbable Final Four run had been a truly amazing feat.

“What a game and what a crowd,” Tom Manion said after the game, as Janet nodded in agreement. “That's the kind of thing that really makes you proud to be an American.”

Travis, Amy, Brendan, and Steve were supposed to be having a victory celebration that night at the second home the Manions owned in Annapolis, where they would often hang out on weekends, before heading out to McGarvey's, O'Brien's, and their other favorite downtown bars. But even after a devastating defeat, there was still something to be happy about. The US Naval Academy class of 2004 had just graduated.

With a light mist falling, music blared through the Manion house as a cooler full of Bud Light chilled on the back porch. While Amy and Brendan's brother joked around inside, Brendan went outside to talk to Travis.

“I don't think I've ever felt this low, man,” Brendan grumbled. “We should have won that fucking game.”

“I know,” Travis replied. “But don't do what I did to myself in wrestling.”

“What do you mean?” Brendan asked.

“When I lost that match in Texas, I thought my whole life was over,” Travis said. “I hadn't been that miserable since I quit the academy. But there are bigger things out there. Think of what we're probably going to be doing a year or two from now.”

Without saying anything, Brendan held out his plastic cup, as if to say “cheers.” After graduating as officers in the US Navy and Marine Corps, respectively, Brendan and Travis quietly commemorated their achievement before heading inside to laugh, drink more beer, and get their minds off the game's disappointing outcome.

A few minutes later, as the music got even louder, Amy laughed as Travis and Steve made an awful attempt at break dancing on the floor. Temporarily snapping out of his dejected mood, Brendan managed to crack his customary grin as he walked up to his girlfriend and put his right arm around her. Though he wished he could have changed the result of the championship game, Brendan knew he was blessed to have found a great girl and such good friends during his Naval Academy years.

While waiting for their duty assignments, Travis and Brendan worked at the academy for part of the summer after graduation. Travis was living in his parents' house, while Brendan lived with some former lacrosse teammates in Annapolis's Eastport neighborhood.

On one particularly hot and humid day, Brendan asked Bucky Morris, the lacrosse star who had helped him become such a solid defenseman, if he wanted to go mountain biking on a nearby trail.

“Sure, man,” Morris said.

“Cool,” Brendan said. “We just need to ride downtown first and meet Trav at his place.”

When they arrived at the Annapolis house, Travis was sitting on the back porch enjoying a glass of water. A cooler full of ice cold beer was beside him, which would surely serve as a reward when the three young officers returned from their afternoon ride.

The bike ride started normally, as Travis, Brendan, and their buddy rode out of the city and headed into the woods. They had traveled ten or fifteen miles when Morris suggested turning back.
Travis and Brendan, both realizing the usual afternoon thunderstorm was probably on the horizon, agreed to head home, with one catch.

“We'll ride back single file, and whoever's last has to try to make his way up front,” Brendan said.

“Yeah, let's do that the whole way back,” Travis said.

Morris may have been the most talented athlete of the three, and he had no reason to doubt he could keep up with Brendan or Travis. He just didn't understand why they couldn't casually ride back to Travis's house without engaging in what was sure to be an exhausting competition.

When their contest started in a wooded, downhill stretch of the trail, Travis was in the back and Brendan was in the front. They hadn't been riding for more than five minutes when Travis cranked his way past his former roommate.

“See ya later, assholes!” Travis called, laughing.

As Morris had seen at countless lacrosse practices, Brendan wore an intense frown as he roared toward his challenger. Though he and Travis were the best of friends, there was no way he was about to be defeated.

Brendan pedaled harder and harder, getting so close to Travis's bike that the contest began to look like the famous chariot race in
Ben Hur
. Morris was keeping up so far, but knew he couldn't last another two miles at this ridiculous pace. As he tried to catch his breath, Morris pleaded with his friends to ease up.

Travis and Brendan were already gone, racing one another down the mountain, through the woods, and toward the city where they had grown from young plebes into military officers. As dark clouds filled the sky before the inevitable storm, Morris, who would later become a Navy fighter pilot, pedaled alone. He was slightly pissed at his friends for leaving him, but also amused at how Brendan and Travis turned everything, even a routine bike ride, into a contest.

When Morris finally made it back, he locked his bike to the Manions' front gate. As he walked toward the door, he heard the
unmistakable sound of Travis and Brendan laughing on the back porch. They were drinking beer and joking about leaving their unsuspecting buddy in the dust, leading Morris to think the stunt may have been planned.

“Really, guys?” Morris asked as he stepped onto the porch. “We couldn't just go on a relaxing bike ride?”

“Nice of you to join us,” Travis said, throwing a Bud Light to Morris.

“You guys are something,” Morris said with a grin. “So who the hell won?”

“Me,” Brendan said.

“Bullshit,” Travis yelled. “I was ahead until he cheated.”

As the Foo Fighters song “Times Like These” played and cold beer flowed, the laughter of three young military officers filled the air until it was finally overtaken by thunder. Though their Naval Academy days were over, it was times like these that Travis and Brendan would always remember.

A few days later, Travis packed up his car to leave Annapolis. He would soon head to The Basic School in Quantico, where all newly commissioned Marine officers must train, to learn how to lead Marines in battle. Brendan was commissioned as a Navy intelligence officer, and before heading to Virginia Beach he would mentor and coach young lacrosse players at NAPS in Rhode Island.

As Travis drove out of Annapolis with the radio tuned to Baltimore's rock station, the music added to his relaxed, reflective mood. Pulling onto King George Street, Travis looked at the Naval Academy gates, which were once closed to him after he decided to quit. He saw the historic buildings where he had attended classes, wrestled, and learned how to lead. He also looked out toward the harbor, where ships had been stationed to protect the Naval Academy during the 9/11 attacks.

The car's brakes screeched as Travis, whose attention had momentarily drifted, narrowly avoided rear-ending the car in front of him. The sudden stop sent several items packed in the backseat
flying, including a small box he had kept on his desk throughout his four-plus years as a midshipman.

The brown plastic box, which hit the dashboard when Travis pumped the brakes, was filled with index cards, which scattered all over the front seat. On each card was a different movie quote that had inspired Travis during many nights of watching videos and DVDs with Brendan and other Naval Academy friends.

As he pulled over to clean up the car, picking up the cards one by one and putting them back in the box, one in particular caught his eye. It contained the dying words spoken by Captain John Miller, played by Tom Hanks, to Private James Ryan, played by Matt Damon, in Steven Spielberg's
Saving Private Ryan
.

“Earn this” was written on the index card in Travis's handwriting. “Earn it.”

In the years to come, Travis, Brendan, and thousands of fellow US military academy graduates would lead courageous troops into battle. As officers, these brave young Americans weren't being given the responsibility of making crucial life and death decisions by accident. After years of hard work, sacrifice, and adversity, they had earned it.

3

TAKING A STAND

N
ow that he was a young second lieutenant training at The Basic School (TBS) in Quantico, Virginia, it was difficult for Travis to imagine that the months after graduation could be even more challenging. But in the fall of 2004, the harsh reality of war became more personal for Travis, Brendan, and their fellow Naval Academy graduates.

On September 2, 2004, Marine First Lieutenant Lt. Ronald Winchester, a driven, popular former Navy football player, became the first combat death in the Naval Academy's 2001 class when he was killed in a roadside bomb attack in Iraq's Al Anbar province. Less than forty-eight hours later, Travis and his fellow Navy wrestling alums were hit by another freight train upon learning that Marine Second Lieutenant Brett Harman, a friend and teammate who had graduated in 2003, was murdered during a melee at a North Carolina State University football tailgate.

Joel Sharratt, the Navy assistant wrestling coach who once consoled Travis after the worst loss of his career, was sitting behind the anguished young Marine on the flight to Chicago for Harman's funeral. Sitting next to Travis was Marine Second Lieutenant Brian Stann, a 2003 graduate who had played football at Navy and had become friends with Travis after watching the Tom Cruise
movie
Vanilla Sky
in Travis and Brendan's room one night with a large group of fellow midshipmen. The film's dream sequences were offbeat and strange, but Stann and Travis both liked the movie's theme of confronting one's worst fears. Their friendship grew stronger while Stann was stationed at Quantico, especially after Travis moved there to start TBS training. Stann also knew Brett Harman and was on the football team along with another young player, J. P. Blecksmith, when Ronnie Winchester was a senior offensive tackle.

Sharratt, who had stayed in touch with both Stann and Travis after they graduated a year apart, was also mourning the death of Harman, whom he had mentored and coached. So when Sharratt put his head around the edge of Travis's seat and started to speak, both Marines listened.

“Let's do an exercise. . . . I'd like you both to close your eyes and picture that you're leaving a building,” Sharratt said. “A friend picks you up and takes you to a place where people are somber, crying, and there seems to be an audience. Then you realize that you're at your own funeral. Write down a few words about what you'd want a family member or person of faith to say when reflecting on the lives of Travis Manion or Brian Stann.”

Stann nodded, and after a few minutes of pondering what to write, started jotting down a sentence about one day being remembered as a good husband, a loving father, and a US Marine.