sailors and Air Force

personnel have given their lives in the terrible duty

that is war. Thousands more have come home on stretchers, horribly wounded and

facing months or years in military hospitals.

This week, I'm turning my space over to a good friend

and former roommate,

Army Lt. Col. Robert Bateman, who recently completed a

year long tour

of duty in Iraq and is now back at the Pentagon.

Here's Lt. Col. Bateman's account of a

little-known

ceremony that fills the

halls of the Army corridor of the Pentagon with cheers,

applause and many tears every Friday morning.  It first appeared on

May 17 on the

Weblog of media critic and pundit Eric Alterman at the

Media Matters for

America Website.

"It is 110 yards from the "E" ring to the

"A" ring of

the Pentagon. This

section of the Pentagon is newly renovated; the floors

shine, the hallway is broad, and the lighting is bright.  At this instant

the entire length of the corridor is packed with officers, a few sergeants

and some civilians, all

crammed tightly three and four deep against the walls.

There are thousands here.

This hallway, more than any other, is the Army'

hallway.

The G3 offices

line one side, G2 the other, G8 is around the corner.

All Army.  Moderate conversations flow in a low buzz.  Friends who may not

have seen each other for a few weeks, or a few years, spot each other,

cross the way and renew their friendships.

Everyone shifts to ensure an open path remains down the

center.  The air

conditioning system was not designed for this press of

bodies in this area. The temperature is rising already.  Nobody cares.10:36

hours: The clapping starts at the E-Ring.  That is the outer most

of the five rings of the Pentagon and it is closest to the entrance to the

building..  This clapping is low, sustained, hearty.  It is applause with

a deep emotion behind it as it moves forward in a wave down the length of the

hallway.

A  steady rolling wave of sound  it is, moving at the

pace of the soldier in

the wheelchair who marks the forward edge with his

presence.  He is the first.  He is missing the greater part of one leg, and

some of his wounds are still suppurating..  By his age I expect that he is

a private, or perhaps a private first class.

Captains, majors, lieutenant colonels and colonels meet

his gaze and nod as they applaud, soldier to soldier. Three years ago

when I described one of these events, those lining the hallways were somewhat

different.  The

applause a little wilder, perhaps in private guilt for

not having shared in

the burden. Yet.

Now  almost  everyone lining the hallway is, like the

man in the  wheelchair,

also a combat veteran.  This steadies the applause, but

I think deepens the sentiment.  We have all been there now. The soldier's

chair is pushed by,

I believe, a full colonel.  Behind him, and stretching

the length from Rings

E to A, come more of his peers, each private, corporal,

or sergeant assisted as need be by a field grade officer.

11:00 hours: Twenty-four minutes of steady applause.  My

hands hurt, and I laugh to myself at how stupid that sounds in my

own head. My hands hurt.. Please!  Shut up and clap.  For twenty-four

minutes, soldier after

soldier has come down this hallway - 20, 25, 30.

Fifty-three legs come with them, and perhaps only 52 hands or arms, but down

this hall came 30 solid hearts.

They pass down this corridor of officers and applause,

and then meet for a private lunch, at which they are the guests of honor,

hosted by the generals.  Some are wheeled along.  Some insist upon

getting out of their chairs, to march as best they can with their chin held

up, down this hallway,   through this most unique audience.  Some are catching

handshakes and smiling like a politician at a Fourth of July parade.

More than a couple of them seem amazed and are smiling shyly.

There are families with them as well: the 18-year-old

war-bride pushing her

19-year-old husband's wheelchair and not quite

understanding why her husband is so affected by this, the boy she grew up

with, now a man, who  had never shed a tear is crying; the older immigrant

Latino parents who have, perhaps more than their wounded mid-20s son, an

appreciation for the emotion given on their son's behalf.  No man in

that

hallway, walking or clapping, is ashamed by the silent tears on more than

a few cheeks.  An  Airborne Ranger wipes his eyes only to better see.

A couple of the officers in this crowd have themselves been a part of

this parade in the past.

These are our men, broken in body they may be, but they

are our brothers,

and we welcome them home.  This parade has gone on,

every single Friday, all year long, for more than four years.

Did you know that?  The media hasn't yet told the

story.

And  probably

never  will.