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Arlington House, a Greek revival mansion, was the former home of Robert E. Lee and towered over Arlington National Cemetery and its inspiring garden of white stones. In front of the house was the elliptical Memorial Amphitheater, constructed of stark white marble with low marble benches that would seat four thousand and leave room for another thousand people to stand. The amphitheater was bordered by enormous colonnades inscribed with the names of forty-four major battles from the American Revolutionary War through the Spanish-American War. The main stage of the amphitheater, constructed in the shadow of Arlington House, was an enormous three-level structure, recessed into a richly carved marble dome. A quote from Lincoln’s Gettysburg Address could be seen just below the peak of the roof: “We here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain.”

The stage had been prepared for the president to address a nation still in mourning, though the seven days since the failed mission had allowed time for some of the tears to morph into clenched jaws of defiance and revenge. The Houthi rebels were now under relentless air attacks from the combined forces of the United States and Saudi Arabia, and the president’s team was strong-arming allies to join in reimposing sanctions against Iran.

The flag-draped coffins of the twenty Americans killed in Yemen lined the front of the stage, and three enormous American flags provided the backdrop to the podium where the president would speak. Paige sat with a number of people she did not know, all friends of the Quillen family from Delhi, New York. Bill Harris sat in one of the few dozen seats on the elevated stage.

The whole scene created a lump in Paige’s throat, a mixture of emotions that were hard to unravel. There was the suffocating sadness brought about by the finality of this ceremony and the growing acceptance that she would never see Patrick again. But there was also a measure of pride in what he stood for and the courage he had shown. This was America at its patriotic best. Patrick and his friends had died to set other men free. Wasn’t that why he had joined the SEALs in the first place?

The president’s speech was equal to the occasion. She captured the right tone, and after meeting her that morning, Paige felt a certain affinity with her. For the most part, Paige managed to hold it together, except when the president spent a few minutes describing the essence of each of the fallen men.

“Patrick Quillen was raised by a grandfather who also served this country in the Korean War. Mr. William Harris, who will give our closing benediction, taught Patrick that there was no greater honor than serving our country, and his grandson distinguished himself as the very best of the very best.

“Patrick was a man of tremendous character and faith. His commanders tell me that on the battlefield Patrick always carried a small Bible with his life’s philosophy written just inside the front cover. It was a quote from a missionary named William Borden, a young man who left America and the wealth of his father’s large company to serve on the mission field. He died at the age of twenty-five, and when Borden’s Bible was given to his mother, she found he had penned three phrases inside the front cover—‘No retreat. No reserves. No regrets.’ These were the same phrases Patrick had written in his Bible, and like his hero, Patrick lived it out.”

The president moved quickly to the next man, but Paige reflected on the words. She dabbed at her eyes and sniffed back some tears. Family members of the other SEALs were moved as the president shared kind words about their loved ones, including Beef Anderson, whom she called the best prankster in the unit, a “happy warrior,” and a loving father and husband. Paige stole a glance at Kristen, seated about fifteen chairs over, clutching the hands of her little boys. Her bottom lip was trembling as tears streamed down her face, but her head was held high.

When the speech was over, Bill Harris walked slowly to the podium, pulled a copy of his prayer out of his suit coat pocket, and asked the crowd to bow their heads. He thanked God for his country. He prayed for the president and the country’s leaders. He thanked God for the privilege of raising Patrick. For a moment his voice quivered, and Paige wasn’t sure if he would be able to finish. But then he cleared his throat and asked for God to help his country use its power for justice and not revenge, that its people would not meet evil with evil but overcome evil with good.

He ended by saying, “And without any disrespect to the other religions gathered here today, including the followers of Islam, I ask these things in the name of Jesus. Amen.” There were a few muttered amens from the crowd as Bill took his seat.

With her emotions already running high, the pageantry and symbolism of the rest of the ceremony nearly tore Paige apart. The crowd stood in reverent silence as the twenty flag-draped caskets were loaded onto separate caissons, each pulled by six beautiful white horses. A lone soldier walked in front, and the family members of each SEAL fell in behind. Paige rejoined Patrick’s grandfather as they walked side by side behind Patrick’s coffin.

They walked nearly a mile down the tree-lined road with thousands of people standing on each side. It was a national show of respect that made Paige realize, perhaps for the first time, just how important these events were for her country. The spectators included people of every race, age, and social standing. They all stood quietly, tears visible on some of the faces. There were servicemen and -women standing at attention, their uniforms gleaming in the sun. There were kids on the shoulders of their dads and men with hats over their hearts and older men and women who had probably served their time in the military saluting as Paige walked by. She felt honored and unworthy all at the same time.

They reached the grave sites, and the caskets were carefully lifted into place at a row of twenty open graves. There were a few chairs facing each grave, and Paige took a seat next to Bill Harris in the front row at Patrick’s grave. Everything was done with military precision. A flyover started the interment service. A chaplain stood in front of each casket and said a brief prayer. A cannon salute was fired in the distance.

A loud voice called out, “Present arms!” and at each grave, a team of soldiers with crisp, sharp movements initiated a rifle volley that echoed through the cemetery. When the salute was complete, a single bugler played taps. It was a haunting sound, stirring emotions that Paige didn’t even know she had.

Two soldiers at each grave then lifted the flag from the casket and began the precise and exacting folding ceremony, every movement perfectly timed across the twenty graves, so that the flags were all reduced into neat, compact triangles in the same way at the same precise moment. The two soldiers in front of Patrick’s grave handed the flag to a captain and saluted sharply. The captain turned and knelt in front of Bill Harris, presenting him with the flag, telling him how much the country was indebted to him and to Patrick for their sacrifice. Bill thanked the man, remaining stoic, but Paige felt tears running from behind her sunglasses, and she didn’t even care.

The chaplain then said a few words of comfort and offered a prayer of commitment. Friends stepped forward, one at a time, to place a single rose on the casket. Paige watched as Patrick’s grandfather approached the casket and placed his right hand on it, bowing his head in prayer. It was perhaps the saddest sight she had ever seen. The man had already lost his daughter and son-in-law in an accident. His wife had died from cancer. And now the pride of his life had been snuffed out before he reached his thirtieth birthday.

Paige felt overwhelming sympathy for this man whom she already loved. She rose from her seat and joined him, gently placing a hand on his shoulder. He looked over at her and straightened, an old man gathering strength to leave a graveside one more time.

“He belongs to the nation now,” Bill Harris said. “God gave him to me for a season. But he belongs to the nation now.”

And with that, he gave Paige a squeeze on the shoulder and walked away from the empty casket.