This was savage reality. Here every tree tried to kill you. Every vine reached out to sink its fangs into soggy gray skin, and every noise promised years of cold-drenched, screaming nightmares in the God-blessed land of Select Comfort Beds and mocha frappacinos. Nothing prepares you for that stark reality, not even the sustained fatigue and sleeplessness of Ranger School, and no one who was not there can ever comprehend the fear and exhilaration of the adrenalin rush that frame the emotions of those eternal moments. This was another perplexing paradox of war. Those who did not die have never been so much alive. The scary thing was that I loved it, and no one I knew or cared about would ever understand that bizarre reaction.