"Winners line up on the grass over there. You a…losers…why don’t ya just play with each other." Zeke is in the middle of one of his patented *Zeke Anderson* recruitment stories. The guys are hanging on his every word.

I’m not paying much attention. I’m just glad to see my sergeant looking so happy. He really didn’t seem like the birthday party type. I guess you never know.

I don’t normally do the birthday celebration thing. It’s best leaving that to the men. Being an officer is a sure way to suck the life out of any party. This is my one and only exception. Besides, it was my idea, so to speak. I was going over performance evals last week when I noticed Zeke’s date of birth. Morale being what it is around here, I decided to mention it to Taylor and leave it at that. That’s all it took…instant party. As luck would have it, none of our platoon is in the field tonight. I wasn’t sure if Zeke would be grateful. Personally, I hate parties. I’d want to kick someone’s ass, but that’s me. Zeke is beaming like a kid on Christmas morning.

There’s even a cake with actual candles. Wonder what we owe the mess staff for that one. Then again, Zeke’s a popular guy. And gifts…how in the world? I won’t ask. Taylor has his moments.

There are at least twenty-five guys gathered for the festivities and Zeke has a story or a kind word for every single one of them. He seems to be loosely working his way around the table and through the crowd. That’s my sergeant. He’s amazing. Luck, karma, fate…none of that begins to cover my good fortune the day Sergeant Anderson called out my name the first time we laid eyes on each other in Chu Lai. He offered his hand and I…well, I asked him where his salute was. OY! I wonder if he’s going to tell THAT story when he gets around to me.

Over time, I’ve become a good soldier and a good officer. But I’m kidding myself if I take the credit. It’s him. It’s always been him. Zeke is our lifeline. In a firefight, he’s always thinking ahead, looking for an out. Flanking the enemy, drawing fire…whatever it takes. Not only that, he’s our moral compass on the base, and in the villes. We all look to that. Don’t get me wrong, he’s a soldier and he’ll do what needs to be done. Those huge hands can snap a neck in the blink of an eye. I’ve seen it. It’s just that…I’ve also seen them soothe a terrified child and gently cradle a crying baby.

Zeke Anderson humbles me on a daily basis. Through Ladybird, TET, Tan Son Nhut…he’s been there for us without fail, the one constant. Ask any of the men. Zeke is the glue that holds us all together. Holds me together.

Time to go. Leave the guys to stroll down memory lane. Once I’m gone, they can drink, fight, verbally trash their CO’s, or whatever the hell they do when I’m not around. I don’t have to worry about them. Zeke’s here.

"Sergeant, I have some paperwork calling me." He nods, eyes shining. I stand up and excuse myself before he has a chance to launch into a *Goldman* story.

"LT." He’s tracked me down halfway across the compound. "Thank you, Sir." Whatever he’s thanking me for…it’s not necessary.

He must have read my mind. "Taylor told me the party was your idea, Sir."

"I didn’t know if you’d be grateful or annoyed." I joke with him.

Zeke ducks his head to the side and looks at the ground. "First birthday cake I ever had, LT."

He’s got to be kidding. Zeke grew up an orphan, but…that just can’t be. The man is thirty-four years old. I checked.

"Carol?" Come on…she never made him a cake?

He shrugs. "Never been home on my birthday. Bad timin’ I guess."

I nod dumbly.

"Thank you, LT." He flashes me a genuine smile that makes him look ten years younger.

"You’re welcome. Happy Birthday, Zeke."

He nods and winks at me before hustling back to the guys.

Amazing.