This morning as I was meditating I suddenly found myself thinking of this scene from Steven Spielberg's masterpiece, Saving Private Ryan: Tom Hanks's character, Captain John Miller, has just survived storming the beach at Normandy on D-Day. Now he's visiting battalion headquarters to report to his commanding officer. As he waits, he can't help but notice the soldiers around him, all clerks, enjoying hot shaves, hot coffee, and roast beef sandwiches. He's been cold and wet and surviving on C rations for days. Can you blame him for being a little envious of the pogues? He's the one risking his life in combat, he's the one swimming high seas of terror and horror in order to accomplish his mission, but there are no comforts provided for him. Only yet another mission. It doesn't seem fair, does it? He's earned those small luxuries a hundred times over. Compared to him, a commander of an elite platoon of infantry, these men hardly rate as soldie