"I do believe there are heroes out of these wars," he said. "I just don't see a lot of heroes in Washington—I could talk for hours about that. I'm not pointing fingers at anyone in the government. I think we owe it to our guys to look into the mirror."

Weston, speaking with Washington Post correspondent Rajiv Chandrasekaran, said he feels the nation's capital needs to become more reflective on its reasons for going to war, and to be sure that the reasons warrant the sacrifice. He recalled a group of mullahs asking him "on a windy hilltop" in Afghanistan, "Why did you invade Iraq?" He wants to hear policymakers ask themselves those questions, he said.

Jane Harman, director of the Woodrow Wilson Center, said the key is reaching the “young kid in the boonies and convincing him to not put on a suicide vest.”

Philip Mudd, a former CIA analyst and now a global advisor at Oxford Analytica, said that “when we speak, we ought to act the same way we speak. If we support democracy, that’s not Hosni Mubarak.”

Jim Hake, founder of Spirt of America, said “word of mouth is the most powerful form of marketing you can get.”

Did McRaven Ever Doubt the Bin Laden Raid? No.

But even here, there are some efforts that are extraordinary—and DUSTOFF 73 was exactly that. The crew came out Fort Drum, N.Y., and last summer in eastern Afghanistan it flew into the annals of history. But in talking to all four crew members exclusively for this issue, I was struck by how their heroism had become habit, something that almost seems learned. I expected adrenaline junkies or war cowboys, but instead found four regular people susceptible to the same fears and doubts as anyone else. The difference? They’re extraordinarily practiced at finding that emotional dial inside and turning it way, way down. They put their fear on mute when lives are on the line.

It’s an extraordinary skill for anyone, but especially significant for Sgt. Julia Bringloe, the medic on board DUSTOFF 73. Five years ago, she joined the Army, at age 35, hoping to leap out of a deadening career in Hawaii, and then suddenly she was among the only women on the front lines. Women remain officially banned from serving in infantry or commando positions, but earlier this year, in a historic shift, the Marines and Army moved to integrate women into other near-combat roles. Meanwhile, women like Julia have been taking fire routinely for years. She rescues the same men she’s forbidden to fight alongside, and she never seems to flinch. “It’s a job, not a gender,” she likes to say. The military would do well to realize that.

McRaven’s remarks were one of the first public comments from an elite U.S. military leader on the biggest scandal to hit the CIA under the Obama administration. His comments suggest Petraeus will maintain influence within the military—where he spent his career before retiring as a four-star general to become director of the CIA.

Inside the military, adultery is a serious charge. It can lead to demotion and other penalties. Colleagues of Petraeus say his affair with Paula Broadwell, a former military intelligence officer and the former general’s biographer, began after he began his job at the agency.

I’m talking about “Army wives” and Army husbands, too—meaning those of us who do not take oaths of military service, but who do stand by our men and women. While we honor our servicemen and women, we often forget that many service members marry men and women who do not themselves wear a uniform but must live by the oaths their spouses take. Even though Hollister “Holly” Knowlton Petraeus grew up as “West Point royalty” (her father, Gen. William Knowlton, was the superintendent of the United States Military Academy during Petraeus’s years as a cadet), when she said “I do,” she gave up her own dreams and began following his.

You might wonder how this is different from a person who marries a doctor or any professional whose career requires moves from place to place. I can tell you that it is, because I am a military spouse: Few other marriages involve a beige Dependent Spouse ID card that is necessary for everything from grocery shopping at the post commissary to emergency-room care at any hospital. From my own personal experience as the wife of a West Point cadet, I can tell you that the indoctrination starts early: If you are married in a traditional military ceremony, after your saber arch has formed and you’ve walked through it, the last person will turn his saber flat, whack you on the backside, and yell “Welcome to the Army, Mrs. Patrick!”

The assumption is, from the moment the vows are finished, that a military spouse will “fall in” with whatever her spouse’s career needs. The old joke is that “If the Army wanted you to have a wife, they would have issued you one;” in other words, you’re expendable, and might be troublesome. Women whose love for a soldier transcends their discomfort with field conditions were once known as “camp followers.” Over time, the military adjusted. Pensions were granted to war widows, housing was added to posts and bases, and services provided for the children of military marriages (although the appellation “brats” has never left them). The military is still adjusting, of course, and Holly Petraeus has been an amazing part of that change in her efforts to help families learn more about their consumer rights.

I grew up in a Jewish suburb of Los Angeles. I never knew anyone in the military, nor did any of my high-school friends join after graduation. A few years ago, I was approached to do some short-term anonymous counseling at the Marine Corps Recruit Depot in San Diego. Being a psychotherapist, I was fascinated by the military and wanted the opportunity to work with its members. I put my private practice on hold for a couple of months and headed to the base with hopes of giving back.

But by the end of my second week, not a single Marine had approached me. It didn’t take long for me to realize that the likelihood of them voluntarily coming in for help was very slim. These are men and women that carry enormous pride, and asking for help can be seen as a sign of weakness. Plus, accessing mental-health services has the potential of hurting one’s chance for promotion. Depending on what is discussed, the content could end their permanent military file and the repercussions of that disclosure could be huge. What’s more, I had been placed at the Family Advocacy Center, which is where Marines are required to go if they face an allegation of domestic violence. I knew if I wanted to work with service members, I was going to have to go out and find them.

Fortunately, I met some incredible Marine leaders and together we came up with an idea to bring mental-health services to the Marines proactively rather than reactively. Every few months, each drill instructor was required to participate in a short, individual session with no notes taken. I quickly learned that when everyone participates—from the top of the chain to the bottom—there is no stigma. Marines shared all types of things when they knew it was truly off the record.