They’ll be heading north on Fifth Avenue from 26th Street today, 27,000 strong and many with memories of earlier marches — when the lines were a little straighter, the formations a little tighter and the cadence-counts rhythmic and strong.
The veterans among them were younger, some much younger, when their country called. Off they went, in a confusion of duty and patriotism and pride, and while their individual experiences varied as widely as their service, they had this in common:
They all came home.
Today is their day — Veterans Day — the day the nation has chosen to celebrate their sacrifices.
There are 22.6 million of them — including 1.7 million surviving World War II vets, and the 2.3 million men and women who have served in Iraq and Afghanistan since 9/11.
America is mad for its veterans these days, much as it was 70 years ago — as it became clear that victory in the nation’s last formally declared war was only a matter of time.
Ambiguity came later, and with it more nuanced attitudes toward military service — and, subsequently, toward veterans.
The Korean conflict — the Forgotten War — ended in bloody stalemate 60 years ago this past June. That came as the French were being evicted from IndoÂchina, an outcome that was inevitable — though, bizarrely, US policymakers learned few lessons from it.
And so followed Vietnam, and with it a national crisis of conscience. The sons of the Greatest Generation, whose sacrifices had been no less profound than those of their fathers, would come to be seen as anything but heroes.
Tales of public disrespect shown to Vietnam veterans linger, but they are generally myths; apathy and avoidance were far more common. But certainly there would be no parades.
Not that the vets needed parades. For they knew the real score.
They knew that, however pitifully the politicians had served the nation, they themselves had never been defeated in the field; that they had acquitted themselves with dignity and honor; that no matter how disgracefully so many of their hide-at-home contemporaries had clawed for the moral high ground, that it was they who had earned the peace of the righteous.
So they simply came home and got on with their lives.
Vietnam, knock wood, was the last of America’s industrial-era wars. The wise stewardship of a submarine-based nuclear deterrent, the collapse of the Soviet Union and the digital revolution seem to have brought a blessed end to conflict resolution through territorial obliteration.
Yes, Desert Storm and Operation Iraqi Freedom demonstrated the continuing value of armor, artillery and air cover. And the nation must always be prepared.
But post-9/11 wars likely will be retail affairs, special-forces-centric and heavily dependent on satellites, drones and other hands-off weapons. So there will be fewer veterans.
And there will be signs of this along Fifth Avenue today.
Iraq and Afghanistan vets will be in the line of march. They will be up front, they will be energetic and they will be enthusiastic — but there won’t be a lot of them. Certainly not relative to the numbers who served in earlier, broader-based conflicts.
And while the parade will be respectfully received, the crowds will be thinner and the sidewalks less crowded than when Johnny — and Janie — came marching home from earlier wars.
Again, numbers matter: There are fewer than 1.5 million Americans on active military duty today. Adjusted for population, that compares weakly to what would have been roughly 28 million in September 1945.
It took the Canyon of Heroes to contain the crowds then, to say nothing of the enthusiasm.
This isn’t to say that contemporary support for veterans is anything less than broad-based, sincere and vocally expressed; it is all that, and much more.
But the relatively small size of today’s military has disquieting political and policy implications for veterans and their dependents, and these must be addressed — albeit on another day.
Today is Veterans Day — né Armistice Day — the 11th day of the 11th month, and 95 years distant from the moment when the War to End All Wars shuddered to an exhausted conclusion.
But of course there would be no end to war, and there never will be.
So there will always be veterans: Men and, increasingly, women who will come to harbor in secret places the liberating knowledge that when their country called they — and they alone — answered.
They will forever be counted among Shakespeare’s happy few — privileged to confront an existential threat, while others slumber through it.
Sometimes virtue truly is its own reward.