Letter: My Friend

Submitted by Greg Alderete.

Desert storm was looming. The tension was palpable and it was clear we were going to counter attack there seem to be a sense of purpose I had not seen in the military beforehand

In the long, polished halls of Headquarters, U.S. Army Europe, power moved in quiet footsteps and hushed conversations. Among those who had walked those halls longer than most was Pete P. Antonita (not his real last name). Fifty years in service, a legend in his own right. He carried himself with the confidence of a man who had seen it all—always impeccably dressed, always detached, and always, without fail, dismissive of me.

I was just another officer to him—too young, too unseasoned. If we passed in the hallway, my greeting would be met with a cold glance or, worse, nothing at all.

Then came the day that changed everything.

It was nearing lunchtime, and the corridors had thinned as people drifted toward the the officer’s club. I noticed Pete ahead of me, walking toward the men’s room. In his manicured hand, he carried a document shrouded in a red cover—classified SECRET.

I followed him inside, and as the door swung shut, I saw it. The document—left unattended on the sink.

Pete had gone into a stall, unaware of the mistake he had just made. I hesitated for only a moment. A lapse like this could end a career—no matter how long, no matter how distinguished. Without a word, I picked it up, tucked it under my arm, and walked out.

For the next hour, I sat in the security office, watching the clock. I could only imagine what Pete was going through—if he even realized yet. The man was set to be honored by a four-star general that very Friday, celebrating fifty years of service. And now, in the span of a single oversight, he was on the brink of losing everything.

At one o’clock, I made my way to his office. It was a secure area, so I had to use the side phone to be granted access. I rang once. Then twice. On the third call, someone finally let me in.

Inside, Pete sat at his desk, motionless, staring at nothing. The air around him was heavy, the weight of realization pressing down on his shoulders. His face was ashen, his usual composure shattered.

I took a step forward. “Pete,” I said, my voice even. “Did you leave this in the men’s room?”

Slowly, his hollow eyes shifted to the document in my hand.

I explained that the chain of custody had not been broken. That no one else had seen it. That there was no need to report it.

He didn’t speak at first. Instead, he rose from his chair—his movements slow, as if he were waking from a terrible dream. His relief was palpable, washing over him like a flood. Then, before I could react, he stepped forward and embraced me, gripping my shoulders tightly.

And in a voice filled with gratitude, humility, and something I had never expected from him, he spoke two words.

“My friend.”