Capt. Chase is a tall man in his early to mid 40s. For the most part, he is the embodiment of cheerfulness, and by all accounts of those on his team, the embodiment of social oblivion.

Some of his best moments include his complaining about not having a sleeping trailer, mindless of the infantry Joes who sleep in heatless old goat barns, their cots lined tightly, and commenting loudly in the chow hall about the humor he found in an AFN (Armed Forces Network) commercial attempting to recruit soldiers into the EOD (explosive ordinance disposal) within days of three of them being killed at our FOB. And, oh yes, his increasingly charming habit of coughing into your tray at the chow hall. (He says he has only done this once. However, it was all I could do not to make his pseudonym "Capt. Pleurisy.")

All of these things, and more, he is, and he does. But in spite of it all, Sgt. Carpenter, always quick with insight and wisdom, summed it up well a few nights ago: "It says a lot about him that we like him." What he meant was that, in spite of all Capt. Chase's social shortcomings, he is, at his base, very likable.

Capt. Chase is, after all, what I call the "post-9/11 patriot" and how can you not admire that? At my level, and specifically in the medical branch, I have seen a lot of medical professionals join for reasons of patriotism only since 9/11. They are usually over 40 and expect very little from the military in return for their service. They do not want or need the GI Bill since they usually left college years ago and most have even moved beyond the burdens of student loans. God bless them. They are red, white and blue, absolute.

But the military is a culture all its own. And those of us who are approaching our 20-year marks -- having been privates, having been sergeants -- take for granted the subtle nuances of this culture, as well as the basic skills we learned years ago.

Having said that, the "over-40, post-9/11 patriot" can be a dangerous character in all of the wrong ways here. Unsure of their weapons, or what status their weapon is supposed to be on at any given time. On a convoy, "Am I supposed to have my weapon off safe right now?" Turning toward me, "Why are you looking at me like that, Capt. Leonard?" Or just walking around some remote battle position smiling, camera in hand, while the NCOs say quietly to me, "He's new sir, huh?" And he looking back toward me from across the road, "Why are you looking at me like that, Capt. Leonard?"

Capt. Chase is the collision of the post-9/11 patriot with the socially oblivious, in a shell of undeniable likability, afflicted with a strong case of perma-grin.

One day, after a long conversation about youthful memories, I asked him if he felt that what I had done was a little socially adventurous. He replied, "Compared to you, Capt. Leonard, I'm autistic." I bit my tongue.