.. who does not view the training as a crucible out of which he emerged in some way more resilient, simply braver and better for the wear. (Styron, 1977, p. 3) Although the rigors of basic training are widely approved by military brass, a policy of "zero tolerance" is said to exist for incidents of aberrantly harsh hazing like those contained in two videotapes uncovered by TV news sources in 1997. The tapes depicted the practice of "blood pinning," in which marine paratroopers who have completed 10 training jumps receive their golden wing pins. The pins, each with a pair of half-inch points protruding from the back, are affixed to an initiate's shirt and then ground, punched, slammed, and slapped into his chest while he writhes and screams (Gleick, 1997). Despite claims of outrage and disgust from mil- itary leaders in the aftermath, only one of the 30 marines caught perpetrating the pain was recommended for discharge. A few were assigned to receive counseling,
as possible. So close were they that on Leyte late in 1944 Japanese paratroops dropped on the unit, apparently having mistaken it for a command post because of its numerous antennae. One startled radioman, isolated in a direction-finding booth in the middle of a clearing, suddenly heard bullets whizzing all around him. The codebreakers dropped their pencils, grabbed their rifles, and engaged in rather more direct action against the enemy than that to which they were accustomed. The paratroopers were driven off, but not quickly enough to save the unit's documents from the flames. Its radio operators, specially trained in Japanese Morse, listened in 24 hours a day on at least some of its two dozen receivers. Sometimes just the circuits being used would give Japanese intentions away. On Biak in 1944, the unit quickly learned that messages on a certain frequency invariably preceded an evening air raid—a bit of foreknowledge that
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