Fort Bragg, a year and an half later.
A couple of weeks before the Green Berets selection process began, Manuel Ortega met Delmore Barry for the first time.
Ortega was thin, with brown hair and a little shorter than Barry.
He had an Hispanic surname, but his family had been living in the U.S. for generations. His face had no Hispanic features. On the contrary, he had ‘northern’, Caucasian features.
Delmore Barry was twenty-three years old: the same age as Ortega. He was tall, big and looked fairly mean. Most of all, Barry looked smart, really smart.
Barry had already fought for real - just as Ortega had - and in order to join the Special Forces he was prepared to do anything he had to.
Where so much dedication came from, Ortega had no idea, but he didn't care.
He too had no idea as to why he needed to join the Special Forces so badly.
The same day, Ortega also met John Rambo for the first time, and he talked with him much more than he did with Barry.
He and Rambo met just after the medical examination, at the office where the application forms had to be submitted.
After signing his papers, Ortega rather shyly invited Rambo to go and drink a beer with him. They might as well take the opportunity to relax, as they would both soon be up to their necks in trouble.
Johnny Rambo – as Ortega heard people call him - was a silent guy.
There was a thing that Ortega picked up on immediately: Johnny had already had combat experience, just like he did.
You could tell from the extreme seriousness of the guy, and his ‘seriousness’ appeared to be a constant trait despite the fact he was three years younger than Ortega.
As they talked, the fact that they were both veterans made them feel as if they already had something in common.
Rambo was reserved and did not say much about himself, his past or his family.
Ortega was still getting to know him, but perceiving he was so reserved, he just let it go.
The two young men only spoke about the training procedure and their fears about the selection process.
They exchanged ideas on how they should go about getting ready for the tests and did so without hesitation, knowing they were not really competing against each other; if you deserved to be chosen, you would be and that was it. So it was better to give each other a hand, just as you would on a battlefield.
At some point the talk inevitably turned to the Vietnam subject, and shortly afterwards they both fell silent for a while.
They continued drinking their beer without saying anything, until they broke the silence, asking each other about their experiences in the war.
Ortega summed up his own experience in a single sentence:
"I saw a lot of our soldiers die, a hell of a lot, and that was it. That was my war. And what was your war like, John?”
What Ortega had dismissed in just a few phrases, for Rambo was a completely different matter.
He asked Ortega if he wanted to listen to a story about some particularly hard fighting he’d taken part in.
As soon as Ortega nodded Rambo started talking.
Up to that point, Rambo had offered nothing more than monosyllabic responses or short phrases - albeit in a friendly manner - but the boy now vented his feelings in a long monologue.
His words came flowing forth, almost incessantly. It was like watching the sluice gates of a dam being opened; the words came out like a river in a flood.
As he talked, he occasionally sipped his beer, and his tone was calm, almost glacial; he had a fixed, ‘distant’ look.