We have a saying in the Marine Corps and that is 'no better

Host: The night hung heavy over the military base, the kind of night that smelled faintly of metal, diesel, and memory. The barracks were quiet now — only the distant hum of a generator and the occasional bark of a guard’s voice broke the silence. Out beyond the wire, the desert stretched infinite and cold, the stars sharp as shrapnel.

Host: Inside the makeshift rec tent, a single lightbulb swung gently overhead, casting a trembling glow across two figures sitting at a table — a man and a woman, both wrapped in the kind of weariness that only comes from seeing too much. Jack’s uniform jacket hung loosely on his chair, his hands wrapped around a tin mug of coffee gone bitter with waiting. Jeeny sat across from him, her hair tied back, her eyes fixed on the faded American flag hanging crookedly on the far wall.

Host: Between them lay a folded slip of paper — a quote scrawled in the hard, sure handwriting of men who’ve lived by it:

“We have a saying in the Marine Corps and that is ‘no better friend, no worse enemy, than a U.S. Marine.’ We always hope for the first, friendship, but are certainly more than ready for the second.”
— John F. Kelly

Jeeny: “It’s such a strange sentence,” she said quietly. “Half mercy, half menace.”

Jack: “It’s balance,” he replied, his voice low, steady. “That’s what the Corps is built on. Be kind when you can. Be lethal when you must.”

Jeeny: “But isn’t that the paradox? You can’t preach friendship with one hand and carry vengeance in the other.”

Jack: “Sure you can,” he said, leaning forward. “You just have to know when each belongs. The world isn’t binary, Jeeny. Sometimes peace needs a loaded gun to guard it.”

Host: A gust of wind rattled the tent flaps, and the lantern flickered. Jeeny’s face glowed in and out of shadow, her features caught between compassion and doubt.

Jeeny: “You talk like the world is a battlefield — always us versus them.”

Jack: “Because it is. You just choose your battlefield. Out there,” he said, nodding toward the sand and starlight beyond the canvas walls, “it’s survival. Here? It’s ideals. But the fight’s the same.”

Jeeny: “And friendship?”

Jack: “Friendship is the only thing that makes any of it worth it. But it’s fragile. Out here, trust is the only currency that buys tomorrow.”

Host: The flame inside the lantern steadied again, its light trembling over the dust-coated mugs and half-eaten rations.

Jeeny: “You know, Kelly’s quote — it’s more than military bravado. It’s almost… philosophical. The Marine as both protector and destroyer. It reminds me of something Nietzsche said — that whoever fights monsters must take care not to become one.”

Jack: “Nietzsche never pulled security in Fallujah,” Jack said with a rough laugh. “You don’t get the luxury of philosophy when someone’s pointing an RPG at your friends.”

Jeeny: “Maybe not. But philosophy’s what helps you live with what happens after.”

Host: He didn’t answer right away. His eyes drifted to the flag again — its colors faded from heat and wind, but still defiant.

Jack: “You know,” he said after a long pause, “people think that saying’s about aggression. But it’s really about control. The Marine’s strength isn’t in the trigger — it’s in restraint. You can be the worst enemy in the world. But you choose to be the best friend instead.”

Jeeny: “Until you can’t.”

Jack: “Until you shouldn’t.”

Host: The silence between them was sharp, almost sacred. Jeeny’s fingers traced the rim of her mug — small circles of thought.

Jeeny: “That’s what makes it tragic,” she said softly. “You train men to be kind killers. To hold both humanity and violence in the same hand. That’s too much weight for one soul.”

Jack: “Maybe. But that’s what honor’s for — to carry what conscience can’t.”

Jeeny: “Honor doesn’t erase the cost.”

Jack: “No,” he said, his voice darkening, “but it gives it meaning.”

Host: Outside, the night deepened. Somewhere in the distance, a humvee engine coughed to life. The desert wind whispered across the canvas, sounding almost like prayer.

Jeeny: “You know,” she murmured, “it’s strange to think that friendship and war can exist in the same sentence. But maybe that’s what makes it human — the contradiction. The desire to connect even in the middle of destruction.”

Jack: “That’s the Marine’s paradox,” he said. “We learn to love fiercely because we live so close to death.”

Jeeny: “And does that make it easier?”

Jack: “No,” he said. “Just truer.”

Host: He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, worn photo — two young men, smiling in desert sun, their uniforms filthy, their faces alive. He slid it across the table toward her.

Jack: “That’s what that quote means to me. No better friend — because that guy would’ve died for me. No worse enemy — because if someone tried to kill him, I’d have burned the world to stop it.”

Jeeny: “And now?”

Jack: “Now he’s gone. And I keep trying to live in a world where both halves of that sentence can still make sense.”

Host: Jeeny looked at the photo — the faces frozen in an innocence too short-lived. Her eyes softened, the kind of softness that comes from both understanding and mourning.

Jeeny: “Maybe that’s why it’s such a powerful saying,” she said. “Because it captures the tension that defines every human heart — the pull between love and violence, between wanting to protect and being forced to destroy.”

Jack: “You think civilians can understand that?”

Jeeny: “Maybe not fully. But they feel it in smaller ways — the fight to stay kind in a cruel world, to keep friendship alive in places built for competition.”

Jack: “So you’re saying we’re all Marines, in some way?”

Jeeny: “In spirit, maybe. Each of us trying to be the better friend before we become the worse enemy.”

Host: The lantern’s flame trembled once more, then steadied — its light golden and unwavering.

Jack: “You know,” he said quietly, “Kelly’s right. We always hope for friendship. But being ready for the other — that’s what keeps the hope honest.”

Jeeny: “And what keeps it tragic.”

Jack: “Tragic,” he repeated, almost like a prayer. “But necessary.”

Host: Outside, the first hint of dawn began to pale the horizon — that fragile blue before the desert catches fire again. Jack stood, pulling on his jacket, the weight of his words hanging between them like smoke.

Host: Jeeny stayed seated, her gaze still on the photo. “No better friend, no worse enemy,” she whispered. “I suppose that’s the human condition — mercy armed with the memory of what it takes to protect it.”

Host: The light from the rising sun filtered through the tent, soft and pale, washing over the two of them — two souls, shaped by opposite truths but bound by the same longing: to remain kind in a world that demands strength.

Host: And as the dawn unfolded over the endless sand, John F. Kelly’s words seemed less like a motto and more like a mirror — reflecting both the fragility and the ferocity of the human spirit:

“We always hope for the first, friendship, but are certainly more than ready for the second.”

Host: Because to live — truly live — is to stand forever in that impossible balance between tenderness and resolve.
Between the will to protect, and the readiness to fight.