Scott Murphy's voice lowers to a gentle cadence as he enters the Naval Academy's Memorial Hall. Inside, engraved on limestone panels lining the walls, are the names of every alumnus killed in action or support operations since the Civil War.
Ten names have been added since Murphy arrived here as a plebe, as freshmen are known here, in the summer of 2001. He recognizes the newest, a Marine from the Class of 2003 killed last November in Fallujah, Iraq.
"I used to come here when I was having tough times at the academy," said Murphy, a 21-year-old from Boise, Idaho, who will follow his former classmate into the Marines. "I'd just stare at the wall of the dead and reflect. It's humbling, standing before their legacy."
Today, when President Bush delivers their commencement address, Murphy and his classmates will trade midshipmen's anchors for the bars of ensigns and second lieutenants, formally launching their careers as Navy and Marine officers. When the president last spoke at the school four years ago, he told 2001 graduates they "inherit a safer and more peaceful world."
That was the world Murphy's class knew when it entered the academy, a world that shattered three weeks into their first semester. Instead, memorials to fallen alums, e-mail from friends patrolling the streets of Baghdad, course work imbued with lessons of Iraq and taught by veterans freshly returned from combat have made their Annapolis years ones of unexpected urgency.
While the rigor of academy life has not changed -- nor the camaraderie and pranks that go with it -- it has been tempered by the prolonged reality of the conflict that awaits them.
Classroom discussions instantly turned from lessons of past wars to the conflict unfolding in front of them.
"It kind of put a somber effect on everything we were doing here," said Jason Brownlee, 21, of Richmond Hill, Ga.
For some, such as Will Rietveld of Holland, Mich., waiting was the hardest part.
Rietveld, 25, had been an enlisted aviation technician stationed at Whidbey Island north of Seattle when officers urged him to apply to the academy. The idea appealed to him. "I was the guy fixing the airplane," he said. "I wanted to be the guy flying the airplane."
He was accepted, but soon after his arrival, the EA-6B Prowlers he once worked on were flying radar-jamming missions over Afghanistan.
"It was really frustrating," he said, "knowing that the operational tempo of our forces was picking up and we had to kind of sit on the sidelines for the next four years."
Graduating 'into a world at war'
The mission of the Naval Academy has always focused on the moral, mental and physical development of its students. That hasn't changed. What is new is the sense of urgency, said Marine Maj. Michael Mooney, a company officer and instructor.
Mooney, a 1992 graduate, came back to the academy after taking part in the invasion of Iraq, for which he was awarded the Bronze Star. He is among a cadre of officers who have returned to their respective academies fresh from the battlefield.
"I think one of the things that struck me when I left here is I did not graduate into a world at war," Mooney said. "We graduated into Balkans peacekeeping and those types of missions. . . . These midshipmen are getting ready to go into a world at war, and it's our job to keep them focused on that."
The 976 graduates in the Class of 2005 include 200 Marines, the most ever in a graduating class, according to academy officials. Twenty-one will join the SEALs and the rest will pursue Navy aviation, surface ships or submarines. Most will have additional training before reporting to their units, including Basic School at Quantico for the Marines and flight school for aviators.
For their own reasons
After the World Trade Center attacks, applications swelled at the service academies. Those numbers have since declined to pre-9/11 levels.
But unlike classes that followed, members of the Class of 2005 did not have the specter of war or the tide of emotion from the terrorist attacks when they applied.
They did it for different reasons. Some, such as Brownlee, were following a family tradition of Navy service.
Murphy said he realized early on that his comfortable, middle-class upbringing in Idaho was built on the sacrifices of others, especially those in military service. "I just felt everyone should give back."
After arriving, he was drawn to the Marines by "their bearing, their pride, camaraderie -- they just seemed to have an amazing sense of brotherhood."
Since then, he has received a steady flow of e-mail from his best friend in high school, who is an enlisted Marine in Iraq, and his former next-door neighbor, a Marine officer there.
"My friends, especially the enlisted guy, really talked about all the positive effects that the presence of U.S. forces are having in Iraq," he said. "On a daily basis, he was helping build schools, helping build hospitals."
There is no reliable estimate of how many midshipmen have dropped out as a result of the war. The Class of 2005's graduation rate is 78.7 percent, slightly lower than the three previous classes' but in line with the 10-year average. West Point and Air Force Academy officials also said attrition rates have remained stable.
Privately, though, many midshipmen and cadets said the war made them reevaluate their reasons for applying. Service academy students have two years to drop out before they incur an obligation to the government. After that, they must pay back the cost of their education or serve as enlistees.
"I thought people were going to leave left and right," said graduating West Point cadet Mark Haseman, 22, who spent his high school years in Fairfax. "But surprisingly, no, most people took a step back to really think about what was going to happen after they graduate."
The war also has forced the service academies to reexamine how they're responding to the changing needs of the military. Broader emphasis has been placed on culture, religion and language. Scandals such as Abu Ghraib have forced the schools to stress ethical and moral leadership.
Midshipmen are run through day-long seminars in which they are placed in small teams and confronted with moral dilemmas they might face as junior officers.
Before 2001, the cases largely focused on peacetime challenges, said Navy Capt. Charles J. Leidig, the academy's commandant, the equivalent of the dean of students. "Now we've clearly moved that to scenarios of walking the streets of Baghdad, to being in combat, to flying combat missions."
In one such scenario, midshipmen are asked what they would do if, moments before launching a Tomahawk missile, they learn that their "high value" target sits next to a church and a boarding school. A strike would save the lives of U.S. troops but also could kill women and children.
Do they assume that the staff that selected the target knew about the "collateral" buildings? If they tell their superior and he does not bring it up to the captain, are they absolved of responsibility for the children?
If they launch, how do they defend their actions?
"We're trying to help them in their thinking process, not give them a cookbook set of solutions," said Vice Adm. Rodney Rempt, the academy superintendent. "Because, frankly, we don't know what they're going to face."
