An ornate complex of glass and aluminum buildings stood all but deserted in the pine-covered heights of Colorado's Rocky Mountains, like a giant motel that was somehow mistakenly plopped down in a forest. Here and there a lonely figure in khakis scurried across the shimmering terrazzo courtyards and disappeared into a wall of glass. Then suddenly, into the woodland slumber burst the sound of a brass band and the clack-clack of boot-steps—and up the ramp into the spacious grounds marched 450 men, battlegarbed in steel helmets and full field packs. Their young faces were almost hidden by the helmets as they...
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