WEST POINT, N.Y. -- In college football, a media guide is just as much a recruiting tool as an aid to reporters, written in a language designed to entice a high school prospect. The same is true even at the U.S. Military Academy, which cannot sell itself as a farm club for the NFL, so it sells adventure.

"I want an officer for a secret and dangerous mission. I want a West Point football player."

Page 23 in the 272-page book is entirely devoted to the words of Gen. George C. Marshall, who made that statement during World War II when he was Chief of Staff for the U.S. Army. They are words that must resonate with 17-year-old boys who consider themselves brave, and capable.

Probably doesn't hurt recruiting that no Army football player has actually gone on to be killed in action since the Vietnam War. Dating back to 1898 when 1st Lt. Dennis M. Michie died while charging up San Juan Hill in the Spanish-American War, more than 30 former Army players have given their lives in service of the nation. But none have died since 1969, when Capt. Donald W. Dietz, just two years after graduation, was shot down from the skies in our last extended war.

	After the recent terrorist attacks on the U.S., the future of Army cadets is uncertain.

This week, Marshall's words -- engraved on a bronze plaque that the Army players touch as they enter the field at Michie Stadium -- gained newfound consequence.

"It's depressing," said Dustin Plumadore, a senior center. "You'd like to go into the military in peacetime. It's a great job, and nobody wants to go to war. But at the same time, I'm prepared to do it. And if that's the case, if we're going to be at war, then myself, my friends and my teammates will all be involved one way or another."

Upon graduation, cadets must serve for five years. They start as second lieutenants. Some could be sent to the front lines, if the U.S. sends its military into action in response to Tuesday's terrorist attacks.

"It's scary," defensive end Dave McCracken said, "but I guess that's what we're here for in a way."

Contrary to all the clichés, fear is not something that even the most intensive military training removes from the human condition. It could be seen in the eyes of several Army players, all senior leaders, on Friday. It's the same uncertainty that many people have felt since Tuesday, the same dread of what's next that caused me -- more than a decade older than these players -- to jump out of bed and run to the window at 3 a.m. the other night, only to find that the boom-boom-boom-boom-boom in the distance was rolling thunder.

If this is war, this time we're all in it.

The difference is, these Cadets, and those at the other military academies, are signed up to do something about it. Nowhere was participation in sports linked to some greater mission than at the service academies, where athletics is used to make a better soldier. That's still the case, even if that connection has been diluted by three decades of relative peace.

Now, all of a sudden, an athlete is clearly more than an athlete at a place like West Point. He is a soldier in faux armor, someone who could be wearing a different kind of helmet in a faraway place, carrying out a secret and dangerous mission, soon after playing his final game.

"I graduate in December so it really hits home," McCracken said. "My dad was talking about it right [after the terrorist attacks] happened. Now, it's the real deal. When I was a plebe, I didn't think it was a big deal. But now that I graduate in three months, it's hit him hard."

McCracken has the controlled posture, firm handshake and intense gaze of a military man. He's a leader in the making. But those dark eyes dance a bit when talking about Tuesday's attacks by people who obviously, terrifyingly, live more for the next world than this one. His father, also named Dave, was one of those who saw the attack in person, witnessing the second plane crash into the World Trade Center from a construction site across the river in New Jersey.

"He's still shaken," McCracken said. "He's not himself."

This week also brought news that his mother was nearly on one of the hijacked planes. On Monday night, Dianne McCracken was on board a Newark-to-San Francisco flight that was over the maximum weight capacity. United Airlines asked for passengers willing to give up their seats, to lighten the load. She decided against taking the offer of going out the next morning on Flight 93, which crashed outside Pittsburgh.

"You get angry," McCracken said. "Sadness and anger. But you gotta control it here."

West Point cadets are trained to act, not emote. And despite their nerves, each of the football players I spoke with say they are ready to act on Tuesday's attacks.

"If you come to the Academy, at some time in the decision process you ask yourself, 'What [part] of the Army am I willing to go into? Am I willing to put my life on the line?' " Plumadore said. "That's something I've thought about for a long time and it's something I'm fairly well prepared to do if called upon."

A homemade banner hangs from the windows of the Ulysses S. Grant barracks, which would be called dorms in any other college setting. Above the silhouette of a New York City skyline featuring the World Trade Center towers, it reads, "WE WILL NOT FORGET."

"My company made that banner," said Mike Schwartz, a tight end.

These are not reactive kids who just want to shoot somebody. Talking to them, you get the feeling they understand that war can be horrible and should be avoided if at all possible. They'd really prefer not to spill theirs or anyone else's blood. They are idealists with a sense of duty, to defend their nation's interests.

Who knows if football develops a soldier any more than any other recreational exercise. Only a fool would suggest it's a substitute for war. But this much can be said: the college teams I'll be cheering for the rest of the year are those at the service academies, for soon, some of these players might have to substitute football for war.

Tom Farrey is a senior writer for ESPN.com. He can be reached at tom.farrey@espn.com