Vermont, a bastion of ex-hippies and Ben & Jerry liberals, has another distinction seemingly at odds with its peace-loving, tie-dyed politics: It has suffered more deaths per capita in the Iraq war than any other state.

Beginning with Chief Warrant Officer 4th Class Erik Halvorsen on April 2, 2003, a total of 22 Vermont men have perished in roadside bombings, firefights, sniper attacks and helicopter crashes during the six-year-long war.

"The losses we've had in Vermont have touched most of the state because we're so close-knit," said Maj. Gen. Michael Dubie, commander of the Vermont National Guard. "Almost everyone knows someone — or they know someone who knows someone — who's been affected by our losses."

The casualties give Vermont, pop. 621,000, a rate of 3.54 deaths per 100,000 people.

The high rate speaks more to Vermont's small size than it does to the actual number of deaths. With such a small population, it doesn't take a large number of deaths to produce a high per-capita rate. Vermont is followed on the list by Montana (2.87), Wyoming (2.57), Nebraska (2.50), and South Dakota (2.46).

In raw numbers, Vermont's losses pale in comparison to those of much bigger states — California has lost 469 members of the military in the war (1.27 deaths per 100,000 population), Texas 409 (1.65) and New York 186 (0.95).

The Pentagon does not provide state-by-state breakdowns of troops sent overseas, so it is unclear how many Vermonters are in the war zones. But less than 1 percent of the U.S. military is made up of people who list Vermont as their home state.

Another factor may be the Vermont GIs' assignments. Nearly half the 22 killed were members of the Vermont National Guard, a contingent of which served in Ramadi, a hotspot in 2005 and 2006. Six Vermont Guardsmen were killed there.

The Vermont National Guard is heavy with cavalry and infantry operations and has the U.S. military's only mountain infantry brigade, specializing in mountaineering and small-unit tactics...

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WASHINGTON - They were three best friends at Harvard Law School who turned their backs on lucrative careers to follow an exceedingly rare path: Michael Weston, who jogged through Harvard Yard in combat boots and openly scorned corporate life, joined the Marines. Helge Boes and his girlfriend Cynthia Tidler, who shared their friend’s sense of duty and adventure, joined the CIA.

Their choices - made out of passion, patriotism, and an urge to live an unconventional life - intertwined their fates.

Boes, a covert CIA operative, died when a grenade went off during training in Afghanistan in 2003, leaving Tidler, whom he had married after school, a widow. In their grief, Weston and Tidler reconnected and married earlier last year. Three months later, Weston deployed to Afghanistan; he died there in October, in a helicopter crash, widowing Tidler once again.

In law school, their interest in military and intelligence work made them oddities to many classmates. Now, in law firms and investment banks across the country, some who knew them are questioning their own career choices. Indeed, their friends said, the close relationship of the three, their commitment to confront America’s enemies, and the tragic arc of their lives underscore how rare it is for people with privileged educations to volunteer to fight America’s wars.

“To see people who could have done anything making that kind of sacrifice, it is hard not to look inward and ask, ‘What kind of sacrifices are you making?’ ’’ said Rob Simmelkjaer, a former classmate who is now a vice president at ESPN in New York.

“I think there are a lot of people who see two guys who really gave the ultimate sacrifice,’’ said John Carey, a partner at Patterson & Sheridan in Palo Alto, Calif. “And there is a lot of guilt.’’

Wanting something more
Weston, Boes, and Tidler lived a few doors down from one another in Ames Hall in their first year of law school. Among students obsessed with grades and high-profile jobs, they were fueled by a different inner fire, according to their friends.

Boes, who participated in ROTC in college, and Tidler, who had spent years learning martial arts, started dating immediately, holding hands as they walked around campus. Weston was more aloof.

“He never bought into that whole, ‘We are going to be rich and famous and make lots money,’ ’’ recalled Kristin Oliver, a classmate who kept in touch with Weston until his death. “He was contemptuous of it.’’

Weston was the kind of guy who had lawn chairs in his apartment instead of furniture. He aspired to own nothing more than he could fit into his car.

Later in life, he kayaked the length of the Mississippi River and studied auto mechanics with as much gusto as he had mastered computer science at Stanford. He once camped in a San Francisco park for weeks during a short summer internship - showering at the YMCA - because he didn’t want to pay rent. Raised by his divorced mother in State College, Pa., Weston arrived at Harvard and quickly realized he did not want a Harvard kind of life. He didn’t want to be like his father, a successful partner at a Los Angeles law firm.

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