In happier times, Daniel B. Cotnoir of Lawrence, Mass., was named 2005 Marine of the Year. He won that honor by the sweat of his brow in the killing fields of Iraq, picking up the body parts and personal effects of comrades moments after their last breath had been ripped from them by explosions that seemed to come out of nowhere.

The cry of the Marines is "No one left behind," a credo that military morticians like Dan Cotnoir took more literally than most. Following the sound of improvised roadside explosions with gloves and a shovel is heartbreaking work, but it wasn't Dan Cotnoir's place to complain. He was a Jarhead, a leatherneck for whom uncommon valor was a common virtue.

More than once, Dan Cotnoir squared his shoulders when called upon to do his duty. After saluting the dead, he took deep breaths before separating the remains of soldiers from twisted wreckage. He took care to sort through the soot of extinguished fires for every piece of flesh and bone. No one would be left behind in Iraq if Dan Cotnoir could help it.

Marine sergeant Cotnoir and his comrades assured each other over beer and card games stateside that they weren't welcome in Heaven and Hell was afraid they'd take over. The problem was that nobody bothered to tell Heaven or Hell that the USMC was off limits. Death came regularly and with a spiteful impunity that couldn't be imagined before it was experienced first hand.

In boot camp, Dan Cotnoir learned the classic definition of his role in the USMC. He was to be a "leader of men, teller of tall tales, legend in his own mind, U.S. Marine extraordinaire, stream fordable, air dropable, beer fueled, water cooled, author, history maker, lecturer, traveler, freedom fighter, defender of the faith."

The rest of the boast, though equally cartoonish, is considered nothing short of gospel for the USMC: "Wars fought, tigers tamed, revolutions started, bars emptied, alligators castrated. Let me win your hearts and minds or I'll burn your damn hut down."

After boot camp, the world and all of its complicated realities came rushing in. Tight-knit Marine units suffered casualties just like other branches of the military. Still, everyone fell back on their training to deal with the trauma. "Marines never die," those who could draw breath chanted between tears, "They just go to Hell and regroup."

Walking in the fields and craters of the dead, Daniel B. Cotnoir kept stumbling over pieces of his indestructible comrades.

"It's a lot harder to talk about the job now than it was at the time to actually do it," Cotnoir told the Lawrence Eagle-Tribune in July when he received the designation as 2005 Marine of the Year in Washington, D.C., after beating out a field of 180,000 candidates for the honor.

"The stories I've gained from my deployment aren't the kind of stories you share," he said.

Cotnoir wasn't being coy. He carried the things he saw in Iraq the way Coleridge's Ancient Mariner wore the albatross around his neck. In therapy, the Marine struggled with recurring images of shattered comrades and other ghosts from the war.

Ironically, a bit of gallows humor made famous by the Marines sums up Cotnoir's situation well: "If you can keep your head while those around you are losing theirs, you may have misjudged the situation."

According to his lawyer, the 2005 Marine of the Year had been having a difficult time holding it together since returning from Iraq. It doesn't help that he felt harassed by noisy customers at a nearby club. Living next to a nightclub presented unique challenges for the Marine and his family.

Early Saturday morning, something finally snapped for the 33-year-old Marine. Before he knew it, Daniel B. Cotnoir was bringing a little bit of Fallujah and Tikrit to the home-front in Lawrence, Mass.

Standing at his window holding a shotgun at 2:45 a.m., the veteran war hero opened fire on a crowd of 30 or so drunken revelers outside the Punto Finale nightclub.

Fortunately for Cotnoir and the folks who scattered into the night, he was not a decorated sniper. Bullet fragments ricocheted, hitting 15-year-old Lissette Cumba and Kelvin Castro, 20, neither of whom was in a very forgiving mood when told of the Marine's mental state.

Cotnoir said he did it because someone threw a bottle through his window, causing him to fear for his family's safety. That didn't stop the cops from slapping the cuffs on him and hauling him to jail for reckless endangerment.

Yesterday, the 2005 Marine of the Year was arraigned on charges of assault and battery with a dangerous weapon and assault with intent to murder. His bail has been set at $100,000.

Unfortunately, Daniel B. Cotnoir will have time to think about another favorite quote of the USMC: "Never draw fire. It irritates everyone around you." Sitting in jail probably won't do much for the ghosts visiting him in his sleep, either.