Business Insider's chief video correspondent Graham Flanagan and senior producer Jake Gabbard take you behind the scenes of the latest "Boot Camp" story: covering the US Army Mountain Warfare School in the rugged mountains of Vermont.

From battling brutal weather conditions to capturing the intense, high-stakes training soldiers endure, Graham and Jake break down what it took to produce one of the series' most challenging episodes. They dive into the storytelling process, talking about choosing compelling characters and navigating the harsh terrain — all while bringing the unique world of military mountaineering to life on-screen.

Harvard is at the center of the Trump administration's higher education pressure campaign — and has emerged as the example of what happens when a university pushes back against the government's demands.

The big picture: By freezing billions in federal funds, derailing international students' futures and levying allegations of antisemitism and discrimination, the administration has squeezed the institution on various fronts as the school becomes the litmus test of how far President Trump will go.

The latest: Harvard on Friday sued the Trump administration (again) over what the school alleges is "clear retaliation" against exercising its First Amendment rights after the administration nixed the Ivy League institution's ability to host international students.

• A federal judge on Friday swiftly blocked the administration's decision.
• Harvard University President Alan Garber said in a statement that the move was yet another step "against Harvard for our refusal to surrender our academic independence and to submit to the federal government's illegal assertion of control over our curriculum, our faculty, and our student body."

Yes, but: As the administration batters the university with investigations and grant terminations, its shields and refusal to capitulate persist.

• But there has still been damage, with researchers trimming expenses as federal grants are reduced or cut entirely.
• And as Axios' Dan Primack notes, Harvard's loss may be the U.S. economy's as well: Targeting international students, a population that has played a critical role in founding and co-founding startups, could mean setting back the country's innovation engine.

Read below for the ways the Trump administration has targeted Harvard:

Administration lists its demands

In an April 11 letter signed by administration officials, Harvard was presented a series of demands to "maintain" its "financial relationship with the federal government."

• The list outlined Trump's vision for the university's institutional priorities. The administration has used federal funding as leverage to ensure that those aims are implemented.

Funds frozen

In a strongly worded letter to Garber, Education Secretary Linda McMahon on May 5 announced the end of new grant funding to the university.

• On top of that, some $2.7 billion in federal funding to Harvard has been halted, per CNN's estimate.
• That includes the freezing of $2.2 billion in grants and $60 million in contracts announced in April and some $450 million in terminations announced in May.
• The Department of Health and Human Services also said in mid-May it was terminating several multi-year grant awards totaling nearly $60 million to Harvard, citing antisemitism.

As Axios' Steph Solis puts it, the blows have the university bracing for death by a thousand grant cuts.

Investigations launched

The administration's antisemitism task force, the Justice Department, the Department of Homeland Security and the Education Department, among various other agencies, have probed Harvard in recent months.

Catch up quick: In March, the Department of Education's Office for Civil Rights alerted 60 higher education institutions, including Harvard, that they could face enforcement action if they didn't protect Jewish students.

• The Education Department and HHS are also investigating allegations that the Harvard Law Review made article selection decisions based on race.
• DHS Secretary Kristi Noem, threatening last month to withdraw Harvard's certification to host international students, requested records about student visa holders, alleging the university had created a "hostile learning environment" for Jewish students.
• The Justice Department in May announced it would use the False Claims Act to investigate recipients of federal funds that violate civil rights laws. Per the New York Times, the DOJ is using that avenue to probe Harvard's admissions process.

Threats to Harvard's tax-exempt status

The administration also reportedly asked the Internal Revenue Service to rescind Harvard's tax-exempt status, which Trump said is "totally contingent on acting in the public interest."

• The legally dubious threat could cost the university hundreds of millions a year.
• Garber said in an interview with the Wall Street Journal in May that if the government went through with the plan, it would be "highly illegal." He added it would be "destructive" to Harvard and send a "very dire" message to the educational community.

Go deeper: Trump's funding ax throws colleges into an existential crisis

• In my early 20s, I saw a story about sending a letter to deployed soldiers.
• I hadn't made many friends after college, so I wrote one and sent it with cookies.
• In 1995, I married one of the soldiers with whom I had become a pen pal.

In 1990, I was in my early 20s, living in my first apartment and in my first post-college job.

Still, I wasn't like other women my age. I had been diagnosed with osteoarthritis and was facing hip replacement surgery. Dating and love weren't on my radar.

One evening, I saw a media story encouraging Americans to send letters to "Any Soldier" to support deployed troops. I wrote a patriotic letter, thanking whoever received it for their service, and put it in a shoebox with homemade cookies. Duty done.

I wasn't expecting to meet my husband like that.

A crew wrote back

A few weeks later, I received a letter, not from a US Marine Corps tank crew thanking me for the package and telling me a little about themselves. One of them mentioned that "Sgt. Ski" (the quiet one) read my letter on Good Morning America.

As the holidays approached, I sent Christmas cards to each of the four-person crew. I began receiving letters from each of them, including Sgt. Bill Mioduszewski. The crew and I exchanged group letters and audiotapes. They even painted my name on the side of their tank.

While quiet in real life, Bill was a marathon letter writer, sharing about his favorite bands, hometown, family, the cookies his grandma sent, and why he joined the Marines. He asked me about my life and the concerts he assumed I was attending back home.

When we met, he didn't feel like a stranger

Though Bill and I were strangers, we developed an easy, unguarded bond through our correspondence. Still, I didn't share my health issue with him; to be honest, I didn't think we'd ever meet. He asked for my phone number, but I didn't think he'd ever call.

But in April 1991, when he turned to the US, he did. We continued to write over the next two years and talk on the phone occasionally. I was chatty and flirty, and he was quiet and amused.

As time passed, Bill talked more frequently about meeting. I made excuses. I was afraid that if we met, he would see I didn't look like I did in that flattering picture I had sent the crew in 1990; I had gained 50 lbs. from medications for my health condition.

He pushed me to set a date to meet in 1992. I told him I was having surgery and needed to take time off for that. He sent me flowers and a sweet get-well card. I had put him off again.

In 1993, Bill was transferred from the West Coast to the East, now only a nine-hour drive away. I had no more excuses. I wrote to him and told him why I was afraid to meet.

When I didn't hear back immediately, I assumed the worst. Two weeks later, I got his reply: "I don't care if I come there, you come here, or we meet halfway — we are going to meet."

So we set a date, Labor Day weekend in 1993. As soon as we saw each other, he went for a long embrace. It didn't feel like we were strangers then.

We've been married for 29 years

That night, we went out with a friend and her husband. We went back to their house to watch a late-night TV show, and Bill and I laughed at the same stupid jokes. I took him to a few Florida touristy spots and tried to impress him with my culinary skills.

Three days after we met, he shyly kissed me. We were falling in love, not in the usual way, but as friends who knew each other pretty well before we "technically" met. Two months later, he quietly told me he loved me, and I told him I loved him, too. In November 1995, we got married.

Since then, we have lived all over and gone through life's lows and highs, including illness, deployments, infertility and miscarriages, buying our first home, welcoming our only child, and career changes, including his retirement from the Marines.

In September 2001, when I was seven months pregnant with our son, Bill went to California for desert training. He unexpectedly ran into his former lieutenant, the one who made him read my "Any Soldier" letter on TV.

Bill said, "Remember our pen pal, Vikki? I married her and she's having our son." The then-USMC major responded with a look of surprise followed by an "Ooh ra! Hope he's born on the Marine Corps birthday." I missed the 226^th by a couple of days.

This year, Sgt. Ski and I will celebrate our 29th anniversary. What began as a dutiful letter and melted cookies in a shoebox addressed to "Any Soldier" landed exactly where they were meant to, if you believe in fate — and we do.

• Henry Butler was diagnosed with an early stage of prostate cancer at age 49.
• He was given a lot of treatment options and ultimately chose a prostatectomy.
• It's been five years since his surgery. While he's physically back to normal, his life is forever changed.

This as-told-to essay is based on a conversation with Henry Butler, who is a prostate cancer survivor. He lives in the UK with his wife, where they run a wine shop together. The conversation has been edited for length and clarity.

When I found out I might have prostate cancer, I was on holiday with my family, sitting on a boat.

I remember getting the phone call from my doctor saying that my PSA levels were slightly above what they should be for my age, and I should come in for more tests because it might be cancer.

So that was fun.

When I got back, I returned to the doctor and got an internal examination with the finger up the backside. That's when he said my prostate didn't feel right on one side.

I wish I hadn't had so many treatment options

I was diagnosed with early-stage prostate cancer in 2019 at age 49. I'd been taking antibiotics for a sinus infection, and suddenly started getting a lot of painful UTIs.

I never prioritized doctor visits before that, but my wife insisted I schedule an appointment. Thank goodness she did.

After my doctor felt my prostate, everything was fast-tracked. I had an MRI and two biopsies. My Gleason score, which measures how aggressive the cancer is, was around three or four — high enough to consider treatment.

I was given loads of options. I sort of expected the medical experts to tell me what treatment I should have, but it was the reverse. They said this needed to be my journey, and I had to choose.

In hindsight, I wish I hadn't had all the options. My wife and I investigated them all, and I still wasn't sure which was the right one.

Then, one day, I was in the hospital, and a urologist who had bought wine from us a couple of years back recognized me.

We got to talking, and he was the first doctor I really warmed to. He told me straight up, "You've got cancer and we need to deal with it." On hearing that, I just thought, "You're the man."

We discussed the various options and ultimately decided to go with surgery.

I chose to cut out the cancer

In spring 2020, I had a prostatectomy. The doctor said I was going to feel like I'd been hit by a train after the surgery, and he was right. Getting back on track wasn't easy and took a full year.

Aside from the pain post-surgery, which got a little better each week, I had issues with incontinence and couldn't get an erection. This didn't make me feel like less of a man, though. I accepted that if there were changes, then I'd deal with it, and it would be fine.

I've got a friend who doesn't want any treatment because I think he's worried about how it would change him as a man. So he just monitors his PSA levels, but is constantly worried.

Physically, I'm back to normal

I struggled with incontinence during that first year post-surgery, but now I hardly think about it.

Sex was something my wife and I had to get used to, again. Part of my recovery involved taking Viagra every day for a year to help get everything back in working order.

My wife was worried about hurting me at first, and I was also nervous, but we got there eventually.

Physically, I'm almost completely back to normal, thanks to the incredible care I received and diligently following the recovery guidelines, like regularly walking, doing Kegel exercises, and staying positive.

However, this experience has changed my life.

My life is different after treatment

I started therapy for the first time in my life. A friend signed me up because I had the cancer thing going on, I had a couple of friends who had died, and business was struggling.

Turns out, I loved therapy. Off the back of that, I'm now in a men's group.

Before all this, the thought of joining a men's group sounded horrific. I didn't want to sit around with a bunch of men and talk about, I don't know, stuff. But it has been super rewarding.

You quickly realize that everyone's had something going on — it's not always cancer, it can be another form of trauma. We talk about masculinity and how you deal with trauma mentally, and how you communicate with each other. That's been a really good way of making connections with people.

I think that's a big thing that's changed in me. I'm better at keeping connections and being more open with my emotional side, which can be upsetting sometimes, but the benefits far outweigh the negatives. You get a lot back from people if you're vulnerable.