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2 IntotheFierySandsofWar Our days in Kuwait drew to a close and we prepared for our unit’s first combat mission since the South Pacific islands campaign of World War II. Most of our troops flew into Iraq in a cargo plane, and then transferred to helicopters for the final leg of the journey. I tend to get airsick and I actually like driving, so I volunteered to go on the convoy. Our medical platoon used an up-armored five-ton truck that we outfitted as a mass casualty ambulance. My good friend Lt. Gunn rode shotgun while I drove. The lieutenant was a physician’s assistant and a former marine. Big as an ox, and usually munching a wad of chew, he was perfect for this mission. Since we were technically an ambulance, we didn’t have a .50-caliber machine gun on our roof like most of the other vehicles, so we got to close our gunner’s hatch and enjoy the air conditioning. As we prepared to move out, we loaded ammunition into our magazines. Just before our convoy headed out for Iraq, I paused for a moment as I chambered the first round. I wondered if I would have to use it, and still naively hoped I could go home without firing a shot. Most of our medics stayed behind in Kuwait when we pulled out. It was strange that a third of our platoon was prepping for battle while the rest were still playing cards and watching DVDs. They would fly in later that week in a relatively safe C-130. The quiet acceptance that I had felt all along was fading just a little. I knew that being nervous was natural, and I just had to drive the truck. I called home and said good-bye to my wife without revealing that we were heading into Iraq and harm’s way. Intuitively, she knew that could have been our last conversation. I did not fear death, but I could feel the pain it would cause my family. I could not bear the thought of her having to tell the kids if the worst should happen. The first thing that struck me on the Iraqi side of the border was all 18 saber’s edge the bombed-out houses with families living in them. The area was a vast, desolate wasteland, struggling in the throes of recovery from the effects of two wars. I couldn’t fathom what would possess these families to live here, except that perhaps they had nowhere else to go. There were homes with the roofs blown off, entire families living in tattered makeshift tents. During the first Gulf War, Saddam’s Iraqi Army fled Kuwait through this area. The allied onslaught pummeled them as they retreated. Thousands of Iraqi soldiers, tanks, and other vehicles fled through this area and our aircraft destroyed them. All these years later, the remnants of old Soviet-made Iraqi tanks still rusted away in the desert. Amidst the battered ruins they called homes, surrounded by a dry, barren wasteland in which no crops could grow, children blissfully played. There in the middle of it all, undaunted, were the most adorable Iraqi children, racing out to greet us. I took pictures of many of them, and waved to them all. They were so happy to see us, with huge smiles on their faces and cheerful waves. I wanted so much to give them food or water or hugs in return for the warmth they gladly shared with us. I had been apprehensive about entering Iraq until then, but after seeing those happy children, I felt very much at ease. Children are amazing. They truly are a gift from God. first contact We drove on a divided highway through the night, and by morning we had made it halfway across the country. We pulled into Camp Scania, not far from Baghdad, and we stopped to rest. I thought this was to be another short rest halt while we fueled up, and didn’t know that we were going to be here all day. My back ached, so I left the lieutenant in the cab with the air conditioning on, and I climbed into the back of our truck to stretch out. The cool of the fresh morning air was exquisite . . . and soon both of us were fast asleep. I woke up six hours later, roasting in the hot sun, soaked in sweat and feeling terrible. We went to...

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