It's been 10 months and counting, 5 more months to go and we are looking forward to the long awaited welcome home ceremony. Within the month we have moved from Baghdad to what is known as the "bread basket of Iraq" the Diyala Province in Baquouba. I am a mere spectator amongst the many boots, uniforms, civilian employees and those that represent the sixth year of the Iraq war. I feel like an outsider, like an embedded reporter. Only my voice is quietly summonsed, if there is such a thing. Details of missions are muffled and camouflaged by the Uniformed Code of Military Justice.
As I sit on the edge of my Humvee with my 50 cal. firmly seated right before a convoy brief. I am the axis between Soldiers that are disenchanted with war and anxiety as fear of dying haunts most all of us and the other who is "patriot" through and through with absolutely no fear or at least persist that it is void. They converse of the possible outcomes of this former Saddamist burdened country, to a place where there are Iraqi Police or Iraqi Army check points nearly every quarter mile. Martial law is in full effect and poverties iron fist is laden on the heads of our brothers of the sand. Senator McCain said it himself "100 years"; being here and living amongst the reality I am convinced that there is no longer a military solution. This place is going to take ages of a joint effort to overcome the burden. With every rotation a movement from one place in the country to another you would think that Soldiers would give up. However, we work like we are running out of time (no pun intended); we work with a sense of urgency. Fatigue, rest on the back burner and success in whatever form it comes in will be the mantra of the Soldier.