I was sitting down next to the Palace pool to eat lunch when I heard a, "sir!"  It was a medic from battalion--we had seen much of Yusufiya and Oweisat together.

"doc, what you doing here?"

"I'm with Daniels," he motioned to a soldier who hung back, off the deck. "he's seeing the dermatologist at the Cash today." The Cash is the Combat Support Hospital in the Green Zone.

"He alright?"  I took a bite from my chow hall burger.

"well sir, he has these legions all over his body." I looked at the soldier, who was wearing the full Army Combat Uniform, regular long-sleeved blouse, trousers, and boots.  "It's like a mosquito bite when you pick at it, you know?  Like all over his legs and chest and stuff."

"what is it?"

"at first we thought it was scabies, that's what Colonel Foster said, you remember him, sir?"

"Yeah, the guy they called the 'Witch Doctor'?"

"he saw Daniels like 5 times and kept changing his diagnosis, first he said scabies, then the next time we took him in, Foster said it was impossible it was scabies, and I told him that's what he said before and he denied it so I showed him the form he filled out.  It said, 'scabies.'"

"How long's he had it?"

"Hey Daniels, how long you had it?"

"What, portambulitis?"

"Yeah."

"At least 9 months."  Daniels came over to the table.  He was small, with tanned skin, and bright black eyes.  His complexion seemed fine to me.  In fact, he looked quite clean and boyish.

I stood up and shook his hand.

"They didn't send you to a dermatologist sooner?"

"I asked Colonel Foster, sir, and he got mad because I guess he was a dermatologist on the civilian side, before the army or something, or he's a specialist, i don't know.  So he thought he knew what it was."

"tell him about the poison medicine."

Daniels laughed, "Foster gave me this cream to use and I read the label and it said 'poisonous if applied to broken skin' and I'm like 'poison,' what the..."

I took them inside the Palace, which houses the U.S. Embassy, and we drank coffee and laughed about the Army--which manages to survive and adapt unlike any other organization: because of soldiers who bear burdens both plain and hidden.  Because it fulfills it's own ends.  Because men endure.

Post Exchange

Here is picture of the Post Exchange at FOB Striker.  Some soldiers spend their entire deployment 5 minutes away from this store.  On large FOBs anything imaginable is for sale.  "Iraq is the best place to buy a harley," said one Senior NCO.  That's because Harley Davidson has offices here and at bases in Kuwait--both offer discounts deeper than anything you'll find in the States.

For one grand a soldier can buy a menacing broadsword.  One set, known as the "Freedom Fighter," comes with two axes, a shield, and a sword.  They even engrave the names of villages you've inhabited on the blade.

"I was going to buy one, but they didn't have my crest," said one soldier.

The General

Speaking of literature, the New Yorker recently published an article by Steve Coll about General Petraeus.  Everyone seems to agree: the General is a gentleman.  I detected some latent skepticism though--that somehow he might be a rouge soldier with cabalistic designs.  Can't American's just be good at winning?

During recent visits to Yusufiya the General was charismatic, informed, and attentive.  After listening to one briefing he encouraged us to continue finding ways to kill the enemy.  He also asked company commanders about their future plans--and listened patiently.

Coll's article is well written--in true New Yorker form.  Also, it's interesting to note how many influential positions, many of them interviewed in the article, are held by WestPointers.  How long before the Ivy Leagues catch on?  By not participating in the officer corps they're in danger of becoming impotent.

Columbia University has been making headlines over their refusal to allow ROTC on campus.  The President cites the mythological "Don't Ask Don't Tell" as grounds for military disdain.  I'm beginning to think it would be harder to get a Columbia grad promoted to General than officially allow gays in the military.  Somehow those two problems are related.

Independence Day

I arrived in Baghdad on the 4th of July.  My first duty assignment was a urinalysis: a droll reminder of the duality in soldiers...  often heroic yet sometimes debauched.  U.S. Army urinalysis regulations require an "Observationist."  As in "we'll begin as soon as the 'Observationist' arrives."  There were 15 soldiers waiting for testing.  Once it was my turn I signed for my issued cup and the Observationist escorted me to the porta-john.

"I hope no one asks me what I did for the Fourth this year," he said.

I told him he was a great American.