On Maj. Johns first night with us he told me of how his grandfather had died in World War II shortly after his father had been born and how his father had served for 20 years in the Army, that he himself had felt a pressure to serve at some point in his life because of his father and grandfather, that his father had impressed this upon him. After med school he at last joined the Air Force as a medical officer, figuring it would be the safest bet both for civility and comfort, and for physical safety. His plan backfired when the Army, pushed to its limits for personnel, had begun to strike deals with the Navy and Air Force for support roles in combat zones. He initially was assured a position in Balad, which he soon lost to a colonel, and then a position in Baghdad which he also lost to a colonel. Finally, he was assigned to us, the combat stress team traveling almost weekly throughout our AO and living in a tent in the Sunni Triangle (aka: "The Triangle of Death"). In light of all of this, he confessed that he felt that all things had finally fallen into place to seal his fate and that he would surely die out here. So, he was trying to accept his death, he told me, so he could do his job.

As we walked out to where the trucks were staged for the convoy I didn't say anything and walked to his left and slightly in front of him to hurry him along as he continued to fiddle with his gear.

"How does this look?" he asked as we walked.

I turned back to see that he had strapped a pair of black rimmed goggles around his kevlar. His uniform, IBA, and Kevlar cover, unlike the Army, were tan desert camo (not the gray digital the Army now uses). "Very retro man," I replied, smiling back at him as we walked. "Sort of Desert Storm or Sunni Triangle Terp."

He shook his head at me and laughed, looking down at the ground.

"Don't stand near me if we dismount, okay sir?" I added.

"You're ruthless Leonard," he replied. "Ruthless."

When we arrived at the vehicles they had been waiting for us and within only a couple of minutes we were rolling out. They had separated us into different vehicles so I did not see the major again until we arrived at the patrol base. When we pulled in the vehicles performed a wide u-turn and staged again, facing back out, stopping only to let us get out and grab our assault packs and sleeping bags.

"Follow me, sir," I said and we walked together toward the big steel bay that I refer to as the planetarium for the light that casts down through all of its bullet and mortar holes. We dropped off our gear in the aid station inside.

"How are you guys doing?" I asked the medics as we entered.

"Oh fine, sir."

"Do you guys know where Lt. Rivers is?" I asked.

"Yes, sir, he is out with the Brad cleaning out the remains," one of them replied without any visible expression, and gestured to the far corner of the patrol base.

This was the reason for our trip. Three were killed and one injured when a Bradley fighting vehicle was blown up and burned. As Maj. Johns and I walked out of the planetarium, we turned left through the low hesco barriers and saw the burned and blackened vehicle up on a flat bed trailer at the other end of the concrete staging area. Lt. Rivers was walking toward us. From a distance we could see he was wearing latex gloves. As he came closer we could see his T-shirt and the skin on his face and arms were covered with black smudges of ash. When he was finally within speaking range his facial expression came into view and I recognized it instantly, a sort of wide-eyed numbness, looking slightly past you, the look you might expect from someone tasked to recover body parts from a burned-up vehicle.

"I'm kinda tied up right now," he said flatly, but apologetically, as he drew closer.

I held up my hands at him and nodded, scrunching my upper lip into a sort of concerned scowl. "Don't worry man. We'll just hang back for a while. We can wait," I said.

"Thanks," he replied. "If you guys can go to the TOC and find Lt. Savior he can probably hook you up with a ride down to these guys AO." He gestured back to the charred vehicle by tipping his head back over his shoulder and looking out the corner of his eye toward it as it sat on the flatbed. There was a short but awkward pause as Maj. Johns and I looked past him toward the Bradley and the lieutenant looked back toward us.

Maj. Johns and I nodded. "Thanks," we said, and turned. As we walked away together we, at first, didn't speak to one another; instead we looked at the concrete ground as we walked and I suppose we were both silently imagining our own violent deaths spurred by the image of the charred vehicle. But I can only be sure of myself.

I told Maj. Johns that we should take advantage of the chow hall since our next meal would not be certain. So we had what turned out to be our last hot meal of the next several days. Afterward, we found Lt. Savior and were soon after placed on a convoy heading south to the Euphrates River.

Over the afternoon we met with the commander and started conversations where we could but never got to see the soldiers we were sent specifically to see -- the other Bradley crew that saw what happened. I assured the commander that we were there to support his mission and not to interrupt it. We could wait until he figured out a way to link us up with these guys, I told him.

That night we slept in the old industrial water-processing building on cots set out on the landing. As we lay there, the soldiers buzzed in and out throughout the night. There was never a mention of their lost friends to be heard. But it was on everyone's mind. The soldiers knew who we were and why we were there. Chaplain Thomas had arrived just before sunset and was sleeping in a supply nook below the main staircase. The physical, emotional, and spiritual clean-up crews had all been enacted.