Embedded journalism from the front lines of
Afghanistan & Iraq ~ by Mike & Carlos Boettcher

We left the dining hall, our stomachs feeling like we had just eaten a bowling ball and all ten pins in the lane. We had received word that the convoy that would take us to War Eagle was spooling up, and we quickened our pace; we had no desire to get marooned at Taji, and I was eager to get Apache. We picked up our gear, got into our IBAs (Body Armor), and headed out toward the trucks taking us to War Eagle.

I was exhausted at this point, and as soon as I was able, hauled my stuff up and grabbed a seat inside a truck. I made sure I was buckled in, arranged my head against the wall, and promptly fell asleep. One of the nice things about spending any appreciable amount of time with the military is the ability to fall asleep at a moment’s notice, a skill that speaks less of laziness than necessity. For soldiers, sleep is a luxury.

I awoke at War Eagle all at once, one of those wake-ups where the world seems to come at you in technicolor: the light a little too bright, sounds a bit too loud. I managed to get my gear together, and hopped out of the truck. I had hoped for a good look around, but darkness cloaked the base, spotlights showing only glimpses of the sand-colored building that dominated the base. We were led inside by Sgt. Mott, and proceeded up a series of stairwells until we reached the PAO(Public Affairs) office.

We were greeted by Major Humphreys, the officer who would be coordinating our efforts in the area. I was able to bleat out a bleary greeting and stood dumbly while my father did the speaking for both of us; I was embarrassed at my silence, but the combination of exhaustion and overeating had made me rather useless, it was not the impression I had hoped to make.

After a mercifully short amount of time we were shown to out room, and I didn’t even bother to get undressed. My boots and armor came off, and I collapsed gratefully into the bed, determined to finish what had begun earlier. A good night’s sleep.