Iraqi boys eating what we were going to throw out. Iraqi boy trying to sell knives.

We stood at morning formation for the upcoming duty, when we were told about Watkins. Watkins, just like half the men in my group, had decided to stay for a second year of combat duty in Iraq. He came from the 81st BCT (Brigade Combat Team) out of Seattle, and has volunteered for duty with the 29th BCT, my current unit. Watkins has been Killed In Action. There are a few men I now serve with that actually knew him, I've been told he was "A great guy," I'm sure he was.

When I first heard the name, my memory raced to 1982 and the 82nd Airborne Division, one of my roommates was named Jim Watkins and he, too, was, and I hope still is, a great guy. I also remembered the crusty old Vietnam veterans, they had learned and passed on many lessons. One of those lessons was to always do your duty as best you can, but never, ever volunteer to get yourself killed. I and my fellow soldiers mourn his loss, but can't help but think "What if?" What if he would have just done his duty and gone home? I wonder myself, what if I accepted that duty in the palace and safety "inside the wire?" I also wonder if others thinking of doing one more year for some "Action" will remember Watkins.

Some of us discussed the news and most of us agreed it was fate. We soldiers tend to have a fatalist view of things, and use terms like "When your numbers up, your numbers up." The question now is when does one stop playing the game. Whatever dreams, hopes and plans Watkins had are gone forever, and all his family has now,are the memories. However, tomorrow is a new day and life "Outside the wire" goes on.

Our mission today took us to a good sized village about 25 clicks south of LSA Anaconda. After the usual last-minute changes and bouts of confusion we went "outside the wire" and headed south. I was ready with about 30 bags of chips, crackers and candy for the local rug-rats. I would also be manning a M249 automatic weapon and be responsible for flank security during our movement. The average soldier "ousted the wire" carries in the area of 60 pounds of equipment. The IBA (Individual Body Armor) alone weighs close to 30 pounds. When it gets to 130 degrees I will be hurtin' for certain.

As we drove down a back road, for secrecy and suprise, we passed through a lot of farmland and those that farmed it were present. Again,we passed many smiling children and locals. As we passed two men digging an irrigation drain I asked myself, "Is that what those other two men were doing late that night when one of my peers shot one to death for running?" We can see why they might prefer to work at night and wouldn't anyone be scared? I wasn't there, I can only share my thoughts, after all, the man was not armed.

We drove past grape vines and various orchards and all in all a lot of very green countryside. Here my thoughts were of the Garden of Eden and the days of Christ. And yes, I was watching my sector at all times, weapon at the ready! I even managed to toss out some candy and chips, the dust of the road masking my covert operation.

As we pulled into the local IA headquarters for a meeting with tribal elders, I was told by an officer to place my weapon at safe and remove the bullets from the chamber. This made sense to me since inside the compound I would be surrounded by coalition forces. If I fired my weapon here, I might kill one of our own. It didn't make sense to another sergeant -- the same sergeant that likes to make comments about running over children and one of the guys that volunteered to stay another year -- who blew a fuse. He started screaming about how we could get attacked at any moment and that I should have my finger close enough to just start firing. How bad do some of these guys want action? I am not one to take chances, and have common sense, I just can't help feeling frustrated with those that seem to want a resume of death. I believe I may soon have to have words with some of these glory hunters.

Within a few minutes, young boys began to gather around our heavily armed vehicles and began to try and work some deals. They were there to get anything they could and sell things they thought we might want. It was very interesting to see how well they spoke English, it seems all the boys are hoping to work on the "big American base" as interpreters and make a good living. One of the boys, Hussein, was only 10 years old and acted as the spokesman for the rest of the boys. Myself and the other gunner, Pfc. Nelson, gave out as many items as we could, water, candy, Gatorade, MREs and CDs. Nelson had the CDs and traded for some but gave away most. The boys all knew of American rap music and all the current artists. One of the boys said anything from America is good.

All of the boys were also trying to sell us things like cigarettes, knives, watches and DVDs. Hussein handed me a note to take to the General asking for permission to sell merchandise on the American base, this kid was really something else. Capitalism and free enterprise are on the go here to be sure. I wonder what most of my countrymen would think of 10-year-old boys in business selling cigarettes, DVDs, watches and wanting to open shops?

The obnoxious sergeant asked Hussein to go to the market and bring back some kabobs for us, which he and one other boy happily did. When I recieved my local lunch, I realized that it was what I've always called "Tripas," cow intestines. I don't think the other guys realized what they were eating, and I wasn't about to tell them. I had a few bites out of courtesy then let the boys have the rest. Nelson was about to throw away what he didn't want and I told him "that's not garbage to these boys, let them have it." When he did, they hungrily ate it all.

As I watched the boys eat for some reason I noticed their feet. The boys did not have shoes but slippers or shower shoes. I compared that to my home and the absolute necessity for hundred dollar fad shoes. I will try to see how many boys here have sneakers. As the boys hovered around our vehicles and tried to get as close as they could, the guys that asked to stay for another year, the volunteers, kept telling us to keep them away from the weapons. It makes sense to be aware of such things, it's just the manner in which these guys go about it. I don't like sounding so critical, but it is something that goes on here that really shouldn't. The amount of authority and control the average soldier here has should not be ignored, it can be a blessing or a curse, it all depends on the individual. Even though th United States has "officially" handed over the country to the people of Iraq, there is no doubt who is calling the shots here, the American military. And we should, I just think it can be done with a lot less arrogance on the part of a lot of soldiers.

On the way back, after leaving the tribal meeting, I again took in the scenes and let part of my memory drift back to my own childhood in Santa Barbara County and being able to find adventure in every field and vacant building, toys for me and my brothers were a luxury not a right.

One more thing on the boys. I purchased a knife worth maybe $20 for $17 and gave an Iraqi sergeant a $20 for ones and a five, so $20 for $20. They told me I had been suckered, and had by these hustlers. I was told that a $20 can be exchanged for more dinars than 20 in small bills, I told the obnoxious sergeant "So what, it does no harm to me, let the poor guy make a buck for his family." But all the sergeant could say was, "You new guys got a lot to learn about these people, you've been had." As far as the knife goes I want to encourage interaction not discourage it, now I've got about eight knives and will probably get rid of all of them.

That's all for now from Balad, Iraq. Some very important things to learn to say when confronted by so many young businessmen:

I don't need it - Ma Areed
I will try - Ah Howell
Maybe - Madree
Give me - Anteeny
we trade - In be dill