The sun was coming up over the horizon as the soldiers at the checkpoint brought me to a school with a parking lot. Within minutes a Blackhawk helicopter landed and I was onboard. Rodgers and Clarke sat across from me. The crew chief gave me a helmet with comm gear to put on, so that I could talk with them over the noise.

“You sure you’re OK,” shouted Rodgers.

“Scratches,” I replied. “Where are we going?”

“Camp Rhino. General Kemper’s coordinating the attacks from there. We were able to locate the bus terminal in Najaf. Delta force has two teams headed there now. We’re still trying to locate that garage in Karbala.”

“How far is Rhino from Karbala,” I shouted.

“We fly over Karbala enroute. Should be there in twenty minutes or so.”

I leaned back in my seat and closed my eyes. My arm ached and stomach churned. The noise of the rotors made the pounding in my head unbearable. I felt a hand on my knee and opened my eyes. It was Clarke, handing me a water bottle. I opened it and drank greedily.