About 3 dozen people – mostly mid-aged, mostly men, kneeling and praying on the dirty floor of the ER. Wimpering and whispering for over a half hour while the doctors worked on the man behind a shower curtain guarded by two of my guys. The medical equipment is abominable. Blood everywhere. Basic sanitation is absent – totally. All the while, a skeletal woman watched unmoved from a white cot positioned against the wall to my right. She is always there. Patiently waiting to die as the carnage rolls past daily, hourly. The doctors say she has TB – great. She has been laying there reading and watching since before the war started. I recommended to the doctor that he isolate her from everyone else – especially my guys. He fails to realize my rationale. This is the same doc who told me AIDS only happens to homosexuals.

The crowd runs in and out of the hospital across a dark street to the blood bank and back about 10 times. The only way to get blood from the blood bank is to run over and donate it yourself. So family members rush over carry the blood back in their hands to the Drs. – who tell me they don't have the money to screen for AIDS. They continue to work on the man. Esam tells me he was shot on the street. A local sheik at a Shiite mosque. Shiites are notably more dramatic, more exaggerated, more superstitious. Esam is Sunni. He says when you die – you die. Offers me a cigarette, as they always do. "Cigarettes shorten everything," he says, "time, money, life." The man finally dies. The doctors debate how to tell the people. He has "died" 3 times in the last ½ hour. This time is apparently for real. They ask me to announce it to the crowd – for fear of retribution vs. the doctors.

I reluctantly agree as one of the followers leaps from behind the curtain bawling. They all freak out. Beating themselves. An old woman in full black robing wails! Calling out to the man who died – her brother. On her knees smacking her own face and the floor of the hospital. Tattoos on her chin and eyebrows. Teeth missing. She looks like a dark witch. Another man arrives to hear the news and faints. My six guys and I are saddened,deeply affected. Sgt. J is visibly teared up. My heart is aching for thesepoor people. They flail and kick. Restrain each other so we don't have to. We stand there watching. Absorbing. At the lowest moment, another man emerges to hear the news – he slams his own head against the wall – once. Then twice. And knocks himself out cold. Spc. C, serious says to me – "shit sir. That guy just knocked himself out!" and we both laugh uncomfortably in amazement. Too fucking unreal – yet funny.

I worry this shit will really get to my boys later. But an amazing experience to witness these people grieve. I feel like I am violating their privacy – but thankful for the exposure. The hospital head and I often confer with my interpreter – infinitely wise in these situations. We find the head of the family, express our sympathies, and ask for guidance. They only ask for a note from me so that they can pass through our U.S. checkpoints after curfew 2330. We then decide that now is the moment to roll the body out – so the family doesn't attack the doctors. They hurl open the curtain. 3 Iraqis run at top speed pushing the body with two of my soldiers running alongside it. The family members and followers drop as they storm past them and out the door with a blur. Elvis has left the building! Exhale. Cigarettes for all. Another hall pass for the bus. Another night in Baghdad.

Time to leave for the rest of our patrol. A flurry of machine-gun fire 2 blocks away. A flare. More firing. I report it to higher on the radio. We start to leave as three armored HUMMERS fly in with two bodies in the rear. 2 Bad guys who shot at them. They shot back. The Iraqis don't do too well in these situations. We can see at night. And have magic boots. And a guy told me today I look like Chuck Norris. Usually it is Arnold Schwarzenegger. Never a shortage of stories.