Ride in the Red Zone

Protected by body armor and Kevlar helmet, I load into the passenger seat of the third in a group of three armored SUVs about to make the trip from Camp Victory to the International Zone (Green Zone). The drive takes only 15 minutes or so (if that), but it seems like a lifetime. The driver is talking to me, telling me about the armor that protects the vehicle, noting the thickness of the bulletproof windows, and pointing out various landmarks that we pass along the way - the place where Saddam was sentenced to death, the oddly shaped "Tomb of the Unknown Soldier," and a brand new billboard. There are some landmarks that need no explanation - shells of buildings that have been gutted by the blast of a car bomb or suicide bomb. There are plenty of buildings that are only half-standing. The roads are eerily deserted due to mandatory Friday curfew, and we are moving at a nice clip as I attempt to snap pictures. On a subsequent trip to Camp Victory, I will learn that curfew day, though it seems eerie, feels much safer than other days, when there is the possibility of a dangerous traffic jam.

As we leave Camp Victory, just prior to entering the Red Zone, a soldier gets out of the lead car and walks to the top of some contraption that resembles a deer stand. I ask what he's doing, and my kind driver explains to me that he's looking for threats ahead...making sure things are clear before we head into the danger zone. After passing through the gate, my driver revs the engine and sticks to the back side of the second SUV. There will be no getting in the middle of this entourage. We move erratically back and forth from side to side, making our vehicle an unpredictable target in case we are shot at. The driver points out the thickness of the bulletproof windows.

We approach an overpass, and I hear radio chatter that the overpass appears to be clear. With every crossing pedestrian, there is a radio call. Roadkill does not go unnoticed. All of my senses are engaged. I do not feel afraid. But I am alert and ready thanks to a healthy shot of adrenaline. I'm in no real danger. My driver is experieced, and I know I am safe. I feel a little guilty. Guilty because I know that if anything were to happen, this man who has a wife and kids back home would sacrifice his life to save this girl he doesn't really even know. I think of the soldiers who spend their days patrolling on foot in the heart of Baghdad. And the ones who are on convoy duty day in and day out, hauling supplies in and out of Iraq, vulnerable to every kind of danger. They spend every day risking their lives for some girl with a backpack on her way to school back in Texas, some boy on his way to market in Baghdad, for you, for me. These boys - these men - these are heroes.