After we talk for a time, I lie on my back under the blue haze with a bowl of cold cereal on my chest. John is in a chair, and we both watch some heroic reporter on TV describe his narrow escape from last night’s Scud attack. God, what guts!

Shortly after 0600, we both leave.

★ 0605 I am ashamed to admit it, but I am wearing a bulletproof vest and carry a 9 mm pistol under my fatigue jacket.

It is cold and clear as I walk the dark path from my apartment building past the small shops that had housed the barber, cleaners, and recreation services before the fighting started seemingly years ago. As I reach the hole in the ten-foot-tall cinder-block wall that divides the USMTM compound from RSAF headquarters, I speak to the guards so they won’t shoot me in the dark. By now we have an RSAF and USAF military policeman at every checkpoint. That way, each side knows what is going on. (For the most part, our two peoples have been working well together and bonding.)

A path has been worn in the desert sand from the hole in the wall to the covered car-parking area behind the RSAF headquarters. Because the dining hall vents are located nearby, you can smell the pleasant odor of food. Meanwhile, cats are busy rummaging through the dumpster for the remains of last night’s dinner. Hope they like chicken and rice. They don’t have much other choice.

★ 0610 I walk upstairs. After I enter the building, the mosque is on my right. Early prayer is in session, but attendance is low, since most are at their duty stations. You can tell how many are at prayer by counting the boots and dividing by two.

I walk down the pink and green marbled hall and take the elevator up to the third floor and my office. The night clerk tells me that there is nothing hot on my desk. Whatever else is there, George Gitchell, my chief of staff, will want to see first, so he can make sure it is thoroughly staffed before I sign or okay it. I go into my office, hoping a letter from Mary Jo came in during the night. But no such luck. You live for mail from home, and sending letters without postage is truly one of the most appreciated perks in this war.

I take off the fatigue jacket, pistol, and bulletproof vest and stow them in my desk. Then I pick up the “Read File,” go to the stairwell, and descend the four flights to the basement.