With the 10th Mountain Division in Kirkuk

Made it. Made it out to the soldiers.

Not in Mosul--where I've been trying to fly for two weeks. And it doesn't look as if I'm gonna get to Mosul.

Got as far as Kirkuk Thursday night, 100-plus miles northeast of Baghdad. Went most of the way on a Black Hawk helicopter that flew less than 200 feet off the ground, I guess for gas mileage and to avoid ground-to-air missiles, if there are any still around.

We landed at Multaka to cover a soccer game between American soldiers and Iraqi locals from the town of 8,500 that was virulently anti-American a year ago.

You can read the Sun-Star story that explains why it was safe for the GIs to play the game without their body armor.

After the game, I was headed for Kirkuk, where there's a giant U.S. Air Force base that also houses a big Army unit--this cycle the 10th Mountain Division. From there I was supposed to fly on another chopper to Mosul, another couple hours away, with other stops. To get to Kirkuk from Multaka, I was in one of those 27-ton MRAP vehicles that are safe as hell--but tend to get stuck sometimes in soft sand or mud seeping from the shallow water table in this part of the country.

On this evening, two of the big rigs got jammed up to their axles. So our vehicle had to wait around and provide security till a dozer and flatbed got there. Six of us, including Mirella, a civilian Lebanese/Italian interpreter whose father was killed on 9/11, spent six hours harnessed into what is basically a big car seat for grownups. Wearing body armor and Kevlar helmet under the three webbed straps makes the position even more tedious.

While the retrieval vehicles were trying to winch out the two stuck "trucks," as the GIs call 'em, I was able to exit the MRAP twice for nature's call--"between the tires, sir." And for the first time since I came to this country, I was able to see stars. The Big Dipper pointed my way north, and the night breeze made the desert air almost felt cool.

Best part of the wait was talking over the headphone commo link with Capt. Tom Doukakos, a Detroit native who's a "mustang"--a former enlisted man-turned-officer. I've always respected mustangs because they know how both halves of the Army--lower ranks and officer ranks--live, and they can usually lead better as a result.

He regaled me with tale after tale of his seven years in Alaska, and I'm gonna recommend a trip there for my son Nao, scheduled to climb Mount Whitney in August (he and two buddies just did Half Dome last week--17 hours).

We eventually got rolling, and once we got inside the base, Maj. Sean Wilson, a Garden Grove native, took over my care and feeding.

The next day, I spent time with him and Capt. Bruce Drake, another Mustang, and two young public affairs specialists, Jason Jordan from Tennessee, and Luke Allen from Houston. [They're doing the same job I did in the Army a long time ago.] I felt as if I were getting plugged in to what the most-deployed Army unit of the last six years is up to. They've been to Iraq three times and Afghanistan once during that span.

So I agreed to stop by on my way back from Mosul to look deeper into this outfit. Late that night Capt. Drake took me out to the landing zone, I got my name on a manifest for Mosul, I traipsed out to the flight line with seven soldiers and watched as the two Black Hawks unloaded their passengers and cargo, blades still whirring. But the Air Force crew chief, on a whim yet unexplained to any of us, decided that none of us was flying that night. What a dork.

Luckily, Capt. Drake was still in the terminal when I trudged back in, wearing body armor and helmet and carrying my green duffel. As we walked back to his vehicle, I used some polysyllabic words about the Air Force that any soldier or Marine would echo, then told him I didn't need to go to Mosul--thanks to him and Maj. Wilson, I'd found a good story to do right here in Kirkuk.

So this is where I am and will be for the next several days.

For somebody who couldn't wait to X out the days on his short-timer's calendar in Vietnam, I really like spending time with soldiers and Marines. Too often journalists and some other Americans tend to forget that the Army reflects and represents American society, writ small. A lot of journalists hold soldiers and Marines and sailors and airmen to different--not necessarily higher, just different--standards from the ones they'd apply to any other sector or profession in America.

Because they can exercise the power of life or death over some people, soldiers and Marines should be held to high standards. But those benchmarks shouldn't be unreachable or unrealistic. We've got to throw in some common sense and some compassion when we judge these men and women. If they screw up--and some do because they come from our society and culture--they should be held accountable. When they save lives and help American interests, they should be noticed.

Over the rest of this week, I'll be reporting on what the 10th Mountain Division is doing here. There'll be some warts--and there'll be some beauty marks. That's because the Army IS America.

Just more so.