However, whenever I had a moment of free time, the tapes would start running of the event, and I’d start to simmer again, wondering if I could have done something or said something differently. As Task Force 1099 swooped into town, a group of us decided after a long week and a late-afternoon after-action meeting to go to the north dining facility (DFAC) to see if their steamed crab legs were any better than the center DFAC’s crab legs. The north DFAC was about a mile walk off the CJTF 180 Compound and, while getting sandblasted by the wind as you walked wasn’t fun, it was good for stretching your legs. You’d see soldiers of every nationality—Poles, Koreans, Japanese, Canadians, etc., and all ranks, from private to full colonel—walking along the sides of the road. Everyone getting equally shellacked by the wind and burned under the desert sun. Colonel Negro suddenly decided to join us. That was unusual. Most colonels don’t comingle with the “simple warriors.” They tend to stay together like a pack of elephants.
