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and again u ppl forget one thing ! this game simply addresses arab teens,dar el fikr stated that instead of playing games where the baddies are arabs with long beards that look like morons (and i guess hollywood played a good role in makin that picture)u can simply kill ppl destroyin ur lands ,u dont kill civilians .u kill israeli military forces who r makin ur life as an arab and a muslim kinda hellish,and Mr. MALAIYA u r a gamer so u should know how arabs play games like delta force and soldier of fortune
and all this twisted stuff,then i guess its kinda fair to present a game to arab kids tellin them
who is their REAL enemy, instead of endin up hatin their own society, and also in under ash u dont kill for fun,ur main objective is to protect a mosque or a village.So i guess it is noble,whereas in delta force u dont really know if ur killin arabs because they r terrorists or because they r arabs,i mean there r more than 3 missions in the middle east,i thought one was enough.


"I would never begin to resort to violence and murder because a game tells me to, but a game that has the main goal as militaristic/teroristic recruiting cannnot be good. America's Army was made for recruiting, but it did not condone 'take up arms and kill your neighbors behavior'."

When will ppl realise it's not about turning you into terrorist/slaughter machine. It's all about accepting the idea that games about other races are okay. What do you feel when a game sets about ppl attacking USA with aeroplanes? Hey, it's okay for you to shoot Arabs so why not us non-Americans kill you guys for once?

Oh yeah. No civillians. So why not turn the entire American (in the game) into soldiers then.

The sad thing is, you ppl say it's bad to kill neighbours but you guys didn't notice how the Israeli Army goes into normal towns with guns and tanks like it's their town simply because - they are your neighbour.

You might not think that you won't do killing sprees by playing games, but with all the news on CNN and stuff you might think it's acceptable/understandable.


Curiosity killed a cat.


The following appeared in an e-mail newsletter "viewpoint" , I apologize for not writing my real name but hey, we ragheads all look the same to you anyway ....

US Marines at the Bridge of Death-Mark Franchetti, Nasiriya

Sunday 30 March 2003

The light was a strange yellowy grey and the wind was coming
up, the beginnings of a sandstorm. The silence felt almost
eerie after a night of shooting so intense it hurt the
eardrums and shattered the nerves. My footsteps felt heavy on
the hot, dusty asphalt as I walked slowly towards the bridge
at Nasiriya. A horrific scene lay ahead.

Some 15 vehicles, including a minivan and a couple of trucks,
blocked the road. They were riddled with bullet holes. Some
had caught fire and turned into piles of black twisted metal.
Others were still burning.

Amid the wreckage I counted 12 dead civilians, lying in the
road or in nearby ditches. All had been trying to leave this
southern town overnight, probably for fear of being killed by
US helicopter attacks and heavy artillery.

Their mistake had been to flee over a bridge that is crucial
to the coalition's supply lines and to run into a group of shell-
shocked young American marines with orders to shoot anything
that moved.

One man's body was still in flames. It gave out a hissing
sound. Tucked away in his breast pocket, thick wads of
banknotes were turning to ashes. His savings, perhaps.

Down the road, a little girl, no older than five and dressed
in a pretty orange and gold dress, lay dead in a ditch next
to the body of a man who may have been her father. Half his
head was missing.

Nearby, in a battered old Volga, peppered with ammunition
holes, an Iraqi woman - perhaps the girl's mother - was dead,
slumped in the back seat. A US Abrams tank nicknamed Ghetto
Fabulous drove past the bodies.

This was not the only family who had taken what they thought
was a last chance for safety. A father, baby girl and boy lay
in a shallow grave. On the bridge itself a dead Iraqi civilian
lay next to the carcass of a donkey.

As I walked away, Lieutenant Matt Martin, whose third child,
Isabella, was born while he was on board ship en route to the
Gulf, appeared beside me.

"Did you see all that?" he asked, his eyes filled with tears.
"Did you see that little baby girl? I carried her body and
buried it as best I could but I had no time. It really gets to
me to see children being killed like this, but we had no choice."

Martin's distress was in contrast to the bitter satisfaction of
some of his fellow marines as they surveyed the scene. "The
Iraqis are sick people and we are the chemotherapy," said
Corporal Ryan Dupre. "I am starting to hate this country. Wait
till I get hold of a friggin' Iraqi. No, I won't get hold of
one. I'll just kill him."

Only a few days earlier these had still been the bright-eyed
small-town boys with whom I crossed the border at the start of
the operation. They had rolled towards Nasiriya, a strategic
city beside the Euphrates, on a mission to secure a safe supply
route for troops on the way to Baghdad.

They had expected a welcome, or at least a swift surrender.
Instead they had found themselves lured into a bloody battle,
culminating in the worst coalition losses of the war - 16 dead,
12 wounded and two missing marines as well as five dead and 12
missing servicemen from an army convoy - and the humiliation
of having prisoners paraded on Iraqi television.

There are three key bridges at Nasiriya. The feat of Martin,
Dupre and their fellow marines in securing them under heavy
fire was compared by armchair strategists last week to the
seizure of the Remagen bridge over the Rhine, which significantly
advanced victory over Germany in the second world war.

But it was also the turning point when the jovial band of
brothers from America lost all their assumptions about the war
and became jittery aggressors who talked of wanting to "nuke"
the place.

None of this was foreseen at Camp Shoup, one of the marines'
tent encampments in northern Kuwait, where officers from the
1st and 2nd battalions of Task Force Tarawa, the 7,000-strong
US Marines brigade, spent long evenings poring over maps and
satellite imagery before the invasion.

The plan seemed straightforward. The marines would speed
unhindered over the 130 miles of desert up from the Kuwaiti
border and approach Nasiriya from the southeast to secure a
bridge over the Euphrates. They would then drive north through
the outskirts of Nasiriya to a second bridge, over the Inahr
al-Furbati canal. Finally, they would turn west and secure the
third bridge, also over the canal. The marines would not enter
the city proper, let alone attempt to take it.

The coalition could then start moving thousands of troops and
logistical support units up highway 7, leading to Baghdad, 225
miles to the north.

There was only one concern: "ambush alley", the road connecting
the first two bridges. But intelligence suggested there would
be little or no fighting as this eastern side of the city was
mostly "pro-American".

I was with Alpha company. We reached the outskirts of Nasiriya
at about breakfast time last Sunday. Some marines were
disappointed to be carrying out a mission that seemed a
sideshow to the main effort. But in an ominous sign of things
to come, our battalion stopped in its tracks, three miles
outside the city.

Bad news filtered back. Earlier that morning a US Army convoy
had been greeted by a group of Iraqis dressed in civilian
clothes, apparently wanting to surrender. When the American
soldiers stopped, the Iraqis pulled out AK-47s and sprayed
the US trucks with gunfire.

Five wounded soldiers were rescued by our convoy, including
one who had been shot four times. The attackers were believed
to be members of the Fedayeen Saddam, a group of 15,000
fighters under the command of Saddam's psychopathic son Uday.

Blown-up tyres, a pool of blood, spent ammunition and shards
of glass from the bulletridden windscreen marked the spot
where the ambush had taken place. Swiftly, our AAVs (23-ton
amphibious assault vehicles) took up defensive positions.
About 100 marines jumped out of their vehicles and took cover
in ditches, pointing their sights at a mud-caked house. Was
it harbouring gunmen? Small groups of marines approached,
cautiously, to search for the enemy. A dozen terrified
civilians, mainly women and children, emerged with their
hands raised.

"It's just a bunch of Hajis," said one gunner from his turret,
using their nickname for Arabs. "Friggin' women and children,
that's all."

Cobras and Huey attack helicopters began firing missiles at
targets on the edge of the city. Plumes of smoke rose as
heavy artillery shook the ground under our feet.

Heavy machinegun fire echoed across the huge rubbish dump
that marks the entrance to Nasiriya. Suddenly there was
return fire from three large oil tanks at a refinery. The
Cobras were called back, and within seconds they roared
above our heads, firing off missiles in clouds of purple
tracer fire.

There were several loud explosions. Flames burst high into
the sky from one of the oil tanks. The marines believed that
what opposition there was had now been crushed. "We are
going in, we are going in," shouted one of the officers.

More than 20 AAVs, several tanks and about 10 Hummers
equipped with roof-mounted, anti-tank missile launchers
prepared to move in. Crammed inside them were some 400
marines. Tension rose as they loaded their guns and stuck
their heads over the side of the AAVs through the open roof,
their M-16 pointed in all directions.

As we set off towards the eastern city gate there was no
sense of the mayhem awaiting us down the road. A few locals
dressed in rags watched the awesome spectacle of America's
war machine on the move. Nobody waved.

Slowly we approached the first bridge. Fires were raging on
either side of the road; Cobras had destroyed an Iraqi
military truck and a T55 tank positioned inside a dugout.
Powerful explosions came from inside the bowels of the tank
as its ammunition and heavy shells were set off by the fire.
With each explosion a thick and perfect ring of black smoke
ring puffed out of the turret.

An Iraqi defence post lay abandoned. Cobras flew over an
oasis of palm trees and deserted brick and mud-caked houses.
We charged onto the bridge, and as we crossed the Euphrates,
a large mural of Saddam came into view. Some marines reached
for their disposable cameras.

Suddenly, as we approached ambush alley on the far side of
the bridge, the crackle of AK-47s broke out. Our AAVs began to
zigzag to avoid being hit by a rocket-propelled grenade (RPG).

The road widened out to a square, with a mosque and the
portrait of Saddam on the left-hand side. The vehicles wheeled
round, took up a defensive position, back to back, and began
taking fire.

Pinned down, the marines fired back with 40mm automatic grenade
launchers, a weapon so powerful it can go through thick brick
walls and kill anyone within a 5-yard range of where the
shell lands.

I was in AAV number A304, affectionately nicknamed the Desert
Caddy. It shook as Keith Bernize, the gunner, fired off round
after deafening round at sandbag positions shielding suspected
Fedayeen fighters. His steel ammunition box clanged with the
sound of smoking empty shells and cartridges.

Bernize, who always carries a scan picture of his unborn baby
daughter with him, shot at the targets from behind a turret,
peering through narrow slits of reinforced glass. He shouted
at his men to feed him more ammunition. Four marines, standing
at the AAV's four corners, precariously perched on ammunition
boxes, fired off their M-16s.

Their faces covered in sweat, officers shouted commands into
field radios, giving co-ordinates of enemy positions. Some 200
marines, fully exposed to enemy fire and slowed down by their
heavy weapons, bulky ammunition packs and NBC suits, ran across
the road, taking shelter behind a long brick wall and mounds of
earth. A team of snipers appeared, yards from our vehicle.

The exchange of fire was relentless. We were pinned down for
more than three hours as Iraqis hiding inside houses and a
hospital and behind street corners fired a barrage of ammunition.

Despite the marines' overwhelming firepower, hitting the Iraqis
was not easy. The gunmen were not wearing uniforms and had
planned their ambush well - stockpiling weapons in dozens of
houses, between which they moved freely pretending to be civilians.

"It's a bad situation," said First Sergeant James Thompson, who
was running around with a 9mm pistol in his hand. "We don't know
who is shooting at us. They are even using women as scouts. The
women come out waving at us, or with their hands raised. We
freeze, but the next minute we can see how she is looking at our
positions and giving them away to the fighters hiding behind a
street corner. It's very difficult to distinguish between the
fighters and civilians."

Across the square, genuine civilians were running for their lives.
Many, including some children, were gunned down in the crossfire.
In a surreal scene, a father and mother stood out on a balcony
with their children in their arms to give them a better view of
the battle raging below. A few minutes later several US mortar
shells landed in front of their house. In all probability, the
family is dead.

The fighting intensified. An Iraqi fighter emerged from behind a
wall of sandbags 500 yards away from our vehicle. Several times
he managed to fire off an RPG at our positions. Bernize and other
gunners fired dozens of rounds at his dugout, punching large holes
into a house and lifting thick clouds of dust.

Captain Mike Brooks, commander of Alpha company, pinned down in
front of the mosque, called in tank support. Armed with only a
9mm pistol, he jumped out of the back of his AAV with a young
marine carrying a field radio on his back.

Brooks, 34, from Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, had been in command
of 200 men for just over a year. He joined the marines when he
was 19 because he felt that he was wasting his life. He needed
direction, was a bit of a rebel and was impressed by the sense
of pride in the corps.

He is a soft-spoken man, fair but very firm. Brave too: I
watched him sprint in front of enemy positions to brief some
of his junior officers behind a wall. Behind us, two 68-ton
Abrams tanks rolled up, crushing the barrier separating the
lanes on the highway.

The earth shook violently as one tank, Desert Knight, stopped
in front of our row of AAVS and fired several 120mm shells
into buildings.

A few hundred yards down ambush alley there was carnage. An
AAV from Charlie company was racing back towards the bridge to
evacuate some wounded marines when it was hit by two RPGs. The
heavy vehicle shook but withstood the explosions.

Then the Iraqis fired again. This time the rocket plunged into
the vehicle through the open rooftop. The explosion was deadly,
made 10 times more powerful by the ammunition stored in the back.

The wreckage smouldered in the middle of the road. I jumped out
from the rear hatch of our vehicle, briefly taking cover behind
a wall. When I reached the stricken AAV, the scene was mayhem.

The heavy, thick rear ramp had been blown open. There were pools
of blood and bits of flesh everywhere. A severed leg, still
wearing a desert boot, lay on what was left of the ramp among
playing cards, a magazine, cans of Coke and a small bloodstained
teddy bear.

"They are f****** dead, they are dead. Oh my God. Get in there.
Get in there now and pull them out," shouted a gunner in a state
verging on hysterical.

There was panic and confusion as a group of young marines,
shouting and cursing orders at one another, pulled out a
maimed body.

Two men struggled to lift the body on a stretcher and into the
back of a Hummer, but it would not fit inside, so the stretcher
remained almost upright, the dead man's leg, partly blown away,
dangling in the air.

"We shouldn't be here," said Lieutenant Campbell Kane, 25, who
was born in Northern Ireland. "We can't hold this. They are
trying to suck us into the city and we haven't got enough ass
up here to sustain this. We need more tanks, more helicopters."

Closer to the destroyed AAV, another young marine was transfixed
with fear and kept repeating: "Oh my God, I can't believe this.
Did you see his leg? It was blown off. It was blown off."

Two CH-46 helicopters, nicknamed Frogs, landed a few hundred
yards away in the middle of a firefight to take away the dead
and wounded.

If at first the marines felt constrained by orders to protect
civilians, by now the battle had become so intense that there
was little time for niceties. Cobra helicopters were ordered
to fire at a row of houses closest to our positions. There
were massive explosions but the return fire barely died down.

Behind us, as many as four AAVs that had driven down along
the banks of the Euphrates were stuck in deep mud and coming
under fire.

About 1pm, after three hours of intense fighting, the order
was given to regroup and try to head out of the city in
convoy. Several marines who had lost their vehicles piled
into the back of ours.

We raced along ambush alley at full speed, close to a line
of houses. "My driver got hit," said one of the marines who
joined us, his face and uniform caked in mud. "I went to try
to help him when he got hit by another RPG or a mortar. I
don't even know how many friends I have lost. I don't care
if they nuke that bloody city now. From one house they were
waving while shooting at us with AKs from the next. It was

There was relief when we finally crossed the second bridge to
the northeast of the city in mid-afternoon. But there was more
horror to come. Beside the smouldering wreckage of another AAV
were the bodies of another four marines, laid out in the mud
and covered with camouflage ponchos. There were body parts

One of the dead was Second Lieutenant Fred Pokorney, 31, a
marine artillery officer from Washington state. He was a big
guy, whose ill-fitting uniform was the butt of many jokes. It
was supposed to have been a special day for Pokorney. After
13 years of service, he was to be promoted to first lieutenant.
The men of Charlie company had agreed they would all shake hands
with him to celebrate as soon as they crossed the second bridge,
their mission accomplished.

It didn't happen. Pokorney made it over the second bridge and a
few hundred yards down a highway through dusty flatlands before
his vehicle was ambushed. Pokorney and his men had no chance.
Fully loaded with ammunition, their truck exploded in the middle
of the road, its remains burning for hours. Pokorney was hit in
the chest by an RPG.

Another man who died was Fitzgerald Jordan, a staff sergeant
from Texas. I felt numb when I heard this. I had met Jordan
10 days before we moved into Nasiriya. He was a character,
always chewing tobacco and coming up to pat you on the back. He
got me to fetch newspapers for him from Kuwait City. Later, we
shared a bumpy ride across the desert in the back of a Humvee.

A decorated Gulf war veteran, he used to complain about having
to come back to Iraq. "We should have gone all the way to
Baghdad 12 years ago when we were here and had a real chance
of removing Saddam."

Now Pokorney, Jordan and their comrades lay among unspeakable
carnage. An older marine walked by carrying a huge chunk of
flesh, so maimed it was impossible to tell which body part it
was. With tears in his eyes and blood splattered over his flak
jacket, he held the remains of his friend in his arms until
someone gave him a poncho to wrap them with.

Frantic medics did what they could to relieve horrific injuries,
until four helicopters landed in the middle of the highway to
take the injured to a military hospital. Each wounded marine
had a tag describing his injury. One had gunshot wounds to the
face, another to the chest. Another simply lay on his side in
the sand with a tag reading: "Urgent - surgery, buttock."

One young marine was assigned the job of keeping the flies at
bay. Some of his comrades, exhausted, covered in blood, dirt
and sweat walked around dazed. There were loud cheers as the
sound of the heaviest artillery yet to pound Nasiriya shook
the ground.

Before last week the overwhelming majority of these young men
had never been in combat. Few had even seen a dead body. Now,
their faces had changed. Anger and fear were fuelled by
rumours that the bodies of American soldiers had been dragged
through Nasiriya's streets. Some marines cried in the arms of
friends, others sought comfort in the Bible.

Next morning, the men of Alpha company talked about the
fighting over MREs (meals ready to eat). They were jittery
now and reacted nervously to any movement around their
dugouts. They suspected that civilian cars, including taxis,
had helped resupply the enemy inside the city. When cars
were spotted speeding along two roads, frantic calls were
made over the radio to get permission to "kill the vehicles".
Twenty-four hours earlier it would almost certainly have
been denied: now it was granted.

Immediately, the level of force levelled at civilian vehicles was
overwhelming. Tanks were placed on the road and AAVs lined along
one side. Several taxis were destroyed by helicopter gunships as
they drove down the road.

A lorry filled with sacks of wheat made the fatal mistake of
driving through US lines. The order was given to fire. Several
AAVs pounded it with a barrage of machinegun fire, riddling
the windscreen with at least 20 holes. The driver was killed
instantly. The lorry swerved off the road and into a ditch.
Rumour spread that the driver had been armed and had fired at
the marines. I walked up to the lorry, but could find no
trace of a weapon.

This was the start of day that claimed many civilian
casualties. After the lorry a truck came down the road. Again
the marines fired. Inside, four men were killed. They had
been travelling with some 10 other civilians, mainly women
and children who were evacuated, crying, their clothes
splattered in blood. Hours later a dog belonging to the dead
driver was still by his side.

The marines moved west to take a military barracks and secure
their third objective, the third bridge, which carried a road
out of the city.

At the barracks, the marines hung a US flag from a statue of
Saddam, but Lieutenant-Colonel Rick Grabowski, the battalion
commander, ordered it down. He toured barracks. There were
stacks of Russian-made ammunition and hundreds of Iraqi army
uniforms, some new, others left behind by fleeing Iraqi

One room had a map of Nasiriya, showing its defences and two
large cardboard arrows indicating the US plan of attack to
take the two main bridges. Above the map were several murals
praising Saddam. One, which sickened the Americans, showed
two large civilian planes crashing into tall buildings.

As night fell again there was great tension, the marines
fearing an ambush. Two tanks and three AAVs were placed at
the north end of the third bridge, their guns pointing down
towards Nasiriya, and given orders to shoot at any vehicle
that drove towards American positions.

Though civilians on foot passed by safely, the policy was to
shoot anything that moved on wheels. Inevitably, terrified
civilians drove at speed to escape: marines took that speed
to be a threat and hit out. During the night, our teeth on
edge, we listened a dozen times as the AVVs' machineguns
opened fire, cutting through cars and trucks like paper.

Next morning I saw the result of this order - the dead
civilians, the little girl in the orange and gold dress.

Suddenly, some of the young men who had crossed into Iraq
with me reminded me now of their fathers' generation, the
trigger-happy grunts of Vietnam. Covered in the mud from
the violent storms, they were drained and dangerously

In the days afterwards, the marines consolidated their
position and put a barrier of trucks across the bridge
to stop anyone from driving across, so there were no
more civilian deaths.

They also ruminated on what they had done. Some
rationalised it.

"I was shooting down a street when suddenly a woman
came out and casually began to cross the street with a
child no older than 10," said Gunnery Sergeant John Merriman,
another Gulf war veteran. "At first I froze on seeing the
civilian woman. She then crossed back again with the child
and went behind a wall. Within less than a minute a guy with
an RPG came out and fired at us from behind the same wall.
This happened a second time so I thought, 'Okay, I get it.
Let her come out again'.

She did and this time I took her out with my M-16." Others
were less sanguine.

Mike Brooks was one of the commanders who had given the
order to shoot at civilian vehicles. It weighed on his mind,
even though he felt he had no choice but to do everything to
protect his marines from another ambush.

On Friday, making coffee in the dust, he told me he had
been writing a diary, partly for his wife Kelly, a nurse at
home in Jacksonville, North Carolina, with their sons Colin,
6, and four-year-old twins Brian and Evan.

When he came to jotting down the incident about the two
babies getting killed by his men he couldn't do it. But he
said he would tell her when he got home. I offered to let
him call his wife on my satellite phone to tell her he was
okay. He turned down the offer and had me write and send her
an e-mail instead.

He was too emotional. If she heard his voice, he said, she
would know that something was wrong.

Mark Franchetti is an "embedded" reporter in Nasiriya.
He writes for British paper, The Times UK.


Under ash is cool. I ordered it and ive played it. Its pretty fun. Aiming with the kalashnikov is pretty tricky, coz it goes pretty slow when you try to spray. It is pity that the Galil isnt in the house. it is the standard weapon for the jews. I try to be a badass sometimes and fire a rocket launcher on the israeli civilians, Hey, it gives a direct 'Mission Failed', But who cares.....


Under ash is cool. I ordered it and ive played it. Its pretty fun. Aiming with the kalashnikov is pretty tricky, coz it goes pretty slow when you try to spray. It is pity that the Galil isnt in the house. it is the standard weapon for the jews. I try to be a badass sometimes and fire a rocket launcher on the israeli civilians, Hey, it gives a direct 'Mission Failed', But who cares.....

Lt. Col. Dominic Caraccilo

I have been serving in Iraq for over five months now as a soldier in the 2nd Battalion of the 503rd Airborne Infantry Regiment, otherwise known as the "ROCK."

We entered the country at midnight on the 26th of March; one thousand of my fellow soldiers and I parachuted from 10 jumbo jets (known as C-17s) onto a cold, muddy field in Bashur, Northern Iraq. This parachute operation was the U.S. Army's only combat jump of the war and opened up the northern front.

Things have changed tremendously for our battalion since those first cold, wet weeks spent in the mountain city of Bashur. On April 10 our battalion conducted an attack south into the oil-rich town of Kirkuk, the city that has since become our home away from home and the focus of our security and development efforts.

Kirkuk is a hot and dusty city of just over a million people. The majority of the city has welcomed our presence with open arms. After nearly five months here, the people still come running from their homes, in the 110-degree heat, waving to us as our troops drive by on daily patrols of the city. Children smile and run up to shake hands, in their broken English shouting "Thank you, mister."

The people of Kirkuk are all trying to find their way in this new democratic environment. Some major steps have been made in these last three months. A big reason for our steady progress is that our soldiers are living among the people of the city and getting to know their neighbors and the needs of their neighborhoods.

We also have been instrumental in building a new police force. Kirkuk now has 1,700 police officers. The police are now, ethnically, a fair representation of the community as a whole. So far, we have spent more than $500,000 from the former Iraqi regime to repair each of the stations' electricity and plumbing, to paint each station and make it a functional place for the police to work.

The battalion also has assisted in re-establishing Kirkuk's fire department, which is now even more effective than before the war. New water treatment and sewage plants are being constructed and the distribution of oil and gas are steadily improving.

All of these functions were started by our soldiers here in this northern city and are now slowly being turned over to the newly elected city government. Laws are being rewritten to reflect democratic principles and a functioning judicial system was recently established to bridge the gap between law enforcement and the rule of law.

The quality of life and security for the citizens has been largely restored and we are a large part of why that has happened.

The fruits of all our soldiers' efforts are clearly visible in the streets of Kirkuk today. There is very little trash in the streets, there are many more people in the markets and shops and children have returned to school.

This is all evidence that the work we are doing as a battalion and as American soldiers is bettering the lives of Kirkuk's citizens. I am proud of the work we are doing here in Iraq and I hope all of your readers are as well.

Lt. Col. Dominic Caraccilo

"Die dulci fruimini!"

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