All views in this chapter are mine. Flame me for them if you like. Not all information may be accurate; I've changed certain events to fit the story.

Michael Evans rubbed sun block over his tanned face as he sat in the shadow of one of the armored supply trucks that came to add to the rations that were running low for the soldiers who were stationed just outside of Fallujah, Iraq. He sat with two other men who were at least ten years younger than him, one of them Hispanic and the other African American. He had his handy notebook in front of him, with a ballpoint pen rolling around in his fingers, calloused after many years of dabbling in guitar playing. He lifted a hand and wiped the sweat that was dribbling down his face and into his eyes. Even after being stationed there with the troops for several months, he was still not used to the heat.

"So, David," The journalist addressed the Hispanic who was actually one of the most intelligent people he had ever met. "What is it like, being here in Iraq, away from your family and friends?" It was a question he had asked many times and one he hated asking. He knew exactly what it was like. He missed home so much.

"Its terrible. My wife is going to give birth next week." He spat bitterly, before reconsidering what he had said. "I hate it, but it feels almost worth it. I say almost because nothing is worth missing the birth of your first daughter."

Mike, as he was more commonly known, nodded empathetically. "I know exactly what you mean." He scribbled down something intelligible to everyone except himself. He turned to the black man who was currently taking a long draught of water. "What about you, Adam?"

"I feel the same, except I'm not married. My girlfriend's back in Alabama, and I miss her. She's the most patient woman in the world and she's taking care of my ol' mama while I'm gone." He said in his signature southern drawl. He was originally from Louisiana, and had moved to Alabama to be with his girlfriend, the first girl he had ever loved. "I miss my mama and my older sis and my nephew and nieces, but they're real supportive." He sighed.

Mike continued to scribble down his notes as Adam finished what he was saying. "So, David, how do you feel about the war?"

David shrugged. "I only want to win and help these people back on their feet. I can't see how people are against us fighting those who would destroy democracy. Its like Woodrow Wilson said, back in the day. The world must be made safe for democracy." He said simply.

"I completely agree." Adam nodded. "We don't look back and see World War One or Two as a bad thing because we were fighting evil regimes. We can see now that they were endangering the world, but people can't see now that we're fighting to stop Al-Qaeda from terrorizing the world. People don't get it that we're dying for a worthy cause."

Mike nodded, his hand flying over the page. "So, would you be disappointed if you died now and never got to see the women you love again?" He asked.

"I would feel cheated, but I wouldn't want to turn back time and not come here to fight. I've killed men in battle, and I feel so… but I wouldn't change it. We're fighting for democracy."

"Yeah, I feel the same." Adam took a long drink from his water.

Mike did the same as Adam and placed a period at the end of what could be tentatively described as a sentence, but it was impossible to tell with Mike's unreadable handwriting. He pocketed his pen and put his notebook down on the cooled sand. He checked the time on his watch as another truck pulled up outside the army camp. The journalist stood up as the usual mailman came with his bag of letters for the troops. He started to hand them out amongst the men who were off-duty and catching some sleep in the shade or simply talking with their comrade. The man came up to him with a rather bulky package.

"Thank you." Mike said as he ripped the parcel open. It was three pieces of paper covered with loopy, teenage-girl handwriting and binder with a picture of a girl about five years old on the front. "Hmm… what's this?" He said softly to himself.

Mike tucked the binder under his armpit to examine the letter. He grinned as he started to read it.

Hey Daddy ,

I miss you lots and lots. School is really boring, but I'm doing all my homework like you asked and trying to pull my grade up in math, but Mrs. Smith is so boring. She drones on and on like you wouldn't believe. And Mrs. Rourke isn't any better. She's really strict and her daughter is really snotty, but Mrs. R is a great cook and she can have her good moments, but I miss you. Mom can only take me on the weekends and she's always busy with her new boyfriend, Scott. He's really mean and I don't like him at all. I wish you were back here, Daddy.

But remember Blake, that boy at my birthday party before you left? He's turned into a real jerk and he asked me out, but I told him no. He then asked me if I would have sex with him but I laughed right in his face and shoved him aside before telling Mr. Taylor, the vice P at school. It was awesome to get my revenge after he called me fat last week.

The binder that I sent you is my eighth grade portfolio that we had to do for language arts. My writing pieces are my favorite part; we had to write a paper on the war in Iraq and I wrote about you and even included excerpts from some of the articles printed in the newspapers and Time magazine. Yeah, I canceled my subscription to Seventeen to get Time because they usually have something from you all the time.

I went to the mall with Mom last weekend and I actually went into American Eagle and got some awesome clothes. I can't wait until you get back and I can show you. It was lots of fun; we went and got lunch together and then got our nails done and after, we went to the pool and swam around and splashed each other and stuff.

I miss you daddy. I keep praying every night that you'll be safe. So stay safe and come back in one piece, okay? I love you.

Lots of love,

Alex

"Who sent you that?" David asked, having read the letter over Mike's shoulder.

Mike folded the letter up. "My daughter. She's staying with a friend of mine during the week and with her mom for the weekend. She made this," He gestured to the binder he now held in his hand. "For English class." He smiled as he started to flip through it. "She sends me letters every week."

Adam was about to comment when the alarm was sounded and training started to take over. The two soldiers sprinted to their artillery units and Mike tore to the command tent. He had been told to stay there if anything was to happen and his heart was pounding. He was frightened, to be perfectly honest, and he didn't know how the personnel could move about so efficiently and the officers could mill about, giving and taking orders as if it was simply a drill. He was grabbed by a lieutenant to be taken to a safer location as a bomb exploded somewhere outside the tent and Mike was knocked out cold.

His eyes cracked open, but he found it hard to open them for a sticky substance was forcing them closed. His head throbbed, but he could almost function normally, and he was thankful there was only a small chance he had a concussion. He blinked and tried to see where he was in the dim light. He could see less than five feet in front of him and when he tried to move his left arm, he cried out in pain.

"Definitely broken." He muttered.

"Evans?" Someone rasped.

"Its me." He replied.

"Its David, man." The soldier crawled over slowly. "You okay?"

"My arm hurts." Mike said, his voice much higher than it should naturally be. "I think my knee's messed up, but I'll survive." He attempted a small grin.

"That's real courage, man, but we're prisoners of war now." He said gravely. "We got a surprise attack from insurgents and they got you and me. I woke up earlier and it seems our guard is rather talkative and I managed to understand we're in Abu Ghraib and its not longer under American control. It was Saddam's torture center." His voice had a steely quality to it, and Mike knew he was in that place where all soldiers simply survive, no matter their physical pain. They survive and then they have time for physical pain.

"Oh… okay." Mike stuttered. He blinked and lifted his unbroken arm to his face to wipe the substance off. It turned out it was his own dried blood and he had a healing head wound. "So, what do we do?"

"We wait, Mike, we wait." David crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the wall. "If we're lucky, we'll be rescued, but by the amount of insurgents around this place, we'll be stuck here for a long time."

Mike sat in stunned silence. He could die here. He knew he had been in serious danger before and only for love of his country had he agreed to come to Iraq and cover the war. He could actually die and his daughter would only have her mother and some idiot boyfriend of her mother's. He could leave his daughter fatherless. He licked his lips and swallowed nervously.

"Okay." He said. "Well," He added decisively. "Let's not let this get to our heads. We have to remain productive and always talk. We should talk about our entire lives. Every memory that we have, just to get us started, and then go to sleep. When we wake up, we'll start doing… math or something." He nodded. "Or sleep now."

"Sleep sounds good." David agreed.

Mike, before lying down, pulled off his shirt. He ripped it into shreds as best he could before David leaned over to assist him. The Hispanic then used the shreds to bind the journalist's arm and then use the rest for his ankle. Thanking him, Mike laid down and thought of Alex. He remembered what she had said, about praying for him. His daughter was a Christian and she went to church every Sunday by way of walking to the church. He didn't believe in that sort of thing, but he hoped that if what she believed was true, it would get on and help them. He didn't want to die.

Back in the United States…

Alex Evans sat at her desk in math, doodling idly on her piece of paper as Mrs. Smith instructed them on how to identify a perfect-square trinomial. She sighed and propped her chin up on her hand. She looked out the window, and jumped when one of the office ladies came over the intercom and requested that she go down to the office. Alex silently thanked God and packed up her things, since there was about three minutes until school was let out for the weekend.

"Yeah?" Alex asked as she walked into the office. She was always rather rude to Scott and she couldn't help that it spilled over.

Her mother turned around and quickly pulled her into a hug. "Oh honey!"

"Mom, what's going on? You're scaring me." Alex pulled away. "And where's Scott?" She asked suspiciously. "Don't tell me you're marrying him. He's not going to be my stepdad!" She snapped.

"No, its not Scott. He's in Virginia for two weeks, remember?" Her mother took a deep breath and sighed. "Alex, your dad has been taken prisoner. The American troops were forced out of a prison and insurgents moved in and attacked Fallujah the next day. They took your dad and another soldier." Tears started to fall down her face. She may not have loved Mike anymore, but they were still on good terms.

Alex stared at her mother in disbelief. "NO! Dad has to be okay! He has to!" She shouted as she followed her mother out of the school and to the minivan. "Mom, is Dad going to be okay? They're going to rescue him right?"

"I don't know, sweetie. Let's just go home and make cookies or something."

"Cookies aren't going to solve anything! Dad could be dead and you just want to go home and wait for Scott to get back so you two can go have sex while I'm waiting in my room, waiting for news of Dad! It's my dad we're talking about here! You may not love him but I do!" Alex screamed, before bursting into tears. "I don't want Dad to die."