I killed 17 american soldiers this weekend, and it's haunting me. Most of them were kids - 18-19 years old. They thought they were invincible, like all 18 year olds do. The look on their faces when they died broke my heart and firmed my determination to kill them over and over until they learned how to stay alive.

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I spent the weekend with the 2-162 as one of their OPFOR (opposing force). I went with a group of friends, spanning in age from 18 to 40. One of them, John Bruning, had connections within the Oregon guard battalion and had suggested to the command that they use civilians in their drill weekends instead of military personnel. The thought being that we would be more like insurgents - just people, untrained, creative and desperate.

This particular weekend the guardsmen were training to manage various types of traffic control points (TCP). There were two mock TCP's set up; basically a collection of concertina wire and cones to funnel in and contain a traveling car. TCPs are used in Iraq by our troops to create a presence in a certain traffic area, look for and discourage insurgent traffic, or to look for specific bad guys. For the training we ran two vehicles through the check points over and over again, each time taking different stances - from friendly to hostile.

A large degree of the troops we worked with over the weekend were green. It was the first time they had really searched vehicles and persons, or dealt with IEDs (improvised explosive devices), and gun fire from moving vehicles. This particular drill weekend had the entire battalion present. Each company rotated through the TCP training throughout the course of a day, spent 3 hours or so, and then moved on to other types of training held elsewhere on the base. After a company briefing we would run out first car through. The readiness NCO, Sgt. Ezelle would ask us to play it stance 1, which was to be cooperative, but scared, Iraqis. This gave the troops a chance to run through their processes without complications. We came down the hill in our little red car, hamming it up, babbling, and explaining - assuring them in broken english that we were friendly and had no intentions of killing them, and that we too wished not to be killed.

Standard procedure was to ask the driver to turn off the car and place the keys on the dash. The

passengers were asked to get out of the car and were moved with two guardsmen each to a razor-wire holding area away from the vehicle where they were searched and questioned. In the meantime the driver was asked to open the hood, trunk, gas cap, sun visors, and glove box. Then the driver was taken to the holding area and searched. While the driver was being searched a team went over the car with mirrors, scanning the undercarriage and wheel wells for explosive devices. The troops were kind, yet firm, in their requests as long as we were cooperating and compliant. The soldiers were instructed to search us thoroughly. In the initial run with each company the soldiers were shy to invade our personal space, and search us in every conceivable personal hiding places. They got over their shyness once we began bringing remote detonators and blowing them up.

Personal security was strongly emphasized with each company of troops. No detainee should be able to grab, or touch a soldiers weapon. In the small, contained space of the razor wire corrals, the troops had to be aware to not get trapped between a detainee and the razor wire. They were instructed to press on any car door opening out to control the occupants exit. As we were asked to become more contentious in our behavior we would rush out of the cars in anger, waving our arms about, stumbling while resisting being lead away from our vehicle and reaching out to steady ourselves on their weapons - all typical human behavior that challenged the smooth flow of the troops procedures.

After several runs through the TCP at stance 1 we would be asked to load up the bombs and give the guys a stance 2. We were pretty jazzed. We'd been given two magnetic , remotely detonated FX bombs filled with Co2 and baby powder. They made a nice bang and poof when they were detonated. We placed the bombs under the cars, and took a run down the hill toward the TCP. We were to act hostile, edgy, and suspicious. We were asked to blow the bomb only if the troops didn't locate it or the detonator. Upon entering the TCP we were immediately pulled from the car and identified as high risk due to our behavior. We made a stink. A couple of us went limp and they had to drag us, resisting all the way. We yelled insults at them, we struggled, we acted irrational. They searched us, much rougher than before, they yelled at us, and they went over the car with a fine tooth comb. They zipped tied us and put us face down in the grass  when it became apparent that we weren't going to be nice. We kept sneaking glances at each other, hoping they wouldn't find the remote or the bomb. They didn't find it. When they picked us off the ground to move us, we blew the bomb. The training Sgt. swooped in, pointing to guys, naming causalities and wounded. I felt pretty smug until I looked up at the two young soldiers guarding me. They had gone white. They looked at each other and then down at me, and said "wow, we're dead...we died...". My heart lurched. I saw two young men in shock at how easily their lives had been taken.  Their 18 year old illusion of immortality taken away in a bang. I didn't feel smug any more. They asked me where the bomb had been placed, and who'd had the remote, "...but we searched her, and the car, and we didn't find it. We did everything right and we died.....". Sgt. Ezelle came over and told them to start dealing with the wounded. He looked grimly satisfied at the general reaction the bomb had on the troops, "Don't worry guys, we'll go through it again". When I got up to move the car I noticed the 5 'dead' laying on the ground behind the car. 5 kids - 5 American soldiers.

From that point forward the day took on a different tone for me. I started to understood the value of what we were doing for them. We placed bomb after bomb. As they got better at personal searches we would move the detonators to areas they weren't searching well. One of our guys shoved the remote down his pants into his underwear. They didn't find it. They blew up. The next round we were getting our crotches patted down. I found myself silently rooting for them the entire time I was trying to thwart them.

At least once per company we were asked to come in as stance 3 - aggressive and shooting. We would drive through the forward check point with our guns concealed under the seats and in our coats. Once we had the soldiers in range, we'd roll down the windows and start shooting. We'd hit a number of them, but almost instantly we were fired upon and ended up being quit dead. The surprise and audacity of such an attack was noted by the soldiers. In the next iteration, the first check point did a much better job. One group had all the passengers in the car put their hands on the car roof until they were secured and out of the vehicle.

The presence of guns in the car was problematic for the troops. In typical American life, 3 or 4 AK-47s and handguns piled in the back seat or laying on the dash means trouble. In Iraq the general populace carry guns as protection. They treat weapons as casaully as we treat jumper cables in our cars. In many scenarios we'd be friendly and cooperative, but have guns in the car. For the green troops it was a mixed message, and cause for a lot of alarm. The more experienced, and previously deployed troops,  that were part of the training did a fantastic job of modeling how to deal with this situation. As long as we were cooperating, they were respectful, and simply denied us access to the weapons while they conducted vehicle and personal searches. They'd ask who the weapons belonged to and what they were being used for. One older soldier did a nice job of acting out the situation, saying to me in front of the younger troops, "Now sir, I'll take you at your word that these guns are for personal protection and that you mean us no harm. I will make no hostile moves if you also promise me to make no hostile moves or attempt to touch the weapons in any way...am I making myself clear?". I replied in a thick accent, "yes, yes, very clear. My family has no wish to shoot americans". As we reset the scenario, I was struck by how vulnerable our troops are on a daily basis and the necessity of having to make temporary and fragile trusts with strangers – strangers with guns.

In one memorable scenario we were asked for a stance 2. Bomb on the car - blow it if they don't find it. As I drove passed the forward check point the SAW (a big machine gun) gunner got jumpy and thought we were approaching to fast - a shoot to kill condition - and opened fire on us before we could get into the security area. Sgt. Ezelle looked up at the gunner with some irritation, and yelled out "the vehicle is immobilized, passengers are sill alive and in play..continue!". We hung out the window and started yelling "don't shoot, don't shoot, we are friendly". Bethany, our only female member, was playing incensed, "why do you shoot our car, this is my families only car, and you break it?! How will we get to my mother's who is sick?!". The squad leader came over with a few guys and was very apologetic, "the US government will give you a voucher for a new car, we are very sorry for this misunderstanding". They got us out of the car, and did a vehicle search. They were chagrinned, and awkward and didn't do a great job searching. They found a trunk load of stereo equipment, which I explained was for the fictitious sick mother. Throughout the day the remote detonator had been acting up and we discovered that its range was only about 20-30 feet from the car, so I knew I had to get our group back near the car to set off the bomb. As they completed their searches they told us we could go. Bethany berated them, "how can we go? We have no car!". They paused and looked at each other, then over at the Sgt. who gave them no indication how to deal with this. I spoke up and suggested that we start with unloading the trunk, and the gifts for our mother. That broke their uncertainty and they were more than willing to help. We tromped off to the trunk, half a dozen soldiers in tow to help with the unloaded. I felt terrible. I could see Sgt. Ezelle out of the corner of my eye subtly shaking his head in disbelief. As I opened the trunk I looked over at Galen who pressed the button which he'd been hiding in his collar. 6 soldiers dead. 3 kids, 3 husbands and fathers.

The day wore on and we did dozens of runs through the checkpoints, we pushed on them in ways that a typical scared or hostile peoples would. They got better at their jobs. I got tossed around, searched, wrestled, shot, questioned, kneed, yanked out of cars, yelled at, and blown up along with them – all the while becoming more and more aware of the importance of what we were doing. Much of the day was very uncomfortable, physically and emotionally. The most potent and motivating discomfort I experienced was the moments where I could see my own son's face overlaid on these young men, and being acutely and painfully  aware of the families that love and cared for them.

In the days after, I found myself surprisingly emotional. I have never considered myself patriotic in any strong way. I like living in America, and I think it's a pretty great country. I stand behind the values our country was founded on. But I never really think about it. I have never waved a flag with any enthusiasms beyond the fun of waving something. I guess I never have really understood patriotism. I thought it was a specific thing, and I just didn't get it. I get it now. It's not just one thing for everyone. It's unique. I found my patriotism in the faces of young men who are in service of America and are in harms way. I experienced my patriotism as a parent who would protect their child with everything in them.

I listen to the news with a different ear now. I still have mixed feelings about the war. I still find myself railing at our leadership, I still am disgusted at many of our foreign policies, but when I hear of a bombing, or an attack somewhere in the middle east, I can no longer be dispassionate. I picture the faces of the troops I worked with, and know that in a few short months they too will be in harms way. I find myself hoping with all of me that they remember to check under the seat, and look carefully under the wheel wells, and carry kindness in their hearts, but trust no situation to be what it appears.

If you want to read more about the Oregon Nat Guard and specifically the 2-162, pick up John Bruning’s book, The Devils Sandbox. He tells the story of the 2-162’s deployment to Iraq.