Michael Yon is a combat journalist.

Did you ever wonder what happened to the Ernie Pyle type reporters? I see at least one and all his posts are worth reading. Apparently, Mr. Yon does not sit in the Green Zone and interview fellow scribes.

It's a dusty walk through blowing heat to the crowded mess hall at Camp Victory. I don't really know anyone here. To pass the time while eating, I sometimes imagine I'm sitting alone in a jungle with insects chirping and birds singing through the thickness, the fresh smell of green jungle and running water. It could be Costa Rica, or the jungle of Laos, or best of all, the Appalachians in spring. Settled down next to an icy stream, I'm just laying there, reading a book and drifting into sleep.Here in Mesopotamia the thump and rumble of car bombs shudder through the base every day. One bomb last night sounded especially large, or maybe it was just close. Probably both. There were a couple of people killed by bombs in Baghdad yesterday. Or maybe it was a few dozen. No sense in trying to keep track; today will be more and tomorrow will be more again. The accountants of war have been busy. Some are saying there have been nearly 500 car bombs in Iraq over the last year. Last night, the base got mortared, or rocketed close by; seven of our people were wounded. I found out after someone told me in passing the next day.
The Associated Press reported that car bombs in Mosul are so prevalent that police have banned trunk lids on taxis. Actually, the trunk-lid idea came from an Army captain named Paul Carron. He not only thought the whole thing up but also negotiated with the union that represents taxi drivers, and then gave credit for the idea to the cops. I see Captain Carron often when I am in Mosul; soldiers like Paul Carron are making this work.Today, here in Baghdad, CSM Mellinger will head to a Combat Support Hospital (CSH) in less than an hour. In soldier patois the CSH is "the cash," and in military parlance, a "casualty" is any person who no longer fully functions due to something: Wounded, sick, killed, missing in action, or just gone crazy, anything corporeal that takes a soldier off the fighting roster makes for a casualty.Nearing the mess hall, two helicopters fly low overhead and disappear, the sharp sounds of automatic weapons fire cut into the familiar rhythm of the rotars stirring the dusty mass of boiling air. It would be nice to be scuba diving in the Pacific today. Armed soldiers at the mess hall check my ID, "Thank you sir," says a sergeant, and he waves me in. Looks like I will be eating alone.