To say the mood was celebratory would be an understatement. As the last few thin-skinned vehicles crossed back through the burm that only days earlier had been breached, a shower of tracer fire and flares pierced the evening sky. The once neat file of Bradley fighting vehicles, 113 track vehicles, M1 Abrams tanks, trucks and hummvees now mobbed together in the desert just inside the border of Saudi Arabia. As a Psychological Operations Team Sergeant, I had never before been in such company as the Third Armored Cavalry Regiment. I was not prepared to witness the efficiency and overwhelming power that a unit of this nature could disseminate. Among cheers, blowing horns and the ever-present sound of bagpipe music, courtesy of my loudspeaker operator, SPC. Ferguson, there was a moment to reflect and wonder about those that were left behind. During the course of the conflict, our unit had encountered a number of displaced Iraqi civilians trying to escape the incredible devastation. How would they go on after all that had transpired? How could we ever calculate how the debris that was left by this operation would affect these people and how it would change their lives and ours from this day forth?



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