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Associated Press reporters remain on assignment "embedded," in military parlance with various U.S. military units as the war against Iraq continues. Here are some daily snapshots of life in those units.

By CHRIS TOMLINSON

Associated Press Writer

Monday, March 24, with the 3rd Infantry Division:

NEAR KARBALA, Iraq (AP) Another night punctuated by artillery and tank fire.

At one point, a small group of men in a civilian pickup with a mounted machine gun began sneaking up on our position. But they were immediately scared away when one of the Bradley fighting vehicles opened up with 25 mm cannon and high-explosive ammunition.

At daylight, the 2nd Brigade received orders to push northwest of Najaf, to an assembly area south of Karbala. It took more than two hours to get all 2,500 vehicles loaded and in line to pull out. One battalion was left behind to support the 3rd Battalion, 7th Cavalry in operations around Najaf.

As the troops began to pull out, the forward vehicles that had already begun to climb up an escarpment on Highway 23 to Karbala came under mortar fire. The counterbattery radar quickly identified where the shots originated, but a scout team sent up to take a look found only some men standing around pickup trucks.

Air Force jets circled over the trucks as well, but still couldn't make out any weapons or movements of "hostile intent."

The decision not to attack the trucks, like all engagements so far, was decided on the conservative side. This time, it was a mistake. After the armored vehicles passed, the support convoy was attacked with mortars.

There were no injuries; the attack was poorly executed, but it yielded another lesson: The Iraqis know how to hide in plain sight.

Our new assembly area was back in the desert.

"What, did we go back to Kuwait?" several soldiers asked, as they set up camp in the sand.

Tuesday, March 25:

After one of the best nights' sleep the men have had in a week, spirits were better until the sandstorm set in.

There were reports of fighting to the south in Najaf, to the west where the 1st Brigade was set up, and to the north near Karbala. But while the artillery boomed all around, Attack Company's area was quiet. They were safe from the Iraqis, but the weather was something different.

When the wind kicked up, the men positioned their Bradleys into a windbreak and spread a tarp. A few times, it rained briefly huge muddy dollops that splat with unexpected weight.

The sunset turned the sky orange at first, but then the whole world seemed to turn a blood red, which spooked many of the men. The strength of the wind, the density of the sandstorm and the eerie sky conjured images of biblical revenge.

But with nowhere else to go, the men climbed in their sleeping bags for another miserable night in the desert.

Wednesday, March 26:

The sandstorm eased at about 3 a.m. I woke up, stuck my head out of my tent and saw stars always a good sign. But the damage inside the tent was already done. Sand covered everything. Each time I rolled over in my sleeping bag, the dust would stir and fill the air like thick smoke.

When dawn broke, I crawled out to more wind, but not so much sand. The troops and I held out hopes that the sky would clear but no luck. Slowly the winds built up and the sky thickened with sand. Soon, we were all squeezing into our vehicles, trying to stay out of the growing storm.

When I stepped outside to stretch my legs, I found Sgt. Robert Compton of Oklahoma City, with a balaclava around his face, goggles over his eyes and his helmet firmly planted on his head.

"I'm not playing anymore," he said. "This sandstorm stuff is getting serious."

He'd learned an unforgettable lesson in aerodynamics the night before. Sleeping outside in the storm, he decided to open his sleeping bag and let the wind blow out the gathering sand.

But the wind filled it like a parachute, tossing him several feet.

"I thought for sure I was going to fly away," he said.

The evening intelligence report, a mixture of classified material and the latest BBC World News summary, said the storm was supposed to last until Friday. Temperatures were expected to drop to 37 degrees Fahrenheit.

We were resigned to another miserable night.

Thursday, March 27:

Today was one of those odd Army days when little makes sense.

Every day they tell us that we will move tomorrow or the next day, and so far we remain in an assembly area 20 miles southeast of Karbala.

But the sandstorm had lifted. A fresh shipment of meal packages and water had arrived. The sun was bright and warm.

Airstrikes on Iraqi vehicles have become routine, and the men watched the horizon at dawn as A-10 Warthogs swooped in on several armored personnel carriers trying to get close enough to fire on U.S. forces.

But every time they came within six miles, the A-10s were there.

The only difference this morning came when a U.S. missile struck a diesel pipeline. Suddenly, 1,000 gallons of diesel fuel per second were pouring into the desert.

An engineering unit was dispatched to cap the break. While they were working, a single Iraqi man dressed in civilian clothes approached with his hands up in surrender. The infantrymen ordered him closer, but he refused. He looked over his shoulder and dropped to the ground several times unexpectedly.

Since Iraqi troops had already ambushed several U.S. units using a mock surrender stunt, the engineers and the single Bradley pulled back and called for reinforcements. By the time they arrived, the Iraqi was gone.

A bit later, as a cordon of Bradleys moved through the desert, there were Iraqis waving white flags. Before the U.S. interpreter could address them via the loudspeaker, an urgent order came over the radio: "Pull back, now!"

"We have made contact with people waving white flags, we plan to investigate," replied Capt. Chris Carter, the commander of Attack company.

"Pull back, now!" the operations officer repeated. Carter did.

Later, the battalion commander explained that someone had written down the wrong grid coordinates of the contact. He had thought that Attack was six miles farther north than they really were.

Carter could only answer with a sigh.

By GEORGE JAHN

Associated Press Writer

Sunday, March 23:

ABOARD USS THEODORE ROOSEVELT (AP) The media on board the Roosevelt have been out to sea for two weeks now. With our ship doing overnight duty, most of us have shifted over day is night, and vice versa. The crew greets us with a cheery "Good morning" as we tumble into the hallways at 6 p.m.

Breakfast is at 7 p.m. And lunch at 7 a.m.

That, and our mole-like existence, makes many of us lose all concept of time. When the ship's combat aircraft are flying, the deck is off-limits, which means we can go for days without being allowed to venture out to the top.

I'm beginning to understand the previously un-understandable how the sailors talk longingly of the sounds of traffic and other nuisance noise that links them to existence on land.

Monday, March 24:

We settle in for an interview in the quarters of Rear Admiral John C. Harvey Jr., commander of the battle group that includes the Roosevelt and its complement of cruisers and destroyers deployed in the eastern Mediterranean.

As we put down our tape recorders in front of him, a broadcast reporter shoves a huge microphone into Harvey's face and asks him to hold it for the duration of the interview.

The admiral's reaction: priceless.

"How long?" he asks, deadpan.

The reporter holds his own mike.

Tuesday, March 25:

During night operations, fitful hours of rest are regularly interrupted by noises, all serving to prevent a good night's/day's sleep.

Woooom! Every two to three hours, like a giant bowling ball being rolled through the corridors.

Crash!! A dungeon door? The brig is three decks down, so it must be something else. Crash!!!

Wroooooom!!!! Sounds like the mother of all prop planes revving at full throttle. This actually is a plane, on the deck above us. Our ship isn't supposed to be launching flights during the day, so the plane doesn't take off it just revs up every hour or so, drowning out the air conditioning whistling at full blast through our thin wool blankets.

Time just flies when you can't sleep. Before you know it, the captain's on the intercom, wishing us all a good morning (although it's evening). His voice is ... cheery.

Wednesday, March 26:

Some carrier trivia:

There are five miles of corridors on the USS Theodore Roosevelt, and 2,000 compartments.

During Operation Enduring Freedom, when the ship was deployed for six months, the barber shop cut 16,199 heads of hair.

It is 4 a.m., and we're waiting for briefings by pilots back from combat missions. Three of the reporters are killing time by playing solitaire on their laptops.

I don't have the program, and have finished writing for the night. So I educate myself who knows when knowing how many strips of bacon eaten on board in a month might become useful information?

By MATTHEW ROSENBERG

Associated Press Writer

Saturday, March 22:

ABOARD USS SHILOH (AP) The Tomahawk blasts from the aft launcher. The night before, each missile was heralded by a blinding flash, a thud and a thunderous roar before a trail of flames and smoke climbed into the sky and disappeared.

In the daytime, the deafening roar is still there, but the fiery exhaust isn't blinding and the actual rocket is visible. As it flies away, you can see the wings spread open and the booster fall and splash into the sea.

Unlike the boisterous crowd that gathered to watch the launch the night before, the small crowd at the daylight firing is largely silent as they watch the missile hurtle toward Iraq.

A minute or two after the launch, a sailor yells "Captain on the bridge!" as Capt. Will Dewes walks in the door. He's been down in the combat information center the nerve center in the guts of the ship directing the firing.

He gets on the ship's public address system, tells the crew the launch was successful and that another is likely in about two hours.

"Since we successfully smoked a Tomahawk today, it seems fitting to smoke a cigar on the bridge," he says, and invites any and all up the bridge for a smoke.

Around two dozen sailors take up the offer.

By DOUG MELLGREN

Associated Press Writer

Monday, March 24, with the 15th Marine Expeditionary Unit:

NEAR AZ ZUBAYR, Iraq (AP) For Marines in the field, MREs Meals Ready to Eat are the steady diet, morning, noon and night. And weeks of the same 24 MRE selections force Marines and other soldiers to test their culinary skills and create a little more variety.

It can be simple, like adding the tube of cheese spread that comes in many packages to the chicken salsa, throwing in some Tabasco and a few crumbled crackers that come in each package.

The Marines also make a sort of pudding by combining cocoa powder with white dairy cream and sugar, and heating the mix until it turns thick.

On one of the "tracks" or Amphibious Armored Vehicles 21-year-old Cpl. Jerod Elder, of Temecula, Cal., has devised "The Magic Mocha Mix." It's a hit.

The recipe is four servings of powdered cocoa, four servings of instant coffee, and four coffee whiteners in a bottle of water.

"Shaken, not stirred," jokes Elder.

Tuesday, March 25:

Sgt. Jeff Seabaugh, of 1st Platoon, Echo Company, came around last night ordering his men to be on top alert because another 15th MEU company, Golf, had been attacked a day earlier by what appeared to be Iraqi special forces.

We were told that to avoid getting shot, we should report to the main machine gun nest anytime we moved after dark, even to use the latrine trench. The tension seems higher, as the guys understand they could be hit.

"We do not expect an attack, but we have to anticipate one," said Seabaugh. He said they were preparing for troops in civilian clothes. During the night I could hear artillery and what could have been bombing, some of it so close that it shook the ground.

At about 4 a.m., the call "gas, gas, gas" came over the radio and was passed down the line. Marines dutifully grabbed for their masks. One Marine was so exhausted and groggy that I had to shake him repeatedly to get him to put his mask on.

The Marines here are now worried that what appeared to be two innocent civilians walking down the road under a white flag may have been scouts for the special forces, checking out our positions.

During the night and at various times of day, we can hear what sounds like Islamic prayer music played on loudspeakers not far away. It has the guys discussing Islam, God and what a mosque is.

We've been hit by a bad storm first wind that blew down the camouflage netting, then rain and awesome bolts of lightning followed by thunder. I overheard Marines say it's what last night's U.S. artillery must have sounded like to the Iraqis.

photo credit and caption:

United States Air Force Maj. Gen. Victor E. Renuart, center, takes a question from a reporter, right, as Brig. Gen. Vince Brooks, center left, looks on during a news conference at the military's media center at Camp As Sayliyah, in Doha, Qatar, Saturday, March 29, 2003. (AP Photo/Steven Senne)

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