(CNN) – CNN Cairo went to the beach Monday. It was not, alas, a day of rest. We assembled at 2 a.m. at the headquarters of the Egyptian Army's "Morale Guidance" Bureau, from where we were bussed, an hour later, to the northern coast to cover the 2009 Brightstar Exercises.

This year 17,000 troops from Egypt, the United States, Jordan, Pakistan, Germany, Italy, and Kuwait - to name a few - are taking part.

These military exercises have been conducted every two years since 1981.

There is a certain predictability about these affairs. The officers, whatever the country, are all upbeat, talking about cooperation, partnership and mutual respect.

But in the end, these are war games: A rehearsal for something to which other, far less lofty terms come to mind. The officers we interviewed - Americans and Egyptians - speak in glowing adjectives, but dodge questions about what or whom the exercises are preparing for.

I covered Brightstar 10 years ago. Back then it was also all about partnership and cooperation. But in the combat operations room of the USS John F. Kennedy, I had a premonition of what was to come. On a map of clear plastic, written in magic marker over Baghdad were the words: "Target: Saddam."

Ten years later Saddam is gone; U.S. forces are bogged down in Iraq and Afghanistan, while targets have been hit in Yemen, Somalia, and Pakistan.

Voices have been raised in the U.S. – though more loudly and insistently in Israel - calling for military action against Iran, which is accused by some of pursuing a nuclear weapons program.

Back in 1999 it was fairly clear that sooner or later the U.S. and its allies would, somehow or other, bring down Saddam Hussein. After September 11, 2001, regardless of Iraq's non-involvement in those attacks, Saddam's days were running out.

I don't think, at this moment, an attack against Iran (by Israel, by the U.S., or both) is as inevitable as Saddam Hussein's demise. But the possibility is there.

As the sun rose over the desert, I watched three C17 "Globemasters," which had flown straight from Fort Bragg in North Carolina, drop hundreds of paratroopers - mostly Americans along with a few Egyptians and Pakistanis. Later, a pair of American Cobra gunships provided air support as three huge U.S. Navy hovercraft disgorged a dozen armored humvees on a beautiful Mediterranean beach, already "secured" by U.S., Egyptian, Pakistani and Jordanian troops.

It was an impressive display of force and hardware, as well as cooperation and partnership. However it's easy to see from the weapons on display who is the senior "partner."

Sitting in the press bus on my way back to Cairo typing this with my thumbs on a blackberry, I wonder if, as the American and Egyptian officers told us, the Brightstar exercises aren't designed for a specific threat then what is the point?

BAGHDAD, Iraq - "One of them did tell me a story of a woman who went back with her children and the children were killed," Angelina Jolie said during our interview.

We could all imagine the story. We've heard similar tales of such sheer horrific acts over and over again.

And frankly we were relieved that Jolie was back, that she saw what she saw and heard the tales of the plight of so many Iraqis.

It's no secret that there is a sense that the world would like to forget about Iraq, that in many minds the war is over, when in reality its not. We see that everyday.

With Jolie here in Iraq as UNHCR Goodwill Ambassador once again, we're able to throw the refugee and internally displaced crisis back into the headlines.

We asked her why she felt that it was important to keep spotlighting what's happening here.

"It seems like such a crazy question doesn't it?" she responded shaking her head. "To imagine that someone would think that it's not important."

She was out at a complex in northwestern Baghdad, home to some 12,000 internally displaced Iraqis, most from former Sunni insurgent strongholds in the western suburbs of the capital and Abu Ghraib to the west.

We had interviewed Jolie the last time that she was in Iraq, about 18 months ago.

Yes, there has been progress since then, small grains of it, but still as we know so well, so much more needs to be done.

"So it’s a very bleak picture ... you can talk about it, cry about it." She told us: "You meet with so many little babies that are malnourished, so many little kids that have infections from things that with minor medicine would be OK. Parents saying, why, our children didn’t do anything, they are so little, they are innocent, we just want some dignity, aren’t we people?"

We have heard those words countless times. Now hopefully the world will listen once again.

BAGHDAD, Iraq – Iraq's 2005 elections, most of the campaign posters bore religious figures - and for the most part candidates and political blocs rallied the populous based on sect and ethnicity. That's not the case anymore.

An Iraqi casts her ballot Saturday in Baghdad. About 4,000 women are running for office.

In fact more and more Iraqis are moving away from the religious parties.

Women have also exploded into the political forum in Iraq. Many female activists argue that the 2003 U.S.-led invasion catapulted Iraqi women back to the dark ages.

Extremist militias ruled the streets, threatening women for anything from not covering their hair to getting involved in politics.

Now some female candidates are using their image on their campaign posters - in direct defiance of those fundamentalists who want to suppress them. They view this election as an opportunity to regain their voice.

What started as a symbolic gesture - to have a quota in government for women - could be turning into something real.

It seems the country's men have no choice but to accept that a woman's vote, either on election day or once she is in office, counts for the same as theirs.

Still, it's a massive risk. And as so often happens here, I am in awe of the courage of those I meet.

We profiled two candidates, both who say they are without fear.

One wants to prove that women are just as capable as men, admits that at first she felt that it was enough to just participate. But now she wants to win. To defy all those men who want her to fail.

There is so much at stake, so much that these elections could be a turning point for a country that is still spinning from all that it has been through.

There is something different in the air this time. In 2005 it was more just the buzz of going to vote for the first time. I remember being in a polling station in Baquba, north of Baghdad, and dozens of Iraqis erupted into song and dance to celebrate that the vote.

"Now Iraqis realize that they can make the parties they hate fail and those they support succeed. They know the game and they can play it better than last one," an Iraqi colleague said to me.

Iraqis - at least those who will be going to the polls - feel that this time they can generate real change, or at least that they hope that this time around those who end up in power will truly have their interests in mind. I guess we will find out.

ATLANTA, Georgia - Not a day goes by when I don't think about January 27, 2004 in some small way.It was the day when two friends, CNN employees Duraid Isa Mohammad and Yasser Khatab, were cut down by insurgents on a dusty highway south of Baghdad.

My last view of my friends was their SUV swerving off the road, the windshield spattered with their blood, as bullets crashed through our own vehicle.

Clearly, I'll never forget the guys, and neither will my colleagues who were part of the two car CNN convoy that was attacked by two carloads of insurgents.

But, every year on this date I make a point of mentioning their lives, and their deaths, to as many others as possible. To honor them, and to remind folks of the enormous contribution Iraqi staff make to the coverage of Iraq by western media. Check the CNN BackStory

Yasser was a young, vibrant man with a cheeky sense of humor (he taught me my first real swearword in Arabic).

Duraid had been my translator on previous tours of duty in Iraq, as he was that day in 2004. A loyal, trusted and talented young man with an infectious smile.

He had two kids roughly the same ages as my own, and I remember evenings in the Palestine Hotel when we'd proudly swap tales of the talents of our respective offspring, the sounds of Blackhawk helicopters following the Tigres River at low altitude in the background.

January 27, 2004 was back when the media could still travel out of the capital to report and not worry too much about not getting back alive. Sure, we had security, but this was before the days of orange jumpsuits and on camera beheadings.

We were returning in our two cars after doing a story in Hilla, south of Baghdad, when the killers struck, also in two cars – gunmen standing out of the sunroofs with AK-47's before opening up. Yasser and Duraid cut down in a hail of automatic gunfire in the first seconds of the attack.

The guy attacking our vehicle wasn't too good, fortunately. In those first seconds, I looked him in the eye, saw Yasser and Duraid's car leave the road, and dived across the seat with Scotty.

Our vehicle was hit multiple times, but the gunman's accuracy was poor – only cameraman Scott McWhinnie receiving a slight head wound before our security guard was able to persuade the gunmen to give up the attack.

Washington-based producer Shirley Hung, our driver Ahmed, our security guard, and myself unharmed, but far from untouched.

The loss of Yasser and Duraid stunned us. Guys we'd been chatting with literally minutes before, who we knew and loved and laughed with and talked politics with. Dead.

Those of us who survived are forever linked by our shared experience that day. We pretty much always reach out to each other every January 27, as we did today.

Me, Scotty, Shirley (who'll forever be known as 'Nurse Hung' for her management of the first aid kit as we treated Scotty). I'm still in touch with our security guard, too, and every time I'm in Baghdad I try to see our driver that day, Ahmed (he works elsewhere these days).

The common thread, of course; Yasser and Duraid. Young men taken too soon, but, no, never forgotten.

BAGHDAD, Iraq - In Iraq, Santa Claus doesn't always wear red.

An Iraqi schoolgirl tries on her new backpack.

Major Eric Egland, founder of the nonprofit organization troopsneedyou.com, is dressed in camouflage, complete with body armor and helmet.

The U.S. Air Force Reserves officer is heading to a poor Baghdad neighborhood to deliver holiday gifts to children at an elementary school.

As he and his fellow soldiers load up several armored Humvees with boxes, Egland tells me: "We're going to deliver some school supplies that were picked out - not by bureaucrats, not by government, not by adults - but by kids themselves in northern California."

Egland's group is based on his personal theory that helping Iraqis also helps U.S. troops because, "when you give the locals the resources that they ask for and you improve their lives, they trust you and they will stand up for security and the new government."

We park the Humvees at the local military district headquarters and set out on foot for the school, about an eight-minute walk away.

As we approach, the headmaster emerges and warmly greets Egland. Inside, in the cold but sunny courtyard, young boys are playing a furious game of musical chairs, racing in a circle, brought to a stop by a piercing whistle blown by their teacher.

There are few girls. They stand quietly to the side, near the female teachers. As the soldiers carry in the boxes, then cut them open, the children stand in two rows, waiting for their gifts.

But it's not the usual holiday gift of toys. It's school supplies: colorful backpacks, pens, colored pencils and paper - along with some bright green caps and T-shirts.

The schoolmaster is thrilled. This is what the students really need, he says.

"Honestly, I don't think the families of these children can provide their children these kinds of school supplies," he adds, "and of course it makes us happy when we see the students happy."

As each student comes forward to get his or her gift, they say "thank you" - some in Arabic, some in English. Everyone seems to know the favorite English expression, "OK! " which they yell out happily and give a thumbs up.

When the gifts are distributed, the soldiers wave goodbye to the children, and we pile into the Humvees. We drive slowly through streets filled with traffic.

This is an old neighborhood, filled with an astounding number of small businesses, especially car-repair shops. Most of them appear to be doing a brisk business replacing smashed windshields.

I notice several children helping out in the shops, one of them serving tea to a street vendor, another sweeping a shop floor. It's midday and they are not in school. And I realize how lucky the children at the elementary school really are. Watch Jill Dougherty with the camoflage Santa

LOS ANGELES, California – I am not one who is inclined to cry. I never have been.

CNN's Arwa Damon and Youssif goof off in Los Angeles.

When I first met Youssif it was hard to look at his heavily scarred face and his sad dark eyes peering out from underneath the thick scar tissue.

The scope of the horror of what had happened to him was impossible for my mind to absorb. What kind of a world do we live in where someone can douse a four-year-old in gasoline and set him on fire?

Since that first day he has taught me so much. Now six, he offers a story in the survival of the human spirit.

At first, Youssif wouldn't talk to me. Girls have cooties. To be honest, I was jealous of the male members of our crew.

He finally did speak to me a few days after we arrived in Los Angeles. We were at the beach - a first for the family. Youssif ran shrieking toward the water as fast as his little legs would take him. We laughed so much that day!

It was my first glimpse of the boy that he once was. He ordered me to bring him water from the ocean for the sand castle we were trying to build. I'm not one who is inclined to take orders, but I was so happy he was talking to me that I obeyed. I've been obeying him ever since.

This family has been through so much, and they still are. His parents are struggling not only with the horror of what their son went through but also the trauma of watching him struggle through the multiple surgeries. But day by day they say their son is coming back.

I can't even begin to imagine what it's been like. To see your son trying to put out the flames on his face with his little hands. To think that all hope is lost. To land in a foreign country and know that you can't go back home because you've accepted help from an American NGO and you're associated with an American TV network.

I speak with Youssif's parents on a regular basis. It had been a year since I was able to make it back to Los Angeles and spend time with them in person. And I have to admit, I was nervous.

Even a year ago, when I made several trips, it took Youssif a while to warm up to me again. I also have to admit that I don't spend much time with kids. So I had no idea how he would react to me.

When I walked into the apartment he was hiding under the table with his kid sister grinning devilishly. I barely fit but wriggled my way underneath. He laughed. I breathed a sigh of relief: We were golden.

I look at him now talking a mile a minute about anything and everything in a mix of Arabic and English, and I can't believe he's the same boy I met in Baghdad. I would really do anything for this kid. I made paper airplanes for the first time in over two decades.

"Are you working on my story?" Youssif asks me, looking over my shoulder as I type this.

"Yup," I say.

He's looking over my shoulder again, pointing to the numerous times his name comes up. I love that we're "hanging out" now. We're even sharing popcorn. He's shrieking with laughter at something silly I am doing.

"Here, you can take this too," he said in giving me his toothpaste, as I packed my bags.

I am so childishly flattered. I am also the proud owner of a gingerbread snowman he made in class, a little pink flower, two paper airplanes we made together, a stuffed rabbit, and a cold soda because he noticed I was done drinking the one I already had.

And a used eraser.

"I want to grow up so I can be a doctor," he says. "Is being 10 a man?"

I laugh. He's being serious.

"I want to help other burnt Iraqi kids. I want to be like Dr. Peter," he says referring to his surgeon, Dr. Peter Grossman with the Grossman Burn Center.

Youssif's even sitting in my lap now.

"Are you leaving today?" he asks.

I nod.

"Oooooh," he exclaims, his usual expression of surprise, as his eyes widened.

He keeps running over asking me how much time I have left.

It's breaking my damn heart to leave. And I thought I was the "tough Baghdad correspondent."

But watching Youssif standing on stage singing "Jinglebell Rock" with the other first-graders, I felt tears sting my eyes. It's not the first time the little guy has caused such a rare reaction in me.

Click here to watch Arwa Damon's report on her reunion with Youssif.

SAMARRA, Iraq – It was my first time at Iraq's ground zero.

View of the al-Askari Shrine missing the golden dome and rubble on side of the road.

Al-Askari Shrine in Samarra, one of Shiite Islam's holiest sites, has been bombed twice. It was the first bombing on February 22, 2006, which destroyed the shrine's golden dome and changed Iraq forever.

The U.S. Military and the Iraqi Government blamed the attack on al Qaeda in Iraq; Shiites blamed Sunnis. Reprisal attacks against Sunnis quickly escalated into a bloody sectarian war claiming tens of thousands of lives.  Chills ran down my spine as I thought of the lives lost since that day.

The U.S. Military organized our media trip to the city after it was recently listed as a World Heritage Site by UNESCO.

The security situation in Iraq – including the predominantly Sunni city of Samarra – has changed for the better over the past few months, but little looked like it had changed at the Shrine.

Rubble from the bombings was still piled high on the sides of the road leading to the shrine. The few workers on site looked unenthused.

The shrine is protected by Shiite guards deployed by the prime minister. The tough looking guards asked our U.S. Military escorts to stay outside as they took us into the complex.  Citing orders from the P.M., they hurried us through parts of the shrine.

However, just a few months ago a similar tour might not have been possible. "You couldn't walk here without taking fire," one soldier said.

The security situation in Samarra has drastically improved in recent months and U.S. commanders attribute that to a number of factors including the Sons of Iraq, former Sunni fighters who have turned against al Qaeda.

Following our visit to the shrine, soldiers from the 101st Airborne drove us back to their base just a few minutes drive from al-Askari compound.

What once was "The Samarra Resort Restaurant" is now U.S. Patrol Base Olsen. We were taken on to a building rooftop for a joint press conference by U.S. and Iraqi commanders.

The view from the roof was breathtaking ... it was one of the very few times I have had the chance to admire the beauty of Iraq. A panoramic view of a Samarra landmark - the 9th century minaret (al-Malwiyya), al-Askari shrine and the lush farmlands on the banks of the Tigris. 

Lieutenant Colonel J.P. McGee, the charismatic U.S. commander in Samarra, said the fact that we were standing on the roof was evidence of the city's security transformation.

But like the rest of the country these remarkable security gains are fragile and that is why McGee and his men have shifted their focus to rebuilding the city. They are working with local leaders to provide residents with essential services like power and water.

McGee believes by getting services to the people of Samarra they will have no reason to fight the government.

Up until a few months ago Samarra was a stronghold of al Qaeda in Iraq. One local resident said insurgents had terrorized the population with bombings, kidnappings and public executions. Until recently the city was paralyzed.

Also paralyzed up until six months ago was the reconstruction of the shrine.

Samarra's mayor now expects it to be rebuilt in two years.

Captain Josh Kurtzman, commander of Charlie Company, smiled when I asked him how it feels to have such an important shrine as part of his area of responsibility.

"It's a great responsibility, the most important thing that I think I have been able to do in my life so far and the most interesting time of my life has been in this city. I would say just because of all the history ... both old history and history being made," he said standing in the shadow of the destroyed shrine.

As our chopper took off, I gazed at the shrine and wondered if the wounds it left in Iraq would ever heal.

BAGHDAD, Iraq – I don't think I have ever worked harder to get beat up. To do a story about Baghdad's best boxing gym, in the Adamiyah district, first, we had to get permission from the local "Awakening Council." The "Awakening Council" is a militia, allied with the United States that controls Adamiyah. When we got
to the area, armed gunmen were already waiting for us, some of them not older then 14 or 15, and they led us to the gym.

Farouq Chanchoon at his boxing gym.

"Ah, good to see you," Farouq Chanchoon says in very broken English. He's the head coach at the Adamiyah gym and a boxing legend in Iraq. The first thing he shows me is his collection of medals. "Bronze medal, world cup 1981," he keeps saying. Chanchoun is a former Iraqi Olympian. He fought in the 1976 games in Montreal, and in Moscow in 1980. He won the bronze at the boxing world cup in Montreal in 1981.

With all of Farouq's stories I didn't even notice, he already put on his boxing gloves and ushered me into the ring. For a 53 year old, he hasn't lost his speed or his eye, and I can feel the punches rain on my body and face as I try to escape and fight back. All the while, Farouq's youngest students, about 20 kids between the ages of 7 and 14 clap and chant. You can tell Farouq has boxing in his blood. The way he moves, the ring is his natural environment.

But to the kids here, he is more than a coach. In war-torn Baghdad, Farouq is like a father and guardian to many of those who train here. He teaches them discipline, respect for each other, no matter if they are Sunni or Shia. "My doors are open to anyone who is serious about boxing," Farouq
tells me later. "No matter if they are Sunni or Shia, anyone can come here."

Ali Hassan is serious about boxing. He's 21 years old, Iraq's welterweight champion and my next sparring partner. I can escape his punches for about a minute until I take a right hook to the jaw that stops me in my tracks. "Some day, I hope I can fight in international championships and win
gold and silver medals," Ali says, and judging the way he beat me up, I don't doubt he has what it takes.

Ali often leaves work early to come to the Adamiyah gym, but for a long time that was impossible. For decades, the gym was Iraq's premiere address for boxers, but after the fall of Saddam Hussein, violence engulfed the streets of the neighborhood, Al Qaeda took over, and the gym was shut. Much of the boxing equipment was looted, the old boxing ring was later torn apart by some of the local residents and used as building material. "I always kept training," Farouq says, but it was hard and dangerous.

Adamiyah is almost 100 per cent Sunni, but Shia fighters regularly make their way to the gym. Farouq says even during the worst of the sectarian strife in Baghdad, he still welcomed Shia boxers. "It has never made a difference to me," he says. When the gym was closed, they would train in other locations and some shia risked their lives to learn from him.

Now that violence is receding in Baghdad, and with Adamiyah under the control of the awakening council, the gym has reopened. About a dozen new punching bags line the ring and classes are full, especially with younger fighters. Farouq says he's proud of his achievement and believes that Iraq will make a comeback in international boxing.

"I think it will take at least four years," he tells me, "but then we will have world class fighters again. I have no doubt in my mind."

Until then, the young fighters look up at the old, fading photos of Farouq in his glory days, throwing punches at international tournaments. And many of them hope they can achieve the same.

CENTCOM C-40, The Persian Gulf – Finally after seven days traveling halfway around the world, myself and CNN cameraman Doug Schantz are on the way home, traveling military style with one of the country's most senior commanders, Admiral William Fallon, head of the U.S. Central Command.

The C-40 is a military VIP version of the Boeing 737. Packed with communications gear and high speed Internet at every seat - including mine - Fallon can stay in touch 24/7 and I can file for CNN.com.

Of course, staying in touch is vital for Fallon. As head of Central Command he has top responsibilities for Iraq, Afghanistan, the Persian Gulf, Pakistan - and yes, he keeps a very close eye on Iran.

Fallon invited CNN to travel exclusively with him on this trip that would take him to Iraq and several Persian Gulf nations. Like many CNN correspondents I have made several trips to Iraq and Afghanistan - its always half adventure and three-quarters trying to stay awake on the grueling 20-hour days. As I write, poor Doug is collapsed in the next seat. He's been shooting our pieces, editing them, feeding them into CNN via satellite and hauling about 250 pounds of gear everyday.

As for adventure, it started on our first day at MacDill Air Force Base in Florida, Fallon's headquarters and also the headquarters for Special Operations Command, known as SOCOM. SOCOM agreed to let us have an up-close and personal look at a new assault rifle they are about to field with some of the nation's most secretive military commando units. Yup, even I test fired it - under the strict supervision of a couple of Army Rangers.

We took off and flew first to Shannon Airport, Ireland for an overnight refueling stop - where the war awaited us. These days, in the middle of the night Shannon airport is full of young American troops coming and going from the war zone. You don't have to ask them in which direction they are headed, you just look at those young faces and know.

Next stop Qatar, and our first conversation with local military leaders. We met with the Qatari chief of staff General Hamad bin Ali Al Attyah at his desert home where he raises beautiful hunting falcons. We got a unique look at these birds of prey and than sat down to lunch of boiled camel, lamb and heaps of rice and vegetables. But the talk turned to Iran, and our Qatari hosts made it clear Iran is a great concern to them.

We would hear the same worries in Oman, Abu Dhabi and Dubai. But all of these small Gulf nations maintain extensive commercial and economic ties with Iran; the Qataris, for example, share an offshore gas field. For them, Iran is a neighbor; worrisome, but nobody in the Gulf wants war and there is an effort to get along.

As always when you land in Iraq everyone on board goes quiet. We were on a C-17 transport plane and the pilot executed several swift manuvers just before touching down to avoid any prospect of a being hit by missiles, rockets or gunfire. What I didn't know is that a day later that is exactly what we would be worried about.

Our first stop was Balad, a giant airfield and U.S. base about 50 miles north of Baghdad. I was met by three guys who I can only say are "members of the coalition." They showed me the latest videos and documents captured from the insurgency. We spent the night in Baghdad at a secure military facility. I have spent many nights in this building since 2003. This time there was improved Internet access. It was nice for us visitors, but it's absolutely vital for the troops, allowing them to stay in touch with family and friends back home.

The next day we headed to Falluja. For months it was a dreaded place: Who can forget the horrifying pictures of U.S. contractors' bodies hanging from the bridge, the months and months of al Qaeda terror and the two massive battles the U.S. fought to retake the town?

I was truly amazed to be walking these streets with Fallon. The marketplace was crowded and the people were friendly. This IS a success story of the US troop surge. But Fallon is looking beyond the security: He wants to know why there is only power three hours a day, why there are few jobs and what is being done to really get the city back on its feet. With the security picture finally improving, the problem now is improving the daily lives of Iraqis so peace can be maintained.

Finally we got back on the V-22 tilt rotor aircraft we were riding around on. We were flying back to Baghdad with everyone is nodding off when suddenly we realized we were circling the capital. The pilot had been denied permission to land as the Green Zone was under rocket attack. Up to a dozen rounds had already hit, and everyone at the place where we stayed the night before was waiting it out.

We were now running low on fuel and it was getting dark, so we flew back to the Marine Corps base at Falluja and stopped at the chow hall for the first meal of the day. But Fallon wanted to get back to Baghdad. He had a key meeting that night with General David Petraeus, the top commander inside Iraq, to discuss strategy, including timetables for withdrawing more troops.

But dust storms closing in on Baghdad, all aircraft were now grounded, forcing us to make a critical decision. Our entire traveling party were suited up with helmets and armored vests for a drive through the night across areas that were once the heartland of the insurgency.

There's an expression everyone uses in moments like this: "Welcome to Iraq!" It roughly translates to "Well... what are you gonna do?" Little did I know that would be the watchword for the next couple of hours. About an hour into the convoy ride we came to a halt. Iraqi forces had suddenly established a checkpoint on the road and we could not pass. So our convoy carrying the four-star commander is now at a dead stop, at night, not certain how to proceed. This is what you call bad juju. Convoys in Iraq don't stop, they keep moving. Stopping means you are vulnerable to attack; stopping can mean deadly trouble.

The lead vehicle called for everyone to turn off their lights. We were trying not to be seen. Finally the interpreter traveling with us went up to the Iraqis to ask for directions to an alternate route so we could get moving again. Nobody said it, but everyone is thinking the same thing, remembering the tragedy of Jessica Lynch's convoy in the early days of the war. They took a wrong turn and disaster struck.

At this point, Admiral Fallon was making it clear he wass less than happy. Not because he feared for his safety: This man in his sixties is committed to taking the same risks as the young troops in the field. But he wanted to know how troops get on roads and don't have immediate plans for alternatives at hand when things like this happen. Stopping on the roads at night is the last option for a military convoy, not the first.

We eventually made it, safe but exhausted back to Baghdad.

Our incident seemed to underscore the irony of success in Iraq. The checkpoint had been put up by Iraqi security forces to keep insurgents off the main routes into Baghdad. The Marines driving us had been in the country for just a few weeks and, because of improved security conditions, hadn't seen combat yet, so were frankly a bit unsure as to what to do when confronted with the unexpected.

But that's Iraq these days - and there's another expression out there which is my favorite: "Semper gumby," which of course in military-ese means "always flexible." And these days that's what it takes to cover the war, even when it means filing from an Internet connection on an airplane 40,000 feet above... wait, lemme go ask the navigator where we are right now... okay I'm back... and we are now... flying back above northern Iraq on our way into Turkish airspace, on our way back to a refueling stop in Shannon where I know we again will see young troops coming and going from this war.

And Doug, utterly exhausted, is still sound asleep. I won't wake him up.

BAGHDAD, Iraq - After four years, I’m standing in a room with the finest press corps in the world. After four years – they’re throwing ME a party.

We’ve been through hell and back ... and back again.

From Fallujah, Mosul, Ramadi, Tikrit and to the depths of Baghdad – we’ve literally, spilled the same blood, in the same dirt. Corny? Maybe ... But it’s true.

We’ve lost friends, loved ones, and colleagues. I choose not to count those who have died, gone missing – or simply disappeared. And that’s not counting those who have made ultimate sacrifice, and are often forgotten: those in the Iraqi press, choosing to try to make a difference in their own country. The numbers of lost are just too hard to imagine.

Many of my colleagues have not disappeared here in Iraq – they’ve gone “home” and we’ve never heard from them again. Truth is – what is “home” after four years in Iraq? I wonder how any of us can return home.

I’m humbled by a line I saw in a mini-series about World War II: “I wonder how I’ll explain all this when I get back home.” I do wonder how any of us will explain this place.

Our families – they don’t know ... and we would not expect them to – how could we? We don’t want them to have the burden of worrying about us. Because if they do, we can’t do our jobs with that on our shoulders along with everything else that we’re faced with.

And the simple, humbling truth is: we believe in this ... If anyone didn’t they would not be in this room.

We have had “close calls,” we have made mistakes – we stay up at night, wanting the world to care ... But they will never care enough in our minds. So we choose not to sleep.

We miss our families, our loved ones ... But there’s something about this story – we cannot shake it. It sticks to you like duct tape – something that is a running joke ... Injured? Stick some duct tape on it. Break that piece of equipment? Stick some duct tape on it. We do love our duct tape ...

Our tourniquets, bandages, flak jackets, gum, cigarettes, scotch, water, Gatorade, “wily-X eye protection glasses,” boots, radios, “go-bags”, lucky charms and helmets. Don’t leave the bureau without them. Especially the lucky charms – everyone’s got em’ and they work ... Until they don’t ... Welcome to the embed world. Welcome to Iraq.

We make jokes (bad ones), band together, and look after each other. We’d lay in front of oncoming traffic for any number of our staff members – everyone is equal here in Baghdad. We cut corners, we give the military cigars – and yes, we lie to each other, party together and forgive each other – because in the end – we’re bonded by something we can’t describe.

We love our security – for without them ... You’d see nothing from this country. The sound of silence would be overwhelming from a war that could not be covered without the names of many a former Special Forces soldiers; the names of which – you’ll never hear. Talk about a silent sacrifice.

I choose not to name names, not to list those that are forever my friends: rather this simple thought for those who know who they are.

These are the finest people I’ve ever had the honor of meeting, and they know full well; I breathe this story like it’s oxygen ... And I will be back again.