Soldiers in war zone thankful to be alive

The ones at this outpost were sheltered from another bloody day.
MCCLATCHY NEWSPAPERS
AL-TAJI CAMP, Iraq -- For American soldiers serving in the most dangerous place on Earth, Thanksgiving brought gratitude for life's pleasures: an autumn leaf mailed from home, a love note in an e-mail inbox, the taste of pumpkin pie.
The dining halls of this outpost in central Iraq were transformed Thursday into a cozy shelter from the war that raged outside. The walls were bedecked with streamers in fall's golden hues, chow lines overflowed with turkey and dressing, and soldiers toasted their survival with dainty plastic flutes of cranberry juice.
Not far away, a series of car bombings and mortar strikes in the Shiite Muslim stronghold of Sadr City killed as many as 161 Iraqis and wounded more than 257 in one of the deadliest sectarian attacks since the war began. Guards at the Iraqi Health Ministry in Baghdad fought off a violent insurgent takeover attempt. The U.S. military announced the deaths of three Marines during combat operations in Anbar province, bringing to 52 the number of American troops killed this month.
It was yet another bloody day in Iraq, and all the more reason to give thanks, said soldiers from the Army's homebound 4th Infantry Division and the recently returned 1st Cavalry Division.
"Most of them are just thankful to be able to survive each day. They're thinking about their families, but they're also thinking about the mission," said Brig. Gen. Vincent Brooks, deputy commander of the 1st Cavalry Division, on a Thanksgiving visit to his troops. "They're trying to turn the violence around, but this country is right on the edge. Iraq has enormous potential if people would stop killing each other."
Pall on festivities
The rigors of war cast a pall even over the festivities at al-Taji Camp, where troops were on "blackout," banned from making holiday calls home because of a soldier's suicide earlier this week. Blackouts are standard procedure intended to prevent relatives from learning prematurely about a soldier's death or injury.
Two of the medics who responded to the suicide sat at picnic tables outside to avoid the crush of hungry troops at the dining hall. A day away from returning home to Florida, the pair dug into pizzas and contemplated their year in Iraq. As first responders on the front line, they were the ones who collected body parts and tended to the wounded after mortar hits, roadside bombs and other insurgent violence.