Has anybody noticed that Garry Trudeau's political comic strip, Doonesbury, generally left-wing, is actually quite favorable toward our troops currently fighting the war on terror? I was skeptical when I heard Slate is hosting a Doonesbury blog for dispatches from our troops in Iraq and Afghanistan until I visited: http://gocomics.typepad.com/the_sandbox/ The blog allows our troops to speak for themselves. Here's a sample: 'The Dog' with no name adopts troop in Baghdad SGT Roy Batty from Yellow Springs, Ohio Here we are in freakin' Baghdad, watching Mesopotamian hillbillies waste each other with assembly line machineguns designed in 1947, and trying to relearn hard-won lessons from a bitter little war 40 years behind us. It's all a bit depressing. I call him The Dog since he doesn't seem to have a name, at least not any that he answers to. The Dog has some history with our squad, which he seems to have adopted in a strange, protective way. The other IP station that we go to is four or five miles away. We first started visiting it a month ago, and The Dog was hanging out there with a bunch of other mutts. The guys went to the MP station as usual, and there was The Dog, as usual. But when they left, The Dog decided he was going to come along, and left with them, running down the street, zigzagging between the trucks, sometimes falling behind, and then catching up at the intersections. For five miles. All the way to the next IP station. And he'd been here ever since, waiting for us to come visit him. Facundo hooked him up with an MRE, which he gratefully wolfed down. We all clustered around, scratching his ears, petting him, glad to see a friend in this decidedly unfriendly part of town. Combat 'Live' Over The Radio CPT B. Tupper of Syracuse, NY in Ghazni, Afghanistan Combat on the radio here is nothing new. But the urgency, the terror, the frantic tones of their voices was out of the ordinary. Normally, Army radio transmissions are very formal and programmed. But when things go bad, it's all out the window. And things had gone bad. "Keep your eyes on that f***ing wall -- he's there! He's there!" The staccato of a 240bravo machine gun ripped the radio's speakers. Voices faltered, quivered. Strong men were choking on their words. "F***ing shoot them! F***ing shoot them!" Then silence. Nothing.