Specialist Kenny Leisten threw back his head and laughed at Vinni Jacques’ joke. The two men sat in their Humvee as Kenny drove along a remote road north of Baghdad.

All of twenty years old, Kenny was the picture of American youth. Raised in Cornelius, he joined the Oregon National Guard at seventeen. Feisty, quick-witted and loyal, he made friends with ease. Kenny was one of those kids who made his mark wherever he went.

One more laugh, and Kenny vanished in a storm of smoke and flames. Struck by an IED, the Humvee was blown twenty feet into the air by the explosion. It was July 28, 2004.

When I read of Kenny’s death, I wanted to tell his family how terribly sorry I was for their loss. Since I didn’t know them, I wrote a letter to the Forest Grove Times expressing my sorrow. Little did I know that this tiny first step would lead me down a path that would later find me in New Orleans in the wake of Hurricane Katrina.

A few months after I wrote the letter, Sergeant Jacques invited me to greet Kenny’s battalion, the 2-162 Infantry, as it returned home. Together, we drove up to McChord Air Force Base, where on the tarmac I came face-to-face with the men for the first time. As I watched their emotional homecoming, I knew right then I had to write about these incredible Oregonians.

Half a year later, the battalion deployed to New Orleans. I went with them and slept on the ground next to Sergeant Jacques for three weeks as these Oregonians brought order out of chaos in Louisiana. While on patrol, we encountered rotting corpses and corrupt cops. We ate MRE’s and showered with bottles of water. By the end of it all, these men had become my brothers; I love them as I love my own kin.

Two years and two months after Kenny’s death, my book The Devil’s Sandbox hit the shelves here in Oregon. It is the story of Kenny’s Oregon National Guard battalion and the finest men I’ve ever met. Writing the book became an emotional bloodletting for me as I got to know these great kids who didn’t make it home through the eyes of their friends and family. I grieved for them as if they were my own.

This past week, Sergeant Jacques and I went on KEX’s Mark and Dave Show to talk about Kenny and some of the other events the Oregon Guard experienced in Iraq. At the same time, Ken Leisten Sr. happened to be taking a break at work and heard our interview on the radio. When it ended, he called Vinni, full of excitement that “his boys” were on the air.

That night, Vinni and I drove to Portland and met Ken Sr. at his place of work. In the parking lot of the Oregon College of Arts and Crafts, I handed him a copy of the book. H [The Devil's Sandbox] He opened it to a photograph of his son. The expression on Ken’s face cannot be described, but I will never forget it.

Ken reached for me and I found myself engulfed in a huge bear hug. He held on to me with such fierceness that I could hardly speak. My own father has never hugged me so hard. His son deserved this, and it was the least I could do for these wonderful men. Their legacy is one of loyalty and courage in the face of a truly barbaric enemy. It was an honor to tell their story.

Whatever success I have as a writer or a man, this meeting with Ken will be the moment I most cherish. On the way home that night, the tears came again. This time, I felt like part of the family.

Why I do this - by Joey Fugate

I have been reflecting on my time spent with the national Guard Alpha Company! It was an awesome heartfelt reassuring training time. Reassuring in the fact that the men know their stuff and are quite good and I believe and hope and pray that they all come home safe and sound.

But that is not why I sent out this e-mail, no it is not. After reading up yesterday on John's website 'The Devil’s Sand Box' I was showered with information about what is truly going on there in the eastern part of the world know formally as Iraq.

I viewed pictures about our boys in War in Iraq; saw all the smiles and photos of men on duty. I was also privy to the pics of a Humvee that had been blown to pieces by a freakin IED. That my friends is when It hit me - What are we doing?

As OPFOR as the 973rd COB, people at my church ask me that question. People at work - they stare at me, some with looks of pride, but mostly with confusion. I am usually questioned as to why I would want to get man-handled, cursed at, shot, not get much sleep, and spend massive amounts of physical energy ' DOING THAT ARMY GUARD THINGY '

The question that I hear the most that really grieves me and grinds my gears is, “Are they PAYING you to do that?". What kind of a senseless person would ask such a question? Instead of ripping their heads off I tell them, 'Soldiers that you've never met go to Iraq and die so you can ask such a question...'

I calm down realizing that most Americans sadly do not know the price that is paid for their freedom. People are just uniformed, so my response is, yes, I get paid. My payment is the surety that I am helping men to not get murdered by the enemy, protect the innocent from the extremist neo-islamic fascists and to make sure that the families here at home receive a loved one off the plane when the duty is done.

Some people have told me that it is a waste of my valuable time; "you could be doing so many more important things with your life that truly makes a difference" they say. I tell them that men everyday lay their lives down so that you would have the freedom to say that. Friend’s and family I tell you this...

IF I COULD BE HALF THE MAN THAT THOSE MEN ARE I WOULD TRUELY BE A MAN!!!!

I WOULD GLADLY TRADE MY LIFE FOR ONE OF THEIRS ANY DAY OF THE WEEK!

I was watching videos on youtube about the sick propaganda that the NEO Islamic fascists are teaching children in Saturday morning cartoons. Things like how great it is to be a suicide bomber, how Allah will be pleased at how you kill the infidels... Ya know as a YOUTH PASTOR that gets me right in the heart.

I believe that Hitler was quoted to have said “Give me the youth of a nation and I will control that nation '. Though that is quite scary, it is soberingly TRUE. As I was watching this with tears pouring down my face while having flashes of the Humvee on the forefront of my mind, it hardened all the more the resolve in my heart.

The men and women of the Oregon National Guard, Alpha Company, I believe that you are the embodiment of the scripture in the BIBLE, not the Koran, 'No GREATER love than this that a MAN would lay down his life to save another'. You men and women of the ONG are the undeniable bonafide real super heroes of our time.

I consider it a privilege and HIGH honor to be allowed to train with such great men and women of courage and valor. I could never express how grateful I am to you and your families. I am reminded of an iteration a few months ago; we were doing a traffic control point. I was playing a jihadist in the back seat of a car.

As we neared the second check point all the heavy-hitters or high-rankers approached the vehicle. As they proceeded to ask for our identification we pulled out all our weapons and fired on everyone. We also had an IED placed, and touched that off as well. I sat in the back seat of that car watching the look of pure horror wash over the faces of the newbies.

Sgt. Flowers, whom we all know and respect, was pacing back and forth yelling to who was left "All your commanders are dead, what are you going to do?!" He asked this question of the men quiet a few times, and as the time wore on minutes literally seemed like hours. All that mixed into one cup I had an eye opening experience -

I had just played an islamic Neo Fascist and had killed all these heroes. I felt sick to my stomach as I choked back the tears. All that I can remember was that I was in a daze, I walked up the stairs in the training bay and preceded to weep uncontrollably. My friends that is why I proudly stick my chest out and I DECLARE, "I AM A 973RD COB AND I PREPARE THOSE WHO FIGHT!"

Thank you my friends and family for your support and understanding whilst I vent on my Soap Box

973rd For Life Irreverent Reverend Joey Fugate

I killed 17 american soldiers this weekend, and it's haunting me. Most of them were kids - 18-19 years old. They thought they were invincible, like all 18 year olds do. The look on their faces when they died broke my heart and firmed my determination to kill them over and over until they learned how to stay alive.

I spent the weekend with the 2-162 as one of their OPFOR .This particular weekend the guardsmen were training to manage various types of traffic control points (TCP). There were two mock TCP's set up; basically a collection of concertina wire and cones to funnel in and contain a traveling car.

A large degree of the troops we worked with over the weekend were green. It was the first time they had really searched vehicles and persons, or dealt with IEDs (improvised explosive devices), and gun fire from moving vehicles. This particular drill weekend had the entire battalion present. Each company rotated through the TCP training throughout the course of a day, spent 3 hours or so, and then moved on to other types of training held elsewhere on the base. After a company briefing we would run out first car through. The readiness NCO, Sgt. Ezelle would ask us to play it stance 1, which was to be cooperative, but scared, Iraqis. This gave the troops a chance to run through their processes without complications. We came down the hill in our little red car, hamming it up, babbling, and explaining - assuring them in broken english that we were friendly and had no intentions of killing them, and that we too wished not to be killed.

Standard procedure was to ask the driver to turn off the car and place the keys on the dash. The passengers were asked to get out of the car and were moved with two guardsmen each to a razor-wire holding area away from the vehicle where they were searched and questioned. In the meantime the driver was asked to open the hood, trunk, gas cap, sun visors, and glove box. Then the driver was taken to the holding area and searched. While the driver was being searched a team went over the car with mirrors, scanning the undercarriage and wheel wells for explosive devices. The troops were kind, yet firm, in their requests as long as we were cooperating and compliant. The soldiers were instructed to search us thoroughly. In the initial run with each company the soldiers were shy to invade our personal space, and search us in every conceivable personal hiding places. They got over their shyness once we began bringing remote detonators and blowing them up.

Personal security was strongly emphasized with each company of troops. No detainee should be able to grab, or touch a soldiers weapon. In the small, contained space of the razor wire corrals, the troops had to be aware to not get trapped between a detainee and the razor wire. They were instructed to press on any car door opening out to control the occupants exit. As we were asked to become more contentious in our behavior we would rush out of the cars in anger, waving our arms about, stumbling while resisting being lead away from our vehicle and reaching out to steady ourselves on their weapons - all typical human behavior that challenged the smooth flow of the troops procedures.

After several runs through the TCP at stance 1 we would be asked to load up the bombs and give the guys a stance 2. We were pretty jazzed. We'd been given two magnetic , remotely detonated FX bombs filled with Co2 and baby powder. They made a nice bang and poof when they were detonated. We placed the bombs under the cars, and took a run down the hill toward the TCP. We were to act hostile, edgy, and suspicious. We were asked to blow the bomb only if the troops didn't locate it or the detonator. Upon entering the TCP we were immediately pulled from the car and identified as high risk due to our behavior. We made a stink. A couple of us went limp and they had to drag us, resisting all the way. We yelled insults at them, we struggled, we acted irrational. They searched us, much rougher than before, they yelled at us, and they went over the car with a fine tooth comb. They zipped tied us and put us face down in the grass when it became apparent that we weren't going to be nice. We kept sneaking glances at each other, hoping they wouldn't find the remote or the bomb. They didn't find it. When they picked us off the ground to move us, we blew the bomb. The training Sgt. swooped in, pointing to guys, naming causalities and wounded. I felt pretty smug until I looked up at the two young soldiers guarding me. They had gone white. They looked at each other and then down at me, and said "wow, we're dead...we died...". My heart lurched. I saw two young men in shock at how easily their lives had been taken. Their 18 year old illusion of immortality taken away in a bang. I didn't feel smug any more. They asked me where the bomb had been placed, and who'd had the remote, "...but we searched her, and the car, and we didn't find it. We did everything right and we died.....". Sgt. Ezelle came over and told them to start dealing with the wounded. He looked grimly satisfied at the general reaction the bomb had on the troops, "Don't worry guys, we'll go through it again". When I got up to move the car I noticed the 5 'dead' laying on the ground behind the car. 5 kids - 5 American soldiers.

From that point forward the day took on a different tone for me. I started to understood the value of what we were doing for them. We placed bomb after bomb. As they got better at personal searches we would move the detonators to areas they weren't searching well. One of our guys shoved the remote down his pants into his underwear. They didn't find it. They blew up. The next round we were getting our crotches patted down. I found myself silently rooting for them the entire time I was trying to thwart them.

At least once per company we were asked to come in as stance 3 - aggressive and shooting. We would drive through the forward check point with our guns concealed under the seats and in our coats. Once we had the soldiers in range, we'd roll down the windows and start shooting. We'd hit a number of them, but almost instantly we were fired upon and ended up being quit dead. The surprise and audacity of such an attack was noted by the soldiers. In the next iteration, the first check point did a much better job. One group had all the passengers in the car put their hands on the car roof until they were secured and out of the vehicle.

The presence of guns in the car was problematic for the troops. In typical American life, 3 or 4 AK-47s and handguns piled in the back seat or laying on the dash means trouble. In Iraq the general populace carry guns as protection. They treat weapons as casaully as we treat jumper cables in our cars. In many scenarios we'd be friendly and cooperative, but have guns in the car. For the green troops it was a mixed message, and cause for a lot of alarm. The more experienced, and previously deployed troops, that were part of the training did a fantastic job of modeling how to deal with this situation. As long as we were cooperating, they were respectful, and simply denied us access to the weapons while they conducted vehicle and personal searches. They'd ask who the weapons belonged to and what they were being used for. One older soldier did a nice job of acting out the situation, saying to me in front of the younger troops, "Now sir, I'll take you at your word that these guns are for personal protection and that you mean us no harm. I will make no hostile moves if you also promise me to make no hostile moves or attempt to touch the weapons in any way...am I making myself clear?". I replied in a thick accent, "yes, yes, very clear. My family has no wish to shoot americans". As we reset the scenario, I was struck by how vulnerable our troops are on a daily basis and the necessity of having to make temporary and fragile trusts with strangers – strangers with guns.

In one memorable scenario we were asked for a stance 2. Bomb on the car - blow it if they don't find it. As I drove passed the forward check point the SAW (a big machine gun) gunner got jumpy and thought we were approaching to fast - a shoot to kill condition - and opened fire on us before we could get into the security area. Sgt. Ezelle looked up at the gunner with some irritation, and yelled out "the vehicle is immobilized, passengers are sill alive and in play..continue!". We hung out the window and started yelling "don't shoot, don't shoot, we are friendly". Bethany, our only female member, was playing incensed, "why do you shoot our car, this is my families only car, and you break it?! How will we get to my mother's who is sick?!". The squad leader came over with a few guys and was very apologetic, "the US government will give you a voucher for a new car, we are very sorry for this misunderstanding". They got us out of the car, and did a vehicle search. They were chagrinned, and awkward and didn't do a great job searching. They found a trunk load of stereo equipment, which I explained was for the fictitious sick mother. Throughout the day the remote detonator had been acting up and we discovered that its range was only about 20-30 feet from the car, so I knew I had to get our group back near the car to set off the bomb. As they completed their searches they told us we could go. Bethany berated them, "how can we go? We have no car!". They paused and looked at each other, then over at the Sgt. who gave them no indication how to deal with this. I spoke up and suggested that we start with unloading the trunk, and the gifts for our mother. That broke their uncertainty and they were more than willing to help. We tromped off to the trunk, half a dozen soldiers in tow to help with the unloaded. I felt terrible. I could see Sgt. Ezelle out of the corner of my eye subtly shaking his head in disbelief. As I opened the trunk I looked over at Galen who pressed the button which he'd been hiding in his collar. 6 soldiers dead. 3 kids, 3 husbands and fathers.

The day wore on and we did dozens of runs through the checkpoints, we pushed on them in ways that a typical scared or hostile peoples would. They got better at their jobs. I got tossed around, searched, wrestled, shot, questioned, kneed, yanked out of cars, yelled at, and blown up along with them – all the while becoming more and more aware of the importance of what we were doing. Much of the day was very uncomfortable, physically and emotionally. The most potent and motivating discomfort I experienced was the moments where I could see my own son's face overlaid on these young men, and being acutely and painfully aware of the families that love and cared for them.

In the days after, I found myself surprisingly emotional. I have never considered myself patriotic in any strong way. I like living in America, and I think it's a pretty great country. I stand behind the values our country was founded on. But I never really think about it. I have never waved a flag with any enthusiasms beyond the fun of waving something. I guess I never have really understood patriotism. I thought it was a specific thing, and I just didn't get it. I get it now. It's not just one thing for everyone. It's unique. I found my patriotism in the faces of young men who are in service of America and are in harms way. I experienced my patriotism as a parent who would protect their child with everything in them.

I listen to the news with a different ear now. I still have mixed feelings about the war. I still find myself railing at our leadership, I still am disgusted at many of our foreign policies, but when I hear of a bombing, or an attack somewhere in the middle east, I can no longer be dispassionate. I picture the faces of the troops I worked with, and know that in a few short months they too will be in harms way. I find myself hoping with all of me that they remember to check under the seat, and look carefully under the wheel wells, and carry kindness in their hearts, but trust no situation to be what it appears.

emial: Thanks John. Thanks for the opportunity to come and do something like this. This is one of the most important things I've done this year, and I'm super-proud to be involved with this group of outstanding individuals. I hope we continue doing this, because what we're doing is something special. My dad is always telling me about how he wished he would have had something like this when he was preparing to deploy for Desert Storm. He's proud of everything we're doing, and everyone I talk to at school is really supportive of this; regardless of whether or not they actually support our actions in Iraq. This is something that is going to save lives, and I can say without a doubt that it's changed my life at least a little bit.

I am sitting here a couple of days back from training with SWAT thinking about all I did and learned. It's a jumble of thoughts and feelings that is hard to sum up when someone asks me, "so, how was it?". I can tell them a dozen stories of the scenarios we acted in, the tactics SWAT used, the things I learned about police work, but it's just a bunch of stories. What I walked away with and what is firmly lodged in my gut is what an exceptional group of people the Eugene SWAT team members were. It's easy to watch the news and hear horrible stories of human deprivation, and think that the world is in the process of sliding into the darkness. I spent the better part of the week with men and women who spend thier lives pushing the darkness back with the light of their intelligence, resolve, and very human hearts. When we first got the invite to role-play for thier anual training, I expected to be confronted with a lot of cynisism. What I found was a bunch of deeply caring warriors. When they joked they didn't do it at the expense of the truth, or reality.

Working as a role-player, or OPFOR, continues to be a privilage that I am constantly thankful for. To see one of these soldiers or law enforcment officers get better at thier jobs because I showed up to play a bad guy means more to me than I can possible say. Those who serve are confronted with scorn, dirision, and hatred on a daily basis, and they serve in spite of it. Because of that selfless commitment and sacrifce I am proud to say that I will continue to bring my small lantern to add my light to theirs.

From the bottom of my heart - Thanks guys.