In my hands is a 9mm pistol, just like the one that was strapped to my leg in the sandbox for 16 months. It feels so natural, my fingers know just where to place themselves. My finger gives the trigger a smooth squeeze and I admire the circular hole in my paper target...

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Sitting there it's hard to believe that last year this time I was either securing a convoy of supplies to Baghdad or conducting a presence patrol out side of An Nasaryia. The dessert doesn't sound like it would be a place that would tease a fisherman with reminders of what they are missing, but you would be surprised...

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