(Please note the first comment on this post: From a medic on duty in Iraq.)

One of my readers, who resides in Carroll County, from time to time shares a letter from his son-in-law, an Army lieutenant colonel in Afghanistan. I asked permission to put the author's name on this, but his father-in-law said no. "My understanding is that because he is still on active duty and is not authorized to be a journalist or writer publicly, he does not want his name attached to his writings. He does not wish to have anything jeopardize him or his unit. However, I am sure it would be all right to publish in your blog without his name." Here it is:

Today is the first of August, and marks the end of what has been the
bloodiest month of the war in Afghanistan since the invasion in 2001.
Forty-two of my comrades were killed in action in July, and many more of
our coalition and Afghan partners.  That pales in comparison to the
worst days in Iraq, and I shudder to think of what that number is
besides the daily losses of the big wars.  Certainly it is nothing
compared to the 23,000 casualties in one day at Antietam.  The way we
react today, I don't know how we even fought those wars.

Each death is of course its own tragedy.  Good men one and all, as best
I know - families and friends back home, and the closest of brothers
they leave behind here.  Some deaths were in the heat of combat, in an
ambush or and IED event somewhere out on the Afghan countryside.  Brave
men died fighting to protect their brothers and sisters in arms.  Other
deaths are senseless - a rolled HMMWV where the driver was driving too
fast and forgot to wear a seatbelt.

Today was a quiet one, thankfully.  The daily SIGACTs were mercifully
free of major incidents.  Things happen, of course, and there were
certainly some events to raise the eyebrows.  But no major casualties -
only one IED incident the whole day.  Hardly "All Quiet on the Western
Front," but as quiet as we're likely to see.  The hot and heavy work is
down south with the Marines, and likely to remain that way through the
summer, though it will heat up here, literally and figuratively, as we
get closer to the Afghan elections in late August.

I notice the lack of incidents, but if I'm honest with myself I've
become numb to the daily toll of casualties.  Each is a figure, another
number and statistic, an event to be analyzed to determine what we can
learn from and what we can do better.  You try to personalize, but you
can't, not without knowing the individual.  It's one part familiarity,
and one part professionalism - sixteen years of soldiering, even in at
best relative peace prepares you for a certain amount of this.

We did evac one of our own last week - SFC M came down with a virulent
stomach bug and had to be sent all the way back to Landstuhl in Germany
for treatment.  That hits closer to home.  So do the soldiers whose
faces I see out in the field.  I had an introduction to one just two
days ago while visiting with Task Force Mountain Warrior, as the unit
First Sergeant pointed to a picture on the wall - SPC Greg Missman,
F/704th BSB, KIA 9 JUL 09 - and begged me to fix something so that
another soldier won't die like Greg.  We'll do what we can, first
sergeant.

We've stopped doing Fallen Comrade ceremonies, too, which I think
contributes to the numbness.  It was more real when we
celebrated/mourned each of our heroes.  But we had a rocket attack after
one where two soldiers were killed, and everyone thinks the insurgents
planned the attack to try and hit the crowd lined up along Disney Boulevard.  So
we reduce risk, and there are no more big ceremonies, just the senior
leaders at the airfield to see our hero off.  I think we've lost
something there, and the insurgents won a bigger victory than they know.

I'm grateful for the distance I can have from what could otherwise be
disabling emotion.  Easier by far to just shrug about a statistic and go
about your business.  I lose something there, I know, a bit of humanity
I'll probably never miss but nevertheless makes me something less.