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I may not know exactly what they're going through, and I make no claim to that effect, but for two days in the spring of 2000 I could relate.

I learned a lot over the course of that weekend, and two of the main things I continue to appreciate and will never forget is that war is A) not exhilerating, only terrifying and B) confusing and not at all what you'd expect. No amount of training can prepare you for what will happen.

In the second semester of my junior year in college, I signed up for a wilderness survival class. Little did I know that MS 103 stood for Military Science 103, and that by signing up for it, I would also be singing up as an ROTC cadet.

So the first day of class I was issued all of my gear which all in all, weighed about fifty pounds. Throughout the course of the semester, as I walked about campus in military fatigues and combat boots and occassionally with bearclaw camoflauge make-up covering all of my neck and face, I received training in not only wilderness survival, but basic military principle, manuevers, weaponry, and combat. I learned how to tie my own harness and repel down the side of a building, and how to hog-tie a POW. I learned how to crawl, how to shoot, and how to knee a casualty in the groin so you know they're not faking. I can skin a squirrel if I need to, and can assemble an M-16 faster than you can run.

At the end of the semester, we could either take the final exam in our class, or we could attend Spartan Fury, the ROTC Field Training Exercise that took place for an entire weekend in early April at Fort Custer in Battle Creek, Michigan. I opted for Spartan Fury, and all I need to know about war, I learned in those two days.

We arrived at Fort Custer at about 10pm on Friday night and lights out was at 11:30pm. At 0300 the next morning, we awakened to a foot of snow on the ground, were handed our weapons, ammo and MREs (meals ready to eat--thoroughly nasty freeze-dried cuisine that our boys in Iraq are eating for every meal).

When my squad and I (Alpha company, 2nd squad) got out at our assigned location, we did a check of our weapons. Out of the eight of us, including our squad leader, mine was the only weapon that worked right off the bat. These, you should know, are the same weapons that our boys are fighting with in the Middle East.

Our first assignment was to move into a specific area of the base and find two Michigan National Guard soldiers who were hiding in the area. We reached our designated starting point and our squad leader put me and another member of my squad (the only other girl) on rear security. This basically means that the boys got to go off and find the bad guys while we took a knee in the snow. We sat there for about twenty minutes before my fellow squadmate, who also happened to be in the Army Reserve and had a lot more experience than I, took down her backpack and started eating crackers and peanut butter out of her MRE. Hungry and bored, I did the same. About five minutes into our snacking, I heard someone clear their throat behind me. We both turned. There behind us, leaning against a tree, was one of the Michigan National Guardsman that our squad was supposed to be looking for. He asked us if we had a light, and with mouths full, we both exchanged a look (I don't think either of us knew what the hell to do) and shook our heads no. Honestly, we didn't have the first clue what we were supposed to do. The Guardsman was just leaning against a tree smoking a ciggie, and we had our guns across our laps and our mouths full of peanut butter. So, we didn't do anything. About a minute latter, a member of our squad came up over the hill we were behind, saw the Guardsman, whipped up his gun and made the guy lay face down. He never said anything to our squad leader, but if that would have been an actual wartime situation, me, and my squadmate on rear security, would be dead.

Cut to about 12 hours later. We'd been through more exercises, and we were down to our last of the day. In the waning sunlight, we were supposed to, with all of the other squads in our platoon, move into an attack situation. Everyone was assigned a battle buddy, who covers your back while you cover his. We were given the order, and our squad moved in.

From there it was utter chaos. All gunshots and explosions and smoke. I lost my battle buddy after about 20 seconds. I had no idea where I was going or who I was supposed to be shooting at. People were yelling, I was running, I caught sight of another member of my squad and followed him. We ran over a knoll and jumped over a small rock wall that had to have been over a hundred years old. We were hunched behind it and both out of ammunition. I popped the empty cartridge out of my weapon and replaced it with the full cartridge of blanks I had on me. When I looked up from cocking my weapon, he was gone. More smoke. More gunshots. More explosions. All confusion. I heard the order for retreat another ten minutes later and followed two other members of my company as they ran through the woods past me. Running, running, tripping and falling. Sweat in my eyes, leaves in my hair. My weapon bumping against my hip with every step. My lungs were burning and still I didn't know what was going on. My squad leader was screaming, "get down! get down!" I ran. I fell. I stayed there. My ankle hurt. I was out of ammo. Half of my squad was missing.

We were all intelligent people. Highly educated. Over three quarters of the platoon were contracted cadets who would go on to be commissioned officers in the United States Army after graduation. But this made No Sense. These weren't war games. There is no Game in the act of war. It's pain and terror and confusion and at the end of the day all you have left are dead innocent people and an empty cartridge of ammunition.

We all walked off the battlefield that day. After our platoon marched the three miles or so back to the trucks, we laughed and shouted in cadence as we marched to the mess hall. We were exhausted but hungry. In good spirits as we filled our mouths with shaking forks. We were jovial. But we all knew--if that had been a real wartime situation, half of us wouldn't be there, and instead of laughter there would be silence. We cleaned our weapons for three hours and when they passed inspection, we were allowed to go to bed.

We had obstacle courses to run the next day. Helicopter rides and jokes to tell. And then we were allowed to go home.

I got my apartment at 3:00 on that Sunday afternoon and slept until just after nine. I remember watching Je Souhaite when I woke up and losing myself in liminal space.

What I thought would be a fun weekend--all laser tag with real guns--turned out to be an eye-opening and sobering experience. For all of the training I had nothing prepared me for what I found, and for all I learned and the 4.0 I earned, I still feel like I failed.

War may be a necessary evil in some cases--an inevitable part of life--but diplomacy is the better part of valor. Our soldiers are dying. My friends are dying. Of all the people in my class, half of them are now commissioned officers and assigned in the Middle East. I can only hope that our experience in the forests around Battle Creek prepared them slightly for what they will find there.

And while they now replace the blank ammunition we used at Fort Custer with real bullets, I can at least say that while I make no claim to know what exactly they're going through--I can at least somewhat relate.

Hang in there, guys.

"You can no more win a war than you can win an earthquake." -- Jeannette Rankin