Over there & over there

Over there & over there
With a seemingly endless cycle of deployments, Fort Hood, Texas, endures more Iraq War deaths than any other American installation. The toll is wearying and produces a different kind of casualty at home: “All I do is go to Iraq, come back from Iraq, and get ready to go to Iraq again.”
In a tree-starved patch of Texas Hill Country, a Bradley Fighting Vehicle surges three meters across chalky soil and fires its Bushmaster chain gun. A resonant boom splits the air, and elsewhere on the training range, even veteran soldiers glance instinctively over their shoulders at the dark plume of smoke arcing across the summer sky.
The sound of the Bradley''s 25mm gun is unique, soldiers will tell you. Not the low blast of a tank or artillery round. Not the popcorn of rifles. The Bradley''s gun commands attention with a round, baritone thunder that pulses into your gut at 100 yards away.
On the range, there''s no forgetting where you are, even if you close your eyes and lay back atop an idling Bradley as one soldier has done. Earplugs help block the noise of the guns, but not the concussion. Your Kevlar body armor and bulky helmet weigh you down and make you sweat. The air itself is a bellicose cocktail of cordite, diesel, and chalk. You can taste it when you breathe.