IRAQ. Rawa. 2006. A memorial service for Staff Sergeant Kevin Jessen, killed the previous day. He was twenty-eight
and on his third tour. He had a wife, Carrie, and a two-year-old son, Cameron. At the ceremony,
a scratchy recording of bagpipes played a mournful hymn.
Later on, a civilian sat alone in a tent near the landing pad weeping softly. He was an Internet
service technician there to do maintenance. Jessen had been assigned to pick him up on his
arrival. They had a friendly talk at the chow hall that night. Less than twenty-four hours later,
Jessen was killed when a bomb he was defusing exploded. The civilian’s job usually insulated him
from the violence of the war. Jessen was the first soldier he’d personally known who had died.