For example, one day I caught a ride in the back of a mine resistant ambush protected vehicle (MRAP) needing to get to a neighboring base. Sitting in the back, I could see the windshield of the driver's compartment, exposing the dusty road ahead. It is an otherwise claustrophobic compartment of steel, composite material, and electronics. As the rear hatch sealed us in for the ride, I experienced a bizarre mix of fear, given the risk of leaving the wire (i.e., the security of a forward operating base), and comfort, from being in the belly of this rolling steel tub. As our convoy moved out, I strained to look ahead from my position in the rear compartment. Every time a truck passed us, a quiet but sharp thought popped into my head: "S**t, is this it?" After passing the seventh truck or so, I found I was doing myself little good. So I made a concerted effort to focus on the world inside the MRAP instead. The fear did not disappear, but trying to anticipate what lay ahead did not help either. My life was in the hands of others: the driver, the gunner, the convoy commander, and plain chance that there was not an explosive-laden vehicle or roadside bomb lying in wait for us that day. I found solace in the moment, engaging the soldiers who shared this cramped space with me. We passed the time shouting above the din of the engine, cracking jokes and telling stories until we arrived at our destination.