“Nah,” he said. “That’s their deal. The Iraqi Police have their sources. We’re their liaisons, their trainers. We’re not in charge anymore. We’re just here to help them become police officers instead of paramilitaries.”
I kept hearing this sort of thing, and it always slightly surprised me. It may seem like Americans are in charge in Iraq, but that is really only true to an extent.
“We make sure they follow the rule of law,” Sergeant Guerrero continued, “that they don’t abuse prisoners. We’re trying to get them self-sustaining so we can pull out and go someplace where there’s some actual fighting.”
“At this point,” Sergeant Phillips said, “we’re just waiting for the Iraqi Police to work their magic.”
Weapons caches are usually found on land somebody owns. It wasn’t clear whether anyone owned the land we were standing on, but if so they didn’t seem to mind Americans and Iraqis digging holes all over the place. No one from the village next door came out to talk to anyone. No one even came out to watch. I found that curious, and it made me slightly uneasy. Often it means the locals know an explosion or ambush is imminent.
“Hey,” Sergeant Phillips said. “They brought in a front-loader.”
An Iraqi Police officer drove up in a bulldozer. Now we might be in business. I really hoped they would find something. There is so little “action” in and around Fallujah these days that this, I realized, might be as interesting as it gets anymore.

Another dispatch from Michael Totten.

I’ve done some design work for a group dedicated to the memory of Vietnam war dogs left behind after the US campaign there ended. It’s good to know this no longer happens – for the sake of both the dogs and their handlers;

Rose and Iron are one of about 200 canine teams deployed in Iraq, where the bond between soldiers and their dogs is so deep that some handlers have asked to be buried with their canine partners if they are killed together.
On frigid winter nights in the Iraqi desert, Rose shares his cot and sometimes his sleeping bag with Iron to keep him warm. In the scorching summer heat, he makes sure Iron has enough water before taking his own share. If the heat is too much for Iron, who has a thick coat of glossy black fur, Rose lets him rest, no matter what the platoon leader might want.
Whenever he goes on a mission, Rose tucks a copy of an ode to police and military dogs into his front pocket. It reads in part: “Trust in me, my friend, for I am your comrade. I will protect you with my last breath. When all others have left you and the loneliness of the night closes in, I will be at your side.”
[…]
Last July, Cpl. Kory D. Wiens, 20, and his Labrador retriever, Cooper, became the first soldier-dog team killed since Vietnam. They were buried side by side in Wiens’ hometown of Dallas, Ore.

Update – More on the soldier – canine bond here.