When first under fire and you’re wishful to duck,
Don’t look or take heed at the man that is struck.
Be thankful you’re living and trust to your luck,
And march to your front like a soldier.
-Kipling

I got promoted today. Our battalion commander pinned me himself, and then gave me my oath of service again. That is unusual, but I’ve seen him do it before—he likes to do it to remind everybody of what comes along with our service. It also makes the ceremony a little more formal, which I appreciate. I hate unnecessary informality. Familiarity can be achieved while still maintaining professionalism. I was surprised so many staff officers showed up, when they probably had lots of more important stuff to do. Made me feel good. Like I belong.

There was a storm early this morning that ended right as I was getting up. I’m not sure if it was a full-on sandstorm, but it stirred things up enough that it left dust hanging in the air all day. Visibility was severely reduced and the haze gave things a kind of eerie pallor. It was like looking through dirty glass at everything. It was even stranger after sundown, and the moon’s halo was crazily accentuated by the dust. It was very bright, because of the full moon, but visibility was still low because of the dust. I don’t think I’ve ever experienced it before. Walking back from the gym was surreal.

Some of the soldiers found a large, black, very smooth round stone last week. I seemed to recall reading something, somewhere, about these stones being all over Southwest Asia, and the Arabs thinking they are fossilized djinn. I kind of thought it neat, the idea of a dead sand god sitting there on the picnic table outside our bunker. Then some jackass painted it white and pink and drew flowers on it. I am not superstitious—I know those stones are just geological oddities—but it still seemed somewhat blasphemous or disrespectful somehow. I may not believe in local religious traditions, but I think we should still respect them. This is the reason I always genuflect when I go into a Catholic church, even though I am Protestant. It’s just respectful. Maybe I’m just a weirdo.

I went outside after I ate supper and could hear the singing from the village nearby. I don’t know if they have prayer that late, but it sounded like one of their prayer announcers, or whatever you call them. It was haunting. Moonlit haze, a slow chilly breeze, a hot combat zone and an alien voice sailing on the night air. We rise and fall on strange tides, out here in the dune sea.