Life in a war zone

As the leader of a 13-man squad, Raymond also uses the figure to show his men he's human. "I guess you could say I still play with dolls," he says, "but I did all the macho stuff, and I'm also 42, so I don't have to be [tough] all the time."

Some soldiers draw strength from a more somber source, a belief that those killed in action are protecting them.

Cpl. Chris Dedrick, of Delevan, N.Y., looks far younger than his 21 years, but is already serving his second tour in Afghanistan. He carries with him a woven tag bearing the name "Fuller," which belonged to his friend and former platoon member Spc. Chad Fuller, a sniper killed in an ambush in August.

"It feels like he's with us when we go on patrol," Corporal Dedrick says softly, "like he's watching us."

For others, the memory of the dead is more troubling.

Pvt. Joseph Meadows of 1-87's Alpha Company has been in some scrapes before. An orphan raised by his grandmother in West Virginia, he grew up making trouble and joined the Army to avoid three years in jail.

Yet nothing prepared the impish soldier for the close combat he's seen in Afghanistan. More than once, enemy machine-gun bursts have shredded the limbs of a tree where he took cover.

While committed to his job, any bravado Private Meadows felt about soldiering has faded. "You'd have to be crazy to actually want to kill someone," he says. Weighed down by his rucksack, he says he throws up every time he's in combat.

He also has few illusions about dying for his country. "You're only a hero a few days," he estimates, "unless you've done something spectacular, and then they'll name a road after you or something."

In his most difficult moment, Meadows saw a good friend die. Pvt. Evan O'Neill was shot in an intense fight near the Pakistani border on Sept. 29. "It messes with your mind," says Meadows, as he sits on his cot sewing a button on his pants.

At night, his ears ring so badly that he hums himself to sleep. Then, he says, he dreams about O'Neill.

* * *

At 6 a.m. sharp, 1st Sgt. Andrew Spano's voice blasts over the loudspeaker system he rigged up the night before at the tiny, mud-walled US compound perched on the Afghanistan border at Shkin.

Making a noise that sounds like a kazoo, Sergeant Spano "plays" Reveille, causing soldiers to groan in their bunks. Puppies with names like JDAM (a GPS-guided bomb) poke their noses out of houses the soldiers built for them.

"Wakey! Wakey! It's time for tea and cakey!" Spano says brightly.

Then, just in case anyone is still asleep, he puts on the screaming lyrics of "Bodies" by the hard-metal rock band Drowning Pool. It's a theme song of sorts for US troops:

"Skin against skin, blood and bone
You're all by yourself but you're not alone
You wanted in
Now you're here
Driven by hate, consumed by fear
Let the bodies hit the floor, Let the bodies hit the floor...
Nothing's wrong with me, Nothing's wrong with me...
Something's gotta give, Something's gotta give..."

A few days later, Spano's announcement system mysteriously breaks; sabotage is suspected.

In between combat missions, 1-87 soldiers often resort to pranks, self-parodies, and other concocted entertainment that builds camaraderie and eases cabin fever in the isolated outpost.

Soldiers celebrating birthdays here have been dragged out of bed, handcuffed with plastic strips, bound in olive-green duct tape, and then doused with cold water, shaving cream, and various table seasonings.

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