One soldier's story of way experience.

THE Internet, which fills our in-boxes with spam and scams every day and keeps our delete keys shiny, occasionally delivers a real keeper, such as the words below, which were written by a graduate of West Point, class of 2003, who's now at war in Iraq.

We tracked down the author, who gave us permission to quote from his letter so long as we didn't reveal his name.

"Well, I'm here in Iraq, and I've seen it, and done it. I've seen everything you've ever seen in a war movie. I've seen cowardice; I've seen heroism; I've seen fear; and I've seen relief. I've seen blood and brains all over the back of a vehicle, and I've seen men bleed to death surrounded by their comrades. I've seen people throw up when it's all over, and I've seen the same shell-shocked look in 35-year-old experienced sergeants as in 19-year-old privates."

I've heard the screams--'Medic! Medic!' I've hauled dead civilians out of cars, and I've looked down at my hands and seen them covered in blood after putting some poor Iraqi civilian, in the wrong place at the wrong time, into a helicopter. I've seen kids with gunshot wounds, and I've seen kids who've tried to kill me.

I've seen men tell lies to save lives; 'What happened to Sergeant A?' The reply: 'C'mon, man, he's all right--he's wondering if you'll be OK--he said y'all will have a beer together when you get to Germany.' SFC A was lying 15 feet away on the other side of the bunker with two medics over him desperately trying to get either a pulse of a breath. The man who asked after SFC A was himself bleeding from two gut wounds and rasping as he tried to talk with a collapsed lung. One of them made it; one did not.

"I've run for cover as fast as I've ever run--I'll hear the bass percussion thump of mortar rounds and rockets exploding as long as I live. I've heard the shrapnel as it shredded through the trailers my men live in and over my head. I've stood, gasping for breath, as I helped drag into a bunker a man so pale and badly bloodied I didn't even recognize him as a soldier I've known for months. I've run across open ground to find my soldiers and make sure I had everyone.

"I've raided houses, and shot off locks, and broken in windows. I've grabbed prisoners, and guarded them. I've looked into the faces of men who would have killed me if I'd driven past their IED (improvised explosive device) an hour later. I've looked at men who've killed two people I knew, and saw fear.

"I've heard gunfire and hit the ground, and heard it and just looked and figured it was too far off to worry about, I've seen men stacked up outside a house, ready to enter--some as scared as they could be, and some as calm as if they were picking up lunch from McDonald's. I've watched a sergeant on the ground, laughing so hard he was crying, because my boots were stuck in a muddy field, all the while an Iraqi corpse was not five feet from him.

"I've heard men worry about civilians, and I've heard men shrug and sum up their viewpoint in two words--'F--'era.' I've seen people shoot when they shouldn't have, and I've seen my soldiers take an extra second or two, think about it, and spare somebody's life.

'I've laughed as other units sit terrified in traffic, fingers nervously on triggers, while my soldiers and I deftly whip around, drive on the wrong side of the road, and wave to Iraqis as we pass. I can recognize a Sadiqqi (Arabic for friend) from a Haji (Arabic word for someone who has made the pilgrimage to Mecca, but our word for a bad guy); I know who to point my weapons at, and who to let pass.

"I've come in from my third 18-hour patrol in as many days with a full beard and stared at a major in a pressed uniform who hasn't left the wire since we've been here, daring him to tell me to shave. He looked at me, looked at the dust and sweat and dirt on my uniform, and went back to typing at his computer.

"I've given a kid water and Gatorade and made a friend for life. And I've let them look through my sunglasses--no one wears them in this country but us--and watched them pretend to be an American soldier: a swaggering invincible machine, secure behind his sunglasses, only because the Iraqis can't see the fear in his eyes."

Joe Galloway is the senior military correspondent for Knight Ridder Newspapers and the author of several books.