What I thought would be a relaxing day for me as a US Army Soldier at Camp Warhorse in Baqubah, Iraq, turned out to be false. It was the morning of May 28, 2003, after a "normal night" consisting of a fairly manageable sleep schedule despite frequent mortar attacks on our camp. Exiting my Colman tent I began my daily routine, shaving my face using the side mirror of my humvee to see myself and using the water bottle cup to rinse the razor. After getting cleaned up, I ate cold chicken and rice from an MRE package to fuel me up for the long, hot day ahead. I was the driver for the command sergeant major of the 2nd Brigade of the 4th Infantry Division; I was also part of the Brigade Assault Team which was active mainly at night when we were attacked. The day started slow and calm, the warm sun began to rise and quickly warmed the atmosphere. Shortly after eating the meal, the brigade command sergeant major reminded me that we would not be leaving camp that day. He had told me this the night before, yet it was still a sigh of relief for me to hear it again. I would not have to deal with the high level of anxiety that comes with driving in a combat zone, nor would I have to wear the heavy body armor while inside the camp perimeter. Before it got too hot to drink our water, I met some soldiers from our supply section to get some ice to fill my cooler. They had already gone to Baqubah to the ice factory to get big blocks of ice, they were about 4 feet long and we were tearing them to pieces with our bayonets. That was one of their daily tasks, in addition to gathering all the supplies our company needed to survive out there. I had gone with them many times before to Baghdad and Baqubah to get supplies...half of paper...and I had to make a decision, keep moving forward hoping he would get out of it or stop and risk the lives of all the soldiers who I was bringing into this situation. I may have made my decision out of pure fear and in the few seconds I had to decide, I hit him. I remember it in slow motion. It hit my guard and flew into the air, now moving forward at the same speed as us, gradually lost speed and altitude and began tumbling onto the road in front of me. The man then disappeared under my hood and thump, thump, as I hit him with both passenger side tires. Some say it's cruel, others say he deserved it. I think if they wanted to hurt us then it was the right thing to do. I'll never know, though, because obviously the reason I did it was that I didn't want to stop and risk the lives of several soldiers when we were obviously outnumbered..